#( THE DEPTHS PART.1 ) event.3

[hayatheauthor]

10 World-Building Aspects You Probably Overlooked

When crafting a fictional world, it's easy to focus on the big picture—epic battles, grand landscapes, and memorable characters. However, it’s also important to flesh out your world-building to create a ‘real’ world. Some aspects to consider when world-building are: 

1. Local Cuisine

Consider the types of food your characters eat and how it reflects their culture, geography, and economy. Unique dishes can reveal societal values and local ingredients.

2. Currency & Trade

Explore the forms of currency used and the trade systems in place. This can include bartering, precious metals, or unique items as currency, influencing economic interactions.

3. Timekeeping Practices

Different cultures may have their own methods for measuring time, whether it's a unique calendar system, seasons, or celestial events, affecting daily life and traditions.

4. Cultural Taboos

Consider the unspoken rules and taboos that govern behavior in your world. These can drive conflict and character motivations, adding depth to societal interactions.

5. Local Flora and Fauna

Unique plants and animals can shape the environment and influence the culture, whether through medicine, food sources, or as part of local mythology.

6. Rituals and Festivals

Incorporate unique rituals or festivals that celebrate historical events, seasonal changes, or important life milestones, providing insight into cultural values and traditions.

7. Language Nuances

Explore dialects, slang, or even the use of sign language that reflects the culture and social dynamics, enriching dialogue and interactions between characters.

8. Architecture and Housing Styles

The design and materials of buildings can reflect climate, resources, and cultural values. Unique architectural features can tell a story about the society that built them.

9. Social Hierarchies and Classes

Examine how social structures affect character relationships and interactions. Class distinctions can influence everything from daily life to political power.

10. Environmental Impact

Consider how the natural environment shapes societal behaviours, resource usage, and conflicts. Climate and geography can drive migration patterns and societal development.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[yanderedrabbles]

Introducing Yandere Movie Week

Where we watch and review seven yandere movies! What can you expect? Popcorn (obviously) but also in-depth reviews, breakdowns of yandere tropes in cinema, and short fics inspired by the movies. Are you ready for plenty of psycho men, shirtless shower scenes, and constant torment? If so, get your snacks ready, bring out your favourite dubiously legal pirating website and let Yandere Movie Week begin!

Here's the line up!

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Fear (1996)

Review 8/10 Story 1.7k words

Nicole Walker, a 16-year-old girl, meets the charming David McCall at a nightclub, following which the two fall in love with each other. However, things take a turn when David reveals his darker side.

Secret Obsession (2019)

Review 6/10 Story 5k words

Jennifer wakes up after a traumatic attack with amnesia and a doting husband caring for her, but she soon realises that the real danger is far from over.

Hush (2016)

Review Story 5.2k words

Living peacefully in the woods, an author, who is hard of hearing and without speech, finds herself a target of a masked killer.

The Perfect Guy (2015)

Review Story

Leah Vaughn, a successful lobbyist, breaks up with her long-term boyfriend, Dave, and enters into a relationship with a stranger. She finds herself caught in a dilemma when Dave re-enters her life.

The Boy Next Door (2015)

Review Story

When Claire Peterson engages in a steamy affair with Noah Sandborn, a man much younger than herself, little does she realise the consequences of her actions will have a perilous outcome.

The Invisible Man (2020)

Review Story

Cecilia's abusive ex-boyfriend fakes his death and becomes invisible to stalk and torment her. She begins experiencing strange events and decides to hunt down the truth on her own.

Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Review Story

Michael and Madison had planned to spend the rest of their lives together, until one day Michael's controlling ways ruined their perfect marriage. Madison meets Alex Stone and learns to love again, until Michael re-appears in her life.

[quickestgold]

Masterlist | The Pitt ♡

Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Goodbye, My Lover (Four-Part Series)

Inspired by the 'Four Things that Matter Most', this series deals with the unspoken truths of your past and present. Having shared your life with both Jack and Robby at different stages, it's a bittersweet goodbye to the love that once was, but also a hopeful beginning for what might be.

Chapter 1: I Love You

Chapter 2: Please Forgive Me

Chapter 3: I Forgive You

Chapter 4: Thank You

After the Dust (Ongoing Series / Backstory to Goodbye, My Lover)

Chapter 1: Darkness

Chapter 2: Light (TBC)

Chapter 3: Peace (TBC)

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Strip Her: Amidst a mass casualty event, Jack’s medical instincts clash with his personal life when the woman he loves risks her own life to save another. Is he about to watch you die?

Say It First: Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

Someone New: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Still Life: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Still Alive: (Still Life Part 2) Delivery complications during the birth of your son leave Jack caught between grief and hope, life and loss. In the stillness that follows, those who witnessed it begin to confront their own silent trauma, navigating recovery, healing and bonding with a newborn.

Say Something: A decade of falling in and out of love has turned you and Jack from lovers to strangers. But when a difficult case hits too close to home, you might finally be calling time of death on your marriage.

Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

(TBC)

[saurongorthaur9]

So, in the last couple months, I've gotten a few different people commenting on my fanfiction commenting/reviewing methods. I've been involved in fanfic communities since 2008 and I've reviewed literally thousands of stories. I also like leaving long, fairly detailed comments, and I've had multiple people asking me for tips on commenting and what my process is. I needed to take a little break amidst the chaos of packing for a 2000 mile move, so I thought I'd write up a little guide for tips and tricks on leaving great reviews. So here you go: SG's Guide to Commenting on Fanfics!

First of all, my method. I take notes as I read personally. My preferred method is saving stories to my laptop and then highlighting parts I want to comment on, but there are any number of alternate methods, such as using a note app on your phone or jotting down physical notes in a notebook, if you're old-school like that :)

Then, here are my tips on ways to write great comments! (And a reminder, these are just tips, not rules! There is no Fanfiction Comments Bible I am using here, just my own experience for how I write my comments/reviews, so take or leave any portions of it that you want. But hopefully, if you are new to commenting or wanting to leave more detailed comments, you'll find something helpful here.

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1. First, you can never go wrong with an enthusiastic "OMG I loved this! *keyboard smash* *kudos*" I can guarantee you that there is no author out there who doesn't appreciate unbridled enthusiasm about the content they spent hours, days, weeks, or even months working on.

2. Quote passages that stood out to you, then tell the author how that passage made you feel. From my experience, authors love knowing specific passages that impacted their reader. I usually will format it something like this: *Quote from story* Oh my gosh, this piece of dialogue made me laugh so hard...or... *Quote from story* I seriously teared up here, so beautiful.

3. Were there places where the characterization was just spot on? Let the author know. It can be something simple like "When x character did x, that felt SO in character!"

4. Did the characters make you feel emotions? Again, let the author know. "When x character did x, I wanted to punch them so hard!" or "Aw, when x character kissed x character, I felt so warm and fuzzy!"

5. Was there a descriptive passage that felt super realistic? You can say something like "When you described that waterfall, I felt like I was right there" or "When x character was pulling out that splinter, I was squirming the whole time".

6. For a little bit of a more expert reviewer tip, comment on things that author has done to expand or add to the world. This can look like a variety of different comments, but here are some examples. "I love how you've delved into x character's backstory or psychology with your story. I've always found them intriguing and wondered why they made x choice." "Your OC fits so well into this world. I could totally see this character going about their life during the canon events." "I really enjoy that you're exploring x culture in your story; I loved the description of the festival at the beginning."

7. For a really expert tip, comment on the little easter eggs you notice in fics. From my experience, authors are utterly delighted when readers pick up the little tidbits they've meticulously hidden or ways they've shown off their technical skills. This requires more in-depth knowledge of how writing and stories work however. This can look like comments like these: "OMG, I saw what you did there with that foreshadowing when x character said x!" or "That was really clever how you showed a parallel between this character over here and that character over there."

8. Finally, thank the author! They put lots of effort into creating this piece of art that you've just enjoyed; let them know you appreciate their time, creativity, and effort. And if it's a multi-chapter story or a series, let them know you're invested without being pushy for an update. I like saying something like this at the end of my reviews: "Thank you so much for sharing your work with us! I am so excited to see where the story is going whenever you share the next chapter. Cheers!"

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And of course, remember that a simple comment is better than no comment! I know I'm very much not the only person to have said this, but comments are an essential part of the Fandom ecosystem. If you only have time or energy to leave a quick "I loved it!" then do that! You will make the author's day, I guarantee. But if you're considering whether or not to leave a comment at all, please remember that all fanfic authors are people who have poured enormous amounts of time and effort into the thing you've just enjoyed (to give you an idea, it takes me an average of about 60-80 hours PER CHAPTER to write Gorthauro Estel).

I've also seen posts from people about fears of saying the wrong thing in a review. There are very few "wrong" things to say, but just to allay any fears one might have, I've compiled a quick list of what to avoid in your review.

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Don't beg for updates. Getting an "Update please!" review on a WIP that you haven't been able to work on for whatever reasons is always discouraging. I can understand how a beginning reviewer could see it as a complement, but as someone myself who is slow to update, I can tell you that it only puts a larger sense of pressure, weight, and discouragement on the writer. If you want to let the writer know you are looking forward to an update and are invested in the story, look at my last point in the comment tips above.

Going along with that, don't comment on how long it's been since the story has been updated. During some of my gaps where I just couldn't write for a number of different reasons, I would get frequent comments along the lines of "wow, this story hasn't been updated in a year, are you ever going to update?" Those reviews would make me feel SO bad. I was always intimately aware of how long it had been, and I think most authors are the same. Instead, writing a sweet, enthusiastic review with some of the tips above might just give the author the emotional and mental juice to work on that stalled WIP again.

If the author has a different headcanon about a character, event, etc that doesn't line up with your headcanon, don't comment on it. I recently got a review complaining that I write my Sauron as someone attracted to women. I personally headcanon Sauron as heteroromantic demisexual (which is also what I am), and that's the way I portray him in my fics. If the author's headcanon doesn't line up with yours and it bothers you enough to want to comment on it, that story might just not be for you. If you choose to read the fic, you are choosing to enter into the world of the author's headcanon and you should be respectful of it.

Similarly, if the author makes a choice for where to take their story that you don't care for, don't comment on it. You are perfectly within your rights to stop reading if you don't like the way the author chooses to take their story, but it is their story.

Don't point out mistakes unless you know whether the author is comfortable with it or not. I am personally fine with people pointing out typos or the like to me in public reviews, but some people can be sensitive about it. Check with the author privately rather than leaving a public comment to see what they are comfortable with.

Basically, it comes down to the old adage, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. If you keep your comments positive rather than negative, you're unlikely to say anything "wrong".

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Hopefully, this has been helpful! Now go forth and comment!

[viloxity]

Fluctuating Skies (Part 2 of 2) -- Yandere! Sung Jinwoo x Female Reader

Part 1

Synopsis: The scenario where the Monarchs rule Earth and the Shadow Monarch finds you in the New World A/N: it's finally here! thank you so much for the support on the previous part, i hope this lives up to expectation! reblogs and comments especially motivate me so let me know your thoughts <3 enjoy!

WC: 7.5k (oops)

Waking up to soft rays of light twinkling through cracks in the walls did not feel as invigorating as it should’ve been.

You slowly raised a hand to unwrap the blankets around you, stopping as yesterday’s events flashed through your mind. How could you even describe it? His behavior was becoming progressively uncanny and the foreboding that he would only get worse stuck with you. You felt like you were drowning, suddenly, weary eyes blinking to find yourself underwater in the middle of an endless ocean. You were surrounded by blue, as if you put on filtered sunglasses and now your world was the singularity of a color that reflected the same shade of the sky. Despite your circulatory system’s losing battle as the deep blue engulfed your trachea, you felt a sense of tranquility. Under the sky’s watchful gaze and the water’s gentle hands, you were protected. No longer did you have to suffer from the wars, the loss, the pain; you were free. Free to forget, free to explore, and free to experience.

You spent your time rejoicing under the guise that trepidation was a falsehood and forgetting that nothing was permanent because time waits for no one.

By the time you discerned the forgotten unpleasantry known as angst that did not belong in your Better World, it was too late.

You did not notice the inky black tendrils that were wrapping around your free-floating form.

You tried to swim away, to fight back, but they were relentless in caging you. The shadowy cage was reminiscent of a black tomb that fixated your view behind pole-like structures and entrapped you within something inescapable.

You distantly spotted a single immensely darkened creature as it swirled at the lower depths of the sea. The unknown entity eyed you hungrily from beyond the blackened bars, swimming patiently as you began to register once more the water bursting down your esophagus and into your lungs. You grabbed the bars with all your might and pulled, realizing too late that it only hastened your submerging. You were sinking deeper, closer to the unknown and closer to a fate that you would no longer be in control of. At last—before you buried the last of your desires—you screamed, attempting to curse out that disgusting monstrosity that spectated your descent to darkness; the water engulfed you, then, happy to oblige to your acceptance of asphyxiation.

The moment the light faded, your eyes shot wide open as your hands quickly moved away from clutching your throat. You gasped for breath, uncontrollably coughing as you wildly looked around. Your eyes finally settled on the streams of light pouring from the window, the rush of blood flowing past your ears beginning to fade. You then counted each beat of your heart, the tallying of each thump dissolving your heightened senses as you drifted under the threshold.

You hadn’t realized the moment you fell back asleep.

Gradually, as each night brought misery the second your eyes closed, you found yourself struggling to get a wink of sleep. The crevices of your mind were so desolate, so dolorous, that you shuddered at the mere notion of the night blanketing you. Each dream was similar, with some darkened figure watching over you like a god spectating their worshippers—never forwardly reacting, and never intervening. At the end of every scenario, you eerily felt that the entity delighted in your cycle of despair as previously neutral movements transitioned into fervent, animated motions. If it appeared like a shadowy humanoid, they would lean down and smile as you inevitably drifted towards them. In your most recent dream, it resembled a piranha that eagerly circled you as it waited to devour your impending despondence. Every single time, you remembered the creature, its face, its actions, and your anguish.

It had been a few days since your first meeting with Jinwoo, simultaneously marking the first day you began to fear the dark.

The darkness was another mask the sky used—a different side on the same coin of the marvelous bright blue you woke to. If the bright sky told you it was a beginning, the blackened night represented an end. Every day was unique; the beginning and end were never the same, nor did they repeat. A new day was a new beginning, while a new end was a new conclusion. In a society brimming with devastation, people tended to characterize ‘the end’ in this way—as a sum of its parts. This was a consequence, survivors learned, because it meant you neglected the substantiality of an imperfect world and became the first sacrifice as a method of fidelity to the strongest in the realm. The totality of the ending was the truth, because the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts in the New World.

You stopped looking at the other side of the coin because it was never meant for you. The strongest controlled the night sky and you had an inkling that Jinwoo might be one of them; a being that can write your ending so long as it satisfied him, his face abruptly flashing through your mind was enough to make you retch.

Your head turned towards the sky, somewhat covered by the walls of your home. At the very least, the morning sky was still your oyster—every morning was a fresh start that alleviated the pain of a predetermined ending. You learned to forgive it back then because you could not dream of never relying on it again.

You rose from under your bed covers. It was no longer something you could ignore.

To a degree, you were certain that there was some positive correlation between Jinwoo’s behavior and your nightmares. The more your mind flickered back to yesterday, the more unsalvageable his company looked. He was more a threat to your survivability than someone who you could befriend like the others. If it came down to it, you would possibly have to run the most you’ve ever done in your life. You were willing, but it was a matter of if you would get the chance to in the first place.

Jinwoo’s words from yesterday vividly echoed throughout your mind—in any case, there was no avoiding him today. You moved to the closet, creaky wooden doors opening to reveal you staring at your reflection. The mirror was placed in the middle of the closet, nearly engulfed by what looked to be a storm that passed through your belongings. You patted your face, fingers kneading away knit eyebrows as you tried not to focus on weary eyes and the tight line drawn on your face. Your affliction was proof of your dejection due to your new circumstance—it was unlike you to be in such a state. You survived to live freely and now you placed yourself in a predicament that threatened your state of being.

You ignored the sensation of faint prickling that tickled the corners of your lips.

Jinwoo was unpredictable, and that was a major problem in terms of survivability.

Damn it, how could you get out?

He was slowly beginning to root himself into your life and that was terrifying. Even worse, you were never clued in to his actual intentions—by a stroke of fate he gave you the ‘honor’ of his attention, and now he was feeding you handfuls. Was it a major oversight on your part, to not pay attention to such an action? Would your careless decision during a moment of vulnerability cost you everything? It was easy to envision how your life would eventually center around his, like a satellite orbiting a planet—Jinwoo’s raw strength and unknown capabilities could be enough to bend an individual to his desires. Said individual would no longer maintain the privilege of free choice; any option that was not correct—in his eyes—was a rash decision that betrayed his wishes.

Fuck. All paths that tied in Jinwoo involved a life half-lived.

Unless you were inferring too much. Everything thus far was still speculation, other than a few abnormalities in his usual solemn behavior. It had only been a few days, and yet your mind portrayed him as a villain.

And yet…

And yet it felt like he was hiding. The feeling that he was still lurking within the shadows, just like the first day you met him. That he was not… fully there. He was faded out, but if you cared to look a little closer, you would see that he wasn’t a normal shadow.

Your antsy temperance, driven by countless near-fatal encounters, never quelled itself in the presence of Jinwoo.

Either your mentality was cracking under pressure—his pressure—or the severe amount of devils advocate you played as a paroxysm of coping.

It would not be long until your mind landed itself in the grave, by his hand or yours.

You watched the intense rich shade of red trickle down your lips and onto your chin, its boldness absorbing your attention and trail suctioning color beneath its crimson hue. Perhaps the aching of your sensory receptors was a direct consequence of the peril you put yourself in—an unconscious and remorseful action.

You could not regret—there was no time, for he controlled that too.

Reaching for a towel to wipe the ruby from your face, a flash of purple streaked from the corner of your eye. You quickly turned but all your bulging eyes made contact with was the floor.

The floor and your shadow.

Your shadow was swirling, its outline swaying against the wooden floorboards and darkness crawling as it followed your movements. Within its depths was the image of a battle; the clash of fragments of hazel scattered throughout the pools of ink. Each unconquered piece slowly succumbed to the tide because lone soldiers were weak in the face of an army. As rich brown gradually swirled into deep black, you were reminded of the arachnids; the eight-legged creature that crawled where it pleased and patiently waited for its prey to fall into its carefully crafted web. The flush colored area that unluckily landed itself behind you was now trapped in a web of gloom, an inescapable route that held no other option but to wait for its end.

Akin to how your shadow absorbed the surroundings around it—colors swirling from vivid to black—you too were mesmerized by its outlandish ferocity. The way it continued to entrench on other areas despite your lack of movement gave you the feeling it was more lively than how you remembered it.

You moved a step back. You felt your heart racing as the shadow stormed after you, quickly discarding its entrapped victims and viciously tearing apart others to get to you. Once it reached your side, the shadow began to swirl around in its new area, straying slightly farther than your outline as it dragged other pieces of hazel within its midst.

You took several steps back, fearful eyes following your shadow’s barbaric barreling as its outline shook and swirling hastened. You could make out a small groaning sound, then a wave of sighs once the shadow reached you. Your shadow’s outline and swirling lessened in intensity, resuming its invasion sequence. Near the bottom of your feet, you almost didn’t make out the tiny inky strings that connected you to the shadow. You wanted to say they resembled hands, the way there were several small strings tied to one long string, but the swirling of the ink made it hard to make out.

Even in your own home you were going crazy.

Shortly after, you quickly got dressed and rushed out the door, never once looking back at your shadow.

The trek was fast because you did not bother to stop and look around for people to hand out food to. You were too absorbed in rethinking each encounter that you did not realize the man standing outside the shed.

“Glad to see you’re back.” Jinwoo greeted, body leaning against the shed with arms crossed. He was in a spot that offered him shade from the morning sun, dressed in his normal attire of all-black from head to toe.

You caught yourself from flinching, breaking out of your dazed state and willing yourself to speak to him.

“I, um, don’t see why not,” You meekly replied, the grip on the strap of your bag getting a little tighter. “The earthquake from yesterday did scare me, though.”

“There is no need to be afraid as long as I’m here,” Jinwoo said, pushing off the shed and stopping a shy few inches away from you.

You had not fully realized it, but Jinwoo really was an intimidating character. You never saw him at full height as he would always be sitting on something at some distance away from you and shrouded by shadows. With the way your eyes were nearly shoved into a face full of chest, you were struggling to maintain your fortitude against his domineering posture and terrorizing stare. His hands in his pockets could only do so much to shrink his broad shoulders that boldly shaped his black dress shirt.

Jinwoo leaned down toward you, head slightly tilted. His gray eyes immediately collapsed your own, unable to turn away as your heart beat sporadically. Soon the chirps of birds and the swaying of grass by the wind drowned out as static filled your ears. There was only static, until you made out faint whispering that echoed by your feet—it was incomprehensible, but it was there. You could not look away to confirm or deny your paranoia—to prove you maintained a piece of sanity—but that did not matter in the face of the ferocious beast in front of you. No, what you were more scared of now was if Jinwoo could hear how fast your heart raced—whether he could read your thoughts by glimpsing through your eyes and by the amount of time he’s spent in your head. You were able to push back the trembling, but how long could you hold it for?

A voice was murmuring underneath the ocean of sound, promptly silencing the whispers that plagued your ears.

“Huh?” Your mind was still mushy after the wave of panic passed you, having forgotten who was in front of you. The ringing static faded the harder your nails dug into your palm.

“No charity work today?” Jinwoo repeated, head tilting more at his inquiry. He leaned back, the mist clouding your mind finally settling as he separated from you.

Your fingers fiddling with the bag strap and the shuffling noise it emitted reminded you of the donations you were given today.

Wait—the donations. You sucked in a breath, trying to even out your breathing. It was made a point that you would always hand out food before meeting with him, as you would offer him the last piece you had. It was a consistent act that you performed despite only knowing Jinwoo for a minimal amount of time. How was he aware, that today of all days, was the one irregularity in your schedule?

You quickly cleared your throat. “I planned on going after meeting with you.”

Jinwoo hummed, eyes flashing to the small stream of red that trickled down your palm. His prolonged glare at the crimson liquid and clenched fists was nearly enough for you to voice your concern, but what could you even say? The tension in the air wound your vocal cords like tight knots with a string and you were too scared to unweave them.

The brief flicker of a violet hue immediately stilled your fiddling. The color was as vivid and deep as you remembered, so much so that your body couldn’t help but freeze.

There was no way he didn’t notice.

For a moment, the only sound you heard was the blood rushing through your ears as neither of you spoke a word.

Then, Jinwoo smiled. “I’ll go with you.”

“Ah—wait, um—“ You stuttered out a flood of incomprehensible blabber, quickly muted by the pattering of Jinwoo’s shoes as they trailed off in the direction you just came from.

Jinwoo turned after a few steps, eyelids slightly crinkled due to the corners of his lips being upturned. The way that his eyes were glazed over with a somber shade, the lines of his lips wavering from his strange smile, and his tight, restrained posture snipped the words of rejection off the tip of your tongue.

Oddly, your attention shifted to the floor. The sun was blaring strongly at the current hour, your shadow desperately clinging underneath you seeking respite from its isolation to other shadowy entities. You watched—in a state of shock and awe—as the shadow stretched its outline farther, almost as if extending an open hand, as Jinwoo crept closer to you. His silhouette looked animated as inky black pools excitedly swirled the closer it got. It was drawn to you—desperately trying to stay close to you—as if it was a planet orbiting the sun.

The gravity that must surround you enough to pull in an entity of the likes of possibly Jupiter—did it mean you were significant, someone that finally held power?

…Even then, would that be a good thing?

The sun’s gravity was strong enough to pull in other planets to its orbit, and they would remain there for however long the sun remained. If the sun moved, the planets moved with it.

The sun was significant, so the sun was trapped.

…Could the sun ever defy its fate?

Gray eyes pierced like needles into your skin.

“Shall we?”

“Please use this to take care of yourself.”

You handed a woman a portion of your donations, watching as she carefully grasped the bread before hastily running off in the opposite direction.

You did not blame the woman since the oppressive presence behind you was beginning to give you a headache. You could say he was like a shadow that followed your movement, but that felt obvious.

In any case, he felt more like a parasite. He fed off any and all emotions you had and indulged as if it were a banquet and you were a feast—when you smiled after someone was vigorously thanking you, the atmosphere felt lighter. If you so much as frowned at someone’s words, the inky shadows that trailed his form flickered harshly.

He shared your actions, albeit more ferociously.

It was out of the question telling him to leave, so was it within the realm of possibility to tell Jinwoo to calm down?

Speak of the devil—he suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

“Would you care to enlighten me for a moment?” You perked up at Jinwoo’s words. He was smiling, albeit a bit more widely when your eyes met his.

“What are your thoughts about ‘wielding power’?”

A spontaneous question; something you were never normally asked. Sure, people ask what ability you would have if you awakened but they never asked about the concept. The wording was… off putting to say the least, but….

You pursed your lips. “Power is the gauge of potential. An individual can hold a certain level of power and thus exert that same level of authority over those without it.”

The Hunters Association and all guilds used a similar basis. Individuals had power, but what about combining power? There was a reason why the top guilds all held S-ranks and many A-ranks.

“When it comes to wielding power, I don’t think my opinion matters.”

“Well, I asked specifically for it, no?”

You shook your head. “That’s not what I mean. My opinion is that I have no opinion because it’s something I could never experience.”

Hunters? Awakening? If you had not seen the end of the world you wouldn’t have believed such nonsensical words. Your life was so awfully normal that dropping your phone on the floor was likely a weekly highlight for you.

“Wielding power… is something I’ve merely wished for. More precisely, I wish for the ability to protect.”

“The ability to protect…” Jinwoo echoed, pondering for a moment. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his eyebrow twitching, as if he had decided something. You wanted to inquire, but he looked incredibly deep in thought.

Eventually, you gathered the courage to speak.

“Jinwoo—“

“Excuse me?” A male voice spoke out from your side.

A boyish-looking male came into view and the first thing you noticed was his tattered clothing. His shoes were completely worn while his satchel was tearing apart at the seams. His clothes and face were marred with dirt and you felt your heart tug a little.

He looked exasperated.

You nodded quickly, pulling out bread and a bottle of water. You ignored the annoyed grunt from behind you.

The way the boy’s eyes lit up… it was a reminder of why you pushed so far. The loss of folks you cherished so deeply nearly tipped you over the edge. No matter how many times you begged the wind to guide you to at least a breathing sibling, or knelt down crying in front of the small cemetery that would never hold a single one of your family members—it would not bring them back. But, doing some good for others felt good. It reminded you of the days when they were still there—the small smiles plastered on grateful faces morphed into ones that resembled familiar, joyful expressions.

Familiarity was comforting in a world that was anything but.

What was not familiar, however, was the sudden warmth you felt allocating your entire body. Your wide eyes met his closed ones—he had shaky arms wrapped around you while murmuring multiple thank you’s. It was an uncommon occurrence for passerby’s to show this degree of gratitude, mostly because of fear. It took you a few seconds to realize he was hugging you, but when you did, you hugged back. Maybe it was because his hug felt like your parents were embracing you, or that he distinctly sounded like your younger cousin. Maybe it was out of pity. Nonetheless, you hugged him back and patted his shoulder.

“You’ll be okay,” You mumbled. You weren’t sure if it was to yourself or to the boy.

The boy pulled away, hesitating before saying, “Please thank the man that was with you for me.”

You raised a brow. ‘Was’? You turned around, seeking a figure that was no longer there. Your body shook a bit, hair on your arms standing. Where did he go?

You weren’t paying attention to where he fled, or whether he said anything or not. It wasn’t like him to suddenly walk out, at least, you thought so.

Maybe that was why your chest felt so light.

You waved farewell to the boy after a few more minutes of him bowing, watching him vanish among the cluster of trees. You couldn’t help but take another sweep around to make sure Jinwoo left. The numerous amount of times you’ve experienced him doing something unpredictable still did not quell the insurmountable dread racking over you.

Some time passed during your small scavenge to see where he had gone and you ultimately decided to return home at the sight of the darkening sky. The sounds of the night… on occasion there were the croaks of animals but, really, all that remained were the small insects the strong never worried about. The more you thought about it, you and the people you knew resembled those same insects. You all buzzed around as a population and prayed the predators didn’t bat an eye at the footprints left behind. The moment the noises got loud enough, the population would be wiped in an instant.

You readjusted your bag strap as you stepped over a tree root. The narrow path signaled you were getting closer to home. The familiar twisting of branches and rocks ensnared in crevices eased your spiraling mind. Leaves crunched under your foot with each step and eventually was matched by the sound of your breathing. This, too, was familiar.

You took another step. Crunch.

Then another step. Crunch.

Another step. Cr—

The crunching noise was subsided by a light splash-like sound. You took another step, not quite registering the sudden change, yet felt a sticky substance beneath your feet. You looked down, seeing splatters of a mysterious liquid littered around leaves. It looked like there was a trail, but even when you squinted your eyes you could not make out what the liquid was. You continued to walk, splatters turning into pools and your feet felt like it was moving through mud. The brisk fresh air that felt easy to breathe began to filter out as dread filled your lungs. The trees parted out around this point now, and the village was just in sight. The crimson gleamed grimly under the moonlight and you willed your shaking knees to not give out. You wanted to let out a sob but your throat tightened as the wind picked up. Leaves, some dyed with red, flew past you and all you could do was linger on the familiar flow of hair that sat atop an unmoving body surrounded by waves of blood.

You refused to move outside of the village.

The first few days, you stranded yourself inside your home. After finding the corpse, you immediately ran to the village chief and reported it. You were interrogated for a short while, but upon determining your innocence—the crime scene did not match how clean your clothes were—you were allowed to return home. The tread back did not stop you from listening to the whispers of curious crowds.

“He was stabbed a grand total of 30 times all around his body.”

“Really? I would’ve thought some sort of monster had slaughtered him, the way he was completely torn through…”

“He looks awfully young… This is truly a tragedy.”

“What caused this?”

“Does anyone know who this is?”

You shut the door, leaning your head down and bumping it harshly against the wooden door.

The familiar patch of hair covered in blood, cold amber eyes, and scarred boyish features kept you awake that night.

You did not tell the others that you had met him hours prior—had given him a portion of the donations you always carried with you. Perhaps it was so you could grieve by your lonesome, or so you wouldn’t have to face reality just yet.

You mourned the fact you didn’t even know his name.

For the first time ever, you refused to hand out donations. Instead, you helped around the village. Your guilt was eating away at you and you needed a distraction. You helped repair houses, organize food, and babysat children. Each job wore you down worse than the other, to the point where you would pass out in bed. You took nearly every job in the hopes of being kept away from… thinking.

It worked out for a while. You stopped thinking about the body, and you stopped thinking about Jinwoo.

Jinwoo. It was not difficult to put the pieces together.

He was despair incarnate—an accident waiting to happen.

It was high time you stopped fooling yourself that he would be anything less than ‘normal’.

You refused to fathom the ‘why’ and ‘how’. He was not someone you wanted to concern yourself with anymore. Each event that played out, odd occurrences, and anxiety attacks all linked to him.

To be around him… it was like reliving trauma from the day the world collapsed.

Each day away from him you continued living your past life of normalcy. You didn’t second guess actions of others, less nightmares, and you stopped paying attention to your shadow. There was a slight pull on your heart sometimes, one that resembled fear, and it motivated you go all the way for a fresh new start.

By the end of the week, you would move out. Based on the local nomads that come and go from your village, there was another shelter farther from here. It would be a long journey—not an easy feat—but you welcomed this as a new experience.

You were going to put everything behind you and live free. Your lost family, friends—maybe they would rest more easily knowing you finally stopped clinging to their memories.

You opened the closet door and looked into the mirror. Your face looked brighter and fuller. You smiled to the reflection, happy that for the first time in forever you were proud of yourself.

A heavy knock sounded at your door and you practically bounced over. It could be one of the parent’s wanting you to watch their children again; someone like May would want her daughter to get a proper goodbye.

An unfamiliar face greeted you at the door and you were taken aback by her petrified expression. Your smile dropped near instantaneously.

“T-The c-center… y-you…” The woman was quivering so much you thought she would fall.

You did not need to hear the rest of her words to start sprinting towards the village’s center.

The center had a good amount of space for larger-than-normal gatherings and meetings. Closest to the center housed the village’s chief, so any and all important duties always beelined to the center.

Certainly there was not a special meeting today, otherwise you would’ve heard about it. A surprise occasion, perhaps?

You spotted a giant cluster of people swarming the center. Roughly speaking, nearly the entire village’s population was gathered outside with even the scavengers joining the party based off the number of familiar heads you saw. The large crowd of people made you more suspicious. This was definitely not normal. You could make out numerous terrified whispers beyond the turning heads and mouths behind their hands. It was only when you got closer that you realized this was not a normal gathering.

At the edges of the crowd and covered in a thick, deep black were multiple entities. They varied in form from large bears, elves, ants, and wolves to humanoid figures covered in armor. You would’ve assumed them to be beasts if not for their color and that they were not attacking the unarmed civilians they surrounded.

A gut-wrenching feeling was pooling. All of the village was gathered, there were beasts patrolling thought to be untamable, and you specifically were reached out to. Your house was a bit out of the way—it was the one closest to the edge and furthest from the center. It would make sense why you did not hear the commotion, but it did not make sense for you to be called on out of everyone else.

In a moment you made up your mind. The beasts were busy watching over the crowd so you took quiet steps to back away. It was better to make distance in case you needed a head start—something you wish you did when the portals opened and you were too awestruck to move.

There was growling heard from a wolf as a woman attempted to leave.

You took a few more steps back. If you reached a bit farther back you could block yourself with the bushes.

In any case, the situation looked dire enough for you to debate running to another village for help. The closest one was about a day or two’s worth of walking, it was a risk but what other option did you possibly have? All the people here were in danger, yet again, you were powerless. What a bitter feeling.

You took another step only to stop at the sound of groaning behind you.

You turned, nearly falling to the floor at the sight in front of you.

The figure was tall—tall enough that you had to turn your head up to see its head. Similar to its peers, it was completely encased in an inky black. Now that you could get a closer look, you also noticed dark clouds pooling around the entity, almost like a mist-like substance was protruding from it. It confirmed that whatever these… things were, they were not normal portal creatures. Your eyes trailed slowly from its darkened plates—was that armor?—to two white orbs. Its white eyes were staring holes into you, face hidden behind an armor helmet. You watched in horror as the plume atop its head waved, metal creaking as it bent its top half forward. You were expecting hostility; perhaps the being would usher you forcefully into the crowd or treat you as if you escaped. To your surprise, the head dipped—it went low enough for the white to disappear. The right hand of the knight was placed gently against the center of its chest and it kept its head down for a few moments. Was it… bowing?

You moved to sprint but the knight’s head shot up. It narrowed its eyes in a way that said ‘don’t’. The moment you saw the heavy sheathed sword strapped to its side you stopped. You felt your eye twitch as it waved its hand in the direction of the center, motioning for you to step forward first. You could clearly see, then, the other shadowy entities staring at you and how the armored knight perfectly stood atop your shadow. You were caught in the same trap as the others, the sinking feeling in your chest unyielding.

You reluctantly made your way towards the center. Following your steps behind you was the sound of metal grating and heavy thudding against the clear plain. No matter how many times you pinched yourself, the sight remained the same: large crowd and beasts. It reminded you so vividly of back then that you couldn’t stop the trembling in your legs. As you approached the crowd, their faces reflected your shaking: uneasy and fearful. Some shadows moved to part the crowd, allowing you an easier entryway towards the center. They mimicked what the knight from before did, all bowing in their own way.

You felt everyone staring and never before did you feel so anxious.

The sudden hushes from the crowd that swiftly turned into silence allowed you to hear the booming voices in the distance.

The familiar sinking of your heart stimulated the fully formulated sensation of fear—a new-found source of dread entirely because one of the booming voices you recognized.

“…This offer is beneficial to you, is it not?” A deep voice said, sending a tremor down your spine.

“It is a negotiation, not an offer,” Another voice said, “I am uncertain of your terms so I cannot comply.”

There was a long, drawn-out sigh. You peeked from behind the shoulder of a soldier in front of you, praying you wouldn’t be noticed.

Jinwoo ran a hand through his messy dark hair, eyes practically glowering at the village chief. The leader of the community—the one who allocates and organizes everyone’s resources while ensuring safety—is known as the village chief. For the minor semblance to how past society lived, they were elected periodically by the community. You talked to him recently about the body, but… why was he talking to Jinwoo?

Wait, why was Jinwoo even here?

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I only asked for your permission out of convenience.”

“After all, the person I was waiting for is finally here.”

You cowered behind the soldier, watching as his eyes raked through the entire crowd until stopping on you.

“Isn’t that right, Y/N? Come out now.” He was beckoning you forward with his hand, index finger wagging at you as if trying to cage a scared puppy.

Jinwoo, of the attire you’ve seen him in previously, was wearing something different. Instead of slightly ragged clothes he was wearing a long black coat with silver engravings around the shoulder and wrists. He wore a clean white shirt underneath along with black pants and formal black shoes—the outfit would’ve screamed ‘money’ to you if there was such things as designer still.

He was befitting to be someone of high society, in fact.

Your eyes met with the village chief and it seemed he immediately understood the situation. He was mouthing ‘no’ at you, trying to deter you—this was enough to keep your feet planted.

You remained still. Soon enough, you felt something spike in the air, the shadows beneath his coat tail flicking wildly at your impertinence. The entities surrounding the crowd grew restless, with the shadow-being you were hiding behind shaking. Jinwoo was staring bullets into you, even behind the soldier, and the shadows were as well.

“Move.” Jinwoo flicked his wrist towards the soldier and it immediately crumbled into a dark cloudy mist. The essence then moved back towards Jinwoo’s shadow, becoming absorbed into his outline.

Petrified, you stood still. A lot of things started to click as you began to realize what Jinwoo’s true power was. The way his shadow never stood still or how your own never acted quite right… it made sense.

Now you were staring at him and he was staring at you. Jinwoo gave you a slight wave.

He smiled. “I missed you.”

You were too scared to open your mouth with how tight your throat was.

Jinwoo turned to the tall knight next to you. “Good work, Igris. Now—“

The knight nodded his head, white eyes still watching you.

“—I’d like to discuss our future.” There was a glow emitting from Jinwoo’s eyes, light shining on his violet pupils.

He held out his hand, tapping the right palm of the hand using his left index finger. “From now on, the people living here will act under me.”

What? What did he say?

“I reject!” The village chief roared. “For someone like you to show up like this…”

“Quiet.” Jinwoo held a finger to his lips, purple eyes violently flashing.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

He turned towards you. “I will protect all that live here.”

Jinwoo licked his lips. “In return, Y/N, you will be my betrothed.”

No. No, no, no, no.

No.

After all that has happened, maybe it was because of him. Just him. He single-handedly ruined the remaining good parts of your life and for what? To be some selfish bastard?

No. No way.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jinwoo?” You shouted, holding back tears. No wonder his behavior was so goddamn psychotic—he wanted you to be his lover?

“I barely know who the hell you are, and what you’re doing right now is absurd. Just who are you?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Do you really not know?” He tapped a finger against his cheek.

“Have you heard of the Monarchs?”

Monarchs? Did he mean the Monarchs of Calamity?

Although you experienced the end of the world, you were unfamiliar concerning its origin. There were multiple theories that were shared with you, such as planned gate-opening or that multiple outbreaks occurred simultaneously due to probability. A leading theory was that there were beings, named Monarchs, who acted as divinity because they possessed power that rivaled gods. Even when the S-rank hunters of other countries joined forces, they were unable to be on equal footing with the Monarchs. These Monarchs, for an unbeknownst reason, released an unnatural calamity upon the world—hence the name ‘Monarchs of Calamity.’ You never pondered this theory—why would you want to reflect on the idea that a disaster was intentionally brought upon you? The fact that it was brought up means…

“…Are you a Monarch?” You asked, eyes flashing towards the darkened knight he called ‘Igris.’

“I am the Monarch of Shadows.” Jinwoo sneered at the title, the corner of his lips momentarily quirking upward as he watched despair flash over the village chief’s face.

It seemed Jinwoo did not like your own befallen expression, though.

“It’s of interest to you because that means I am also the leader of Monarchs.” You curled your right fist, squeezing your nails as hard as you could against the palm of your hand.

“In terms of protection, I am the best there is.” Jinwoo continued, waving towards his army—monstrosities that have already conquered countless civilizations within a blink of an eye.

“The people you love now… I can take care of them. All you have to do is say yes.”

You looked back towards the crowd. They were still anxious and afraid. The familiar faces you saw, the children, the families… this was cruel. If you said no, would he—

“Do you remember the conversation we had the other day, about power?” Jinwoo asked suddenly. The way his eyes were watching you so intently, that he was eagerly awaiting your responses frightened you more than anything. You saw him flick his wrists, pulling out something from within his shadow. There was a gleam of red and immediately you let out a scream for him to stop but it was far too late.

There was a loud thud next to you and you nearly vomited.

“Your wish to obtain power… I can grant it, so long as you become my Queen.”

There, lying on the ground next to you, was the unmoving body of the village chief. The one who attempted to protect this little community to the very end, who tried to shield you despite the circumstances, and stood up to a Monarch despite not wielding power himself. There was a large, red dagger driven deep into his chest. As his blood pooled out onto the floor, the screaming began. Men shouted and roared out of fear and anger, some women screamed while others covered the childrens’ eyes. The dagger currently lodged in his chest made you blink once, then twice.

You gasped suddenly, your mind flashing back to the corpse of the boy who was overly cheerful—the image of the deep slash marks, riddled with slashes that tore out skin from bone churned through your head.

“You… the boy—it was you, wasn’t it?” You choked out, reaching for the village chief.

“He overstepped, by touching what is mine,” Jinwoo hissed, expression smoldering and hair bristling. “It’s unforgivable.”

The shadows were shrieking now, trying to tame the crowd while their Monarch was simmering. He was about to burst, but you were already on the edge. You were so overwhelmed, so tired of him and whatever despair he brought with him, that you started letting go.

“You’re a monster. A cruel, unruly, disgusting monster.” You sharply emphasized every word, hoping it stabbed as deep as he did to those innocent people. “I will never agree to your dogshit proposal.”

The yelling of the crowd began turning into shattering shrieks and now everything was unraveling to be a slaughter. There were brave people who fought and those who fled. Those who were caught began to follow the village chief. The sound of constant thudding flooded your mind but all you could simply do was tearfully stare at the corpses.

It was like the end of the world all over again.

Jinwoo held a firm hand against his face, a purple eye peeking through his fingers to peer at you.

“I still have yet to understand you. Death is such an easy thing yet you act like it’s your first time witnessing it everytime…” Jinwoo softly gritted his teeth.

“However, if death is the only issue, then it’s fixable.” Jinwoo raised a hand towards the village chief, the shadowy cloud quickly enveloping the corpse.

“Arise.”

Everything happened so quickly that you were nearly convinced you had blacked out. From the corpse that remained on the now bloody floor rose a new shadowy figure. This time, it was in the very shape of the man who you saw killed just moments ago. In fact, multiple other figures emerged from unmoving bodies that sat on the ground. Each face was a face that you recognized as people you interacted with daily. They were familiar, yet not at the same time—their faces were dull, expressionless, as if they became puppets and were waiting for the master to pull the strings.

“Queen,” The village chief spoke next to you and you stepped back out of alarm. “You are the Queen.”

“Queen,” The crowd repeated in unison. “You are the Queen.”

Stop.

Queen. It was like standing in an echo chamber.

You are the Queen. Was he this heartless?

Queen. You are the Queen.

“Stop,” You whispered.

Queen. Some children were repeating it too.

You. Are. The. Queen.

“Stop it!” You screamed, holding both hands against your ears as you finally let a sob rack over your body.

You heard footsteps approaching you, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it all to stop—everything. All the pain, the suffering, the memories. You were tired. Enough fighting, enough thinking—just, please, stop.

A warmth enveloped your body and you felt a hand gently uncover one side of your ear.

“I have waited so long for you, so accept me.” Jinwoo’s breath tickled your ear and you couldn’t help but shiver.

"Just as you belong to me, I belong to you. Any item you want, I will give. Any person you dislike will vanish within an instant.”

If you want the stars in the sky, I will lay them at your feet. If you want to conquer the entire sky, it will all be yours."

“Just be mine.”

[understrangeforbiddenskies]

fic recs !!!

this is a collection of some fics i have read over the past few years that i feel should be shared with others (fair warning, there is 18+ content here)! this list will be continously updated as much as possible.

i would like to give a HUGE thank you to these amazing authors, you are all so talented and i am so grateful for these fics.

last updated: 03/06/2025

STRANGER THINGS

eddie munson x reader

simmer by @upsidedownwithemmy (this is my number ONE!!!)

summary: welcome to hawkins’ number one diner! where the staff don’t wanna be there and the linecook is a grumpy metal head who likes to argue with his boss and ignore everyone else. but the new waitress can’t hack the rude customers and the regulars can be a little… much. (18+)

truly by @caxde

summary: you and eddie are best friends, oblivous to each others' feelings until someone helps you realise.

THE LAST OF US

ellie williams x reader

invisible string by @elleloquently

summary: college!ellie au x reader

abby anderson x reader

this is about bio, right? by @rhyrhy

summary: you just needed a tutor. you didn’t expect abby anderson, loser of the year, to get under your skin.

joel miller x reader

honey, stomach, mine by @netherfeildren

summary: existence is a needful thing. choice is fickle, nature inescapable. run to the end of the world, joel, all those things will still find you. she'll still come for you or the a/b/o outbreak au. (18+)

YELLOWJACKETS

nat scatorccio x reader

casual by @letorip

summary: you and nat have been hooking up, but it seems the label of "no attachment" just seems to hurt you both. (18+)

part 1 part 2 part 3

a fractured line by @natsredbra

summary: after your boyfriend breaks up with you, you find solace in your sworn enemy (and realize that obsessing over a girl for years isn't very straight of you). (18+)

part 1 part 2

shauna shipman x reader

the butcher by @wandas-darling

summary: a series of events in which your relationship with shauna develops while you're out in the wilderness. a certain spark ignites after you share a kiss and it turns out that as much Shauna liked using her knife on you, she likes seeing it in your hands just as much. (18+)

jackie taylor x reader

take me like you do in your dreams by @rhiannonsknife

summary: secretly hooking up with jackie taylor. (18+)

THE BEAR

carmy berzatto x reader

the bear and the beehive by @nicksolemnlyswears

summary: in which carmy falls for the sweet café owner that supplies him with endless americanos. (18+)

the bear and the bean by @starryeyedstories

summary: after breaking up with your awful ex, you follow your dream of opening a little coffee shop in chicago. falling in love with the chef who owns the restaurant down the street, however, was not part of the plan.

THE WALKING DEAD

daryl dixon x reader

is it better to speak or to die? by @xwritingdixonx

summary: after being rescued from woodbury by rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. the trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the governor drag you to the deepest depths. a certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

ARCANE

sevika x reader

new look by @sunflowerwinds

summary: your girlfriend surprises you with a new haircut and piercing while your babysitting isha for the night. with her new arm missing, sevika adapts to one arm. being as caring as you were, you try to help her as often as possible.

BALDUR'S GATE THREE

gale dekarios x reader

to admit everything by @meownotgood

summary: several months after your adventure's conclusion, gale invites you to visit his tower in waterdeep — and finally, he finds the courage to admit his feelings for you. (18+) ( (

downpour by @sorceresssundries

summary: after so long trapped in the shadow-cursed lands, tav basks in the delight of feeling the rain on her skin. (18+)

STARDEW VALLEY

shane x reader

just the worst by @Ham_Hocks (over on ao3!)

summary: shane's not too keen on any resident of pelican town, but the new farmer in town deserves special credit for drawing his ire in a new way. but as the months progress, an unlikely friendship grows between them, and shane will eventually have to decide whether or not he can really open up to her. (18+)

[unsolicited-opinions]

this is a genuine question: why do you think the queer community is so bad when it comes to the antisemitism and even the overt Hamas support? I can’t figure it out at all. Jews have always been a huge part of and even pioneers in the community. now we’re banned and harassed and unsafe. I see a pride flag online these days and feel terror because I expect a watermelon or red triangle to be right next to it, it’s happened so often. I’d feel safer in a church than at a pride event. why do they hate us so much now? even those of us who are also part of that community?

I've been trying to figure that out, too.

I was pretty sure that the origin was in postmodern academia, but I didn't know much more.

I have never formally engaged with Queer Studies, nor with Gender and Sexuality Studies,so I had no idea where to start.

Someone on #jumblr (I regret that I don't recall who) pointed out this collection of essays, Poisoning the Wells: Antisemitism in Contemporary America.

Chapter 2 is "Pinkwashing Antisemitism: The Origins of Queer Anti-Israeli Discourse by Dr. R. Amy Elman.

I'm way outside my wheelhouse here, despite holding a degree in one of the social sciences.[1]

I'm going to try to summarize this in a way which is shorter and more digestible than reading the whole thing, but there's a link to the whole thing at the bottom of this Very Long Post.

Disclaimers:

1. Acknowledging the depth of my ignorance:

I don't have the contextual knowledge to know with confidence if this is an intellectually honest argument, or even if the history is fairly presented. If anyone on Jumblr has more experience studying this topic, I'd sure welcome their thoughts.

2. A note to LGBTQ+ readers on "queer":

I understand that some in the LGBTQ+ community don't care for the term "queer," and some regard it as a slur. I have tried, for this reason, to cease using this word in my daily life. Below, I'm going to use the word "queer" a lot here, however, because Elman does and the scholars she discusses do. If you're among those who dislike this term or find it hurtful, I hope that you will not see my doing so as a slur or an insult

3. My editorial comments are in blue.

4. This is long. Not as long as the article itself, but long for Tumblr. You are forewarned.

Got a coffee or an energy drink?

Continue below the break:

Elman says the increasing appeal of queer politics was for specifically millennials, and the BDS movement actively pursued a "queer" plank to broaden its appeal.

This tracks.

She says that Leaders from both movements saw a potential for synergy, with some suggesting queers could transform BDS from a "vanguard movement" to a "popular" movement.

Elman gives a history of the "Queer Movement" in which she argues its adherents are particularly susceptible to BDS's "pinkwashing" accusations.

She says:

- "Queer" is an intentionally broad, deliberately ambiguous term encompassing various sexual and gender minorities who reject traditional LGBT politics as conservative.

- The queer movement emerged in the late 1980s and early 1990s in opposition to both neo-liberalism and feminists who critiqued sadomasochism (S/M) and the sex industry.

- This opposition to feminist critiques of the eroticization of inequality, says Elman, is a crucial factor in understanding queer politics' susceptibility to antisemitism.

- Elman says early queer activists prioritized passion over reason, making them potentially vulnerable to harmful ideologies.

The Feminist Sex Wars

- There was conflict, says Elman, between lesbian feminists and proponents of S/M, arguing that the increasing acceptance of S/M within the lesbian community weakened its ability to resist fascist values.

I don't see the need to politicize whatever one enjoys in private as long as it is safe, sane, and consensual, but okay.

- Elman draws a parallel between the eroticization of fascism in the past (referencing Susan Sontag and Sheila Jeffreys' concerns about Nazi aesthetics in queer subcultures) and the current uncritical embrace of certain radical ideologies.

- Elman says the embrace of "outlaw" identities and the downplaying of the harmful implications of S/M practices (including the use of fascist symbols for parodic purposes) are problematic trends within queer politics.

Which made me think of seeing Queers for Palestine protestors calling Jews "Nazis" and combining the swastika with the mogen David.

- Elman argues that the rise of queer politics led to the silencing and marginalization of lesbian feminists who focused on women's rights and opposed the industrialization of sexuality and S/M.

Like Andrea Dworkin?

- Elman says Queer Theorists have dismissive attitudes towards lesbian feminist concerns and that the once-flourishing spaces and intellectual contributions of lesbian feminists were diminished within the broader "queer" coalition.

As a cishet man, I had thought the broadening of the movement, the addition of each letter in LGBTQ+, gave all parts of it more strength, but it seems obvious to me now that lesbian concerns aren't always the same (and may not be aligned with) gay men's concerns, enby concerns, trans concerns, etc.

I can see how being subsumed by a larger movement could dampen the voices of its different component populations and diminish the perceivability of the points on which they don't agree.

Judith Butler features prominently here.

- Elman seems to say Butler's nuanced stance on her lesbian identity is rather different from her non-nuanced Jewish identity, and it is "as a Jew" that she declares her anti-Zionism.

...in 1989, [Butler] was asked to provide a lesbian lecture and responded that she would rather describe herself as "being" homosexual because identifying as lesbian felt "neither true nor false." Yet, she demonstrates no similar reluctance to claim a Jewish identity years later. To the contrary, it is "as a Jew" that she condemns Israel and vows to develop a Jewish opposition to Zionism.

A decade after Butler vacillated over being lesbian, she similarly described her nearly two-decade-long relationship to S/M discourse as "active and complicated," a position in keeping with the tenor of her fourth book, The Psychic Life of Power. In it, Butler speaks of her "paradoxical" embrace of "injurious" names because they "constitute" her "socially."

Huh. Jewish identity without nuance? I'm not sure I've ever seen that...?

- Elman says Butler's engagement with S/M discourse and her concept of erotically embracing oppressive power structures are linked to the potential eroticization of antisemitism and the demonization of Israel.

As Martha Nussbaum explains, the central thesis of The Psychic Life of Power is that “we all eroticize the power structures that oppress us, and can thus find sexual pleasure only within their confines.”

If Nussbaum is correct, there may be no better explanation for the ongoing eroticization of antisemitism and the demonization of Israel.

So concerned was Nussbaum by Butler’s influence on American women’s studies programs in the 1990s that she concluded,

"There is despair at the heart of the cheerful Butlerian enterprise. The big hope, the hope for a world of real justice, where laws and institutions protect the equality and the dignity of all citizens, has been banished, even perhaps mocked as sexually tedious. Judith Butler’s hip quietism is a comprehensible response to the difficulty of realizing justice in America. But it is a bad response. It collaborates with evil. Feminism demands more and women deserve better."

"Hip quietism" makes me want to read more Nussbaum.

Butler was chair of the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission (later renamed Outright First)...which was a UN recognized organzation. While the name might cause the casual observer to to think it would focus on gays and lesbians, it has seemed to focus on Israel.

Outright First claims it advances LGBT rights through awards consistent with its agenda, yet the first of these was not made until 2005, fifteen years after its founding and the same year that BDS was ostensibly established.

That year, the organization honored Mary Robinson, who decriminalized homosexuality as Ireland’s first woman president (from 1990-1997).

Robinson also served as the UN’s first woman High Commissioner for Human Rights and, in this capacity, Robinson oversaw the 2001 UN World Conference against Racism, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance in Durban, South Africa.

Despite the conference’s noble rhetoric, the antisemitism that it manifest led Robinson to resign in disgrace.

It was in Durban that “anti-racist” organizers revived the scurrilous Soviet charge from decades earlier that Zionism is a form of racism and Israel is an apartheid state. Although Robinson called these allegations inappropriate and unacceptable, she did not reject the conference’s final declaration that contained them.

Ach. The feckin' Irish again.

...in 2008, Desmond Tutu became the second recipient of the organization’s “Outspoken” Award. Tutu, a Nobel prize winning anti-apartheid activist, is also an outspoken critic of Israel for “practicing apartheid” in its policies against the Palestinians. While he too condemned bigotry against gay men and lesbians, like Robinson, Tutu may be better known for his opposition to Israel than for any long-standing and deep defense of LGBT rights. Thus, one wonders whether the “critical partnerships” Outright First fostered were less those that promoted the world’s LGBT communities than those that helped legitimize anti-Israel activism.

This example, it seems to me, is a more appropriate illustration of “pinkwashing”:

that is, pinkwashing may be less about bolstering Israel’s reputation than providing Israel’s sworn enemies a seemingly progressive mask behind which to conceal their animus.

Pinkwashing, Triangles, and Softcore Holocaust Denial

The term "pinkwashing" initially referred to corporate profiteering from pink-themed breast cancer awareness campaigns.

Elman contrasts this with the reclamation of the pink triangle by gay activists as a symbol of defiance after the Stonewall riots, noting that this is a "disturbing" appropriation of a Nazi symbol.

Years before American corporate executives bolstered sales through gender-conforming pink promotionals to women, American gay male activists openly embraced pink to signify their gendered defiance after the Stonewall riots of 1969.

This political reclamation manifested itself in their adoption of the pink triangle Nazis used to denote and facilitate the destruction of those men they identified as homosexual. That this exclusively male Nazi symbol came to signify LGBT rights is disturbing and reveals a movement that, whether through ignorance or choice, embraced a fascist aesthetic

Is that fair? The idea of reclaiming is to take the symbol away from the oppressor and redefine it, right?

ACT UP's use of the pink triangle and its analogies between the AIDS crisis and the Holocaust are presented as examples of "softcore" Holocaust denial that paved the way for later strained comparisons.

By 1987, the Nazi pink symbol gained American prominence when the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP) used it for its logo, which also read “Silence Equals Death.”

Founded by Larry Kramer, ACT UP’s mission involved combating the public’s indifference to “the AIDS Holocaust.” Equating the epidemic with Jewish genocide, ACT UP’s gay pride float that year depicted a concentration camp within which activists posed behind barbed wire. Kramer’s book, Reports from the Holocaust: The Making of an AIDS Activist, further popularized this agitprop and the pink triangle marked its cover. As the HIV death toll mounted across the globe, ACT UP’s rhetoric and the Nazi triangle became internationally ubiquitous

So Elman believes this was softcore Holocaust denial through universalization/appropriation by the queer movement.

Holocaust images...absent the Jews. We see a lot of that on social media from the LGBTQ+ community right now.

BDS and "pinkwashing"

Sarah Schulman, an ACT UP alum, was as a key figure in popularizing the "pinkwashing" accusation against Israel. Here's an inside look at how that happened:

And here's Schulman's 2011 NYT piece:

If you need to get past the paywall, use this link.

Schulman's argument is that Israel's promotion of its LGBTQ+ rights is a cynical tactic to conceal human rights violations against Palestinians.

It couldn't be a natural outcome of an electorate with a majority which is socially liberal enough to not want to persecute their LGBTQ+ family members? Why not?

Oh, it's because Jews are sneaky and devious /s

Elman critiques Schulman's anti-racist pretense, arguing it invisibilizes Israel's diverse population and misrepresents the motivations behind Israel's LGBTQ+ initiatives.

The investment in Tel Aviv as a gay vacation destination is acknowledged, but its negative framing by BDS as "pinkwashing," says Elman, creates not just an entry point for antisemitism, but also a permission structure.

Soon "pinkwashing" took on a different meaning from the one intended by the women who originally coined it.

When applied by "pinkwatchers" whose sights are trained exclusively on Israel, the accusation became an entry point for antisemitism.

According to Wikipedia, it now describes "a variety of marketing and political strategies aimed at promoting products, countries, people or entities through an appeal to gay-friendliness in order to be perceived as progressive, modern and tolerant."

As Cary Nelson observed, "the pinkwashing accusation gives license" to condemn Israel, while discounting all of its achievements (e.g. legal protection against sexual orientation discrimination, recognition of same sex marriages, joint adoption, and open military service) without any reservation.

Want to know the first thing Sarah Schulman posted to Twitter on 10/7/23?

Here's Canary Mission's page about Schulman.

Elman continues:

There may be no better way to simultaneously encourage antisemitism and dismiss Israel’s LGBT initiatives (whatever their shortcomings) than to insist those efforts undermine the rights of Palestinians.

Were it not for BDS double-speak, Schulman could not maintain that she “never” betrayed queer people, despite her having acted in “solidarity” with “presumably straight Palestinians” to oppose Israel’s LGBT community.

Like countless other “queers” who take “pride” in being “ashamed” Jews, she received political “guidance” from “presumably straight” folks like Omar Barghouti, the purported founder of BDS.

Known for his explicit desire to “euthanize” the “Zionist project” and his vocal opposition to the two-state solution, Barghouti insists that not even “the end of occupation” will end his struggle.

Elman wraps up:

Like “Islamophobia,” “pinkwashing” and its corollary “homonationalism” are accusations often employed to silence critics while simultaneously providing those who issue them the appearance of being concerned about LGBT people and other minorities. Yet, this posturing offers little in return.

In fact, these denunciations are in keeping with the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation’s longstanding assault on homosexual conduct, gender equality, and universal human rights at myriad UN fora under the insidious cover of anti-racism and anti-imperialism.

You can grab a PDF of the whole book here.

That BDS similarly promotes itself through the cynical appropriation of social movements and ostensibly progressive claims that vilify the Jewish state represents a consummate act of public diplomacy in which anti-semitism itself has been pinkwashed.

_________

You read the whole thing, so have a cookie: 🍪

[1] I agree with Neil Postman that the social sciences would more accurately be called moral theologies...and are not sciences.

You can read more about Postman's point here if you want to know what I mean by that..

[rotagnus]

summer bummer! what this upcoming summer will bring to you ! <3

choose a pile; :-x pile 1--silly cat drawing. pile 2--beautiful pink lilies. pile 3--blue-green depths.

this pick a pile will contain the following sections; ^_^

self. job/financial/scholarly prospects. relationships & friendships. overall messages. hobbies/habits to develop to prepare for this season.

pile 1.

overall messages: i'm hearing that this summer, you'll truly be able to relax. a lot of you are the kind of people who work very hard; right now is the hardest part of the year, darling. maybe you're studying for exams or slaving away at a 9-5 that doesn't truly bring you peace. maybe you've let go of friends, or let go of a relationship that brought you more pain than joy, and you're reminiscing on the good parts. i think that summer will truly bring you good things, primarily the ability to let go of the bad. this'll come to you in june; the rest of the summer will prove you wrong, but only if you're able to shed your old skin despite the overwhelming fear of new things being worse than before. you guys are strong people, always protecting, fighting, like a cornered dog, but eventually even strays are taken in, are they not? you don't need to be afraid of every opportunity that comes your way. you've been trained to listen to your flight or fight instinct, but the truth is that not everything and everyone you cross paths with is an enemy.

this will be a time to nourish yourself. to go within and spend time alone by the seaside or tanning in your backyard, listening to a podcast. you're going to truly sink into your feminine energy, taking care of yourself. it'll come easily to you, more so than before. a lot of you are generally younger and everything feels so much more sensitive to you, because a lot of the events that are in your life are occurring for the first time, and it may be difficult to navigate these things, especially since a lot of you didn't have necessarily supporting older figures. most of you, however, will be connecting with mother earth this summer. i strongly advise you to not linger in your home, and instead go walking bare-foot along the shore, if that's available to you. if not, go sunbathe, go walk through the forest and smell the flowers and just be. i know that it's hard to turn off your mind sometimes, but this'll come to you like an instinct in summer. you'll learn what it's like to truly love yourself; to spend time with yourself and be content without constantly wishing for more.

self: a lot of you will be harnessing your talents and strong suits this summer. you'll have a lot of free time on your hands, and you'll be able to refine and redefine who you are. it'll be a time of shedding your skin; this is the second time i'm saying it, so i think snakes/reptiles may be significant to you. you guys may find a new hobby to do, particularly one that is more specific to this season, and it'll make you guys feel happy. you guys are starving artists, and you'll get more inspiration. a lot of you will receive reward for something you worked hard before, maybe a wish or manifestation, but this will take time to appear and your main lesson will be to be patient. you guys think that just because you can't see something, means that it doesn't exist. but it does. you have to find the existing pillars and lean against them before searching for others. a lot of you would benefit from writing down things that you're grateful for, or even laying in the sun and saying thanks to the universe for all that she has given you.

job/financial/scholarly prospects: a lot of you may step into new territory which gives you more independence. some may be moving on to college/graduate studies, or a higher role in jobs. financially, you'll be doing well; maybe budgeting or being more mindful of what you're spending money on. you guys are responsible people, so overall, i think that you'll be a-okay this summer considering these prospects. you guys have issues with investing energy at good intervals, so i'd be mindful of that, making sure that you're not burning yourself out. be careful not to overspend to get earthly pleasures too often, and don't be too giving to other people, not even financially so, but just in general. you guys are loyal and would do anything for your friends and family, but that's not always a wise idea.

relationships & friendships: you guys will be doing so good people-wise. a lot of you have had difficult friendships, or are going through it right now, but most of these will be things that slowly go away or disappear prior to summer. you'll be establishing boundaries before summer comes, and you won't have to worry that much about other people as you are now. i'm hearing gossip, so i would strongly suggest that you stay away from people who have a tendency to talk shit. even if they talk shit to you, they can talk shit about you, too, just behind your back. i think that a lot of you have your eyes set on a significant person right now, a crush or a lover. for established relationships, this summer will be like a honeymoon. for crushes, this'll either fall away prior to summer or stay strong throughout it. i'd highly recommend you evaluate whether this crush will be good for you or not, because we do get what we wish for, pile 1--but the things we want aren't always the best for us.

hobbies/habits to develop prior: for you guys, i would definitely suggest to create boundaries right now. evaluate people who you truly want in your life, and who you don't. your reading had a general theme of having the ability to choose and get what you want; however, if you guys continue keeping up with fake friendships and false habits, your summer won't be the kind that you truly and utterly deserve. a lot of you should participate in your community more before summer, like poetry gigs or local concerts, take that as it resonates--this'll bring you more comfort when summer starts to bloom. speaking of, starting gardens or taking care of plants may be a good habit to form, too. you guys have trouble taking things slow without rushing ahead, so i think that yoga or journaling would ultimately teach you some patience. also, self-love; you guys are extremely critical on yourselves. remind yourself, that you are the best thing that has ever happened to you. much love, pile 1 :) <3

pile 2.

overall messages: i think that a lot of you are already yearning for the warmth and peace that summer brings. for some reason, this seems more homey to you than it did to pile 1; maybe your birthday is in summer, or it's always been significant to you. you guys will have sooo much fun this season. like a coming-of-age movie, maybe with some bittersweet moments, but you'll remember this for the rest of your life. a lot of you will be able to be vulnerable this summer, probably with other people, opening up and just being so earnest and truly yourself. awww. you guys are my adorable pile, my sweethearts, kind of naive...but overall, optimistic and bright! you guys are literally the sun, maybe that's why you want this season so bad. you guys will be doing everything you wanted to. maybe this winter was a slump for you guys, and you're just coming back from hibernation around now. you guys are keen right now; watching, evaluating what you want for summer. you guys are an amalgamation of practicality and whimsy.

your manifestations and wishes will literally hit the back of your head when you're not looking. you have a lot of ease in bringing things to you, particularly because you tell the universe what you want then let go, and this brings you a LAWT of good things, honey. generally, i can't tell you a lot of specifics currently, because your summer is going to be what you think it is, as long as you put in the work and the effort. i am hearing that you should prioritize relationships, however. while pile 1 is going full-on hermit mode, you guys should definitely talk to other people and stay in contact. don't lose out on moments just because you're afraid. you guys have a pink glow to you, a green aura, etc. and you MUSTTT nourish it by staying with like-minded individuals who truly want you to blossom. adopting a pet may be significant for some of you, specifically a kitten. water sources, specifically creeks and rivers, will also be important to you. you guys will literally get the world this summer, so don't be afraid of how slowly things are happening right now. good things take time to grow; trees don't spurt out of the ground in one second, pile 2.

self: you guys will become the masters of your own world. a lot of you will be taking back control, stopping the slump that you're in right now. probably privatizing a lot of aspects of yourself; privating accounts, going ghost, spending time nurturing yourself--not like pile 1, because you'll still keep in contact with important connections. these are your greatest allies, and they truly wanna see you bloom. you know who i'm talking about. a lot of you would benefit from meditating and growing closer to your ancestors, looking after traditions that you've had. you guys are so young and full of life, and your elders truly want the best for you. this is the time in your life that will bring you the future; everything depends on the now. so take away all those bad habits, rub the gunk away from your life, and grow. stretch each morning, have tea, talk with the moon, let yourself be open without being afraid of getting hurt. it's scary, right, but it's so worth it, honey <3.

job/financial/scholarly prospects: a lot of you are often pessimistic about things, and this'll block you from truly taking advantage of opportunities until you learn how to have a littleee more hope in yourself and in others. i'm getting a generally worried, frantic energy; like you think there's not enough time to take care of everything. a lot of you may be expected to take care of your older parents/your little siblings, keep up with jobs/schoolwork, and manage resources very carefully while everyone else splurges and does whatever they want. the truth? that's their business. you're not obligated to mommy everyone, especially not people who don't give a damn about you putting in effort for them. you have a tendency to be soo caring and sooo sweet to people who are energy vampires and don't give a fuck. as long as you learn to take care of your worries and TAKE CARE OF PEOPLE WHO CARE FOR YOU, this'll all go fine. don't worry too much about materialistic parts of your life; as i've said, people are more important to you, so evaluate what relationships are draining you, and which are bringing you fulfillment. you're sacred and spiritual and oh so special, and i would hate for you to give your beautiful energy to someone who doesn't deserve it, baby love.

relationships & friendships: ok okkk. so first of all, you'll be seen but also be SEEING. does that make sense?!?! there'll be a specific connection; either a close friendship, or even a friendship that low-key borders on friends in love with each other...both of you will be very in tune to each other. this'll happen because the sapling you planted when you first started taking care of yourself grew into a beautiful, beautiful tree. as i've said, this is something that you always wanted but didn't necessarily put the effort into getting. however, this spring, and all of the seasons before, you worked hard, working on self-love. this is a gift for doing all that work, unpacking trauma and poor habits to grow without even expecting a reward back. your real friendships will blossom, the others gone, like dead leaves. birds may be significant for this; as well as trees. i've been talking about trees so much LMAOO. don't be afraid of being seen is another message i'm getting. honey, you've worked hard for this, so don't push people away when they only want the best for you.

hobbies/habits to develop prior: music may be significant for some of you, so clean out those playlists, girl!! listen to music with lyrics and instrumentals that are innately good and uplifting. if you're learning an instrument or considering, do it!! something about your voice is very important, so make sure that you use it. i think someone here is a nail tech, i don't know why, but keep cookin' with that! also, sculpting may be significant for some of you. generally speaking, try to establish a healthy routine right now. sleep schedule that doesn't vary day-by-day. learn recipes that nourish your body and your soul. try to hang out with friends at least every month/every two months. write things down that you wanna see in summer. have walks that inspire you to sort out your brilliant, beautiful mind. connect with your inner child; dye your hair a sweet color, draw pictures, make cards. stop being afraid to grow older, while you're at it, too. a lot of people are taught to be afraid of growing older, specifically women; you guys, some of the women who are in the best phases of their life, are older women. establish a routine that nourishes your energy. declutter those closets!! i love you pile 2. mwah!

pile 3.

overall messages: you guys will be a stronger, sweeter person than you are now. truly governing your own life. you're in the middle period right now; all those icky parts about to fall away, but still sticking to you. by then, you'll be polished up. all those prayers? they'll be answered. you may be having some issues with closing up and retreating from literally the whole world right now. you don't even want the universe to see you, with so many layers on, but guess what? you're seen. you're SEEEEEN. there's this theme in the last two piles of wanting to hide away, but you guys have it way worse than pile 2. good news, off topic, is that your life is going in order. it's like a countdown; right now to summer, a lot of focal points will happen that you're not even THINKING ABOUT. it's like that music in trailers of movies, you know, quick beats? that's what's about to start right now. shit is gonna go DOWNN and by summer you'll be in a completely new place than you are now. a lot of you have probably felt this the past few weeks/months, this specific kind of energy, which may have made you guys a bit nervous or suspicious. i hope this will quell your worries because i assure you that nothing terrible is going to happen. probably the opposite.

i got two of ravens, so right now, think about whatever you're hyperfixated on (two of cups i think, in the normal arcana); a passion project or a person, but i'm hearing that there's mutual effort on whatever this little love of yours is. that'll all go well and will continue being significant in summer. however, some of you guys are idealizing; not everything is about ROMANCE! for a good part of you, it is, but my main schtick is the effort part. keep watch of that. other than that, between then and now, a lot of changes will happen. 'gradual decay' just came up. a lot of things will be falling away and you'll feel terribly alone, because all these changes are happening and you don't know where the hell to go or what the hell to do with yourself. you'll feel like a little kid again, trapped in an adult body. but honey, it'll all be okay. stay strong. you've been told that all your life, but this summer will bring you all those soft feelings and soft PERSON you've been craving all your life. you won't always have to be so strong. a lot of fortune and luck will come to you. pat yourself on the back; you've only got till june until life really does show you how good it gets. a lot of you feel like the only reason you exist is to watch the things you have get lost. eternal grief, i heard. sitting alone on the stairwell. sweetheart, i assure you it gets better. keep your head up.

self: you guys will be feeling recognized and jaw-droppingly beautiful. so far, there's been this whole theme of you being all alone your whole life, and something comes up and shows you how great you are. once again, this can be anything; a paternal/maternal figure, a lover, a friend, even an animal like a pet, or simply an energy, a deity you may worship. you guys will feel so giddy, because you've always been growing, reaching up, but also reaching down to save people, and you'll finally be seen. i think you guys, like pile 2, had a fear of being seen, but you guys did a lot of digging and in-depth work on that. you've always felt like the crow in the flock of pigeons, like an outcast. guess what? maybe you've just been hanging out with the wrong flock (oh god that sounded so cheesy but it's TRUE). horses may be significant. a lot of you have a feeling you'll always be second. "always an angel, never a god". the owner's dog, ready to protect at any moment. this summer will prove you wrong; you'll learn so much about yourself you'll see yourself much differently than you do now. a part of you that's felt like it's always been broken will be healed. your heart will literally blossom; you'll truly allow yourself to be passionate and open, without feeling like your presence is too big. i think a lot of you will attract someone who desperately wants to take care of you and protect you and love you.

job/financial/scholarly prospects: wow so i pulled the death card. that's literally never happened with this deck and i've been using it the whole time i had this account. yeah, you guys will definitely be recognizing your worth and learning that you're truly good. you always had strong intuition and knew where you belonged and didn't, but a lot of the times you guys ignored that. good news is, you'll push away all aspects that affect you negatively. jobs that stress you? a lot of you will quit 'em. financially? LOCKED IN. scholarly-wise? pursuing what makes you happy. you guys have always served others, been the loyal knight, and now it's your time to be recognized and given things. just don't push good things away because you feel like you always have to give them to someone else. not much messages pertaining to this, so let's move on!

relationships & friendships: a lot of you, friendship wise, will be looking back on those things. watching yourself through those memories, with a haunted look in your eyes. regretting how young and naive and giving you were, and a lot of you are probably hesitant to make connections right now because you've been let down so MANY TIMES it hurts to think about something new. but do you remember what i said before? a good connection is coming. one that'll make you feel alive and like. so fucking beautiful. like a star. like your personality is so shiny and glimmery. god, i'm gushing. this person is your star and your theirs. or this subject. for most, a person. you guys are awestruck because you're like 'wait no. this is a trick. such good people don't exist' and you're partially right! they have their flaws. but these are livable flaws; break those high expectations, pile 3, 'cause no person is perfect. this is a person who feels responsible for everyone, much like you do, and you'll bond over this. you may be scared and try to run away, but girl, DON'T. call yourself out on it; do i truly not want this, or am i just afraid of being vulnerable and it going wrong?

hobbies/habits to develop prior: definitely exterminate your self-doubt, self-pity, etc. most of you who have met this person (you know damn well who i'm talking about) have put them on a pedestal. so STOP. see them as a real person, like you are. stop trying to make them perfect in your head. i pulled six of hearts (my deck has a different arcana)--"the six of hearts promises a brighter future after defeat. your long journey does have a reward at the end, though right now you may be in the thick of it all". definitely keep your head up. accept that you've changed as a person. that you're not who you were before. evaluate what parts of yourself need healing growth. write poems. write letters. decorate your room in a way that makes you happy. take a hot bath. dance on the grass. practice self-soothing. a lot of you really do feel a deep anticipation for this which may scare you; don't try to completely ignore what's coming, but don't tunnel-vision it, either. make new pinterest vision boards. new playlists. for a specific few, trim your bangs :p. tell yourself 'i love you'.

i'm proud of you, pile 3. you've got this, ml <3

[helvegen-s]

terms and conditions apply

a Lando Norris one-shot

Summary: Lando Norris's career is spiraling. The solution? A fake relationship with equestrian star, Charlotte Hayes. It's a clean deal, in theory. But fame is a wild animal, and feelings are even wilder. What happens when the lines blur, and the cameras keep rolling?

Word count: 18k ☠️☠️

Warnings: public scrutiny, fake relationship, emotional manipulation, cheating…

A/N: uuuuhm, yeah. please give it lots of love beacuse writing for lando???? nuh uh. anywaysssss, I hope you like it a lot and that you enjoy it. Comments, likes, and reblogs are welcome. Your support is what keeps me motivated to write more stories!!!!! <3

masterlist

Fame was a wild animal.

It could lift you like the wind to the top of a mountain or drag you down like a treacherous current, leaving you breathless in the depths. And the worst part was that you never truly had control over it. No matter how disciplined you were, how many strategies you devised, or how many times you tried to make the right choice, in an instant, an out-of-context photo, a misleading headline, or a wildfire of online speculation could change everything.

Lando Norris had learned that the hard way.

The past few months had been a parade of headlines that had little to do with his talent on track and far too much to do with his life outside of it. Leaked photos, baseless rumors, internet theories spreading like uncontrollable fires. And while it wasn’t the first time the media had linked him to someone or accused him of being too carefree, this time, things had escalated too far. His team was concerned. His sponsors were losing patience.

And that was how he found himself sitting in a conference room in London, arms crossed over his chest, a deep scowl on his face, as they told him that the best solution to his problem was to pretend to be in love with a woman he had never met in his life.

Charlotte Hayes.

The name didn’t mean much to him, but the story did. A professional equestrian, from a family with a strong tradition in the sport, with a clean and promising public image. She had faced her own share of controversies—a footballer ex-boyfriend with too many scandals to his name—but unlike Lando, she had managed to restore her reputation. And now, if everything went according to plan, she would do the same for him.

But this agreement wasn’t just for Lando’s benefit.

For Lottie, being associated with someone like him meant more than just controlled damage. Formula 1 wasn’t just a sport with millions of fans worldwide—it had one of the strongest young fan bases on social media, capable of skyrocketing her public image. More visibility meant more sponsorships, more opportunities both within and beyond equestrian sports, and a definitive way to leave behind the shadow of her past relationship.

The agreement was clear. They would fake their relationship until the end of the season. They would be seen together in public, attend sponsor events, she would make occasional appearances in the paddock, and he would show up at some of her competitions. They would smile for the cameras, blur the lines between reality and fiction, and make people believe whatever they needed to believe.

It was a clean deal. Simple. No emotional complications.

At least, in theory.

Because fame wasn’t just a wild animal. It was unpredictable. And once you stepped into its game, you could never really know how things would unfold.

Lando had spent the past hour looking for a way out.

It wasn’t the first time his team had put a contract in front of him and expected him to sign without question. But this? This was ridiculous. Pretending to be in a relationship with a stranger just to smooth things over with sponsors? It was humiliating. Unnecessary.

And yet, here he was, sitting in a sleek London office, with his PR team on one side of the conference table and Charlotte Hayes—his supposed fake girlfriend—on the other.

She wasn’t alone.

Her own PR manager sat beside her, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tone when she spoke. If Lando’s team was desperate to get him under control, hers was just as invested in making sure this arrangement benefited Lottie.

Because that was the truth of it—this wasn’t just about fixing Lando’s public image. It was a mutually beneficial deal. His reputation got a necessary clean-up, and Lottie? Well, she got a fast track to an even bigger audience. Formula 1 was a marketing machine, and a name like Lando Norris, whether she liked it or not, came with global reach.

Not that she seemed fazed by any of it.

Lottie sat with one leg crossed over the other, scanning the contract with the same calm focus someone might use while reviewing their grocery list. Her long fingers drummed idly against the table, her posture relaxed, her expression unreadable.

Meanwhile, Lando was radiating I don’t want to fucking be here energy, and everyone in the room could tell.

"Lando, this is the best course of action, mate," one of his PR reps finally said, exhaling as if this wasn’t the first time he’d had to repeat it.

Lando scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "No, the best course of action would be to let people talk their shit and move on, just like we always do."

"Except we aren’t moving on. The rumors are getting worse, and sponsors are—"

"Yeah, yeah, they’re unhappy. I got the memo."

Across the table, Lottie flicked her gaze up from the contract, eyebrows raised slightly at his tone. "They do have a point, you know. This will help you."

Lando’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like the way she said it—like she was stating a fact rather than trying to convince him. "And you? What do you get out of this?"

Before Lottie could answer, her PR manager spoke for her, voice crisp and professional. "Increased media presence. New sponsorship opportunities. A stronger connection to younger audiences, particularly through social media engagement."

"Ah, right. The noble quest for clout."

Lottie didn’t even blink. "Says the guy who’s been in half the tabloids this month for allegedly dating six women in one night."

The room went silent.

Lando’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and disbelieving. There was no hostility in her voice, no sharp edge of annoyance. Just a perfectly neutral observation, like she was reading a headline aloud. And that only pissed him off more.

"Bold of you to bring up fake relationships when you were dumb enough to date a walking scandal, Hayes."

His PR team collectively inhaled.

Lottie’s manager frowned.

Lottie herself? She just let out a soft breath, a hint of amusement flickering in her expression, but nothing more.

"Touché."

And that was it. No anger, no embarrassment. Just one word, calm and measured, before she turned the page in her contract as if he hadn’t just insulted her choice in men in front of a room full of professionals.

Lando hated that. He wanted her to get pissed. He wanted her to roll her eyes, throw the contract back at his team, and call the whole thing off so he wouldn’t have to. But she didn’t. She just waited.

"We need to move forward with this, Lando," his manager cut in, sensing his growing frustration.

Lottie tapped a perfectly manicured nail against the table, looking at him expectantly. "Are you going to keep whining about it, or are you going to sign?"

Lando clenched his jaw.

Fucking hell.

With an irritated sigh, he grabbed the pen, flipped to the last page, and scribbled his signature.

Lottie, still cool and unbothered, signed her own name right after.

Then, as she capped her pen, she glanced at him with the smallest, most infuriating smirk. "Welcome to the relationship, babe."

Lando was going to hate every second of this.

Lando adjusted his jacket for the third time, resisting the urge to tug at the collar. The café was warm—too warm, or maybe it was just him. Outside, the London drizzle painted the windows in shifting streaks of grey, blurring the figures that lingered on the street. He could feel them, even if he didn’t look. The quiet anticipation. The not-so-subtle presence of cameras, some hidden behind the glass, others held up brazenly by people passing by.

He hated this.

The performance. The expectation. The weight of eyes that didn’t belong to him, of opinions forming before he had even said a word.

Across from him, Lottie stirred her tea with deliberate ease. She didn’t seem bothered. If anything, she looked almost bored—like a woman indulging in an afternoon routine rather than sitting through the first act of a meticulously staged fiction.

Lando envied that.

She had chosen the table, one with just enough privacy to allow conversation, yet positioned well enough to guarantee they’d be seen. Everything was calculated—the placement of their drinks, the slow, natural rhythm of their conversation. They had to sell this. Make it seem real.

"You’re staring," Lottie remarked, not looking up from her cup.

"I’m processing," Lando muttered. "Trying to understand how you’re so relaxed about this."

"Because I came prepared." She finally met his gaze, unbothered. "Unlike you, apparently."

Lando scoffed, leaning back. "Sorry, I don’t have a manual on how to fake-date a stranger for PR points."

"Shame. I hear it’s a best-seller."

Despite himself, Lando huffed a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Right," she continued, placing her spoon down. "Let’s get the basics out of the way. We should have a story, something simple. Mutual friends?"

"Sure."

"And a timeline—when did we supposedly meet?"

"Couple of months ago?"

"Too soon. Feels rushed."

"Fine. Six months."

"Better."

Lando exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "This feels like an interview."

"It kind of is." Lottie tilted her head. "Though you’re terrible at answering questions. No wonder you get into trouble with the media."

"Wow. Thanks."

"Just an observation."

Lando narrowed his eyes. "Fine. You want questions? Let's switch it up. Since we’re dating, I should know something about you."

"By all means," Lottie gestured. "Impress me with your curiosity."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Favourite food?"

"Easy. Pasta."

"Boring."

"Says the guy who survives on toasties and Monster."

"Fine, what’s your biggest fear?"

"The Daily Mail."

Lando snorted. "Valid."

Lottie smirked, taking a sip of her tea. "What about you?"

"Oh, we’re making this mutual now?"

"Obviously. It’s only fair."

Lando pretended to think. "Losing a race by milliseconds. Or getting stuck in an elevator with someone who chews loudly."

"Fascinating depth of character, Norris."

"Thanks, I try."

Lottie shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "God, you really do sound like you’re in an interview. 'Yeah, no, obviously, it’s just great to be here, the team did an amazing job—'"

Lando groaned. "Oh, shut up."

"’At the end of the day, we gave it our all, and that’s what matters—’"

"Charlotte."

"’We keep pushing, onto the next one—’"

"I swear to God."

The moment the first flash went off, the spell was broken.

Lottie pulled back instinctively, her laughter dying on her lips as reality set in. Across from her, Lando stiffened, his easy grin vanishing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. Neither of them turned immediately, but they didn’t have to. The sound of hurried whispers, the unmistakable shuffle of someone pretending not to take a photo—it was enough.

They’d been caught.

Of course, they had known this would happen. The meeting had been carefully orchestrated, a casual café in the heart of London, just enough visibility to invite speculation without being obvious. They had prepared for it, planned every detail down to what they should wear, where they should sit.

But still, feeling watched—actually living the moment—was different.

Lottie exhaled quietly, reaching for her coffee to give herself something to do. "Well, that’s our cue to leave," she murmured, taking a slow sip.

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Yeah. Before we end up on every gossip page in the next twenty minutes."

She refrained from pointing out that they already would.

They moved with practiced ease, keeping their pace natural as they slipped out of the café and onto the street. The cool London air hit immediately, but Lottie barely registered it—she was too focused on the shifting energy around them, the occasional glances from passersby, the girl a few feet away already typing furiously on her phone.

Lando walked beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture the perfect blend of relaxed and detached.

They made it a block before he spoke. "So, how long do you think until the internet tears this apart?"

Lottie hummed, tilting her head. "I’d say... fifteen minutes? Maybe ten if we really underestimate them."

Lando scoffed. "Fantastic."

And as soon as he got home, he sat on his couch, phone in hand, already regretting opening Twitter.

The photos had spread like wildfire. There they were—walking out of the café, sitting across from each other, that one moment where Lottie had laughed and leaned slightly toward him. If he hadn’t been in the situation, he might have thought they looked... believable.

The internet, however, was not convinced.

PR stunt, obviously.They look like they’re negotiating a business merger.Maybe they’re just friends?Why does Lando look like he’s being forced to be there at gunpoint?No way this is real. No one flirts like that.

Lando groaned, tossing his phone onto the table before dragging a hand over his face.

This was not going well.

Somewhere across the city, Lottie was probably reading the same comments, except she was probably laughing. She had taken this whole thing with the kind of casual indifference that should have made things easier, except it only highlighted how utterly useless he was at this.

And the worst part?

This was only the beginning.

Lando barely had time to process the disaster unfolding on social media before his phone buzzed aggressively on the table.

His manager.

He groaned, already knowing exactly what was coming.

"Yeah?" he answered, sinking further into his couch.

"Are you actually incapable of looking like you enjoy someone’s company?" Mark’s voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point.

Lando exhaled slowly. "Nice to hear from you too."

"Mate, I am getting calls." There was a pause, followed by a rustling sound—papers, maybe, or the sound of Mark rubbing his temples in frustration. "Do you have any idea how bad it looks when people are debating whether or not you even like her as a person?"

Lando pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we agreed we weren’t rushing into anything too intense. You know, slow build-up, natural progression, all that bullshit."

"Yeah, well, ‘slow build-up’ only works if people believe it’s actually leading somewhere. Right now, they think you were having a business meeting with your accountant."

Lando let his head fall back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. Fantastic.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Next time, I don’t know—smile, Norris. Maybe look at her like she’s a human woman and not a tax consultant."

Lando opened his mouth to argue, but Mark steamrolled right over him.

"And fix it fast, because I can guarantee her team is just as unimpressed as I am. They’ll probably want another public sighting soon. This time, try to act like you don’t want to die, yeah?"

With that, the call ended.

Lando scowled at his phone. "Brilliant."

He was about to toss it onto the table when another notification popped up—this time, a message from an unknown number.

[Unknown Number]: Heard you’re not a fan of tax consultants. 👀

Lando frowned. Before he could process that, another message came through—a screenshot from Twitter.

It was a meme. A side-by-side comparison of their café photo and a painfully awkward stock image of two businessmen shaking hands. The caption?

"Tell me this isn’t a corporate merger meeting."

Lando blinked. Then, before he could stop himself—before he could think—he let out a laugh.

Another message popped up.

[Unknown Number]: At least I look good in this one. You, however… yikes.

Lando didn’t need to ask who it was. He already knew.

Lottie.

Lando stared at the message for a second, debating whether to engage.

On one hand, he could ignore it. Pretend he was already asleep. Maintain some semblance of control in a situation where he clearly had none.

On the other hand... Well, Mark was right—this whole thing was a disaster. And if he was going to be stuck in it, he might as well make it slightly less painful.

His thumbs moved before his brain fully caught up.

[Lando]: Wow, cheers. Great to know my suffering is at least entertaining for you.

Three dots appeared immediately.

[Lottie]: Of course. If I have to put up with this, I at least deserve some entertainment.

[Lando]: Nice to know where we stand.

[Lottie]: You did look like you were in the middle of a hostage negotiation.

Lando huffed a laugh. He stretched out on his couch, feeling the conversation ease some of the irritation left behind by Mark’s call.

[Lando]: Not my fault I wasn’t born an actor.

[Lottie]: Not asking for DiCaprio, mate. Just try not to look like you’re planning your escape next time.

A pause. Then—

[Lottie]: Speaking of, where is next time? Or are we just going to wait until PR locks us in a room again?

Lando rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering.

The easy thing would be to let their teams handle it. Wait until some official plan was in place. But that had gone so well last time…

So instead, before he could second-guess himself, he typed—

[Lando]: Your turn to pick. Somewhere that doesn’t make me look like I’m being held at gunpoint.

It took all of five seconds for a reply.

[Lottie]: Got it. See you soon, finance bro.

Lando rolled his eyes. Brilliant.

Hyde Park, late afternoon.

Golden sunlight filtered through the bare branches, stretching long shadows across the gravel path. The crisp bite of early spring lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city. Joggers wove between tourists, families pushed prams along the walkways, and somewhere nearby, a street musician plucked at a guitar. It was peaceful. Unassuming.

And yet, Lando knew better.

There was always someone watching.

That fact alone made the entire situation unbearable. But if that wasn’t enough, there was also the dog.

A whirlwind of fur and energy, bounding ahead with a tail that moved like it had a mind of its own, panting happily as if every scent, every patch of grass, every floating leaf was the most exciting thing in the world.

Lando eyed the dog warily. "So… this is why you picked Hyde Park," he muttered.

"What, you thought I just liked scenic walks with fake boyfriends?" Lottie shot back, smirking. "Caesar needed his exercise. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"Caesar," Lando repeated, watching as the dog enthusiastically sniffed a nearby bush. "Of course he’s called something ridiculous."

"Technically, it’s Caesar von Woofenstein," she corrected. "But we keep it informal."

Lando snorted despite himself. "That might be the most pretentious dog name I’ve ever heard."

"He’s a rescue mutt. Mostly Border Collie, maybe some German Shepherd. Bit of a menace, but he means well," Lottie said, just as Caesar abruptly turned and flung himself onto Lando’s feet, rolling onto his back in the universal demand for belly rubs.

Lando stared down at him. Then back at Lottie.

"You mean to tell me I’ve been suffering through this entire ordeal, and I could’ve just been hanging out with him instead?" he muttered, crouching to scratch the dog's stomach.

"I’ll be sure to let PR know you’d prefer to date Caesar instead," Lottie deadpanned.

Lando grinned. "At least he wouldn’t drag me into this mess."

"No, but he would steal your food and ruin your furniture. Pick your battles, Norris."

With a final pat, Lando straightened, dusting off his hands as they resumed walking. Caesar trotted between them, completely unaware of the tension his owner was trying (and failing) to ignore.

Lottie broke the silence first. "Alright, small talk. Let’s make this look natural."

Lando groaned. "Again with this?"

"Yes, again with this. We’re supposed to be a couple, Lando. Couples talk. Casually. Like normal people."

"Right, normal," he muttered. "Because everything about this is normal."

Lottie ignored him. "Okay—music. What are you listening to right now?"

He shot her a look. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Humor me."

He exhaled, thinking for a second. "I don’t know. Arctic Monkeys, probably."

Lottie hummed. "Predictable."

"Excuse me?"

"You give off strong ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’ energy."

Lando frowned. "And that means what, exactly?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

Despite himself, Lando let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Alright, your turn. Favorite artist?"

Lottie tilted her head. "Fleetwood Mac, I think."

Lando shot her a sideways glance. "Fleetwood Mac? Bit old school, isn’t it?"

"Says the guy clinging to his 2013 indie phase."

"Fair point."

The conversation lulled into something easy, their footsteps syncing as the city moved around them. Lottie’s grip on Caesar’s leash loosened, and the dog took full advantage—darting toward a pigeon, sending it flapping into the sky.

Lando grinned. "Menace, huh?"

"Oh, don’t act like you’re not obsessed with him already," Lottie said. "I saw your face when he rolled over for belly rubs."

"I mean… he’s alright, I guess."

"I’ll take that as a win."

For a moment, the weight of their fake relationship faded into the background. The cameras, the speculation, the absurdity of the entire situation—it didn’t feel so suffocating when there was something as simple as a dog trotting between them.

Then—Lottie grabbed his hand.

Lando stiffened. "What—"

"Relax," she muttered. "Two o’clock. Someone’s already got their phone up."

Right.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to react. Their fingers didn’t interlock—just a light press of palms, casual enough to seem natural, deliberate enough to be caught on camera.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"This is commitment," Lottie corrected.

"You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Absolutely."

And then—she laughed.

Bright, unrestrained. Like she’d just heard something genuinely funny.

Lando blinked. "What?"

"It’s your face," she said, breathless between laughs. "You look like you’re being held hostage."

"I do not."

"You really do."

Lando opened his mouth to argue—

—and then the camera shutter clicked.

Their eyes met.

The moment shattered, and just like that, reality came rushing back.

They weren’t two people, walking through the park, talking about music and careers.

They were Lando Norris and Charlotte Hayes.

And the internet was about to lose its mind.

The click of the camera was unmistakable—sharp, invasive, a reminder that they weren’t alone.

But Lottie didn’t let go.

Instead, she tightened her grip just slightly, grounding the moment before it spiraled into awkwardness.

Lando felt the shift, the deliberate ease with which she handled the situation. No stiffness, no hesitation—just a perfectly timed adjustment, as if she was actually comfortable walking through Hyde Park with him, hand in hand.

She wasn’t, obviously.

But she was better at faking it.

Lando exhaled slowly, keeping his expression neutral as they continued walking. Caesar trotted ahead, blissfully unaware of the media circus about to erupt online.

Lottie reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a bright yellow tennis ball.

"Alright, enough about me," she said, rolling the ball between her fingers. "Tell me something about F1. Something interesting."

Lando arched a brow. "That’s vague."

"Fine, I’ll narrow it down." She gave the ball a light toss in her palm. "What’s the hardest part?"

Lando scoffed. "Everything."

Lottie shot him a look. "I feel like I should be offended on behalf of your entire profession."

"I mean it," he said. "It’s not just driving fast. You have to know how to manage tires, fuel loads, track conditions. You’re constantly adjusting, constantly calculating. And that’s before you factor in other drivers, team strategy, weather—"

Lottie hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like a headache."

"More like a hundred headaches per race."

She nodded, considering, then suddenly wound back her arm and launched the tennis ball across the grass.

Caesar exploded forward, a blur of black and white fur, tearing after it with single-minded determination.

Lando watched him go, vaguely envious. Must be nice—having one simple goal and just going for it.

"Alright, next question," Lottie said, dusting off her hands. "Biggest misconception about F1 drivers?"

Lando smirked. "That we only turn left."

Lottie blinked. "Wait. Do people actually think that?"

"Americans do."

Lottie laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, now I feel bad for underestimating your job."

"You should," Lando said solemnly. "It’s very hard being me."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Caesar came sprinting back, ball clenched triumphantly in his teeth. He skidded to a stop at Lottie’s feet, tail wagging furiously.

"Good boy," she cooed, ruffling his fur before prying the ball from his mouth.

Lando watched, mildly fascinated. He wasn’t particularly bad with dogs, but there was something effortless about the way Lottie handled Caesar—like they understood each other in a way that didn’t require words.

She caught him staring.

"What?"

Lando shrugged. "Nothing."

She arched a brow but let it go, tossing the ball again. Caesar bolted after it without hesitation.

The wind picked up slightly, ruffling the edges of Lottie’s coat, brushing stray strands of hair across her face.

Lando glanced down at their joined hands—still together.

It should’ve felt weird. It did feel weird.

But maybe… slightly less weird than before.

The breeze carried the sound of laughter—distant, fleeting, swallowed by the open space of Hyde Park. A couple passed them, a man with a pushchair and a woman with a takeaway coffee, barely sparing them a glance. Lando had to remind himself that, to most people, they were just another couple out for a walk.

Which, in a way, was exactly the point.

He tightened his grip on Lottie’s hand—not dramatically, not enough to be noticeable in any pictures, but just enough to reinforce the illusion.

She didn't react, simply watched as Caesar disappeared into the distance, chasing his ball like his life depended on it.

"Alright," Lando said, shifting the focus. "Enough about me. Your turn."

Lottie gave him a side glance. "You want to hear about dressage and cross-country courses? I didn’t think you cared."

"I don’t." He grinned when she scoffed, then shrugged. "But I figure I should know a little more about the person I’m supposed to be madly in love with."

Lottie rolled her eyes but played along. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Lando thought for a second. "Biggest misconception about your sport?"

"That it’s not a sport," she said instantly. "That the horse does all the work."

Lando snorted. "Do people actually believe that?"

"All the time," Lottie said. "There’s this idea that riding is just sitting there, looking pretty, while the horse magically does everything for you. But the reality is that you need insane core strength, leg control, precision. And trust—because no matter how good you are, you're still riding an animal with its own mind. One bad decision and you’re eating dirt."

Lando hummed. "Sounds like a headache."

Lottie arched a brow. "Did you just recycle my words?"

"Might’ve."

She shook her head, suppressing a smile. "Alright, next question."

Lando hesitated, then went for something lighter. "What do you do when you’re not taming wild beasts or dodging paparazzi?"

Lottie tilted her head, considering. "Depends. If I’m not training or competing, I like quiet things. Reading, movies, hiking. Cooking, if I’m in the mood."

"Cooking?" Lando looked at her, amused. "That surprises me."

"Why?"

"You don’t seem like the ‘domestic’ type."

Lottie scoffed. "What does that even mean?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "You just have that ‘raised by nannies, never had to chop an onion’ energy."

Lottie gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you—I can chop an onion. I just choose not to."

Lando laughed, genuinely, and for a brief moment, the whole situation—the cameras, the pretending, the contract—faded into the background.

But then—click. Again.

Fuck it.

Lando felt the weight of the charade press down on him, a subtle but constant reminder of the performance they were putting on for the cameras. He looked at their joined hands—his fingers slowly loosening their grip on hers, the fleeting warmth from her skin now distant.

"Alright," he said, his voice breaking the stillness between them. "I think that's enough for today."

Lottie glanced at him, her expression unreadable, but there was something in the way she tilted her head that made him feel like she knew exactly what he meant.

"It was… nice," he added, trying to soften the abruptness of his words. "The walk, the conversation. But I've got stuff to do."

Lottie nodded once, a small movement, her lips pressed together in something like acknowledgment. She didn’t push for more. She just stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, looking at him with that same cool composure.

"Right," she said simply. "See you later."

And just like that, the air between them shifted, the artificial ease of the moment slipping away, leaving them standing at the edge of something neither of them had fully understood. Without another word, Lottie turned, her steps brisk as she walked in the direction of the park’s exit.

Lando watched her go for a moment, a mix of thoughts swirling in his mind. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. The sound of Caesar’s distant bark was the last thing he heard as the distance between them grew, until all that was left was the quiet hum of the city around him.

Lando had been to equestrian events before. Not many, but enough to navigate the showgrounds with ease. His sister, Flo, competed in show jumping—not eventing like Lottie—but it was close enough that he wasn’t completely out of his depth.

Still, there was a world of difference between watching his sister at a local event and standing here, at the prestigious Burghley Horse Trials, one of the most important competitions in the eventing calendar. This was the ultimate test for Lottie, with her place on the British Olympic team for Paris 2024 on the line. The pressure was palpable, and Lando felt it more than he expected as he watched Lottie prepare for her round, the cameras tracking his every move, waiting for his reaction.

He tugged the brim of his cap lower, shading his eyes, and slid his sunglasses up his nose.

This was the latest move in his PR team’s strategy. Their last public appearance, the walk in Hyde Park, had drawn mixed reactions from fans—some skeptical, but overall, the response had been positive. Both teams had agreed it was time to solidify things, to reinforce the image. This was the moment to take things further.

So here he was, dressed down in a hoodie and jacket, doing his best impression of a supportive boyfriend.

Except, Lottie was actually impressive.

Show jumping was more complex than he'd given it credit for. He had always thought it was about clearing fences without knocking them down, but now he saw that there was so much more—pace, timing, rhythm, the delicate balance between power and control.

And Lottie made it look effortless.

Her horse, a powerful dark bay, trotted around the warm-up area, each stride smooth and fluid. Lottie sat tall in the saddle, her posture perfect, her gaze intense as she prepared for her round. The arena around her buzzed with activity, but she was a picture of focus, the noise of the crowd, the shuffling of horses, and the calls of the event staff all falling into the background.

She was in her element.

When her name was announced over the loudspeaker, the crowd erupted in applause, their cheers carrying across the arena. Lando felt it in his chest, that electric surge of energy that reminded him of race weekends. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation.

Lottie barely reacted. She squeezed her horse forward, entering the arena with calm precision, her eyes locked on the first fence ahead. Her movements were measured, controlled, as she guided her horse with practiced ease.

The first few fences were textbook. Clean, precise, no hesitation. Lando found himself on the edge of his seat, watching her maneuver through the course. The jumps came quickly, and her control never wavered.

As the course grew more demanding, Lando could feel the intensity building. He knew enough to recognize the risks—the way each stride counted, the critical split-second decisions that could make or break the round.

Lottie rode with unshakable focus. She urged her horse forward, pushing him for speed without sacrificing form. It was a delicate dance of speed, timing, and trust, and Lottie was executing it flawlessly.

When they cleared the final fence, the clock stopped.

A perfect round.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound like a wave crashing around him.

Without thinking, Lando stood and clapped, the excitement of the moment taking over. For a brief second, he forgot the cameras, the PR strategy, the pressure. He just watched Lottie, as she slowed her horse and came to a stop, her expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her helmet.

Then, as if she could feel his gaze, she turned her head.

Their eyes met.

And Lottie—stoic, professional Lottie—smirked at him.

A small, knowing thing, barely there before she turned away.

Lando exhaled sharply, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The weight of that smile settled over him, and for a moment, everything else—the cameras, the contract, the whole PR game—seemed to fade into the background.

He blinked, suddenly aware of the cameras still trained on him. He hadn’t meant to stand up so eagerly, hadn’t meant to clap so loud. He was supposed to be playing the part of the supportive boyfriend, not the starstruck spectator. But Lottie had earned it.

Before he could retreat back into his seat, he found himself already making his way out of the grandstands, the crowd parting for him as they recognized who he was. He barely registered the smiles, the camera flashes—just enough to see the social media posts that would pop up in a few minutes. Lottie’s PR team would love that he was in the stables now, not just in the stands. His PR team would too.

He was walking toward the stables before he even realized it, his mind racing ahead of him, but when he reached the barn doors, the world around him seemed to still.

Lottie was there, bent over her horse, speaking to one of the stablehands, the horse’s head nuzzling her shoulder. The moment felt completely different—no cameras, no crowds. Just the faint smell of hay, the hum of the horses in their stalls, and the quiet intimacy of the space.

Lando didn’t know what to do. He had imagined this moment, sure, but the reality of it was a bit more daunting. He had no role here, no script to follow. It was just him and Lottie—and her horse, of course.

For a few seconds, he just stood there, watching her in silence, unsure of his place in all of this.

Finally, Lottie turned, catching his gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker in her eyes, something that softened the hard edge she always wore when she was in public.

"You’ve really been following me all the way out here, huh?" she said with a teasing tilt to her voice, as though she were surprised to see him.

Lando cleared his throat, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, figured I’d check in. You know... make sure you didn’t get lost in the whole... victory thing." He gestured vaguely toward the arena, trying to play it off cool.

Lottie raised an eyebrow, and then a small, smug smile tugged at her lips. "You mean 'make sure I’m not too busy for you,' right?"

Lando smirked, but it felt more like he was stumbling. "Something like that." He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Anyway... You were... incredible out there."

Her smirk widened, though there was no real arrogance in it, just a playful recognition. "You’re not too bad at this, Norris," she teased. "Getting all sentimental over a horse show."

Lando chuckled, a little nervous but enjoying the banter despite himself. "I didn’t think I’d be clapping that hard for someone jumping over fences."

Lottie rolled her eyes, the warmth in her smile softening her usual sharpness. "You’re lucky you don’t have to do it yourself. This thing’s got more math involved than you’d think."

"I thought the horse did all the work," Lando shot back, remembering their earlier conversation, his grin widening.

Her laugh was quick, genuine. "Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention. You really should try it someday."

Lando shrugged, the moment of awkwardness beginning to ebb away. "I think I’ll leave it to the professionals."

They stood there for a beat, the easy banter flowing between them again. The tension from earlier, from all the weirdness of their fake relationship, had dissipated a little. It didn’t feel completely normal, but it was a start.

Lottie leaned against the stable door, her attention back on her horse. "So," she said, her tone turning slightly more casual, "what now? You just gonna stand there, or do you actually want to help me untack him?"

Lando blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. He cleared his throat. "I... wasn’t sure if I was allowed to get involved," he admitted, his voice a bit sheepish. "You seem like you’ve got it all under control."

Lottie chuckled, a low sound that seemed to fill the space between them. "Yeah, well, you’re not here to just watch me work. Come on, hold the reins for a second."

Lando stepped forward, taking the reins she offered, but his hands were a bit unsure as he adjusted his grip. "I’m not sure how much help I’ll be," he muttered, looking at the horse with a degree of caution. "This isn’t really my area of expertise."

Lottie smirked, her gaze drifting back to the horse. "I figured. But hey, it's not like you have to do anything complicated. Just stand there and make sure he doesn’t decide to wander off."

Lando gave a slight nod, trying to act natural. "Yeah, just stand here and look like I know what I’m doing, right?"

She shot him a teasing glance, her tone softening a little. "Basically. Don’t worry, he’s pretty easygoing. He’s more interested in snacks than anything else."

Lando relaxed slightly at that, but then caught the way Lottie was moving—how she worked with her horse so confidently, as if every movement was ingrained. There was something mesmerizing about it. He took a breath, unsure how to keep the conversation going.

"So, uh... how does it feel, you know, being this close to the Olympics?" He winced inwardly, wishing the question didn’t sound so... forced.

Lottie’s hands stilled for a moment, and she looked up at him, her expression guarded. "It’s not something I think about all the time," she said slowly, the words deliberate. "If I focus too much on it, I’ll start psyching myself out. But yeah, it’s kind of always there, hanging over you."

"Must be a lot of pressure," Lando said, feeling a sudden sympathy for her. He had his own kind of pressure—just in a completely different world. "I mean, with everything else going on, the media, the competition... I don’t know how you do it."

Lottie gave a small shrug, her face softening a little. "You just do. You can’t let it break you, or else what’s the point?"

Lando nodded, feeling a surprising respect for her resilience. "I get that. In my world, it’s the same. But I guess that’s why I’m here, right?" He glanced down at the reins in his hands, then back at her. "To make sure you don’t break under the pressure."

Lottie’s lips twitched into a smile, but it was brief. "Oh, so that’s your role here? The unofficial pressure manager?"

He gave a half-smile. "I can manage that."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, returning her attention to the horse. "Just don’t expect me to thank you when I make it to the Olympics. I’m not that sentimental."

Lando chuckled, leaning back slightly. "I’ll take what I can get."

For a brief moment, the awkwardness between them seemed to fade, replaced by the kind of easy banter that, for whatever reason, seemed to come naturally. Lottie continued working, and Lando stayed quietly by her side, holding the reins and trying to act like he belonged here.

As the last of the gear was removed from the horse, Lottie finally turned to face him again. "Thanks for the... moral support," she said dryly. "Now, go on. You’ve done your part."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "That’s it? I thought I was supposed to be the hero in this scenario."

Lottie smirked, glancing at him sideways. "Yeah, well, you’re not quite there yet, Norris."

As Lottie finished up with her horse, she gave him one last pat on the neck before stepping away. “Alright, Norris,” she said, wiping her hands on her breeches. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You can go back to whatever it is you do when you’re not being dragged into the equestrian world.”

Lando huffed a laugh, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “You say that like you’re getting rid of me.”

Lottie smirked. “Aren’t I?”

He didn’t have a real answer to that, because truthfully, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. And somehow, instead of heading for the exit, he fell into step beside her as she made her way back toward the event grounds.  The competition was still in full swing, but many spectators had drifted toward the sponsor booths, the food stalls, or the shaded VIP areas.

Lottie walked with an easy confidence, the same way she rode—with control, purpose. Lando, on the other hand, was just along for the ride, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his cap pulled low over his forehead.

They were almost past a group of young women chatting near one of the merchandise tents when Lottie heard an excited gasp.

“Oh my god, that’s Charlotte Hayes!”

She barely had time to react before the group turned toward her, faces lighting up with recognition.

“You were incredible out there!” one of them gushed.

“We’ve been following you all season—you’re seriously insane on cross-country.”

“Can we get a picture with you?”

Lottie blinked, a little taken aback. She was used to attention at equestrian events, but she wasn’t used to fans being quite this enthusiastic.

Before she could answer, Lando—who had been standing beside her, entirely unnoticed—cleared his throat dramatically. “Well, this is new,” he said, smirking. “People actually ignoring me for once.”

The girls turned at the sound of his voice, their excitement doubling when they recognized him.

“Wait—Lando?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t even see you there!”

“I had no idea you were into horses.”

Lando gave a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well. She’s making me a proper equestrian, one event at a time.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Don’t let him fool you. He still thinks the horse does all the work.”

The group laughed, and one of the girls held up her phone. “Lottie, can we—?”

“Of course,” Lottie said, already reaching for the phone.

But before she could take it, Lando snatched it from her hands with a grin. “I got it,” he said. “I’ll be the photographer today.”

The girls practically melted on the spot.

“That’s adorable.”

“He’s so boyfriend-coded.”

Lottie shot Lando a look, but he was already positioning himself, phone in hand. “Alright, ladies,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Make sure to smile—this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Lottie groaned. “Oh, shut up and take the picture.”

He did. A few, actually. By the time he handed the phone back, the girls were giddy.

“You guys are actually, like… the cutest couple,” one of them said.

Lottie let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Too late,” Lando said, flashing a smug grin.

They said their goodbyes, the girls walking away in a flurry of excitement, undoubtedly uploading the pictures as they spoke.

Lando fell back into step beside her, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “See? You’re famous.”

Lottie scoffed. “You’re just upset they didn’t ask for a picture with you.”

Lando placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “I’m secure enough to let you have the spotlight.”

She arched a brow. “Really?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ll survive.”

Lottie shook her head, amused despite herself. But as they continued walking, Lando noticed something—she was smiling. Not for the cameras, not for PR.

Just for herself.

And for some reason, he really, really liked seeing it.

The Miami heat was already oppressive, pressing down on the tinted windows of the car as they rolled through the paddock gates. Outside, the usual chaos of a race weekend was in full swing—fans gathered behind barriers, cameras flashing, media personnel darting around like they were on a mission.

Inside the car, Lottie was acutely aware of the fact that they were being watched.

She had seen the madness surrounding Formula 1 drivers before, but this was the first time she was in it. And it wasn’t just Lando they were looking at—it was her.

"They’re already taking pictures," she muttered, staring out at the sea of fans through her sunglasses.

Lando, sitting comfortably beside her in the passenger seat, let out a chuckle. "Yeah, get used to that."

She shot him a look. "Easy for you to say. You signed up for this."

"So did you," he pointed out with a smirk. "Technically."

Lottie huffed, leaning back against the leather seat. "I signed up to fix my PR. I didn’t sign up for... that." She nodded toward a group of girls holding up their phones, faces lighting up the moment they spotted them.

Lando followed her gaze, then smirked again. "Welcome to the world of the WAGs."

She turned to him, frowning. "The what?"

"WAGs," he repeated. "Wives and Girlfriends."

She snorted. "That’s a thing?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Oh, it’s a thing. The fans love them. Some people treat them like celebrities. Others act like they personally offended them just by existing. It’s all a bit... intense."

Lottie stared at him, processing that information. "So, what you’re saying is... there’s an entire part of your fanbase that’s obsessed with who you’re dating?"

"Yup."

"And some of them hate me just because I’m standing next to you?"

"Basically."

She scoffed. "That’s ridiculous."

"Welcome to Formula 1."

Lottie exhaled sharply, adjusting the sunglasses on her face. "Great. Can’t wait to be publicly analyzed and torn apart by strangers."

Lando grinned, nudging her playfully. "Just smile and wave, Little. Smile and wave."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at her lips.

Outside, the fans were practically buzzing with excitement as the car rolled to a stop.

Lando turned to her just before reaching for the door handle. "Ready?"

Lottie took a deep breath. "Not even a little bit."

"Perfect," he said, his grin widening. "Let’s go."

And with that, they stepped out into the Miami heat, into the cameras, into the madness.

Fans were already gathering, some chanting Lando’s name, others snapping pictures as they caught sight of him and Lottie. The loud hum of the paddock, the smell of the fresh tires, the mechanical sounds—everything seemed heightened for Lottie. She could feel herself stiffening at all the attention.

Lando, noticing the subtle change in her posture, immediately slowed his pace, instinctively staying close to her. He didn’t want to make her feel isolated in this sea of excitement.

Instead of rushing off to greet the fans, Lando subtly guided her toward the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, a quiet gesture of reassurance. His touch was firm but gentle, keeping her close as he navigated them through the crowds.

As a few fans called out for pictures, Lottie was about to step back, not wanting to be the center of attention. But before she could, Lando leaned in slightly, giving her a reassuring glance, his hand still resting on her back. “We’ll do this together,” he said through his actions, offering her the chance to stick with him as he engaged with the fans for a moment.

When the fans asked for photos, Lando didn’t hesitate to take the lead, not stepping too far away from her, making sure to always keep her within arm’s reach. He made a few jokes with them, but his focus was still on Lottie, ensuring that she never felt left out or uncomfortable.

As they continued walking, Lottie noticed how little he was engaging with the crowd compared to his usual self. Normally, Lando would stop for autographs or selfies at every opportunity, but today, he kept moving, his attention always returning to her. His hand never left her back, guiding her through the noise of the paddock.

“Lando,” she said quietly, glancing up at him, “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can talk to the fans. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look at her, but his thumb made small, soothing circles on the back of her shirt as they walked. “I’m not doing it because I have to,” he replied softly. “I want to. Besides, I’m not letting you get lost in the crowd.”

Lottie felt a knot she hadn’t realized was there slowly unravel. She didn’t say anything more, but her posture softened, and she stayed right beside him. She was beginning to realize just how thoughtful Lando was—how much care he was putting into making sure she felt at ease.

As they walked deeper into the paddock, Lando started introducing her to people from his team, pointing out familiar faces to help her feel more comfortable. His gestures were small but meaningful: a gentle nudge to the side, a soft, “This is Jane, she’s in charge of our PR, and that’s Tom, he handles our data,” always making sure she wasn’t left in the shadows.

Lottie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she watched him, taking in every small movement: the way he always made sure she was within his line of sight, the way he’d subtly check if she was okay whenever the crowd grew too loud. He never overdid it, never drew attention to it. It was just... him looking out for her, even when she didn’t ask for it.

They reached a quieter part of the paddock, away from the main traffic. Lottie took a breath, finally feeling like she could relax a little, and turned to him.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, her words almost lost in the noise of the paddock. She wasn’t sure if he heard her at first, but when he glanced at her, she could see the quiet acknowledgment in his eyes.

“No need to thank me,” he replied with a smile, though his eyes softened when he looked at her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Lottie chuckled softly, but there was a warmth in her expression now that hadn’t been there earlier. She wasn’t used to people looking out for her this way—so naturally, so without expecting anything in return.

But here was Lando, offering that kindness without hesitation, without ever drawing attention to it. She wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, but for the first time since stepping into the paddock, she felt like maybe she could actually enjoy this, after all.

The day had been a whirlwind. The noise, the constant movement, and the flashing cameras felt like they’d been part of their lives for hours. But as they finally found a quiet moment later in the evening, something was different between them. It wasn’t awkward—no, it wasn’t that. But there was a subtle shift in the air, something unspoken, like the calm before a storm, except there was no storm coming. It was just... different. Neither of them could pinpoint it, but there was a softness between them now that hadn’t been there before.

They chose to ignore it for the time being, pushing aside the strange tension in favor of the noise and chaos of the weekend. They weren’t sure how to navigate it, and so they didn’t.

That night, Lottie found herself sprawled out on her bed, still in her pajamas, replaying one of her past competitions. The footage was old, but it was comforting. Watching herself perform, even when she hadn’t been at her best, helped her focus, bringing a sense of peace to her mind after the chaos of the day. The low volume of the TV and the dim light created a calm atmosphere in the room, and she sunk deeper into the soft comfort of the bed.

But the peace didn’t last long. There was a knock at the door, followed by a familiar, playful voice.

“Room service,” Lando called, his voice making her smile despite herself. She had half-expected him to show up—he had been unusually thoughtful all day, checking in on her, introducing her to people in the paddock, and now it seemed he wasn’t going to let her end the day without at least a little more of his attention.

Lottie hesitated for just a moment, wondering what exactly he was up to, before pushing herself up from the bed and making her way to the door. When she opened it, she was greeted with a tower of takeout boxes, burgers, fries, and some of the most indulgent comfort food imaginable. Lando smiled at her, clearly proud of his delivery.

“I figured you were probably starving,” he said with a raised brow, playful as ever. “You didn’t seem all that keen on the paddock snacks today.”

Lottie couldn’t help but laugh. “You do know I’m not a child, right? You didn’t have to go all out like this.” Her eyes scanned the takeout boxes, each one more tempting than the last.

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to spoil someone like this,” Lando teased, winking as he set the food down on the small table by the window. His movements were relaxed, natural, like he belonged here, in this space with her, despite the high-energy atmosphere of the paddock just hours before.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Spoil me? I think you’re just trying to make sure I don’t get mad at you for dragging me into your chaotic world.”

Lando chuckled, collapsing onto the bed beside her with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Not true. I just thought we could have a quiet night for once. You know, just food, no cameras, no crazy crowds.”

Lottie glanced at him, and for a moment, their eyes lingered, the shift from earlier hanging between them. The way they could just be in the same space, without any of the external noise or expectations, was oddly comforting.

“You’re right,” she said softly, her voice quieter now. “It’s kind of nice to have a normal night for a change.”

Lando grinned, his expression carrying something more genuine than the usual playful exterior. “It’s not perfect, but it’s... better than nothing, right?”

They dug into the food, the tension that had been there before starting to fade. Lottie couldn’t help but let out a satisfied sigh as she bit into a burger.

“So, what’s it like?” she asked after a moment, glancing at him. “The whole paddock thing, I mean. The chaos, the pressure... Do you ever get used to it?”

Lando shrugged, chewing slowly before answering. “Not really. It’s a lot of pressure, yeah. But you just sort of... get into the rhythm of it. And it helps when you’re surrounded by people who’ve been doing it for years. They make it look easier than it is.”

Lottie nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "Must be a weird kind of pressure," she muttered, her gaze drifting to her fries. “I mean, I have my own pressures with competitions and everything, but this... this is next level.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s the difference between being part of the team and being the one everyone’s watching, huh?”

The conversation shifted into comfortable silence as they ate. There were no rushed words or forced small talk, just the simplicity of being together in the same space, enjoying the quiet.

Lottie shifted on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I think you’re right, though. It’s kind of nice not to be in the spotlight for a change.”

Lando met her gaze, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “it is.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, tossing a fry into his mouth with a playful glint in his eyes. “So, I was thinking... if you ever make it to the Olympics, we should totally get matching tracksuits. You know, like a power couple thing.”

Lottie burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “A matching tracksuit? You’d be the only person in the world who’d actually want to wear that with me.”

Lando grinned. “I’m serious! It’d be iconic. We could make it a thing for every major event—show up, match, and make the headlines.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we could make it work for your major events, but I’ll pass on the Olympics tracksuit idea, thanks.” She smirked, then her expression softened. “But honestly, I’m not sure what’s scarier: actually going or the pressure to not mess up once I’m there.”

Lando’s grin faded, and he looked at her more seriously. “It’s normal to feel that way. I mean, every race, every qualifying, I feel that weight too. But sometimes, the pressure is what drives you to be better. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night.”

Lottie tilted her head, her gaze steady on him. “I get it. But with the Olympics... it feels like this one shot. And if you mess it up, it’s not just one race—it’s everything. The years of work, the people who’ve supported you. And there’s me, wondering if I’m even good enough for it.”

Lando’s tone softened, his eyes locking with hers. “You are good enough. I don’t think anyone doubts that.”

Lottie gave a small, almost bitter laugh. “You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s not even about how good you are. It’s the other stuff—the media, the expectations. It’s exhausting.”

“I get that,” Lando said quietly. “In F1, it’s all about the performance. But everyone’s watching, critiquing every little thing you do. It’s like you’re never allowed to just... be human.”

Lottie met his gaze, a slight frown on her face. “Yeah. You can’t just make a mistake, because that mistake will follow you around forever.”

For a moment, silence filled the room, but it was different this time. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just understanding. Lottie shifted uncomfortably before speaking again, her voice quieter.

“You know, I used to think I had to handle everything on my own. I mean, I have to, right? But... it’s weird, having someone else who gets it. Who doesn’t just brush it off like it’s no big deal.”

Lando met her gaze, his expression softer now. “I get it. It’s not easy, and yeah... I guess I’m here if you need someone to talk to about it.”

Lottie didn’t look away this time. “I know. I appreciate that, Lando. More than you think.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and for the first time in a long time, the weight of their respective pressures felt a little less heavy. For the first time in a while, they didn’t have to carry it alone.

Finally, Lottie broke the silence with a playful grin. “But seriously, no matching tracksuits. Ever.”

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, relieved to lighten the mood. “Alright, alright. No tracksuits. I’ll settle for just being your number-one fan instead.”

Lottie smirked. “That’s more like it.”

The morning light filtered softly through the hotel curtains, casting long golden streaks across the room. Lottie blinked awake, her body heavy with sleep, the exhaustion of the weekend settling deep in her bones. Instinctively, she reached for her phone, scrolling through the usual flood of notifications, skimming mindlessly—until one email stopped her cold.

British Olympic Committee - Selection Confirmation

Her heart stumbled.

With shaking fingers, she tapped it open, her breath hitching as she read the words that would change everything.

"Dear Miss Hayes, we are pleased to confirm your selection for the British Eventing Team for the Paris 2024 Olympic Games..."

A sharp inhale. Her vision blurred, the letters swimming as the weight of it all came crashing down on her.

She covered her mouth with her hand as the first tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. Her whole body trembled. Years of training, every fall, every broken bone, every grueling hour spent chasing a dream that had always felt just out of reach—until now. She was in. She was going to the Olympics.

A small, breathless laugh escaped her, equal parts disbelief and sheer, overwhelming joy. She wanted to scream, to call someone, to—

But no.

Not today.

Today wasn’t about her. Today was Lando’s race. And as much as she ached to tell him, to share this impossible, life-changing moment, she knew better. He had enough pressure on his shoulders without her dropping this on him hours before he got into the car.

So she wiped her tears, steadied her breath, and tucked the secret away for later.

Later, the McLaren garage buzzed with a nervous, electric energy, every person within it tuned into the same frequency of anticipation. Mechanics darted back and forth, engineers murmured into headsets, and the screens flickered with the ever-changing numbers of a race that was unfolding at breakneck speed.

Lottie didn’t have to fake anything.

Every time Lando made an overtake, she felt her pulse jump, her stomach twisting in that awful, addictive way that only live competition could bring. The cameras caught her reactions, but for once, she barely noticed. She was too caught up in the moment.

And then came the final lap.

Lando was leading.

The entire garage held its breath.

The roar that erupted when he crossed the line was deafening. The sheer force of celebration was enough to shake the walls as the McLaren crew erupted into cheers, throwing their arms around each other, jumping, screaming. Lottie felt it all at once—a rush of relief, excitement, pride so intense it made her dizzy.

She didn’t hesitate. She ran with them, pushing through the chaos toward parc fermé, the euphoria carrying her forward.

He celebrated, shouting into the sea of orange, hugging engineers, mechanics, anyone in reach. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. Lottie. Standing just beyond the McLaren team, watching him with the brightest, most genuine smile he’d ever seen on her face. She wasn’t faking it for the cameras, wasn’t playing along for the sake of their contract. She was just… happy. For him.

And suddenly, he had to go to her.

Lando pushed through the crowd, still buzzing with euphoria, and reached her just as she was laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. “You did it!” she shouted over the noise, breathless, laughing, not caring about anything else. “You actually fucking did it!”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, still shaking from the adrenaline. “Hell yeah, I did!”

She nodded, and then, almost without thinking, she blurted it out—because what better moment was there than this? "I made it."

Lando frowned for half a second, still catching his breath. "Made what?"

Her smile wobbled slightly, her hands gripping his forearms like she needed to steady herself. "I got the email this morning. I’m in. The Olympic team. I—Lando, I’m going to the Olympics."

His world, which had already been spinning from the win, somehow tilted even more. His hands moved on instinct, gripping her shoulders, grounding them both in the chaos. "What?"

“I got the email this morning.” Her voice wavered, but her smile didn’t falter. “I made the team, Lando. I’m going to Paris.”

For a split second, everything around them disappeared. The noise, the cameras, the flashing lights—it all faded into the background as he just looked at her.

And then, without thinking, without planning, without hesitation—Lando kissed her.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t passionate. Just a brief, fleeting press of lips, quick and instinctive, like an exclamation point to a moment too big for words.

But it was enough. Enough to make both of them freeze in the aftermath, their faces inches apart, wide-eyed and breathless. Enough for the world around them to catch it, cameras flashing, thousands of eyes capturing something neither of them had expected.

Lottie swallowed hard.

Lando blinked, as if realizing what he’d just done.

Oh.

The moment stretched between them, fragile and electric. Lottie could still feel the ghost of Lando’s lips on hers, barely there, but somehow lingering.

They just stared at each other, breathless, caught in something they didn’t have time to untangle—because before either of them could say a word, McLaren’s team swarmed in.

Lando was yanked away in a blur of orange, lost in a chaos of arms slung around his shoulders, cheers, shouts, hands thumping his back, shaking him, pulling him into the celebration. He was gone in an instant, absorbed by the frenzy of victory.

Lottie remained frozen in place, watching.

Her heart was still pounding, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the race, from the sheer overwhelming euphoria of the moment—or from that. From the fact that, for the first time since they’d agreed to this whole thing, something had happened that wasn’t scripted.

A kiss wasn’t in the contract.

It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been necessary.

So why had he done it?

Why had she let him?

Lottie swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe as she stood there, the noise of the celebrations ringing in her ears. She tried to convince herself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just the adrenaline, the heat of the moment, a natural reaction to winning.

But a small, unwelcome thought curled in the back of her mind.

Have we just crossed a line?

After the podium, the celebrations carried on in the McLaren garage, thick with champagne, music, and the high of victory. Lando was in the center of it all, surrounded by his team, his friends, people who had worked for this just as much as he had. He was laughing, grinning so wide his face ached, letting the euphoria consume him.

But even through the haze of it all, he kept catching glimpses of her.

Lottie, standing at the edge of the room, drink in hand, smiling at something one of the engineers had said. But not fully present. Not quite there.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach.

So he slipped away, weaving through the crowd until he reached her side.

“Hey.”

She turned, surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to seek her out. “Hey, champ.”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, still high on everything, but suddenly feeling way too aware of himself. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, hesitating for a second before blurting out—

“I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

Lottie blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

Lando exhaled sharply. “I mean—I didn’t plan to. It just... happened. I thought it would look good for the cameras, and I—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I should’ve asked. I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s okay.”

Her voice was quiet but certain.

Lando studied her face, trying to gauge if she really meant that, or if she was just saying it to make things easier.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of unspoken questions, things neither of them dared to say.

Did it mean something to you?

Because I think it meant something to me.

Lottie cleared her throat, breaking the moment. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. We’re fine.” She offered him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Lando nodded, pretending that was enough.

But as the party carried on around them, as the noise swallowed them up again, neither of them could shake the feeling that something had shifted. That maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something they weren’t ready for.

The night split them in two.

Lando, wrapped up in the whirlwind of celebration, surrounded by his team, other drivers, friends—anyone who wanted to drown in the euphoria of victory with him. The energy of the night was electric, pulsing through the city, through the people, through the drinks passed from hand to hand in the dim glow of club lights.

Lottie, on the other hand, chose something quieter.

“I think I’ll head back,” she told him when the chaos started to spill out of the McLaren garage, into the night. “I need to call my parents, tell them about—” She hesitated for just a second, then smiled. “About the Olympics.”

Lando blinked, like he’d almost forgotten that massive piece of news in the mess of everything else. “Right.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, of course. That makes sense.”

She could see the question forming in his mind before he even said it.

“Are we—” He stopped, shifted on his feet. “We’re good, right?”

Lottie tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Good?”

His jaw tensed, and she could tell he was choosing his words. “With everything. With us. I just—I don’t want things to be weird after—”

“They’re not,” she interrupted, soft but firm. She didn’t let him finish. “We’re fine.”

And maybe it was the way she said it so certainly, the way she met his eyes without hesitation, but Lando believed her.

Still, something inside him felt unsteady.

She leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to his cheek. “Go celebrate,” she murmured.

Lando barely had time to process it before the cameras around them clicked, a frenzy of flashes capturing the moment. A sweet, calculated moment. One that did exactly what it was supposed to—sent the message loud and clear: Charlotte Hayes and Lando Norris are stronger than ever.

Lottie pulled away, sending him one last small smile before stepping back, disappearing into the night, leaving Lando standing there, watching her go.

And then, he let himself get swept away.

The morning hit like a freight train.

Lottie wasn’t even fully awake when she reached for her phone, still hazy from sleep, her body aching from the long weekend. But the second she saw the notifications, her brain jolted awake.

Her screen was flooded.

Headlines. Twitter threads. Photos. Speculation.

Lando Norris partying the night away after victory—who’s the mystery woman?

A few hours after celebrating with his girlfriend, Lando Norris was spotted leaving a hotel that wasn’t his own.

Has Lando Norris already moved on from Charlotte Hayes?

Lottie sat up so fast she nearly got whiplash.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she clicked on the photos, one by one, each image sharper than the last.

Lando in the club, drink in hand, a dark-haired woman pressed close, his head tipped toward her ear.

Lando laughing, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Lando walking out of a hotel at sunrise, looking wrecked, his hoodie pulled low over his face.

The rage hit her fast.

Hot, violent, immediate.

It clawed up her throat, burned behind her ribs.

Because it wasn’t just about the rumors. It wasn’t just about what the press was saying.

It was the fact that he had done this.

After last night. After everything.

Lottie squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose, trying to breathe through the anger simmering under her skin.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what kind of person Lando was. She knew what she had signed up for.

But this?

This was humiliating.

And Charlotte Hayes didn’t do humiliation.

Lottie didn’t think.

She moved on pure, unfiltered rage.

Barefoot, still in her sleep shorts and hoodie, she stormed down the hallway of the hotel, barely aware of the pounding of her own footsteps. The anger was a living, breathing thing inside her, tightening its grip with every step.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate.

Just shoved the door open with enough force to make it slam against the wall.

Lando was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, looking like absolute shit. His hair was a mess, his hoodie wrinkled like he had slept in it—if he had even slept at all. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, making the exhaustion in his eyes even more obvious.

The second he looked up and saw her, his eyes widened. “Lottie—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the heavy morning air.

Lando winced, dragging a hand over his face. “Listen—”

“No. You listen.” She took a step closer, fury radiating off her in waves. “I wake up this morning to see the entire world debating whether or not you’ve cheated on me. Do you have any idea what this looks like?”

Lando exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything, Lottie. I swear. Yeah, I was drunk, and yeah, she was—close, but I didn’t—”

“I don’t care.” Lottie’s voice was deadly quiet now. “It doesn’t matter what actually happened. It matters what people think happened. And right now, the entire internet is convinced that you just made a fucking fool out of me.”

Lando ran a hand through his curls, frustration evident in every tense muscle of his body. “It’s not like I took her to my room! Those photos—Jesus, I was literally leaving my friends’ hotel. That’s it. That’s the whole fucking story.”

Lottie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “And what, you think people are going to believe that? You think the fans, the media, the sponsors, are going to take the time to fact-check before they start writing the next big headline?” She shook her head, stepping even closer. “This isn’t about truth, Lando. It’s about perception. That’s all a PR relationship is, and you just made it look like I’m the pathetic girlfriend getting cheated on.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. “You’re not my girlfriend.”

She laughed. A sharp, bitter sound. “No, I’m not! And thank fuck for that, because at least I don’t have to actually deal with your bullshit!”

He stood up then, closing the space between them. “What do you want me to do, Lottie?” His voice was lower now, but the frustration was still there. “I can’t change it. I can’t go back and undo it.”

Her breath came fast, her heart pounding. “You want to fix it? Fine. Handle it.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “Clean up your own fucking mess.”

Lando swallowed hard, his hands flexing at his sides. “Lottie—”

“Don’t.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. If you have something to say, tell my team. I’ll be busy—I don’t have time to be dealing with your shit when I have the Olympics to focus on.”

His brows pulled together, his expression unreadable. “That’s it? You’re just gonna cut me off?”

“No, Lando.” Her voice was steady. “I’m just reminding you that this isn’t real. You do whatever the fuck you want—I’m done cleaning up after you.”

She turned before he could say another word, slamming the door behind her, leaving him standing there in the wreckage.

Weeks go by. The headlines cool down. His PR team works damage control, pushing a new narrative—"misunderstanding," "taken out of context," "no trouble in paradise." They make sure Lottie and Lando are seen together again, and soon, the internet forgets.

But Lottie doesn’t.

She’s too busy winning. Training harder than ever, pouring all of her focus into the Olympics. And if there’s something fierce in the way she throws herself into it, something angry—well, she doesn’t think too much about that.

Then, their PR teams drop a bomb on them.

"Vacation."

Together.

"To keep up appearances," their managers explain. "To make sure everyone knows things are fine."

Lottie is livid. She wants to refuse, wants to tell them all to go to hell—but she can’t. This is what she signed up for. And if she has to suffer through another week with Lando Norris, she’s going to do it her way.

So, she picks the location.

Her family's estate. A sprawling, old-money English countryside estate—complete with horses, etiquette-dinner expectations, and the poshest group of people Lando has ever encountered in his life.

If she has to deal with him, then he has to deal with this.

And that?

That’s where the real fun begins.

Lando has been thrown into hell. Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

The estate is massive, straight out of a period drama, with towering trees lining the driveway and an overwhelming sense of old money oozing from every brick. The kind of place where history isn’t just remembered—it’s lived in. The house itself is ridiculous—high ceilings, chandeliers, endless hallways leading to even more endless rooms. Every surface gleams, polished to perfection, and the whole place smells faintly of expensive wood polish and fresh flowers.

Lottie is clearly thriving.

She doesn’t even try to ease him into it. If anything, she seems delighted by his suffering.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” she says sweetly their first morning there, leading him into the grand dining room for breakfast. “We have a dress code for meals.”

Lando looks down at his hoodie and sweatpants, then back up at her. “You’re joking.”

She isn’t.

He doesn’t change. Not for breakfast, not for dinner, not ever. He shows up every morning in his McLaren hoodie, every evening in his cargo shorts, and every time he catches Lottie’s mother glancing at his outfit, he just smiles and takes another bite of whatever very expensive meal they’re eating.

It’s a battle of wills. And Lando? He likes winning.

But even though he’s standing his ground on the clothing front, there’s one battle he’s losing—the absolute zoo of animals in this house.

Caesar, at least, is familiar. The big German Shepherd recognizes Lando immediately, tail wagging as he trots up to him like they’re old friends. Lando crouches to scratch behind his ears, muttering, “At least you don’t hate me.”

But then come the others.

Three other dogs.

One of them—a scruffy little terrier mix—steals his shoes every time he takes them off. Another, a massive black Labrador, insists on sitting directly on his feet whenever Lando is standing still. And the third, a tiny white ball of fluff, just stares at him. Silent. Judging.

Then there are the cats. So many cats. Lando has no idea how many there actually are—every time he turns a corner, there’s another one. On the stairs. On the windowsills. Watching him from the bookshelves like tiny, furry spies.

“I feel like I’m being monitored,” he tells Lottie one afternoon, eyeing a particularly fluffy orange tabby that hasn’t blinked in minutes.

Lottie just hums, flipping a page in her book. “You probably are.”

Then there are her brothers, the twins. They don’t hate him. They don’t even intimidate him. But they do make him uncomfortable.

Because for the first two days, they just watch him. Always there, just slightly in the background. Lando will be sitting in the lounge, and suddenly, he’ll realize they’re behind the couch. Not saying anything. Just observing.

Or he’ll walk into a room and they’ll already be there, speaking in low voices, only to stop immediately when he enters.

At one point, he catches them sitting across from each other in the drawing room, both drinking tea, both looking at him with the exact same neutral expression.

“You two are terrifying,” he says flatly.

One of them blinks. “Thank you.”

But then, on the third day, something changes.

They’ve just finished dinner, and Lando is mentally preparing himself for another round of polite-yet-unsettling observation from Lottie’s twin brothers when one of them—Oliver? Nate? No clue—leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Do you play FIFA?”

Lando pauses, thrown by the sudden normalcy of the question. “Uh. Yeah?”

The twins exchange a glance.

“Come with us.”

It sounds less like an invitation and more like a summoning, but Lando follows them anyway, intrigued. They lead him through the house, down a hallway, and into what can only be described as a shrine to sports and gaming. A massive flat-screen TV, shelves lined with games, beanbags strewn about, and a top-of-the-line gaming console already set up.

They settle in, and within minutes, they’re locked in battle.

It turns out the twins are good. But Lando is better.

By the time he scores his third goal in a row, he can practically hear their egos fracturing.

“Jesus,” one of them mutters, scowling at the screen.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver,” the other points out. “How the hell are you this good? Do you really have time to play games?”

Lando just smirks, lounging back into the couch. “Hand-eye coordination, mate.”

For the first time since he arrived, the tension eases. The twins stop analyzing him like some strange foreign specimen and start treating him like a competitor, someone worth their time.

They play for hours, their competitive streaks fueling each other, and by the time they finally call it quits, Lando almost forgets that, technically, he’s supposed to be suffering on this trip.

Almost.

The next afternoon, Lottie and her parents sit outside, having tea at a shaded table on the terrace. The estate stretches out before them—rolling fields, neatly kept gardens, and, at the far end of the property, a large, open field.

It’s there that the twins have dragged Lando, a football at their feet.

“He’s definitely better than them,” Lottie remarks, watching as Lando effortlessly weaves through her brothers, making them look ridiculous in the process.

Her father hums, sipping his tea. “They need to be humbled from time to time.”

Her mother sighs. “I am starting to like him.”

Lottie grins, eyes fixed on the game. She can hear them shouting at each other—frustrated, determined, cursing when Lando scores yet again.

And then, something unexpected happens.

Lando looks up from the field, his eyes searching. And when they find her—when he finds her—he grins. Wide, smug, bright with victory and mischief.

Lottie rolls her eyes, pretending not to care.

But she feels it.

That warmth creeping in, that quiet, dangerous thought—maybe this isn't fake at all.

And then, it starts subtly.

Lottie notices it in small gestures, little shifts in body language that would go unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t her.

Her mother, for example, stops looking at Lando like he’s a particularly loud guest overstaying his welcome. Instead, she starts noticing things.

The way he always greets her politely in the morning, even when he’s barely awake. The way he thanks the staff every time they serve a meal. The way he lets Caesar jump onto his lap, even though he’s wearing one of his expensive hoodies and will absolutely leave covered in dog hair.

But the real moment of change comes one evening when they’re all gathered in the sitting room. It’s been a long day—Lottie had spent the afternoon training, Lando had been dragged into yet another ridiculous scheme by her brothers, and now, finally, there’s a lull in the chaos.

Lottie’s mother is knitting, a quiet habit of hers that keeps her hands busy while she listens to the conversation around her.

And then—without a word—she sets down her knitting, stands up, and disappears into the hallway.

Lottie barely notices, until she returns a moment later with a folded blanket in her hands.

She walks straight over to where Lando is slumped in an armchair, clearly exhausted but still trying to follow the conversation. He blinks up at her, confused, as she unfolds the blanket and drapes it over his shoulders.

"There," she says, smoothing it down as if he’s one of her children. "You looked cold."

Lando just stares at her. Lottie stares at her.

Her mother doesn’t say anything else—just pats his shoulder lightly and goes back to her seat, picking up her knitting again like nothing happened.

Lottie’s brothers immediately start teasing him for it.

Lando, dazed, just pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

He’s in.

Her father takes longer.

Not because he’s particularly cold—Lottie’s father isn’t unkind, just reserved. Measured. He was never one for overly warm welcomes, always preferring to keep his distance until someone proved themselves worth the effort.

But he watches Lando.

Watches him joke with the twins, watches the way Caesar follows him around, watches how he doesn’t complain about any of it—the formality, the expectation, the centuries-old family traditions he clearly doesn’t understand but still respects.

And then, one evening, as they’re all gathered in the sitting room after dinner, he finally speaks directly to him.

"You’re a racing driver, but are you into cars?"

Lando, caught mid-sip of his drink, swallows quickly. "Uh—yeah."

Her father hums, thoughtful. "I rebuilt an old Aston Martin years ago. Did it myself. Took months."

Lottie stares.

Her father never talks about that.

Lando, however, lights up. "No way. What model?"

And just like that, they’re talking. Really talking—about engines, about restoration work, about classic cars versus modern builds. Lottie watches as her father, the same man who barely tolerated Lando’s existence a few days ago, nods along, asking questions, engaging in a way that he rarely does with people outside their world.

It’s… unexpected.

And then—

"You should stay for the hunting weekend," her father says casually, sipping his brandy.

Lando blinks. "The what now?"

Lottie groans, dragging a hand over her face. "Oh, God. Don’t encourage him."

Her father just chuckles. "It’s tradition."

And that? That’s acceptance.

Lottie sees all of it.

Sees her mother treating Lando with the same quiet care she gives her own children. Sees her father warming to him in his own quiet, begrudging way. Sees the twins, who were dead set on making his life miserable, inviting him to play, to join, to be part of it.

She watches as Lando stops acting like he’s just tolerating it, and starts enjoying it.

And worst of all?

She watches herself let it happen.

It starts with curiosity.

Lando had never paid much attention to horses before—never needed to. His world had always been fast cars, roaring engines, and sleek designs built for speed. The idea of an animal being an athlete in its own right was… foreign.

But then there’s Lottie.

And Lottie is magic on a horse.

He watches her every morning, perched on the edge of the fence as she takes Vermento through his paces, guiding him through intricate dressage routines, moving as if they share the same mind. He watches her during jumping sessions, the sound of hooves hitting the ground in rhythmic beats, her focus razor-sharp, her body a study in control and precision.

Some days, she disappears into the cross-country course—a winding, forested path with water jumps, fallen logs, and sharp turns that demand both trust and instinct.

That’s when Lando gets bored. And a bored Lando is a reckless Lando.

Which is how he ends up on a bike.

The twins had found it for him, laughing their asses off as they presented the ancient, half-rusted bicycle that had probably been sitting in one of the estate’s storage sheds for decades.

But Lando? Lando sees a challenge.

So the next morning, when Lottie heads toward the cross-country course, he grabs the bike and pedals after her.

She doesn’t notice at first, too focused on guiding Vermento over the jumps, but when she finally turns her head and sees him—legs pumping furiously, struggling to keep up—she nearly falls off her horse from laughing.

“What the hell are you doing?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Winning,” he shouts back, even though he’s absolutely not.

He lasts about ten minutes before his legs burn like hell and he nearly crashes into a bush. Lottie watches, still laughing, as he slows to a stop, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

Vermento trots back toward him, ears flicking curiously. Lottie, still grinning, leans forward in the saddle. “Not as easy as it looks, huh?”

Lando glares up at her. “Shut up.”

But the next morning, he does it again.

And the next.

And the next.

Then there are the photos.

It’s part of the reason they’re here, after all—damage control, reassurance for the fans. So they take pictures together, post casual stories of their “vacation” online.

A blurry shot of Caesar flopped on Lando’s lap, captioned: Officially Lando’s dog now. Sorry, Lottie.

A picture of Lottie sitting on the fence, sipping coffee, watching Lando struggle to clean Vermento’s hooves under the supervision of one of the grooms.

A short video of Lando trying—and failing—to keep up with her on the bike, her laughter in the background as she zooms past him on horseback.

They’re easy, effortless.

And the internet eats them up.

Fans flood the comments—he’s obsessed with her, they look so happy, look at the way he looks at her.

And Lando doesn’t read them.

Not because he doesn’t care, but because he doesn’t need to.

Because he knows how he looks at her.

He knows that he’s spent hours watching her train, noticing things he shouldn’t—like the way her expression softens when she talks to Vermento, or the way her hair slips loose from its tie when she’s too focused to fix it, or the way she bites her lip when she’s planning her next move.

He knows that the way he feels when she smiles at him, really smiles, is different from how he’s ever felt before.

He knows.

And that?

That’s terrifying.

The house is empty.

Lottie doesn’t notice at first—too busy going through her post-training routine, stretching out muscles that burn from the morning’s work. She assumes the usual background noise of the estate will fill the space soon enough—her brothers causing chaos, her mother calling for dinner, her father reading in his study. But the house stays quiet.

No staff. No family.

Just her.

And Lando.

She finds him in the sitting room, sprawled out on one of the massive couches, flipping absently through a book he definitely isn’t reading. His McLaren hoodie looks ridiculous in the setting—old paintings, antique furniture, crystal chandeliers—but he doesn’t seem to care.

He glances up when she walks in.

“You realize we’re alone?” he asks.

Lottie arches an eyebrow. “What, scared?”

Lando scoffs. “Terrified.”

She smirks, crossing the room to sit with him, curling her legs up beneath her. For a moment, there’s silence—calm, easy. But then Lando shifts, sets the book down, and his expression changes.

It’s subtle—the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands curl slightly against his knees.

Lottie knows that look. He’s about to say something.

And then he does.

“I’m sorry.”

Lottie stills. “…For what?”

“For Miami.”

The weight of his words settles between them, heavier than she expects. Lando leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s been holding this in for too long.

“I fucked up,” he continues. “I didn’t think. I—” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I was stupid, and I didn’t think about you. About how it would look, about the contract, about—everything.” His eyes flick up to hers, and something about the way he looks at her now makes her throat tighten. “And I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was pissed, but that’s not an excuse.”

Lottie watches him, heartbeat steady but heavy.

She swallows.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Lando exhales, nodding.

And then—

“I was angry,” she admits, voice softer now. “But… it wasn’t just about you. I mean, it was, obviously, but—” She stops, pressing her lips together for a second before continuing. “It felt like him again.”

Lando doesn’t need to ask who.

He already knows.

“My ex—” She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “He was always in the papers. Not for good reasons. And I was always in them with him, whether I wanted to be or not. The drinking, the fighting, the—” She cuts herself off, biting the inside of her cheek.

Lando stays silent, waiting.

Lottie glances at him, then away.

“I was stupid,” she mutters. “I thought I could make it work. I thought I could fix it. But it just kept getting worse, and worse, and worse, and suddenly I wasn’t just Charlotte Hayes, the equestrian—I was Charlotte Hayes, the girlfriend of the asshole footballer who can’t keep himself out of trouble.”

Lando’s expression hardens.

“I hated it,” she continues. “I hated him, by the end of it. Hated how he made me feel—like I was just an accessory, something he could drag into whatever shit he got himself into. I hated waking up and not knowing what headline would be waiting for me that day.”

She exhales.

“And then Miami happened.”

Lando rubs his hands together, gaze never leaving her.

“I get it now,” he murmurs. “Why you reacted the way you did.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

There’s another silence—longer, deeper.

And then—

“The kiss.”

Lottie’s breath catches.

Lando watches her closely.

“After the race,” he clarifies. “That was… real, right?”

She doesn’t answer immediately.

Doesn’t know how to.

But then she remembers the way it felt—the rush of it, the warmth, the absolute lack of hesitation.

“Yes,” she says.

A beat.

Lando’s gaze flicks down—to her lips, to the slight shift of her hands against her lap—then back up.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I thought so.”

Lando doesn’t move back.

And neither does Lottie.

They're close—closer than they’ve ever been without an audience watching, without a script to follow. It should be strange, unsettling even, to have the space between them collapse like this. But it’s not.

It feels inevitable.

Lottie’s heart beats steadily beneath her ribs, not frantic or panicked but slow, deep—aware.

She doesn’t drop his gaze.

Lando swallows. “I think about it.”

Her fingers twitch against her lap. “Think about what?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop. “You. Us. The kiss. That stupid fucking contract.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I tell myself it’s fake. That it’s just job. That none of this should mean anything.”

Lottie listens, hands still, spine straight.

Lando lets out a breath.

“But it does.”

It’s quiet. Honest.

Her pulse trips.

He leans back slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, shaking his head as if he’s just said something completely ridiculous.

“I don’t even know when it stopped being fake,” he mutters, like he’s trying to figure it out himself. “Maybe it was Miami. Maybe it was before that. Maybe it was that fucking dog of yours sitting on me like he owns me.” He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I stopped pretending a while ago.”

Lottie feels like the air has been knocked out of her lungs.

Lando Norris—the boy who fought this arrangement like it was the worst possible punishment, the boy who complained and sulked and refused to even try in the beginning—is looking at her now like she’s the only thing in the world that makes sense.

And maybe she’s been fooling herself.

Maybe she’s been pretending, too—pretending that she doesn’t notice the way her chest gets warm when he looks at her, the way his voice settles in her stomach, the way her body always seems to find him, whether it’s a shoulder bump, a hand on his arm, a touch that lingers too long.

Her throat is dry.

“Lando—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “I just—” He sighs, glancing up at her. “I just needed you to know.”

Lottie swallows, fingers tightening in the fabric of her leggings.

And then she hears herself say—

“I think about it, too.”

Lando goes completely still.

Her voice is quieter than his, softer, but just as steady. “I don’t know when it stopped being fake either. I just know that… it doesn’t feel fake now. It didn’t feel fake when I saw those photos of you and that woman, when all I felt was jealousy.”

He looks at her.

She looks at him.

And suddenly, the space between them feels laughable.

Lando moves first.

Or maybe she does.

It’s impossible to tell, because one second they’re sitting across from each other, and the next, his hand is cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his hoodie, pulling—

And then his lips are on hers.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s not careful.

It’s certain.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes her forget where they are, the kind that makes her stomach tighten and her hands pull him closer, the kind that answers every unspoken question between them.

Lando breathes her in, deep and slow, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to feel her, to lose himself in the way she tastes.

And Lottie lets him.

Lets herself.

Because this? This isn’t for anyone else.

It’s not for cameras, not for headlines, not for the PR team that bound them together in the first place.

This is real.

And neither of them want to stop.

The room feels different when they break apart. Not in a bad way.

Just—different.

Like something invisible has shifted. Like the air is thicker, charged with something unsaid but understood.

Lando stays close, forehead nearly brushing hers, breath warm against her skin. His hand is still on her jaw, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her cheek like he can’t quite bring himself to let go.

Lottie doesn’t move either. Because she doesn’t want to.

Her heart isn’t pounding, her breath isn’t shaky—there’s no frantic rush of adrenaline, no sudden panic. Just a slow, deep certainty settling in her bones.

Lando swallows, his eyes flickering over her face, searching for something.

Lottie already knows what he’s looking for.

And she gives it to him. She smiles.

Small, at first—barely there. But then it grows, stretching across her lips, warm and real.

And Lando—Lando laughs.

Not a nervous laugh. Not an awkward one. A relieved one.

A breathless, head-tilted-back, holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-we-just-did-that laugh.

Lottie shakes her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing too.

It doesn’t work.

He leans back, resting his weight on his hands, running his tongue over his bottom lip like he’s still tasting her.

“You’re smiling,” he points out, smug.

“So are you,” she retorts.

Lando shrugs. “Well, yeah. You are a pretty great kisser.”

Lottie rolls her eyes, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet—” He gestures vaguely between them. “You kissed me back.”

She huffs, shaking her head, but her face is warm, and she knows she’s not fooling anyone.

Lando watches her in silence for a moment, as if he’s still processing everything. Then, he tilts his head slightly.

“So what now?”

Lottie blinks.

The question should make her panic. It should make her overthink, replay every clause of their contract, think about the press, the consequences.

But it doesn’t. Because this—him—feels easy.

And when has anything in her life ever been easy?

Lottie exhales, tilting her head. “Well, I was planning on going riding before dinner.”

Lando lets out a scoff. “That’s not what I meant.”

She smirks. “I know.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Lottie drops her gaze to her lap, tracing the seam of her leggings with her fingers. When she speaks, her voice is softer but just as firm.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I know I don’t want to keep pretending.”

Lando watches her, and something in his expression shifts.

He nods, slowly, thoughtfully.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

That’s it.

No dramatic speeches. No complicated plans.

Just—okay.

And somehow, it’s exactly what she needs.

Lottie exhales, a small, satisfied sigh, and pushes herself up, stretching her arms over her head. Lando’s eyes follow the movement, dropping instinctively when her shirt lifts just slightly. And Lottie knows he’s thinking about the kiss again.

She grins, playful. “You coming?”

Lando blinks. “What?”

“To ride.”

“Oh.” Lando clears his throat, straightening. “For a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Lottie raises an eyebrow. “Thought what?”

Lando presses his lips together, crossing his arms. “Thought you meant something else,” he finally admits, his tone casual, but his eyes—his eyes are something else.

Lottie blinks once.

Twice.

And then she laughs.

A real, genuine, completely entertained laugh. Lando watches her with mock indignation, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

“Come on, city boy,” Lottie says, patting his shoulder before heading for the door. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Lando groans, but he follows anyway, muttering something about how much he’s going to regret this.

But when she smiles over her shoulder at him and he feels the warmth still lingering in his chest—

He knows he won’t.

At first, nothing changes. Not really.

Lando still races every weekend, still chases milliseconds and podiums, still stands under bright lights answering the same questions over and over again. Lottie still spends long days in the saddle, pushing herself harder, training for the biggest moment of her career. They still show up where they’re supposed to, still play their roles, still exist under the constant hum of cameras flashing, fans speculating.

But something shifts. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

Maybe it’s the way Lottie reaches for his hand without thinking, fingers slipping between his like it’s second nature. Maybe it’s the way Lando starts looking for her in the crowd, his eyes finding her before they find the checkered flag. Maybe it’s the way the obligations don’t feel like obligations anymore, the way their time together no longer feels like something arranged but something inevitable.

One night, after a race—after a victory—Lottie is driving them back to their hotel. Lando is slumped in the passenger seat, his body loose with exhaustion and alcohol, the adrenaline of the night finally fading. He’s still wearing his team polo, though it’s wrinkled now, untucked, the top buttons undone. There’s a stupid little grin on his face, one that hasn’t left since the champagne was sprayed.

Lottie glances at him briefly. “You good over there?”

Lando hums, his head lolling against the seat as he turns to look at her. His pupils are a little blown, his cheeks flushed. “Mhm,” he says. Then, after a beat, his voice a little quieter, a little sleepier: “I think I like you.”

Lottie’s hands tighten slightly around the wheel. She flicks her eyes toward him again, taking in the way he’s watching her—not searching for a reaction, not trying to gauge her expression. Just saying it, like it’s a passing thought that slipped past the filter in his brain.

She exhales a quiet laugh. “You sure it’s not the tequila talking?”

Lando’s grin widens, lazy and content. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His head tilts slightly. “But I do think I like you.”

Lottie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now. “That’s nice, Lando.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road. “I think I like you too.”

Lando hums again, as if he’s just won another race, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Maybe it’s not about a single moment, not about some grand realization or dramatic confession. Maybe it’s about all the little things, the ones no one else sees.

Like the way Lando always waits for her after an event, even when he doesn’t have to, even when it would be easier to slip away unnoticed. Or the way Lottie starts spending more and more weekends at his races, standing in the back of the garage, her presence as steady as the roar of the engines.

Like the morning after a race when Lottie wakes up to find Lando cooking breakfast in her kitchen, hair still a mess from hours of travel, moving around like he’s been doing it forever.

“You’re in my kitchen,” she says, still half-asleep, leaning against the doorway.

Lando smirks, flipping a pancake. “And?”

“And I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because I have a key,” he says simply, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You gave it to me, remember?”

She blinks, a memory flickering in the back of her mind—of tossing her spare key at him in a rush one day when she was late for an event, barely thinking about it. She hadn’t even realized he’d kept it.

Lando plates a pancake and sets it in front of her. “If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me for it.”

Lottie looks at him, at the way he’s standing there like he belongs, and she smiles.

“I think you can keep it.”

By the time the Olympics arrive, the lines between real and pretend are long gone. They don’t talk about it—not directly—but it’s there, in every shared look and every quiet moment. In the way Lando texts her good luck before every qualifier. In the way Lottie wears his hoodie on cold mornings at the stables.

What they have is no longer just a story for the media. It’s theirs.

Still, she doesn’t expect him to be there. Not really.

But when she rides into the arena for her final round, when she hears the crowd roar and the unmistakable, ridiculous sound of a vuvuzela echoing through the stadium, she looks up—and there he is.

Lando, standing at the front of the crowd, wearing a Union Jack bucket hat and sunglasses far too large for his face. He is surrounded by his childhood friends and a couple of other drivers she recognizes even from this distance. Russell is wearing a stupid shirt with Great Britain’s colours and her face all over it. She doesn’t want to ask who convinced Verstappen and Piastri—none of them british—to paint his face with the Union Jack. Still, they are all chanting for her.

There’s a banner the size of a small country with her face on it—two, actually. One reads "GO LOTTIE GO" in massive glitter letters. The other has a blown-up photo of her from her most awkward teenage competition, helmet askew, braces on full display. Classic Lando.

And just behind them, regal as ever, are her parents—elegant, composed, but unmistakably proud. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Her father’s clapping like a man possessed.

Lottie doesn’t have time to react. Because the bell rings, and the round begins. She breathes, just once, and lets instinct take over.

But for Lando, everything slows down.

The moment she takes the first jump, the world tilts. It’s like watching a memory unfold in real time—except it’s happening right now, and it’s everything.

He sees her laughing in the hotel corridor, towel around her neck, cheeks flushed from a workout. He sees her pressed against him in the rain after a paparazzi ambush, their hands linked tight. He remembers the smell of her shampoo, the scratch of her voice when she’s tired, the way she whispers his name like it’s a secret only they share.

He thinks about mornings in her kitchen, the stupid key he never gave back, the hoodie she stole and never returned. He thinks about how she cheers louder than anyone when he races, how she knows exactly when to squeeze his hand before a big day, how she never pretends to be anything she’s not.

And in that moment, Lando realizes he’s completely, utterly gone for her.

He is so, so in love that it's ridiculous. It’s not even a feeling anymore—it’s just a fact, steady and true, like gravity.

And when she clears the final jump, when the scoreboard flashes GOLD FOR GREAT BRITAIN, it snaps him back to reality.

He’s already moving. Vaulting the barrier without a second thought, weaving through the chaos. He barely hears the cheers, the announcers, the pounding in his own chest.

Lottie reins her horse, Vermento, to a slow trot, trying to breathe, trying to believe what just happened.

And then she sees him.

Lando, running toward the arena. The horse sees him too—ears flicking forward, recognizing him in an instant. To everyone’s amazement, the horse trots toward him, calm and curious. Lando lifts a hand instinctively, and without hesitation, reaches for the reins as if he's done it a hundred times.

He steadies the horse, eyes never leaving Lottie. She’s still catching her breath, still wide-eyed with adrenaline and disbelief. He lifts one hand, silently offering to help her down.

She doesn’t speak—doesn’t need to. She takes his hand, and he helps her dismount, his other hand still gently on the reins.

It’s a stupid little gesture. A small, quiet thing. But it says everything.

“You absolute maniac,” she breathes, barely standing still, laughing as she lands on solid ground. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes are bright, full of something bigger than pride. “You really thought I’d miss this?”

“You didn’t even tell me,” she says, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Wanted to surprise you. And, you know,”—he gestures toward the ridiculous crowd of friends behind him—“make a scene.”

“You definitely did that.”

Lando grins, but then his expression softens.

He leans in, voice low and steady. "You know, I used to think winning was the best feeling in the world."

Lottie raises an eyebrow, breath still catching.

"But then you started showing up. And suddenly... the best part was who I got to share it with." He pauses, smile tugging at his lips. "Even if you do keep stealing my hoodies."

She looks at him, really looks at him—at the mess of curls under the stupid hat, the stupid sunglasses pushed onto his forehead, the softness in his eyes.

“I know,” she whispers.

“I mean it, Lottie. I’m in this. For real. I want—God, I want all of it. The chaos and the quiet and the early mornings in your kitchen and even the horses that kind of scare me.”

Her laugh breaks on a sob.

“I want you,” he says simply.

And this time, she doesn’t hesitate.

She kisses him, right there in front of everyone—in front of the cameras, the crowd, her parents, the entire world.

It’s messy and joyful and a little breathless. And it feels, finally, like the start of something real.

Their friends erupt into cheers. Someone sets off a confetti cannon. Lottie’s dad starts filming, and her mum is openly weeping.

But all she can feel is Lando’s arms around her, grounding her, anchoring her to this exact moment.

Home, she thinks.

He feels like home.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog @hadesnumber1daughter

If you want to get added to my permanent taglist, just let me know!

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM zanpakuto ask:

Which zanpakuto spirit is your favorite to write?

Alternatively, who has the closest relationship with their zanpakuto? Who has the worst relationship?

1. Minazuki. I think she's the only one that has speaking lines that actually appear in the fic so far.

2. Closest relationship: Minazuki and Unohana. While most people retain a sense of separation between their kaku-kon/waking soul and their Yume-kon/dreaming soul, Unohana and Minazuki have learned enough about the malleability of The Flesh and Soul that they've stopped thinking about each other as discrete beings and more as one Being with two heads. Minazuki sometimes fully possesses Unohana's body when the human wants a break or the spirit is bored. It's fine though- Minazuki went through medical school with Unohana and is just as much a competent doctor as her wilder.

3. Worst relationship: there's a lot of ways for things to go badly between shinigami and Zanpakuto. Some examples:

-

Both Tousen and Zaraki do not actually know the names of their zanpakuto and have to go on a little adventure together to figure that shit out.

Neither of them have BAD relationships with their zanpakuto per se: both of them have been prevented from forming ANY relationship with their zanpakuto by outside forces- in Tousen's case, suzumushineas so hell-bent on revenge for Kakiyo that she effectively parasitized and suppressed his native Yume-kon to take it's place as his zanpakuto until Aizen was defeated. In Zaraki's case, he doesn't just know his Zanpakuto's name- he doesn't know his own name. At least, until the ink starts flaking off.

-

Komamura is not on speaking terms with his Yume-kon or "True" Zanpakuto. He is on GREAT terms with Tenken- but Tenken is a spirit he found and adopted back when he was a travelling priest/exorcist, who lives in the pauldrons Komamura is always wearing. Komamura absolutely refuses to go into the depths of his mind where his dreaming soul lives because he's TERRIFIED of it. He also has to go on a little adventure about that.

-

Isshin has always been impulsive but willingly cutting off Engetsu to save the life of a woman he met like ten minutes ago would have been the final straw, if Isshin hadn't already. You know. Cut Engetsu off first. Engetsu (or at least, the parts of him that were still around after the events of Everything But The Rain) was SO PISSED he fused with the remains of the Hollow "White" and some dead German guy to make up a new chimera of a spirit: Zangetsu.

-

Kisuke Urahara has talked Yoruichi into a lot of dumb shit, but probably the worst thing was attempting his "three days to Bankai" special confrontation training. It wasn't malicious, it was more like he didn't get that it wouldn't be replicable. Urahara's zanpakuto, Benihime, is a masochist and thoroughly enjoyed Kisuke being so rough with her. Wanting his best friend and lover to succeed as well, he recommended the exercise to Yoruichi and she, trusting her best friend and lover who had never led her astray before, decided to go through with it.

The Shihouin clan is an old and noble house and until then, had a family zanpakuto- the Shihouin Blade would die with the head of each clan and reincarnate with the next, under a new name, but with the wisdom of all its previous lives.

The Zanpakuto was so incensed by the cruel and cavalier way Yoruichi was treating it during the bankai speed run that it decided to kill itself instead of serving her.

It took Kisuke days worth of frantic improvisational surgery, some hogyoku bullshit and nearly all the healing capacity of the magical hot spring in the back of the training cave to keep Yoruichi from dying. The skills he learned there served him well with the Visored and when Engetsu 'died' on isshin during his battle with White, but he couldn't fix everything - Yoruichi is only at a fraction of her previous power, and has not had a single dream since the Zanpakuto left.

Worse still, the Zanpakuto does not seem to have re-incarnated. Urahara thinks it's a blessing- they went through some pains to hide the fact that Yoruichi lost the family sword, because the clan and possibly the entire Gotei-13 would turn on her in an instant if they found out. But Yoruichi worries- it SHOULD have re-incarnated in her baby brother Yushiro, but it didn't- is it gone for real?

Or worse, did it pick a new heir to the clan that they don't know about?

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and in Death Pt. 1

Summary: over the course of their repeated lives, Lucas Puhlavan becomes obsessed with Count Balcom’s fifth daughter. You.

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 1

CW: mentions of murder, blood and corpses

A/N: check the end for a full one

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Death.

Death is when your lungs stop inflating with oxygen, when your heart gradually comes to a stop and when your vision slowly fades to black. 

Some people find death scary and a creepy affair. Others welcome death and embrace it, leaving the world with a smile on their face. Some fall in between or have no opinion at all. However, two people have different opinions. 

If you ask the fifth daughter of Count Balcom, she'll tell you that it's an annoying event and that she wished it would end. If you ask Lucca Puhlavan, a commoner referred to as the Divine Warrior, he'll tell you that he hates it because it takes his loved ones away.

These two souls have similar perceptions of death. This is a story about a woman who is tired of dying and just wants to live and about a man who has sworn to get revenge on the people who robbed him of a peaceful life with his family.

Let the story begin.

You harshly grip the window sill, turning the tips of your fingers white. You shudder at the scene below you. Corpses line the front lawn and blood flows everywhere. You hear screams, yells and pleas for mercy from the occupants of the once-glamorous mansion outside your room. You shake your head at the sight and turn around.

Determined, you make your way to the drawers against the wall of your moonlit room. You unlock one and grab the blue stone glimmering in the faint light. It's called the Returner's Stone. You hold it up to admire it. It's a pretty gem. Round in shape and sparkles with a beautiful blue light. Once consumed, it allows the consumer to travel back in time. However, it can only be used once. 

Thud, thud. 

You freeze at the sound of footsteps sounding in front of your room. He’s here. 

You don't turn around. Even when the chilling creek of the door being opened echoes through the room, even when you hear the tip of a sword drag across the wooden floor and even when the shadow of a man falls on you. “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?” he asks.

You know the question is rhetorical yet you still turn around and answer, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

The man in front of you scoffs and you take the time to look him over. His navy blue clothes are soaked with blood. His sword hangs from his right hand dripping with the crimson liquid. His black cape falls over his shoulders and his silver hair catches the moonlight making it seem to shine. You pore into the depths of his grey eyes. You shiver at his gaze. It's cold yet empty. 

You're reminded of the 15-year-old boy your father brought 10 years ago. You were later told that he was killed. Murdered in one of the hunts your father liked to organize. You're not sure how he's alive right now. 

You stop before you can sink more into your thoughts. Stop it! This isn't the time for these thoughts! “Spare me!” you suddenly blurt out.

Lucca (you think that's the name that was mentioned in the newspapers) immediately responds, “No.”

You grimace. There was no hesitation in his voice. You grip the Returner's Stone tighter and ask, “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’ would you spare me?”

The tall figure in front of you lets his head fall back and laughs. “No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.”

You flinch at his creepy laugh and cold gaze. Suddenly, Lucca raises his sword, obviously meaning to strike you down. Adrenaline kicks in and you shove the sparkling blue Returner's Stone in your mouth and swallow. 

You suck in a breath at the sudden pain in your chest. Lucca falters and hesitates. Yet before he could swing his sword and complete his revenge, you fall to the floor in agony, clutching your chest. The last thing you remember is the black boots of your would-be murderer filling your fading vision.

A/N: this is heavily (and I mean heavily) inspired by the manhwa Even if the Villain’s Daughter Regresses. It’s a good read but the ml is kind of annoying. When I was writing this it kinda felt awkward to switch from 3rd person to 2nd person. Should I keep it in 2nd person or switch to 3rd? Also, should I keep it as an ‘x reader’ or make an oc? What do you guys think? Let me know by dropping a comment!

[emmcfrxst]

Hear me out… lil blurb of old man Logan and reader just slow dancing together to find comfort, despite all of the evil going on around them 😭

okay so i got carried away and tweaked the prompt a little bit. this is fluff with a spoonful of angst. little more than 900 words. reader’s gender/characteristics are not specified but it’s implied that you’re shorter than logan. putting the drabble under the cut as to not clog the tags <3 inspired by lyrics from The Mountain Goats’ song Sax Rohmer #1

The soft melody of the rain outside harmonizes with the dull buzzing of the old, beat up fridge you’re leaning against, a glass of water cradled between your palms. Your gaze falls on Logan as he walks through the front door, droplets of water gliding down the exhausted lines of his face. He says nothing as he sheds off his suit jacket, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow arched in question.

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice sends pleasant tingles down your spine; the rich, raspy quality of it enveloping you with his every word. You wish he’d speak more often— you would love nothing more than to drown in the depths of his voice, but Logan is a man of very few words, and you’ve long since made your peace with the realization that not much could ever change that part of him; and you wouldn’t want to, either. Your relationship with him may be complicated at times, but you remain certain of the depth of your feelings for Logan— you’ve come to love him as he is, not interested in trying to modify the results of over two centuries of pain and loss; his past is part of who he is, and you love that person wholeheartedly.

“Was waiting for you.” the softness of your tone seems to reflect the look in his eyes as he steps forward, clothes leaving a trail of droplets behind. Your eyelids flutter lightly once his hands are on you, curling around your hips like they have done so many times before— it’s been years of living by his side, but his touch still manages to set your insides alight with the kind of trepidation that one feels for their first love. You move forward until your chests are touching, rain quickly saturating the shirt you’re wearing— one of his; an older, more tattered one you’ve held onto all this time, as if needing proof of your shared past. You wrap your arms around Logan’s neck, tilting your head upwards so your foreheads can meet in a tender press, his beard tickling the top of your lip. Up close, you can see the array of new bruises making their home on his handsome face, a frown downturning the curve of your lips.

“M’okay.” he mumbles quietly, already expecting you to point it out— these days, you find that you don’t really have to say anything anymore, whether it be from the synchronization of your souls or your lover’s dismissal of any and every concern about the changes in his physicality; Logan has a way of soothing your worries away with a tender brush of his lips on your forehead, sincerity enveloping his tone like a warm blanket on a cold day. He knows his limits, and after a series of tearful confessions between the worn out sheets of your shared bed, he knows not to push them too much so as to not upset you. Nodding in response, you let your nose rub against his, comforted by the fact that he will tell you about the events that led to the purple blooms across his skin all in due time— it would end up being a group of drunks like usual, anyway; a small pack of testosterone filled idiots emboldened by the alcohol and refusing to pay for the services Logan offered them. Nothing I can’t handle, he would add afterwards, cradling the side of your face with a tenderness very few people have ever seen the great Wolverine exude. You’re okay with pushing all of these thoughts to the side for now, anyways— focus on him, because he kept his promise to you again today

I’ll always come home to you.

“Dance with me.” your lips brush against his as you whisper out your demand, making Logan raise one eyebrow at you playfully.

“There’s no music.” he states as if that was obvious— because it is, but under the dim lights of the kitchen, here with him in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. A soft chuckle leaves him when you shrug lightly, your lover’s head tilting down to give you a proper kiss; the first one since he arrived a handful of minutes ago.

“Doesn’t matter. Just wanna feel you.” your explanation makes his heart ache, idly wondering if he would survive the tearing open of his chest in an attempt to gift you the appendage— it would be worth the pain, and there is no one else he would die for like the way he would for you. It belongs to you anyway, he thinks serenely.

“Alright.” he ends up saying, voice laced with layers upon layers upon layers of tenderness. He takes a moment to memorize the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, wanting to take the visual away with him were he to meet an untimely death the next time he steps through the threshold of your front door— he wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he’s old and tired and aching and although he denies it when it comes to you, he knows his body doesn’t heal the way it used to; there is a chance, every time he leaves for work, that he won’t be able to keep his promise of coming home to you, but he will try anyways— would come home with blood pouring out of his mouth if it meant getting to hold you for one more night. You make it worth it. You make him want to live.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, body swaying along with his as he kisses the crown of your head in silent reverence.

Tomorrow may not be guaranteed, but none of that matters tonight as you wrap yourself around him, dancing around the kitchen in the moonlight, anchoring him with the steadiness of your heartbeat and giving him something to fight for for a little longer.

[waterfae]

A Good Pillow [Part 11]

Summary: A glimpse of your budding friendship with Ominis and your growing feelings after the events in the Scriptorium.

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x Reader, Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mild language, angst, comfort, fluff, friends-to-lovers, unhinged Slytherins, complicated relationships, house-neutral fem!reader, no use of Y/N, no beta

Word Count: 1.5+ K

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

|| General Masterlist || Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist ||

The world around you paused and faded into silence. In the stillness, you felt as though you were aimlessly floating; you’re body not your own and completely detached. You felt nothing. Not the injuries you acquired from the recent battle or the rocks digging into your knees as you knelt beside your precious Professor Fig. You didn’t hear the footsteps of several professors clambering into the chamber, nor did you feel the fingers that dug into your arms as someone tried to shake you back to reality. It was of no use. You only continued to stare down at your mentor, dazed, as you were hoisted up to your feet and passed along to another professor so the others could return their attention back to the body that laid lifeless on the floor.

You were quickly pulled away from the scene, a task easily accomplished as you were not yet lucid enough to protest. It was not until you caught sight of Professor Weasley were you torn from the spell. It was in that moment, when you locked eyes and saw the despair in hers, did it finally strike you that what you witnessed was very much real and a grisly sob was released. The outpouring of tears began and you stumbled forward reaching out to her, breaking from the other professors hold, who you now recognized to be Professor Onai. Professor Weasley moved swiftly towards you, catching you in her arms just as your knees gave out and she held tightly to your trembling frame as you cried and cried and cried...

You had never imagined that when you sneaked away from the Hospital Wing earlier in the day that you would be returning with your mentor and friend. Cold. Dead. Gone.

Madame Blainey fussed at first when she found Professor Weasley and Professor Onai assisting you to the bed you had previously occupied, admonishing your escape and the addition of injuries to your already growing list. You weren’t listening however, lost in your thoughts. Hogwarts was safe. The wizarding world had been spared. But at a cost. She immediately came to a halt once Professor Weasley gave her a pleading and sorrowful look.

The others came soon afterward, trying to keep Professor Fig’s body hidden as they floated him to furthest area of the wing. Madame Blainey let out a gasp and moved quickly, understanding now why Professor Weasley had given that look and pulled the dividers out, blocking the scene from any possible onlookers as Professor Fig was laid upon one of the empty beds. Professor Weasley observed you one last time, making sure you were settled before leaving to call upon the Headmaster.

You laid there in your hospital bed, tears streaming down your face once more with the Keeper’s wand still firmly in your grip.

You couldn’t stand being in the castle after Professors Fig’s memorial. All the looks and condolences from your fellow students were all too much; they all knew how close you had become with the professor, but they would never know the reality or depth of it. It was suffocating and you hated it. You stole away amidst the feast that followed and found yourself down by the boathouse, tossing small pieces of bread into the lake and taking solace in the sound of the water gently sloshing against the stones. The moment, however, was disrupted not too long after.

“There you are.” You turned to find Sebastian descending the final set of steps towards you, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You ripped a couple more pieces from your dinner roll and tossed them into the water, “I needed some air.”

He took the place beside you, hands in his pockets, both of you looking out towards the other side of the shore, “Can’t believe we lost Fig. I didn’t know him as well as you did, but I know he was a good man. He was fortunate to have you.” You bowed your head in sadness at his words, “Glad Weasley spoke for him – she honored him well. Fig will be remembered.” He paused and turned his gaze to you, “How are you feeling though? Truly?”

“How do you think?” You retorted bitterly as you threw a few more pieces.

“Dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”

You delayed, thinking of your reply. How were you feeling? From your stint in the hospital wing to now, you’ve had plenty of time to ruminate on your self-pity and contemplate all the things that had happened since your journey began. George Osric is dead. Lodgok is dead. Solomon Sallow is dead. Professor Fig is dead. Death followed you and you were as much of a killer as the boy standing beside you. Poachers continued to run amok even with Victor Rockwood gone. You were stuck playing Keeper with a repository you couldn’t destroy and yet had no idea what to do with. And you couldn’t even help Anne with her curse. What was even the point of it all? It was lost to you.

“Useless.” You finally uttered, “I feel useless.”

Sebastian frowned at your answer, “Good Merlin, woman. Do you know what they’re calling you in there? Hero of Hogwarts.” He removed a hand from his pocket and placed it on your shoulder, “Give yourself some credit. Actually, give yourself a lot of credit. You saved the school.” He softened when you gave no response,“You’ve done a lot, but you can’t do everything. You can’t save everyone.”

“Not the tune you were singing not too long ago.” You said sorrowfully, tearing more pieces of bread apart.

“I –” He let out a sigh of defeat, “I was not myself then. And I do regret saying those things. All of it.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “There is no excuse. Ominis had said so, but I couldn’t see it until recently: I took it all for granted. You especially and even after everything, you were able to find out what really happened to Anne; who really cursed her. I owe you an apology. I’m really, really sorry.”

You weren’t sure what kind of response to give just yet, so you remained silent, taking whatever was left of your roll and throwing the entirety of it into the lake.

“Ominis spoke with Anne.” He said abruptly. You turned slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye as he continued, “She believes I should pay for what I did. But she won’t turn me in. She said the guilt I’ll have to live with is punishment enough.” You fully turned to him then and raised your own hand to the one he kept on your shoulder, placing it atop of his in what you hoped to be comforting, “The thing is...I think I’ve lost my sister forever. She refused to even see me. I can’t blame her. I couldn’t really blame any of you if you gave up on me entirely. You all believed in me and I let you all down.”

“Anne may just need some time.” You recalled how furious she had looked the last time you saw her, yet you hoped that somehow, after her grieving, there would still be room in her heart for her brother; it was the same hope that you had for yourself after his apology, “Surely one day she’ll be able to forgive you. You’re the only family she has left.”

“I hope you’re right.” He took hold of your hand even as he let it fall from your shoulder, “I realized I can’t undo what’s been done. But I can try everyday to make up for it.” He pulled you towards him then and encased you in his arms as he buried his face into your shoulder, “I owe you and Ominis everything for standing by me.”

It took you by surprise, but you returned his embrace, hesitantly at first, then all at once, wrapping both your arms around him and resting your head against his.

“This suits you much better.” You said after a minute.

He pulled away to look at you questioningly, brows furrowed.

“Relic-less.” You answered his unstated question with a small smile beginning to form on your lips, “Without it, you’re more...you. Just as I met you that first day in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Seems so long ago.” He replied with a smirk, “I guess Ominis was right, yet again. I really should stay away from dark objects.”

“Probably.”

The two of you fell into a lull, one you both allowed to continue as the night grew darker and more chilly. Silence with Sebastian was usually awkward, brought on by some unhinged arguments or impulsive actions. But this one was peaceful, a rare occurrence as of late. Nothing was said in those moments and yet you found great pleasure and reassurance in it as he continued to hold your hand whilst gazing past the dock.

“Thank you.” As always, it was Sebastian who was the one to break through the quiet first.

You looked up at him and found him looking down at you with the most warm of expressions. It made you smile as you asked, “Whatever for?”

“Your friendship. I am grateful for it.” With his free hand, he reached out to fix a stray lock of hair that had fallen forward over your shoulder, “I’m glad you came to Hogwarts.”

a/n: And so, you're all finally caught up alongside my AO3 readers. Which means we've only got one chapter left to go. Oh dear. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and my askbox is always open. ♡

taglist: @cherry-cola-100 @moonsickness-posts @superblyspeedydragon @plumzlovesfics @costellation-hunter

@drywipes @wyvernthekriger

[kenzieluvsnanami]

kenzieluvssuguru :: ☆*:.｡.o the roommate (18+) o.｡.:*☆

You were sure you hated him. From the crown of his silky, jet black hair to the bottom of his bunny-slipper clad feet. Everything he did pissed you off. Whether it’s finishing your very expensive shampoo or sneaking bites of your carefully hidden sweet treats, one thing was for certain: Geto Suguru knew how to get and STAY on your last nerve. (f!reader x suguru) // PART 2 // (icymi, part 1)

cw *:･ﾟ✧ roommate/no curses/college au, reader is very ashamed, still cheeky suguru, a new bombshell has entered the villa! (gojo feature!), jealousy/possessiveness, arguments, cunnílingus and lots of dirty talk // 3.7k wc

The next day you awoke with a start, the golden light streaming through your parted curtains being what interrupted your otherwise blissful slumber after what had been an… eventful evening. You didn’t know if you felt guilt, shame, embarrassment or all of the above about what you had done.

How were you even supposed to look Suguru in the eye? It was intrusive, disrespectful and… wrong. Just because he happened to live in the same house as you doesn’t give you the right to intrude on what obviously was meant to be a private moment.

You continued your mental self-flagellation as you got ready, mind overflowing with thoughts as you stepped out into the main living area and slammed right into the one person you really wanted to avoid right now.

”whoaa, whats the rush?” Suguru snickered as he pushed against your shoulders, scanning your face. You felt yourself shrinking away, cheeks burning at how intensely he was looking at you; eyes examining you so sharply it felt as if he could see straight through you, see the guilt that was written all over your face.

He frowned.

”Seriously what’s up?”

Seemingly not wanting to take your silence as an answer, you awkwardly coughed and mumbled some excuse about stress from work. Suguru scoffed, not really believing your answer but he had let go of your shoulders which allowed you to slip around him and leave the house.

You needed to reconnect with nature and touch some grass literally because you were spiralling out badly about your non-existent situation with your roommate and since you really had no other choice but to live with him (unless you went back to working 3 jobs) you seriously needed to ground yourself. He truly had no clue that you heard anything so as long as you just tried to pretend that it had never happened everything would go back to normal and your roommate would go back to being highly irritating.

As you walked back home, you tried to remember all of the annoying things Suguru did; how he teased you non-stop, really didn’t know the definition of personal space and had an extraordinarily large ego. These weren’t really things you were attracted to, right? The fact that this bothered you surely proved how purely platonic your relationship was.

A couple of hours had passed since you’d stormed out the house and as you entered you could smell the delicious aroma of what could only be…. your favourite dish. You set down your things and stepped into the kitchen to be greeted with the deific sight of your roommate wearing just grey sweatpants that hugged around his lower back, the thin material giving you an elaborate view of his lower half… dick print stretching all the way out to the middle of his left thigh; thick with a slight curve near the tip.

”hello to you too” , the clink of plates interrupting your stream of consciousness. You bowed your head, feeling heat rush from depths of your stomach all the way up into the roots of your hair. Again, literally five seconds after vowing to stop ogling your roommate, you succumbed to your temptations and this time you were… caught. How humiliating.

You were now both sat at what you could now see to be a very small table. Suguru’s taller build meant that he had to practically fold himself up to fit properly, your legs tucked neatly between his knees as the tips of his feet jutted out under your chair.

Whenever he took a break from eating, his forearms rested against yours - warmth radiating from his body. It was actually quite endearing and made you think back to when the two of you had gone out furniture hunting to buy a new table that could properly fit the two of you.

…

”We don’t really need to get a new table y’know..” Suguru huffed as the two of you strolled down the isle.

“You literally cannot fit comfortably in that table, though?”, his insistence for keeping the table being something that baffled you. Most sane people wouldn’t mind actually being able to have some personal space whilst eating, actually being able to stretch their legs out instead of having to awkwardly contort themselves. You both ended up bickering so much over whether you needed a new table that you left empty-handed, the only thing that you gained was a colossal headache and an increased hatred towards the person who you were lucky enough to call your roommate.

…

You mainly ate in silence, trying to take everything in. Suguru had made you your favourite dish… but why? He never even explained when you came in; just doing his stupid little placid smile when you quietly thanked him. Finishing up the meal, you went to grab the plates to wash up (it was the least you could do) when his slender fingers circled around your wrist, not so hard that you couldn’t pull away but with just enough pressure that it caused you pause.

“what.”

All the air had left your lungs as you tried to regain normal breathing capacities. Your roommate just smirked as he held your wrist; the unnerving level of eye-contact flustering you as you felt yourself being drawn in deeper and deeper.

”I was worried about you today y’know? Normally, you’re all snarky and riled up… but you were so quiet today.”

You stepped back, “Seriously Suguru. I’m fine.”

Swiftly turning, your cheeks burned.

He made your favourite dish because he was concerned about you? You washed the dishes and walked mindlessly into your room, utterly confused by the seeming attitude transplant that had happened to your roommate that meant that he genuinely seemed to care about your welfare? And wasn’t trying to be a dick or annoy you? This was very new. And unexpected.

Since that day, the two of you had slipped back into your regular routine of playful jibbing but Suguru was noticeably… kinder? He stopped doing things that he knew would annoy you, made an active effort to keep communal areas tidy and seemed to take a greater interest in what you were doing?

”Really? No dates at alll?”

“Nope.” He seemed relieved at your uneventful love life but not in his usual mocking way but in a more reassured way?

A month had passed, with a new semester starting and with that came a new professor for your critical analysis class. Usually, you would be left to your own devices during lectures; a copy of the slides being sent to your email which meant you didn’t actually have to attend the lecture (so many didn’t).

This seemed to aggravate your new teacher who insisted on setting group work for all of the main assignments - essentially forcing you to come to class every Tuesday. Oh, and did I mention that the groups were randomised! The only person you actually knew in that class was Suguru and the professor insisted on creating new connections between students which meant you ended up in a group with him, a brown haired girl named Shoko and an… eccentric boy named Satoru.

Satoru stood out not just because of his demeanour but unique appearance - his muscular yet slim build, ivory white undercut and intense blue eyes that were shaded by his Prada sunglasses being something new to you but you liked it.

Being forced to be in a group with him allowed you to better understand his self-confident (arrogant) and laid-back personality. You found him incredibly hilarious with his quick-witted jibes against your new professor becoming your favourite part of the class, the two of you often messing around during the lesson leaving Shoko and Suguru to do most of the work.

Over time you and Satoru had become closer and closer, forming a bond over your shared interest of food (especially dessert). It was easy to talk to him and you actually were able to see the less superficial and caring side of him as your relationship blossomed.

The relationship had actually developed to a point where Satoru had asked you out on a date that Tuesday after your seminar, to the local arcade with the promise to win every single stuffed animal there (since he “was the strongest and all”). You nervously accepted, excited to explore a new romantic connection but slightly apprehensive about how your roommate would take it.

See, Suguru didn’t exactly like Satoru. In more particular terms; he hated him. He hated how self-assured he was, how he didn’t contribute at all to your group work, how he spent all lesson flirting with you instead of doing the work and most of all, how you seemed completely charmed by him.

You didn’t really know the true extent to which Suguru didn’t like Satoru as he never directly expressed his sentiment to you; it was more the way his face would scrunch up when he caught the two of you talking, his brow knitting tightly as his lips curled down in a harsh scowl.

That’s why you neglected to inform your roommate that your date would be picking you up from your shared house, leading him to open the door to what he considered to be the world’s most punchable face.

”What are you doing here?” he said flatly, clenching his fists at his sides to stop them from plowing into the man stood infront of him.

Satoru poked his head into the hallway to get a better look inside the house.

“I didn’t know you lived here?” he lazily drawled, disregarding the question as he waltzed in.

”You can’t just walk in here?”, the sound of Suguru’s disgruntled voice alerting you to your dates arrival. You rushed out to be met with the two of them in some sort of weird stand-off, their faces threateningly close as they glared angrily at each other.

“Just because you live with her doesn’t mean you own her!” Satoru pushed hard on your roommate’s chest as his face screwed up. Suguru’s face hardened as he started to stomp towards Satoru. You cried out, surprised at how far things had escalated. You knew that Suguru didn’t reallly like Satoru but you never thought they would actually fight over….you?

Both men turned to look at you sheepishly as the reality of the situation started to sink in for them.

”This is so childish..” started Suguru as Satoru griped “…but he did start it!”.

You looked incredulously between the two of them, in actual disbelief that they were actually about to physically fight over you.

“Yeah. Childish is how I would describe it.” You affirmed as you turned to go back into your room, no longer in the mood to go out at all.

You skipped the next critical theory lecture, much to Satoru’s (and your professor’s!) dismay. He had tried to send you a few texts but honestly the whole situation was just too overwhelming. You were disappointed by the way in which your roommate was being so… possessive over you and how Satoru had actually risen up to it, instead of just being the bigger person and ignoring him.

Suguru had been giving you your space since the incident, which you appreciated as its not easy avoiding someone who you live in the same house as. His behaviour had also taken you aback, his protectiveness of you seemingly coming out of nowhere. You knew he didn’t like Satoru but not to the extent of nearly fighting him?

You spent the weekend bedrotting as you binged on bad food and bad movies to help yourself feel better. Having two men were fighting over you would normally be something to be delighted by but for some reason it being these two men just made you utterly miserable. The alone time you were able to spend did allow you to better clear your mind and feel a lot less restless as you were finally able to have an actually peaceful night of sleep on Sunday.

You awoke to a rustling under your blankets and heavy panting. You went to move the covers when you felt a hand reach up the underside of your thigh, fingers squeezing into the fat as hot puffs of breath fanned over your….. pussy? Confused, you whipped off the covers to reveal what appeared to be your roommate laying in between your thighs???

”Jus’ let me have a little taste..” he lazily drawled as a finger traced along the edges of your panties, circling over the one place you wanted, no, needed him most.

You felt your body tremble as you tried to fix your mouth to say something - anything! This was wrong, right? You had fought so hard to stop having such salacious thoughts about your roommate, even tried to explore other romantic connections (I mean that didn’t even go well) but still, you decided that your roommate was off-limits.

Even if he was begging to eat you out.

So you should do the right thing and push him away. But instead, your hands buried themselves into Suguru’s silky strands and tried to press his face into the one place you wanted it most - his nose lightly brushing against your clit causing you to softly whimper.

”I know you want this..” he continued as his fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, pulling them down at an agonisingly slow pace.

”But before I do, I think you have something to confess to me?” a sly smirk spreading across his mouth as his eyes locked onto the flustered expression on your face - blown out pupils and heated cheeks all but admitting the little secret you had been keeping.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about Suguru.” you whimpered, blood rushing down to your already sensitive cunt, the slightest movements becoming more and more tense.

Suguru’s fingers hovered right over your entrance, the pointer and middle creating just the right amount of girth - if only he’d just put them in already.

“…I don’t think that’s the truth though.” he fake pouted as he started to shuffle back, the cold air hitting your exposed, soaked pussy making you shudder.

“N-No…No!” your voice cracked with need as you reached out to grab his hand. You really were hoping that he wasn’t going to push you any further because the mere thought of actually admitting what you had done to your roommate made you want to cease existing.

”…just tell me what you did and I’ll help you out” he folded his arms and rested his head on top as if he could spend all day just staring right into your oozing cunt. You knew how stubborn Suguru was. If he said he wasn’t going to touch you until you confessed, he was not going to budge at all.

You swallowed, “Well I….”

He purred.

“That day you- ummm had….someone over”. Suguru started to unfold his arms, pulling himself back to the centre of your thighs.

”you were saying…”

“I was awake.”

”I thought as much.” he said with such nonchalance that you felt brave enough to finish your sentence.

“…and I heard everything that happened.”

You were so wrapped up in admitting to everything you had done that you hadn’t even noticed Suguru’s hands reaching back up until you felt his fingers breach the tight ring of muscle and hit deep into your inner walls.

”…well I have to ask now, did you like what you heard?”

You whined and writhed as he started to move his fingers in and out making it impossible for you to articulate any cohesive sentences, resorting to just holding your roommates wrist, “nghh, deeper..”

Your roommate laughed quietly as he drew his fingers, now glossed in your essence and held them up to your face.

”ahhhh, so you were this wet when you were…spying on me?”. The two of you paused for a moment - Suguru waiting for an actual answer whilst you nervously chewed on your lip.

“yes.” you breathed out, eyes flitting down to his face taking in his… flushed expression? He was the one who was pressuring you to admit what you had done but he himself seemed to be a little taken aback by your direct response.

”ah… well, I always knew my roommate was a little freak”

His hand went back down to toy with your swollen nub, his fingers coated in enough of your slick to allowing him to rub small circles that made your back arch off your mattress. ”Tell me, did you play with yourself like this when you listened?” his voice had dropped down to low rasp, “Did you get yourself off to the sound of my voice?”

He was looking back up at you with flushed cheeks, voice wavering slightly as he continued his ministrations. Seeing him as needy as you helped to rebuild your confidence, leaning forward to gaze back into his darkened, deep purple irises as you whispered

“I did.”

”Tell me how” he retorted instantly, fingers repositioning to allow for him to apply a delicious amount of pressure to your clit as he scissored his fingers inside and out of your gushing cunt - just like how you had so many nights ago.

The room was filled with your combined soft moans and the wet squelches of your leaking pussy. You were so close to finishing - your breath becoming stilted and abrupt, walls spasming around the dense girth of your roommates fingers.

“..’guru..i’m close- gonna” you groaned. ”I know, I know- jus’ try to hold it a little longer, jus’ let me have a taste before” he murmured as he removed his fingers again and brought them up to his mouth. Your eyes tracked every movement as he plunged them deep into his throat, moaning around them.

”…you taste s-so sweet” he breathed out, mouth inching down closer and closer to your swollen lips.

He stopped, warmth breath just fanning over as his eyes were locked onto the sight of your soaked cunt.

”I never knew my roommate had such a pretty pussy” he spoke with such reverence and sincerity that it actually made you clench around nothing, more slick dripping out of your entrance.

“..Just do it already” you grumbled, the tight coil in your lower abdomen getting tighter and tighter the longer Suguru delayed your release.

For once your roommate listened to you as he licked a long stripe up your folds, swirling his tongue around your hardened nub making you cry out loudly.

Your hands searched for some sort of purchase to keep yourself grounded, nesting themselves into Suguru’s dark locs, your fingernails lightly scratching his scalp as you gathered his hair into a ponytail so that you could better drag his face against your cunt to exactly where you wanted it.

Suguru groaned into your pussy as you yanked harder on his hair. ”…such a greedy, greedy girl.” - the vibrations of his voice felt overwhelmingly good, your saccharine mewls being testament of the fact.

He pulled back slightly, opening his mouth to allow for his saliva to drip down right onto your cunt and deep into your folds. Your eyes locked as he let his spit drip down at an agonisingly slow pace, your legs trembling from how close yet far you were.

He nestled his head back in between your thighs, taking hold of both of your hands and placing them back into his hair. He growled as you tugged harshly ”that’s it…keep using m-me”.

And that you did, positioning his head in just the perfect position for him to suckle and slobber over like the messy fucking eater he was. The bed started to rock slightly as Suguru started to shift his hips against the mattress to relieve the rock-hard boner he was now sporting due to how delectable you were.

You were getting closer and closer, voice straining as your cries became higher and higher in pitch. Suguru was hitting all of your most sensitive spots and you could feel yourself about to climax.

“ohmygodohmygoddontstopppp” you cried out as you felt yourself fini-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Huh?

You sprung out of bed, sunlight streaming onto your tangled, mess of bedsheets as the reality of what had actually happened dawned on you.

You had just had a wet dream about the one person who you had sworn to yourself you were going to stop fantasising about. You looked down at yourself to see the glaringly obvious wet patch on the underside of your panties - your body clearly having a very real reaction to something that was unreal in every and aspects.

Suddenly, your bedroom door creaked as the star of your dream peered into your room.

”hey, i know I’m not really your favourite person right now but I made us something to eat before class if you want some?” Suguru’s face quizzical as he took in your stunned gaze. ”umm… I’ll wait for you out in the living room”

You paced around your room as you tried to erase all memory of the very realistic dream from your consciousness. You needed to maintain this platonic relationship with Suguru, okay? You didn’t know how he felt towards you for sure and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by making a move or doing anything too forward. You clearly just needed to be with someone.

The only thing you should take from this dream is that you should focus on building back your relationship with Satoru, the only uncomplicated romantic interest in your very complicated life.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧♡ :: girl i finally figured out how to do the fancy text and i am so happy! let me know where you want the story to go because i'm still undecided - idk if i want to continue w/ love interest gojo or if i cut him out sharpish?

☆ likes and reblogs make me squirt! ☆

[sallieraptor]

[huge post about the mystery of mildenhall manor]

(part 1 of my yapping)

[Episode 3] not to mention the way he didn't hesitate to pull Pomni back and try to free her from the spirit, even though he was terrified and had to listen to it reminding him of a painful loss. he simply just ignored it, and focused only on saving her.

he freed her, held her, and calmed her down.

and something that happens a lot whenever Kinger tries to solve a problem, is that he almost always ends up making it worse, or just not changing anything at all. and he knows it. he's mentally confused, he doesn't remember things well, it's difficult for him to stay sane and rational, but even so, he knows when he did something "wrong" or something that he "shouldn't" have done. he knows when he doesn't help, he knows when he makes things worse.

in the heat of the moment, he may not be good at understanding that he messed up in some way because of his constant mental confusion, but when he has the time to breathe, when he can recap things, when he can get to his safe place, he knows. and he feels guilty about it. I'm sure he mighty also feels worthless, and feel like a burden, but that's me talking.

the conclusion of it all is that Kinger can be seen as a character with a generic plot, the typical silly character who actually has a sad past that justifies his actions, but he is more than that.

Kinger is not just silly, he is the person seen as insane. the person in the crew who is reduced to the point of being nothing more than someone who has already lost their mind, but whose body is somehow still there.

Kinger is someone extremely brave, and extremely considerate of the others he cares about. he may be seen as a comic relief for his sudden shrieks, gasps and shaky body, but inside his stormy mind, he keeps all his loved ones protected under an umbrella. despite forgetting events, or even forgetting how to act, he always remembers them.

whether it's asking where a friend is; thinking about a friend that usually ends up missing a part of the adventure; or remembering another friend's adjustment to the world they're in.

Kinger is theoretically the unstable, unpredictable person who cannot be relied on, the person people laugh at, feel sorry for, or think they never want to become someone like him.

and it's extremely significant to know that the effect Kinger has when he holds his breath is to glow.

it's incredible how this can also be linked to the fact that he's not afraid of the dark. it's interesting to see that the representation of the thing that keeps him alive, his breath, when held, makes him glow.

I believe this shows that Kinger is the light of those around him. despite being seen as insane and crazy, he is the only one who can light the path for those who fall into the vastness of darkness. and it shows that he is someone who would be willing to stop breathing to guide those he loves.

I may have gotten it all wrong, this is just an interpretation that is subject to change of opinion, but I definitely love the depth that Kinger's character has, and I love that we could learn a little more about him.

[namorweek]

NAMOR WEEK 2025

Welcome to the the 6th Annual Namor Week, a fandom event dedicated to our favorite Undersea Anti-Hero! We welcome all new & old fans to the event and hope you can join in this year’s Namor Week on April 24 - 30! Themes this year are bit different, and we welcome any kind of interpretation from fans! Please read rules and have fun!

Themes

Day 1 - Swimmin' with Sharks Namor + Jeff | Court Intrigue | The Talokan Throne Day 2 - All the Tales the same, Told before and told again Sunlight | The Depths | Flight | Caught between two worlds Day 3 - Swallowed by a Vicious, Vengeful Sea Hubris is a Bitch | Arrogance | Drowning | Avenging Son Day 4 - So much has changed, but I'm the same Alternate Universe | What if...? Day 5 - I've got Soul but I'm not a Soldier Invaders | Memory | War | PTSD Day 6 - My Heart bends and breaks so many, many times Romance | Loss | Heartbreak | Hopeful Beginnings Day 7 - Creator's Choice

The Rules

No sign ups, no checks, just create whatever you feel like creating! Choose one or all of the prompts. Please read and follow all rules to be a part of this event. Types of fanworks accepted: Fanfiction, Fanart, Podcasts, Edits, Playlists, Podfics, Fanvids, Aesthetics, Gifs, etc. you may commission work to be submitted but it must be created for this event, so no reposting an older work for this.

All work must be submitted on the day of the prompt, late works will be accepted up until end of the week. You may add your works to the Namor Week Collection on Ao3 if you wish.  Collection opens on day 1

All Fan Works must be original works created or commissioned for this event and it must focus on Namor or any of his supporting characters in the Talokan or Atlantis universes, examples but not limited to; Lady Dorma, Namora, Attuma, Fen, and more! Choose from any Marvel Media, including the MCU, Comics, Games, Animation, etc. but it must be a canon character and the work may not use Namor or his supporting characters as background for other non Sub-Mariner characters or fandoms. 

Fanworks must be tagged with #namorweek in the first five tags or tag  @namorweek so that it can be featured on this blog by end of day, and unless otherwise stated then fanworks may be linked/cross posted to the Namor Week twitter or Bluesky with credit. If you wish to participate on either of those sites and post there then simply @ the namorweek account there! All works will be rounded up in a master list. We now have a Bluesky account!

Tag appropriately! If you have heavy themes, tag what your work contains!

Any fanwork*, ship, canon, canon divergent, or non-canon, romantic or platonic, welcome. However this is a character(s) week so please remember to keep focus on Namor, Atlanteans, Talokanil. *see banned content

Ship and let Ship & Don’t like? Don’t Read is in full force. 

Banned

Racism, hate work (fanwork created to bash on characters), and other forms of hate are not tolerated or accepted. Including Anti Ship or Shipping Wars. Don’t create something just to be a jerk to other fans or shippers. 

Pedo/Incest works are not accepted.

NamorSue, ReedSueNamor, Namor/Susan in a romantic ship are not accepted. (Platonic Namor & Susan Storm is accepted.)

Namor x Reader, x Reader, Character x Reader, all works with x Reader or Character Imagines are not accepted. 

Anything created by AI art or chat generators is banned.

Good Luck with creating and see you in April & if you have any questions please send an Ask!