#In reality it was to try to keep them as out of the way as possible so they wouldn't spread anymore bullshit to the rest of the engines

[rebelfell]

for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 1

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

all my pornstar!eddie blurbs together at last b/c I hated how I published them originally. the og posts are still here, but they have been edited/expanded somewhat, and I’ve included a “finale” of sorts that is new! index for this story is here.

cw: pornstar!au, so…porn. but it’s also a kind of fantasy porn company/industry, so not really at all based in reality or fact. sex work, oral sex (f & m rec), public-ish sex, piv sex.

18+, MDNI┃8.7k

special thanks to @urhoneycombwitch for helping come up with like 90% of this via mutual flailing in my inbox 🥰 ilyaaf

After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from his first job.

Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.

So, so, so bad. Like, he’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. We’re talking fully and wholly submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.

And that’s great for her, but terrible for camera.

They keep stopping him, telling him he has to pull it back, that they have to see her pussy and they can’t with his big head and bigger hair blocking their view. But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer and moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be—and they’re yelling “CUT” and scolding him all over again.

And the girl is getting frustrated because, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director with this look of pure desperation and ‘just do me this solid—please?’ in her eyes.

So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so it’s really obvious how real it really is.

And so they can move the fuck on already.

Then they’re filming the fucking, and once again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.

He’s not just slamming into her without any care; he’s not using her to get off; he’s trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her.

Like so good, she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.

Her boyfriend of six years be damned.

And once they wrap, Eddie’s not exactly “fired” but he’s pretty sure he’s not getting called back.

Except then the movie comes out and BLOWS UP. People are obsessed. Women are buying it in droves (who knew women even watched porn??) and the VHS is back-ordered to shit.

So the production company is like, “We gotta lock this kid into a contract. Now.”

And just so we’re clear, he gets that contract. 

But he (rightfully) feels like he has a bit of juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again. And they agree to his terms, but that first guy is hardly an anomaly and Eddie is still butting heads with these other ass hats who keep trying to force him to do it their way.

“My buddy, my guy, my man, you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s not gonna sell. It may have worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.”

So Eddie walks. And he’s ready to call it quits entirely…until you approach him.

Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. So you went to the heads of production and told them even if all they gave you was a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson, you can spin some gold. Spoiler alert—you do.

You come to Eddie with your vision of porn for women: story-based, more realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. Some of the same tropes, but done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless. Something new.

Something different. Something special.

And, oh. He is so on board with that.

Meanwhile, back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling. Because how in the hell did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become a sex symbol overnight? It has to be a deal with the devil—that’s the only possible explanation, right? He clearly sold his soul for a magic cock and a porn career.

And Steve Harrington is LIVID.

He would have bet his entire college tuition Eddie was a virgin, but now every babe who comes into Family Video is renting that damn tape.

They’re literally pouring in looking for it, marching straight to the back, going behind that red curtain where normally only the creepers go. And they don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.

Robin teases him about it mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some new moves. And, like, Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know? People must just be caught up in the novelty of it being someone that they kind-of sort-of know. It will wear off, it has to.

Then he watches it.

And, oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.

For one, he wasn’t going down on girls. He just wasn’t. He’s not like…against it, or anything. But he sort of didn’t realize that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fuck’s sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines? And that was all the same, so wasn’t that what girls wanted? (Oh, you sweet summer dingus, Robin would shake her head and lament later.)

Secondly…the girls he was with never sounded like that. And he never realized just how fake all those other “orgasms” in porn sounded until he heard the real deal. Now he can’t un-hear it.

From that day forward, for almost two months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it home in his bag one night after closing. For research purposes only.

No, seriously.

Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.

The second you and he get together, (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like a long-laid plan plotted from a distant corner of the vast universe has finally come to fruition.

Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a hit.

The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza, and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for a poker game her boyfriend is hosting. He canceled date night for it and she’s been sitting out here all alone while they play in the other room.

Not on Eddie’s watch.

He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the countertop. You push the camera in close on both of them, really trying to give the sense of Eddie as a person. So he’s not just another disembodied guy with a nice dick.

Although his is very, very nice.

His personality shines through when he does things like hike her leg up to fuck into her pussy deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own; and when he grins down at her all devilishly as she tries to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear; or when Eddie mocks her, making her own little whines and huffs and squeals right back at her in a way that is so infuriatingly hot.

He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans, until at last she can’t hold it back any longer and explodes.

And you have the sound guy stand off to the side and call out, “Everything okay in there, babe?” after she’s done. Nothing but a shuddering, trembling mess on a black leather sofa.

Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.

Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.

It’s alarming, almost. To be seen so clearly.

Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.

The one thing you’re never short on is actresses. Ever since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) has spread. Rapidly. And since you know most of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create. So Eddie trusts your judgment, completely.

He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.

The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s so charming and funny and considerate practically to a fault. He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to when you wrap for the day. And afterwards, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay because he’ll be happy to.

It’s…completely and utterly disarming.

He has every right to be a full blown asshole. This entire venture hinges on him and his magic dick, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon. But he doesn’t ever stray from that unflagging decency that’s so rare in this industry. 

And you pray he never will.

It’s Eddie who pitches your next film.

He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time and goes looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.

(One guess who’s playing him.)

Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself in the heart and flailing around like a clown, throwing himself off the picnic bench you and he dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.

All part of the vision, he assured you.

They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything in direct contrast to her sweet, round face and bright pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry’s off the charts, as usual. She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.

Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread out on this table in the middle of the forest.

It’s oddly lush and romantic with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that filters in through the branches—a foil to the lewdness of their acts and their wanton sounds. 

And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on gray weathered wood, they look almost like forest nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.

Especially with the leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he fell off the table.

Not for the first time, you feel a certain twinge of something that squirms low in the pit of your stomach while you watch them.

Except you’re not watching them…because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

After you wrap, he hangs back. Asks what you thought of the shoot while he helps break down the equipment. Blushes when you tell him you loved it and how good he looked. Explains how it was inspired by these daydreams he used to have about this one girl he knew in high-school.

And you almost, almost, ask him about her—but you’re cut off by a PA who runs up in a panic.

The studio is calling, and they’re pissed.

They’ve just gotten a look at the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner, unlimited use of their distribution channels. Full creative control and intellectual property rights to anything and everything.

Plus exclusive use of Eddie.

(Effectively nullifying that horseshit deal they originally gave him for a much, much better one.)

You know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of it—you swung big so you’d have plenty of room to negotiate—but it will all be worth it when they fold. Because you and Eddie have big plans.

You both know you’re onto something special and you’re in it together, to the end of the line.

Apparently, Eddie is also interested in editing.

He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and an egg sandwich like a literal angel on earth.

An angel dressed like the devil, maybe. Because he’s got on this tank top with arm holes that’ve been stretched way, way beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos and the tops of his obliques. And you aren’t entirely sure why you’re getting all hot and bothered over a tank top when there’s not a single intimate inch of his        body you haven’t already seen up close and personal through your viewfinder.

In fact, it’s the same body you’re watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago. And he’s wearing a whole lot less than a tank top.

You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is flickering on three screens while you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward, more like you’re mutually tickled by the fact that it’s not? There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two.

In a way, it’s like there never was.

He asks if you want any help, or if you mind him sitting in. He’s interested in the process, thinks it might help him on set too. There’s such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him, a real thirst to be better and to learn. It’s ridiculous it took him three tries to graduate.

You think it’s a great idea…at first.

But then you’re watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded grunts and groans of pleasure in your ears coming through your headphones that are starting to slicken with the sweat.

It’s all wildly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because (not for the first time) you can’t help but wonder how he makes all these women come the way they do.

“So, uh, what…what exactly are you doing here?”

You clear your throat, trying to cover the tremor in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose pushes firmly on her clit. Pretending not to notice your chest heaving with his every word.

“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.

“I find my moments,” he says.

Smirks back. Winks.

And uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to rub his thumb over your bare skin through the hole in your jeans? When did his long, ringed fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did he start to lean further into your space? When did you get so wet?

He’s close now. It wouldn’t take anything for you to bridge the gap and let your lips meet his. You can’t, though. You don’t. Because it would be so…stupid. It would be wrong and bad, and it could jeopardize both of your careers. Everything you’re working towards, totally gone.

You’re starting the porn for women movement, here. You can’t fuck your first star!

And you don’t. You keep it professional. You tell him you’re going to call it a day and head home so he’ll do the same. But later that night, when he calls with some new ideas for a script, asking if he can run a few lines by you (just to know how it sounds out loud, you know?), and you wind up having the most insane, mind-blowing phone sex of your entire life…Well, that’s different.

That’s totally and completely different.

The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.

You knew it would be. You two are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this endeavor. Neither of you would dare let your goals be derailed by a silly little crush.

And it is just a crush. It has to be.

Just the natural result of working so closely with him; of seeing him so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.

Not to mention the fact that you are consistently watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life. But that’s unrelated.

The next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this massive mansion that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by the pool that looks like something straight out of a resort.  Eddie is playing a masseur who offers a lonely, neglected housewife consolation in the form of his cock after her husband chooses work over their couples massage.

After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best you lean hard into the “Eddie fucks it better” sort of storylines.

Because why not play to your strengths?

Except that the call time of your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. You know Trina, this isn’t like her, she’s never late. But you called and got no answer. Twice.

The light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but there’s no one for Eddie to fuck.

Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get out here and that was being generous. By then, the shoot would be way behind and you’ve literally only got today in this stupid model home before some fucking billionaire moves in tomorrow.

It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something. Like, right now.

Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but you both are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.

You could do it.

You’re here, for one. And you’ve done this plenty of times. It just makes good business sense.

It’s been a while, and you’re not quite “camera-ready” after not having to be for the past couple of months, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies; bodies that jiggled and had hair where it grew naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.

The camera guys know what sort of shots you want and you’ve got a bigger crew now—people who know your vision and can help bring it forth.

Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.

The shoot is…interesting.

From the outside, it goes great. Perfect, even. Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck, a few loose tendrils framing his face. 

And you somehow forgot until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school for real.

Before you even get to the sex stuff, you’re putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over your muscles in a dizzying pattern en route to your thighs. 

You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher… arousal promptly pooling between your legs.

He starts going through his lines, striking that perfect balance between his casual, trying-to-be professional voice, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive. 

As if he’s constantly fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.

Telling you how awful it is your husband chose work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…

His hands reach your ass and he grips one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see how you glisten, the sunlight reflecting like it does off the water in the pool.

You wait for his next line—when he offers you a very ‘special’ massage with a ‘special’ technique he ‘doesn’t use on just anyone.’ 

But Eddie goes off script.

He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops out of the little headrest at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, his tongue still swirling in between the words muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”

“It’s okay,” you moan, voice nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your hips back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue. From there, it’s back to regularly scheduled fucking. He stays on script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows from experience get a good reaction every time—

That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me.

Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.

This pussy is all mine now, you understand?

And, yeah, that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quieter, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.

It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—

It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good. 

And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing again for that initial snafu. It makes you all…fluttery.

But it’s not until after you wrap for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home and start to wash off the massage oil spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.

Not once.

When Eddie calls later that week, it’s to ask you out. Not on a date, though. 

Which is good. Really, it is. A relief, even. Because contrary to the way your heart leapt into your throat when he asked if you were busy this weekend, you absolutely cannot date him.

It doesn’t matter that you’re attracted to him. Or that you came out of your eyeballs multiple times with him the other day. Or that you haven’t been able to think about anything besides him since.

You. Can’t. Date.

You’re pretty much his boss, don’t forget. Maybe not technically, maybe not on paper—but if you start something up with him, it will be messy and complicated and it could put everything you and he have worked for in jeopardy. More than that, you don’t want anyone thinking he got where he is by any other means besides his hard work (pun intended). He’s earned everything he’s gotten.

And now that includes an award.

That’s what he’s calling about. He’s been nominated for what is essentially the porn equivalent of an Oscar for that first tape he made. And now he has to go to this ceremony, except he’s sort of freaking out because he’s never done anything like this before and he’s really nervous and he kind of needs you there because ‘you’re the only one I’m always comfortable with.’

So he asks if you’ll go with him. As friends.

And you say you will. And it’s fine. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this—FUCK. 

Why does he have to be so hot? Showing up in a black Prada suit with a sheer shirt underneath? Almost as bad as wearing nothing under it at all. Worse, maybe.

It’s unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his torso, layered chains dangling low, hanging around that tree trunk of a neck you can’t stop wishing you could sink your teeth into, wrap a hand around—

Nope. Nope. You’re not going there. The only place you’re going tonight is these awards.

Except when you get there, the organizers don’t want you photographed with Eddie. At least not arriving together. People still aren’t familiar with you as a director, and you haven’t starred in a project in months. That’s practically a century in porn time.

Plus, the tape Eddie is nominated for you didn’t even work on. It wouldn’t make any sense.

Eddie is immediately poised to protest, but neither of you is given much of an opportunity. While you’re shuffled into the long line of people already being photographed in front of the venue, he’s being whisked away so he can walk with the girl he starred in that very first film with.

You know her, sort of. You did a group scene once upon a time. She’s a biter.

They even sneak him into her limo so it looks like they came together. He gets out first and then holds out a hand to help her, a storm of flash bulbs going off, making her jumpsuit sparkle.

And you tell yourself not to watch. You try to smile pretty for your own pictures and look like you are having a good time. Or at least not look like you’re chewing on glass. But it’s…difficult.

Especially when you look up at the worst possible time—the exact moment she places a dainty hand on his chest and he turns his face toward hers, their lips meeting for a long kiss. 

Long enough for every camera there to capture it.And the very last shot they get of you that night is one of your back as you head inside to get a drink. Or ten. Trying not to think about this sour, putrid, inconvenient feeling in your chest.

Eddie should have walked with you. 

He should have done a lot of things, actually.

He should have told those uppity event coordinators to fuck off. He should have ignored that girl from his first film when she whispered under her breath for him to look at her. He should have dodged that sticky, tacky kiss she planted on his lips without any kind of warning.

He should have asked you out for real instead of hiding behind this ‘as friends’ bullshit.

Maybe if he had, he’d be tasting your lipgloss instead of the glittery mess he was wiping off his chin. Maybe it would be your hand in his as you walked the carpet. And maybe it would be him getting you a drink and clinking his glass with yours instead of the guy you’re with right now.

Eddie knows him. Well, he doesn’t know him, he recognizes him from a tape with some absurd name like Sex Kittens 4 that featured a surprising amount of doggy style, considering the title.

Plus you in a never-ending stream of animal-print bikinis.

(He definitely did NOT go looking for every movie you’d ever made. No, that would be ridiculous. He just sort of…happened across one. Or five.)

And it’s not that he’s jealous—because there’s nothing to be jealous of. You met him doing a job. A job very much like the one you did with Eddie. You’re just catching up with an old coworker.

It’s fine. Totally fine. Did he mention it’s fine?

But then Tom Wanks put his hand on your hip, and before Eddie can take even a second to think, or to rationalize his actions, he’s striding up to you and taking your hand to drag you away.

The beaded fringe on your dress swishes noisily as he brings you with him behind a curtain that was set up as a backdrop for more photos. In the shadows behind it, your eyes glint a little meanly and your voice is barbed when you ask what the hell is the matter with him.

And he’s really not sure.

Because much like you, he’s not used to this; he’s not used to not saying exactly what is on his mind at any given time; he’s not used to holding anything back—not when it comes to you.

“I should have stayed with you,” he blurted out at last. “That was messed up, I—”

Your face falls and you dodge his gaze. “It’s fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it,” he shot back. “I could have said something, I could have told them—”

“What for?” you mutter, arms crossing in front of your chest. You look at the floor, hurt. Not just hurt, disappointed. “I mean, what…what would be the point? It’s not like we’re…or that you’re…”

He watches the words stall behind your lips, all of them trying to fight their way out like people on a crowded bus. But in their efforts, they only wind up clogging the exit so nothing gets through.

“God, listen to me!” you laugh bitterly. “I sound like some crazy, jealous…something, and I don’t know why I’m getting this upset when you don’t even like me—”

“Wait, what? Who the fuck said that?”

He can tell you’re shocked by the panic that rises in his voice, staring back at him wide-eyed.

“Wh-when we were filming, you never kissed me. So I thought…”

You fell silent as Eddie’s hands covered the sides of your face. Softly cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, he stares straight into your eyes and determinedly holds your gaze. 

Your breath stuttered, so lost in those deep brown pools you could hardly recall your own name. And even if you could speak, you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.

Luckily, Eddie gave you something better to do with your mouth.

His lips meet yours in a gentle brush. His hold on your face never tightens, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to grip you harder. There’s a tenacity in his kiss, as if he’s trying to savor the taste of you, but struggling not to devour you whole.

You break apart too soon for his liking. He easily would have stayed there forever. And he braces himself for whatever might be coming—a slap across his face, a knee straight to his balls.

He might deserve both, but receives neither.

You don’t pull back so much as an inch, happy to let him keep your face close to his. He inhales shakily, still breathing you in, “I didn’t want the first time I did that to be on camera.”

You chuckle at him, dazed and grinning, trying to decide if this is a dream or not. If it is, you don’t ever want to wake up. You want to live in it. Your own hands creep up his stomach, tugging on his silky shirt, feeling the way he shivers in it when he feels the caress of your fingertips.

“What about the second?” you whisper.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Deeper. Hungrier. Messier.

He’s not kissing you like it’s his job; like he’s just doing what was written for him in a script—he’s doing it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, desired, chosen to do. Like it’s all he needs.

Your bare back meets the cool wall as he pushes you up against it, sliding his hand inside the slit of your dress, hooking it under your knee to hitch your leg over his hip. He presses every single inch of himself against your seam, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life.

The closest second being when you and he filmed just a few days ago.

You claw at him, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders, pulling open more buttons on his shirt until the gossamer fabric tears and unravels.

“More,” he begs, kisses trailing down your neck. “Fucking please, sweetheart, I need more—”

Your hand takes on a life of its own, sliding down to cup his length through the luxurious suiting. It causes him to release a deep, desperate moan you can feel his lips spreading apart to let out. The sound of it ripples through your body like an electric shock in every extremity.

The dull roar of the crowd right on the other side of that curtain is only barely enough to cover the sound of you and Eddie’s passions. His touch is so enthralling, so engrossing, you are this close to letting him fuck you right there.

Room full of people be damned.

Eddie seems to have the same idea, his mouth blazing a trail down the middle of your chest and stomach as he drops to one knee, his other foot planted to support himself as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. A rush of excitement floods your body as you realize his intentions, fingers sliding into his unruly curls to grip them at the crown of his head.

But the very second his fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue finds its home in your folds, a commotion breaks through your bliss.

There’s a loud crash as a cater waiter stumbles into the curtain obscuring your entangled bodies and drags it down with them as they fall.

Light floods the darkened space and a sound of collective amusement ripples through the crowd. No one is exactly surprised to see people hooking up—but it’s usually not until the afterparty.

Cocktail hour isn’t even over, for crying out loud.

Then they realize who it is.

The shutters of opportunistic photographers snap as you give Eddie’s hair a sharp tug. But he just moans loudly—too absorbed in what he’s doing to even realize what’s happened.

Finally, you pull him off your clit and he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the room.

Another round of snaps and flashes go off and his eyes return to yours, brightening when he sees the way you’re covering your mouth, fighting back laughter. His own lips, still shiny with your arousal, spread into a wide grin. His gaze lands on an emergency exit and he jumps to his feet, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards it tucked securely under his arm.

Flipping off the room behind him as you leave.

Together.

The trip back to your apartment is the longest cab ride of your life.

Whereas on the way to the convention center, you’d ridden mashed against your door trying to leave a respectable distance across the middle seat, Eddie practically has you in his lap on the way back. It’s like he thinks he’ll die if he stops touching you for even a second—lips on your neck, his hands roaming hungrily, whispering filth in your ear under the cover of the radio.

You do your best to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview, trying to shoot him an apologetic look or at least mouth a wholly insincere ‘sorry’ for the display. But he seems unphased.

Still, you stuff a wad of extra bills in his hand as you scramble out of his car. Unceremoniously crashing through the front door, you’re lucky not to break it down in your haste to get Eddie inside.

Of your apartment, that is.

Lips locked for every step across your cramped studio, you tumble to the bed and let out a soft grunt when a plastic hanger digs into your back. Hearing you yelp, Eddie pulls back and can see you’re lying on top of the ten or so discarded outfits you went through trying to decide on what to wear tonight. Sequins rustle under your bodies as the bed shakes with your gentle laughter, and Eddie drops a kiss to the tip of your nose before he climbs off you. Reluctantly.

He watches while you gather the dresses strewn across the bed, smiling when you try and stuff them back in your closet, fumbling with only the amber street light filtering through your blinds to see by. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s still smiling. Head tilted at you, eyes slowly raking over your form, heart rate picking up in his chest when yours do the same to him.

The pause is nice. It gives you both a minute to catch your breaths, for your brains to catch up with your bodies. Your steps turn careful and slow as you move towards him. With trembling fingers, he pulls open the last remaining buttons of his sheer shirt and lets it fall to his feet.

Remembering only just now that his jacket is still on the floor of that hotel ballroom.

You come to a stop in front of him and he closes the distance left. He reaches around you and pulls down the zipper of your dress, fingertips dragging lightly along your spine as he reveals it.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to feeling like a gift someone is unwrapping.

With your dress pooled around your ankles, Eddie’s hands are free to wander. He runs them up and down your arms, sweeping them along the inside of your wrists to twine your fingers with his. He brings them to his lips to kiss and the sight of plush pink brushing your knuckles is bordering on being too much to handle—more erotic than anything you’ve ever filmed.

He’s going slow because it’s slowly dawning on him what you’re about to do. 

And how this time it’s not going to be for work or for a camera. It’s going to be real. 

Except…is it going to be real?

Should he do something different than what he did when you filmed? How can he, when he used all his best moves during the shoot? Shit…

He doesn’t want you thinking he’s just doing with you the same thing he does with everyone else; that this—that you—aren’t special to him.

Then suddenly, he’s not going slow anymore.

He’s stopped completely.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Y-yeah,” he chokes out, like the word is made of sawdust. “I just, ahhh…I don’t know, I think I’m psyching myself out? Thinking too hard.”

“Thinking about what?” you whisper, your teeth tugging back your bottom lip.

His head just shakes, eyes still scanning your face while his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, until he lets out a sigh that’s heavy with fondness and whispers, “How I don’t want to mess this up.”

He takes another deep breath, letting his forehead rest against your own as his chest shudders. Confounded as to how something he’s done in front of a whole-ass camera crew could make him feel so self-conscious when it’s just you here with him. A few seconds of silence pass until his lips part in a smirk and his gaze cuts to the side, right to where a camera would be.

“Is it just me…or does it feel like something is missing?”

It takes a few minutes of digging to find your old camcorder buried in the depths of your closet. 

Eddie chuckles when you emerge, brandishing it with a flourish and a little ta-da! before you set it on top of your dresser pointed at the bed, angling it slightly to properly frame the shot.

The red light blinks as you hit ‘record,’ barely taking a second to check if there’s a tape inside. You let it run, capturing your figures half in shadows as he sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap. He helps you settle on his thighs, runs his hands up the backs of yours, slips his long fingers under the elastic band of your panties to rest on your hip. He pulls them back and snaps them softly on your skin, earning a hum of approval from behind your pressed lips.

You wriggle on top of him and delight in how it makes his chest reverberate with a low groan.

“That better?” you whisper, the answer to your question immediately stiffening underneath you. He nods fervently, his voice tight and strained as he struggles to keep his cool.

“Wanna taste you,” he grunts out roughly.

He moves his hands to grip your waist so he can flip you underneath him, but your hands find his shoulders and stop him before he can.

Big, doleful eyes look up at yours, his face etched with concern as you shake your head. His bottom lip wobbles as he searches your face for why.

In a reassuring press, you mash your lips to his and lace your fingers behind his neck. You kiss all the air out of his lungs, until his fingertips are digging into your flesh hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. You kiss him like you’re trying to take the weight of the world off his shoulders, like you’re going to accept his every burden as your own so he doesn’t have to carry them alone.

There’s a quiet pop as your mouths separate and you press your chest flush with his, wrapping your arms around his neck so your lips find his ear as your nose nudges through his curls.

“Tell me you want me,” you whisper. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I don’t want it,” he groans back, “I need it. I’ve needed it since I fucking met you.”

The heat in his voice, the rumble of it in your ear, causes a wave of arousal to rush through your body. You unwind your arms from around his neck and slip slowly, painfully slowly, from his lap to stand between his legs. You place a finger under his chin and tip his face up for him to look at you, your thumb settling in the tiny dip at its center. Too small to see, it could only be felt.

“Everyone always uses you,” you tell him softly, almost mournfully.

His eyes stay wide and hopeful, never leaving yours as you sink down to your knees. His long, dark lashes flutter as your hands run up his muscled thighs, the edges of your thumbs grazing the outline of his cock. He hisses through his teeth and you grin devilishly at the sound.

“I want you to use me,” you instruct him. “Take whatever you need, as much as you want.”

And you can literally see how your words affect him, his eyes bugging wide as the wheels in his head are turning behind them. He reaches out to touch your face and you turn it to kiss his palm.

“Sweetheart, I—oh, fuck,” he gasps, cut off with your sudden squeeze of his clothed cock.

“I’ll stop you if I need a break,” you reply firmly.

The muscles in his neck pull taught as he nods. He leans back on one elbow, reluctant to let his other hand leave your face. You kiss his bare stomach along the top of his waistband and he curls his hand around the back of your head, gripping it tighter when you tug down his fly.

And you knew Eddie’s dick well by now. You knew it inside of you as well as out. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for the sight of it tonight. Thick, and veiny, and weeping with pre that dribbles down its sides. He’s almost ashamed of it, almost embarrassed by how hard he is for you; by how close he is to blowing his load when you’ve not even gotten started.

It was practically a miracle he didn’t soil the inside of his suit when you pulled his hair earlier.

His pupils are blown out when your eyes meet his, your lips hovering so close to his cock he can feel your breath on it. Saliva pools under your tongue so rapidly, you almost feel like you’re at risk of it spilling out of your mouth and running down your chin when you speak.

“Fuck my throat, Eddie. Please.”

And he does. He lets you set the pace at first, still holding fast on the back of your head he watches your lips surround his tip. His chest heaves with deep, gasping breaths as you take him fully into your mouth and start to bob on his perfect cock. It’s almost too much, too perfect, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth and your soft tongue and, fuck, your hand—

He pants wildly as you cradle his sack, your fingertips stroking them and spreading the spit from your mouth that’s dribbling down his shaft to his balls. They tense in your palm and his stomach tightens the faster your mouth moves, the more your throat relaxes to take him in deep.

The man who gives the best head imaginable finally having the favor returned.

“Jesus Christ…”

Eddie's words are whispered like a prayer and you look up to take in the sight of him.

Eyes pinched shut, his brows drawn like he’s in pain even though the sounds he’s releasing are nothing short of euphoric. You tease all the most sensitive nooks and crannies of his cock, all the places that make his eyes roll back and his head loll on his shoulders and his chest heave. Every ridge, every vein, every muscle that twitches under the attention of your tongue.

“Oh, pl…p-please,” he gasps, tightening his hold on your hair to still your movements as his hips start to move in an instinctive and primal thrust.

He hits the back of your throat and you swallow more of him down, taking him deeper, deeper until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base.

You groan around his length, enthralled by the exquisite ache of him hitting your soft palate, and the sound is Eddie’s undoing. He lets out a long, low moan and spills hot and thick down your throat. His arm trembles as he fights his own iron grip on the back of your head, forbidding himself from pulling your hair. You can feel the tremors of his fingers against your scalp.

His abdomen spasms as you stroke him through the aftershocks, flirting with overstimulation. Fucked-out eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but nothing short of reverent, find yours and they’re wet—shiny, shimmering with tears that crowd their rims and threaten to spill down his cheeks.

Quick as you can, you’re on your feet cradling his jaw to ask if he’s okay. And Eddie can’t answer, can only nod as he kisses, kisses, kisses your palm, the heel of your hand, your wrist, down the inside of your arm all the way to your elbow.

He can’t kiss you enough, it seems. 

You giggle softly as you sit beside him and reach out to ruffle his bangs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear and letting your touch linger on his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you brush a tear that has leaked out of the corner of his eye. He looks back at you with a smile and swipes the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth to wipe away a drop of his spend.

And you know there’s still a lot left to figure out—damage control that will have to be done, difficult conversations that will have to be had. There will be whispers and rumors and sidelong glances.

Not to mention the firestorm those pictures of you two at the ceremony will undoubtedly stir up.

But none of that matters right now. Nothing does, beyond this bed and this night. Nothing else even exists outside the confines of this room.

All that matters is you and him.

You lay there for a while, just…being. Your fingers tracing his tattoos and the soft planes of his chest and stomach; his, the slope of your shoulders and the lines of your body he’s always wanted to know better. Quiet words pass back and forth, teasing jokes and soft confessions. Admissions of fears that held you both back and don’t seem so daunting anymore. Don’t seem so scary.

When he’s hard again, you pick up the camera and point it at him as you guide him to lay on his back. You push in close on his face when you sink down fully onto his length and start to ride him at an egregiously slow pace just so your shot holds steady. And because he looks so pretty taking it.

“Something wrong, Ed?” you goad him a smidge, toying with him in more ways than one when your pussy squeezes so tight around his cock it makes him lose his breath and pant out of control.

“F-fu…fuuuuuck meeee…” he whines and writhes, throwing his head back into the mattress.

“Oh,” you chuckle at him, speeding up just a hair, “I’m sorry, is that not what I was doing?”

His head jerks up, eyes ablaze as he stares you down through the camera lens. You peer at him over the top of the viewfinder and shiver despite the thin layer of sweat building on your skin.

Okay, yeah, that might have been a little too far. Or just far enough, you think, almost giddy.

“Nah,” he growls, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”

A loud squeal bursts out of you as he rolls your bodies to the side and pins you underneath him, somehow managing to keep himself seated inside you the whole time. Breathless, you watch as he takes the camera from you and practically tosses it away so he can hold your arms over your head. For a while, all it captures is a blurry close-up of your duvet cover, the frame shaking in time with every deep, solid thrust of Eddie’s hips that rattles the entire bed and you in it when he gets going.

Your moans and his grunts mix in a symphony that will surely earn you some side-eyeing from your neighbors tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to give a single ounce of a shit.

The song that you make together swells to a crescendo as you topple over the precipice you’ve been dangling off the edge of practically from the moment you met him. Eddie fumbles like mad for the camera and picks it up, recording your blissful expression before he swoops in to press his lips back to yours. Kissing you like he’s trying to eat you, like he’s trying to fuse your faces.

You’re certainly not complaining.

And now that he’s the one with the camera, he’s eager to keep going. He pans it up and down your whole body, guiding you into every filthy position he’s been imagining all those long nights alone in his bed. Through his eyes behind the lens, there’s not a single angle on you that isn’t pristine. 

He gets you up on all fours, films tight on your ass as he squeezes it and cracks his palm down on it when he lets go. The sting makes you keen, your back arching as your hips thrust back—seeking more, more. His hand then smooths over your buzzing flesh, soothes the ache he’s made.

And even as you’re making it, you can tell this is not just another sex tape.

It’s a love tape.

thank you for reading — love you, mean it! 🏝️

[optimisticgrey]

Okay, I need you all to listen very carefully:

Attention is the most valuable ressource on the internet.

It's how ads work (blinking, calling to action ("CLICK NOW", limited time offer etc) and what everyone is competing for - authors, fanfiction writers, content creators, people trying to make a living or just showing their art.

Everyone is competing for attention.

But, yes there is a big but, the people whose attention we are trying to get still do have a life.

It is a weird world out there and it gets more overwhelming every day. News get darker, situations more dire. There are people's lives at stake.

Even without following the news or reality adjacent content, we are all impacted by it.

We all feel it.

I talk to a lot of people on a regular basis and all, really, all of them are fucking stressed and overwhelmed: friends, acqaintances, mutuals(🫶), co-workers, clients, customers and the cashier at my favorite kebap place.

Everyone is fucking stressed, overwhelmed and tired all the time. Even the most chill and zen people I know.

Please keep in mind that these are the people following us and our work. Whatever we scream into the boundless void that is the internet gets up picked by some of them.

They try to make a living, to survive, to get by and find a moment of piece after a long day.

They still click.

Sometimes. they still like and leave kudos.

Sometimes, they just don't take time to leave a comment.

Maybe our stories made them smile. Or cry.

Maybe they are reading/seeing/consuming our stuff was the ten minute break they get in a day.

Yes, engagement is down. Across all platforms, for everyone.

It's how the internet works.

Algorithms change, corporations get influences by politics, the brainless mass shifts focus.

The next dopamine chase, the new hot topic.

In my case: the next new game. I am currently only publishing for BG3, it's a nearly two year old game. The people still reading my stuff are randoms an algorithm drew in or mutuals. The fanbase is limited and I am aware of it.

I just started publishing and I do not mind. Mostly, I do not care. I still save all delightful comment because they always make my day because there are still people who do care.

People who send me messages, telling me they loved my writing and the way my stories make them feel (although I somehow end up writing angst).

But the people leaving comments (likes/kudos) are not obligated to do so because there is a surprisingly small number of people who think outside of their own head.

If the internet has taught us anything, than it's the fact that people share hate rather than love.

It's easier to get a hate comment than a kind one.

It's how the internet society works and the battle for attention with it.

What I am trying to say is: Please be kind.

To yourself and to others.

Your art is not devalued because less people consume it. Maybe they are busy, maybe they are overwhelmed, maybe their focus has shifted.

All we have is each other.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[lotuswish]

what loving you feels like to them (pt 4 - ignihyde)

featured character(s): idia shroud (no ortho).

summary: ever wondered what it feels like for each twisted wonderland boy to fall in love with you? this series uncovers their feelings, influenced by their personalities, experiences, and desires. follow me to catch the next part!

cw: none

a/n: no ortho here—he’s baby, and that’s final. what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words-like “grounding," "growth," or "freedom"-but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it's still their own! :)

idia shroud

loving you feels like stumbling into a storyline idia shroud never thought he’d get to be part of. love was something he dismissed as a fantasy, the kind of thing that belonged in fairy tales or cheesy RPGs—dramatic, improbable, and definitely not meant for someone like him. but then you appeared, and it was like an unexpected cutscene he didn’t see coming, pulling him out of his predictable, carefully controlled world and into something that felt both heart-pounding and deeply, unmistakably real.

idia has always lived in the safety of the familiar. his world is a perfectly crafted routine, a place where he knows the rules and controls the outcomes. but loving you throws all of that into disarray. you’re the unscripted event, the glitch in his carefully coded reality, the variable that changes everything. it’s overwhelming, like trying to navigate an intricate maze with no clear path, but he finds himself drawn deeper, unable to pull away, even when it feels like he’s completely lost.

loving you is a paradox he can’t quite figure out. it’s frightening—letting you see the parts of himself he’s spent years hiding, the awkwardness, the insecurities, the crippling fear of rejection. but at the same time, it’s the safest he’s ever felt. with you, he finds a kind of security he’s only ever known with ortho, a sense of belonging in a world that’s always felt too loud, too chaotic, too much. you don’t try to change him or push him out of his comfort zone before he’s ready. instead, you meet him exactly where he is, offering patience and understanding he never thought he deserved.

being with you feels like logging into the ultimate co-op campaign. every challenge becomes less daunting when you’re by his side, every obstacle a little less intimidating. you make things fun in a way he didn’t think was possible—turning the toughest battles into adventures and making him actually want to keep playing, no matter how hard the level gets. it’s the kind of bond he’s spent his whole life wishing for but never thought he could actually have.

what catches him off guard is how much you make him want to change—not because he feels he has to, but because he genuinely wants to. for the first time, he feels like stepping out of his comfort zone might be worth it, even if it means facing things that scare him. being with you gives him a sense of hope, a belief that he can be someone stronger, braver, and better than the person he’s always seen himself as.

for idia, loving you feels like uncovering a hidden level he never expected—something challenging and unpredictable but offering a reward far beyond anything he ever imagined. the world is still overwhelming, but now there’s something in it that makes the struggle worthwhile. with you, he starts to see possibilities he never thought were meant for him, and that alone changes everything.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[rose24207]

My dad is a dumbass

Summary: Lucas is sent back in time to ensure his teenage father falls for his outcast mother instead of the wrong girl.

Genre: fluff, popular!Lando x bullied!reader, time travel

TW: bullying

A/N: I watched twinkling watermelon. SOMEONE SEDATE ME- anyways… *cough cough* English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The moment Lucas felt the world spin beneath his feet, he knew something was very wrong. One second, he had been in his dad’s garage, tinkering with some old F1 tech Lando had insisted was too dangerous to touch, and the next?

He was here—standing in the middle of a high school hallway that smelled like sweat, cheap cologne, and regret.

Lucas stumbled, heart racing. The world had shifted—subtly, but undeniably. Everything around him was different. The posters on the walls advertised school dances from years ago. The fashion was outdated. The phones in students' hands were clunky.

His breath hitched.

This wasn’t just any high school.

This was your high school.

His parents had met here.

And from the way the students around him carried on, oblivious to the fact that a future-born kid had just dropped into their reality, it hit him.

He had traveled back in time.

And then he heard it.

A voice so familiar it made his stomach twist.

“Oi, Carlos, did you see that goal? Absolute beauty, mate!”

Lucas turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

There, leaning against the lockers, laughing with a group of friends, was Lando Norris.

Not Dad, the grown-up who nagged him about cleaning his room and told embarrassing stories to his friends. No, this was seventeen-year-old Lando—loud, confident, grinning like he owned the world.

Lucas nearly choked.

Holy shit. My dad is a dumbass teenager.

You always knew how to make yourself invisible. It was a skill you had mastered long ago—sitting in the farthest corner of the library, keeping your head down, never speaking unless necessary. It was safer that way.

High school had been unkind to you. The whispers, the taunts, the stolen lunch money—they had worn you down over time, molding you into someone small and quiet.

You thought you were alone.

Until a chair scraped across from you, and a boy you didn’t recognize sat down.

You stiffened, gripping your book tighter.

“Uh… do I know you?” you asked hesitantly.

The boy—Lucas, as he introduced himself—smiled, easy and relaxed. “Not yet.”

There was something strange about him. He didn’t feel like a normal teenager. His gaze was too sharp, too knowing. And yet… when he glanced at your book and casually remarked, “Pride and Prejudice? Classic,” you felt your heart stutter.

Nobody had ever paid attention to what you read.

“You’ve read it?” you asked, voice skeptical.

Lucas smirked. “More times than I can count.”

A flicker of warmth spread through your chest.

You hadn’t had a real conversation with someone in months.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Lucas had a problem.

His dad was an idiot.

A lovesick idiot.

And not for the right girl.

Her name was Jessica. And she was, in Lucas’ professional opinion, the worst person on the planet.

She was the kind of girl who faked sweetness when people were watching but turned venomous the second they weren’t.

And seventeen-year-old Lando was eating right out of her perfectly manicured hand.

Lucas watched in horror as his father practically tripped over himself trying to impress her.

“She’s so obviously playing you,” Lucas muttered under his breath.

Carlos, standing nearby, gave him a weird look. “Do you know Lando?”

Lucas coughed. “Uh, no.”

Carlos shrugged. “Then why do you care?”

Lucas clenched his jaw. Because if my dad doesn’t stop being a dumbass, I might never be born.

He had to fix this.

The first time Lucas tried to break them up, it was simple.

He “accidentally” spilled his entire drink on Jessica’s very expensive designer bag.

“Oh my God!” she screeched, jumping back like she had been set on fire.

Lucas put on his best innocent face. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Lando, ever the gentleman, immediately started panicking. “Jess, I’ll fix it, I swear—”

But Jessica was too busy throwing a tantrum about her ruined bag.

She stormed off.

Lucas grinned, satisfied. Problem solved.

Until the next day, when Lando was still mooning over her.

Lucas groaned. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Lucas wasn’t just here to make sure his parents fell in love.

He was here to protect you.

And it didn’t take long for him to see how much you needed it.

You never told him what was happening, but he saw it.

The girls whispering behind your back. The stolen lunch. The tripping in the hallways.

Lucas’ hands clenched into fists.

One day, he caught a group of girls sneering as you walked past.

“She’s so weird.”

“I heard she eats lunch alone every day.”

Lucas saw red.

“Funny,” he said loudly, making them freeze. “I was just thinking how weird you guys are.”

The leader, a blonde girl with too much makeup, scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You spend all your time talking about someone who doesn’t even know you exist,” Lucas said, crossing his arms. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

Their faces burned red before they stormed off.

Lucas smirked. That’s what I thought.

Later that day, you hesitated before looking at him. “Why did you do that?”

Lucas shrugged. “Because you don’t deserve it.”

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “…Thank you.”

Lucas softened. “Anytime, Mum.”

You didn’t hear that last part.

Lucas had to be tactical.

He orchestrated run-ins between you and Lando.

He got you both paired as lab partners.

He even tripped Lando once just so he’d fall into your arms (which earned him a very suspicious glare from his dad).

And finally, finally, Lando started to notice you.

Lucas saw it—the way his dad’s eyes lingered too long, how he smiled softer around you.

It was working.

Until Jessica struck again.

She cornered Lando after school, batting her lashes. “Landooo, come to the party with me?”

Lucas froze.

If Lando went, he’d fall right back into her clutches.

Thinking fast, he jumped in. “Oh, he can’t.”

Lando blinked. “I can’t?”

Lucas clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nope! He already has plans. With her.”

He pointed to you.

You turned scarlet. “W-what?”

Jessica scoffed. “Since when?”

Lucas grinned. “Since now.”

Lando looked at you, hesitant but intrigued.

“…I guess we have plans?”

You bit your lip. Then—shyly, hesitantly—you nodded.

“I guess we do.”

Jessica huffed and stormed off.

Lucas smirked. Checkmate bitch.

Days later, Lucas watched as Lando walked you home, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Lucas grinned.

His work here was done.

Now…

He just had to figure out how to get back home.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[basuralindo]

Yeah. That.

If you're actively caught up in a delusion, and someone tells you it's not true with no evidence or bothering to check -just dismisses your belief as bullshit, your mind isn't going to accept it as true. That's the thing about delusions, if you were in a mental state to "werewolves aren't real and everything is fine" and believe it, you wouldn't be in that state in the first place.

What actually happens when you tell an actively delusional person that their delusion is fake is more likely along the lines of them becoming convinced that either you may be part of the threat (which can escalate the delusion from "there is a random event happening to me" to "there is a conspiracy against me, someone is doing this to me, and anyone may be in cahoots with them. I can no longer trust doctors or law enforcement"), or that the threat is more insidious than they realized, and nobody else can see what's happening (which can lead to hiding it and lying about being okay and trying to "fix the situation " themselves, while not believing anyone who tries to tell them it's not happening).

Basically, if someone is experiencing a delusion centered around paranoia, then any direct rejection/dismissal of that delusion will likely become incorporated into the paranoia, and overall the stress of trying to seek help from people who refuse to see the issue will usually make the delusion worse. Even when I'm having mild delusions that I can tell are probably delusions on my own, if I try to get someone to help prove it's safe and they dismiss me completely without checking, it pretty much always makes the delusion more intense and feeds into a paranoia that something bad is going to happen and nobody will help me so I have to be extra careful and secretly prepare for the worst and stay vigilant etc.etc.

What actually helps during a delusion, is finding someone who believes you and takes the threat seriously enough to look into it. That proves to you that they understand the situation and can be trusted to know what they're doing and what they're talking about, so once they've investigated the situation and come back with evidence that it's not happening and you're actually safe, then you can believe them. That relief and ability to relax helps your mind wind down from the fear and stress that fed into a delusional state to begin with, and once you've come out of the delusional state (I'm familiar with bipolar, idk if other psychoses let you come out of it the same way sorry), then it can be possible to talk about what happened and why it wouldn't be realistic, and discuss plans to recognize if the delusion is returning and talk yourself down from it before it goes too far. It's a long process and requires careful timing and handling. Pushing too hard or too fast in the wrong ways can and will make everything worse. However, playing into the delusion and adding on to it is absolutely not the same thing and does a lot of harm, don't fucking do that. There's a difference between playing along to wind someone down and just straight playing imagination games with their sense of reality.

So what you can do from the outside is try to calm them down by convincingly them that they are currently safe, that you understand what they're talking about and know how to take care of it (or that a medical professional knows how to handle it and you can keep them safe until they arrive/you get them to the er). And then you do like those doctors mentioned and take reasonable steps to investigate the situation and provide proof that there's no threat. Don't make them feel stupid for being scared in the first place (again, that can trigger more stress and feed into delusional spirals). Approach it in a way that allows for dignity and trust in the conclusion.

For example, think if you smelled gas and called the fire department to investigate, and they just told you "if you don't own any gas appliances then it's not gas, don't waste our time", you'd assume they're incompetent and you'd need to investigate yourself, but wouldn't be able to trust calling them back if you're still smelling it, right? So you'd spend the rest of the night in fear and not knowing what to do or who to call if it gets worse and imagining what might happen, yeah? But if they sent someone out to go check your property and they found the cause of the smell, which turned out to be something benign and not a gas leak, then you could assume they know what they're doing and that their conclusion is reliable, and sleep easy knowing you're safe after all. Especially if they discussed with you how to differentiate the smell of gas from whatever the actual cause was, so you can tell for yourself next time. If someone is experiencing a delusion, treat them as if there really is a gas smell, you just need to prove to them that it's not actually a dangerous gas

No doctor will ever get my respect like the woman in the ER who checked me for claws and fangs because I told her I was turning into a werewolf and could feel it and let me know gently that she couldn't find any but that didnt make it feel any less real, like THATS how you do it, other doctors who just flat out told me I was wrong take notes

[gay-dorito-dust]

Luke Castellan is the type to look at you with mischief and somewhat knowing, almost as if he was aware of something that you weren’t yet aware of.

Luke Castellan is the type to walk up silently behind you and wait for you to notice his presence, warning the campers you’re talking to to remain silent so they didn’t ruin the surprise. So when you did notice him, albeit screaming at how he scared the shit out of you, he only laughed as he defended himself from your weak slaps to his biceps.

Luke Castellan is the type of man to steal stuff for you in thanks to him being Hermes’ kid. So he sneaks into cabin with the gifts that he -or with his usual partners in crime the Stolls- had snuck in that reminded him of you. He loves the look upon your face when you did find all the trinkets he has scattered throughout your cabin, seeing the way your eyes softened and your smile only grew at how well he knew you and how he went out of his way to do this for you.

Luke Castellan is the type of man to gift you his hoodies just so he could watch the dejected looks upon others faces when they realised that you were taken, when in reality he has yet to confess his feelings but you in his hoodie made the message clear; you were off limits unless they want to be humiliated in training later. He likes how you look in his clothes but likes it even more that when you do give it back -hesitantly of course- it would have your scent lingering in the fabric. However there would be days where he’d suggest that you’d keep the hoodie entirely, shamelessly wanting to see you in his hoodie for just that little bit longer.

Luke Castellan would most likely be the type to target you when it comes to capture the flag. He would make sure everyone on his team knew that you were his primary opponent, he would make sure to chase you into an empty area under the guise of battle, when in reality you were just going to get backed up against a tree as he smirks in triumph when his team wins and your left sulking and trying to brush him aside as you both return to camp together; completely unscathed. Making everyone in camp suspicious of what happened between the two of you.

Luke Castellan would be the type to get a little jealous when his friends work against him to make him jealous into admitting that he felt something towards you. So Clarisse, Chris, Selina, Charles and sometimes even the Stolls would go out of their way to spend time with you and would drag you away whenever Luke was coming towards you. This does piss Luke off whenever he sees one of his friends pull you towards the other side of the camp, away from him in specific and would even dare to look back at him with a smile before mouthing: ‘say something to them or we will.’

Luke Castellan is the type to be vulnerable towards you, only letting you in when he felt you were close enough for him to pour his heart out to, his feelings towards you don’t come out like his friends hoped but he’d claim to them that he was working on that. However most nights he spent sneaking into your cabin to tell you about his nightmares and the failed quest he went on that mockingly gifted him the scar he bore upon his face.

‘You’re so pretty.’ You muttered softly as you caressed the scar.

‘You’re not scared?’ He’d ask, beautiful deep eyes shinning with unshed tears.

‘How can I ever be scared of someone as beautiful as you Luke, I could look at you forever because I don’t want to miss a single expression your face makes. I want to know your every emotions and know what you’re feeling in certain situations and know how to handle it and comfort you.’ You replied honestly and before you could comment on the sound of his hitched breath, his lips were on yours and your mind went blank in that moment before reciprocating upon realising that this was reality and not the dream you’ve had for a while.

Luke Castellan who seemingly has his arm through over your shoulders at any given moment, refusing to let go as it meant letting you go and now that he has you the way he wanted, Luke didn’t want to go anywhere else unless it was with you in tow. He’s visibly happier as many campers could tell whenever he’s with you, looking at you adoringly whenever you talked passionately of your interests and facts that you’ve learnt recently. He -in Clarisse words- looked like a lovesick puppy with you but he couldn’t help it, he finally got you and he was more then eager to take advantage of getting to be as clingy as possible with you without raising suspicions that everyone knew was the truth.

Luke Castellan is the type to know he’s truly happy with you and strive to have a normal, somewhat domestic relationship with you, which may or may not lead to the two of you being the envy of camp…maybe even being the blueprint of the relationship most wish to have that some will later have in the future. (Percabeth)

[fulcrums501st]

silco is a great character. but if your love of silco causes you to hate on vi I’m gonna need you to reevaluate some things

like vi has every reason to hate silco all of which are valid for her to believe. yea she doesn’t get that silco actually cared for jinx. but like bro she was imprisoned?? and like? he killed her family??? why would she ever see him in any way either than that?? she doesn’t know about his political motivations and those don’t justify him trying to kill her family????

vi’s been in prison for years and obviously would assume that jinx became the way she is cuz of silco. and she isn’t even fully wrong to assume that cuz silco raised jinx for years and yea he did let her get to this point. like yea it’s complicated cuz of his own issues and his messed up ideology kinda make him incapable of being a good parent no matter how hard he tries. but vi ain’t giving him the benefit of the doubt and like why tf would your expect her to?? obviously we know that there was some jinx brewing beneath the surface of powder in act1. but how tf was vi supposed to have predicted this?? silco’s parenting undeniably contributed to who jinx became. so vi isn’t even wrong to believe this. not 100% right but not 100% wrong.

and like jinx is so different from vi’s perspective ofc vi is gonna 100% blame silco on that. and like she has a right to. like vi shows up to try and save her sister and silco tries to kill her and yaps about “freeing” jinx. like what is vi supposed to conclude from that other than silco is Mr. evil and a sister- stealer. like yes girl go blow up his factory.

“silco was there when vi abandoned powder” actually what tf are you talking about. vi was 15. experiencing a trauma no one eve should. she invisibly shouldn’t have hit powder but like I completely understand why she fricking did. understandable emotional reaction for a 15 yo. how are we still giving her shit about this?? plus she TRIES TO GO BACK TO POWDER. BUT IS PUT IN PRISON FOR 7 FUCKING YEARS. she walked off to cool off not abandon her sister.

also the point is that silco misunderstands jinx’s situation. he can only see vi “abandoning” jinx as the same betrayal that happened to him. when they’re completely different. silco’s perspective on vi’s motivations and “betrayal” could not be more inaccurate. it makes sense for him to believe that cuz again of his own trauma. but be fr rn he did not asses the situation correctly which is partly why jinx has such conflicting feelings on vi. yes silco was there for jinx, but not cuz vi abandoned her or bc vi was a terrible sister.

silco and vi both want what they think is best for jinx. what they think is best tho is completely incompatible. both of their perspectives are completely understandable and genuine. that’s why jinx feels this pull between the two of them. that’s what makes the dinner party scene so good. cuz neither of them are entirely in the wrong for believing what they do or for wanting what they do.

“silco was right, vi chose caitlyn over jinx”

if this is abt s2 then just no. never cite s2 again when talking about vi. never. Not in my vi arcane.

And even in s1 jinx asking vi to shoot Caitlyn was unfair and messed up as crap. like ofc vi wasn’t gonna do that she has fricking moral compass. vi is put in an impossible position.

silco was right about how vi is still holding out hope that jinx can go back to being the same innocent powder she remembers AND CAN YOU BLAME HER?! she hasn’t seen her sister in 7 YEARS?! she only remembers powder. the memory of powder was the only thing getting her through those 7 years. yeah silco is correct in this assessment but it doesn’t make vi’s hope invalid or selfish, just wishful and optimistic. again, powder was the only thing keeping her going. cuz vi has been separated from the world and the cruel reality of it for 7 fucking years. silco and VI’s perspective are both valid given their experiences.

“vi could never accept jinx, while silco loved jinx unconditionally”

ok and that’s great parenting on a paper but is also lwk part of the problem cuz he enables all of jinx’s messed up and self-destructive behaviors. his unconditional love overrides his capacity for good parenting and discipline. it’s part of what makes their father-daughter relationship codependent and toxic. also vi loves and cares for her sister sm. but her sister becoming a murderer is an insane thing to ask of her to accept. like jinx does so many messed up things in s1. we the audience know why jinx is acting the way she is. but vi has every right to be disturbed by her. like could you imagine being kidnapped and separated from your little innocent sister for 7 years and then coming back and the first thing you see her do is shoot at people and giggle?? all out of her own volition?? I would be a bit taken aback too. It would be weird if vi wasn’t. And even after all of that vi doesn’t give up on her. she literally says “I’m not going to abandon you again” (and do not fucking bring up s2 cuz that was NOT vi)

“vi created jinx” “no silco created jinx”

how tf is this still a discussion?? they both did and neither of them did. jinx was made from terrible circumstance. every single one of her life experiences contributes to who she became. her parents being murdered by enforcers. her living under systemic oppression. her childhood insecurity and feeling like she needed to prove herself to the group. vi encouraging her inventions. the incident. vi “abandoning” her. being raised by silco. killing silco. etc. there isn’t one event that “makes” jinx.

anyway. vi’s hatred of silco is valid given her perspective. and silco’s beliefs also make sense given how messed up he is and they are genuine. but I never wanna see a silco fan hating on vi ever again.

[strwberri-milk]

How do you think the lnds boys would react if mc breaks up with them, and later, they find out the motive was that mc thinks she isn't good enough for them?

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Also, girl, how do you get the creativity to write so many requests? You're amazing! 🙃

i dont really have creativity im just good at following guidelines when people send requests and i can see how it plays out in my head lolol ty though <33

He's angry, upset, anything and everything. His mind is spinning as this revelation hits him. Rafayel and Sylus fought like crazy to try and keep you, ending up in even more arguments that just cemented in your desire to leave him because you hated that you were hurting him so much. Zayne and Xavier were stunned when you brought it up and just tried their best to delay the actual breaking up until one day you just up and left them with nothing but the memory of you.

He texts you and calls you immediately - even if you're blocked he has his ways of getting around it. Zayne is fairly calm about reaching out, sending you a message asking you to speak. In reality, he was losing his mind over this, wanting you to reply and desperately wanting to beg but also knowing that if he pushed too hard there was a good chance you wouldn't reply.

Rafayel is a spammer, of course. He keeps messaging you until you finally end up replying to him. Xavier and Sylus are in between - Sylus' messages are firm but he isn't blowing up your phone. Xavier is sending you more messages then Sylus, but they all sound so hurt you can't look at them without feeling like crying.

He will secure a meeting with you and this is going to be one of the few times you see him genuinely angry. He's quiet, watching your every move as his hands keep themselves busy. Thankfully, you don't feel like he's going to hurt you or yell at you but you do feel bad about how mad he is, weakly trying to explain that you were trying to do what would be best for him.

He shuts it down right away, telling you that he doesn't care what you think about yourself. He loves you and he wants you and if you're going to sabotage the one good thing he's been given he's not going to give up that easily this time. You know internally that he didn't really even give up easily the first time so you just kinda stay quiet, trying to figure out what you want to say to him.

Eventually he'd manage to convince you into giving the two of you a second chance. However, he does also tell you that he can't handle you self-sabotaging to such a drastic degree a second time. He's been running himself haggard since the first time you broke up with him and if you're insistent that you're not good enough for him to this degree he's going to start insisting on counseling in some form. He also does his best to show you and tell you how much he loves and appreciates you - even more so than before. You will be drowning in affection and there's literally nothing you can do about it.

[allinduetimethefirst]

Of all the things I go back to to make a fucking chaos internet post response to its spontaneous hyperfixation hours

I'm telling you that Jonathan Sims originally was a terrified man amongst people infinitely more confident and experienced than he in a role that he could barely believe he deserved, so much so that he forced himself to put on a brave front to the point of outright rejecting any reality of the things he read having any grain of truth, and slowly but surely that rejection of the truth was whittled down or used against him until every single point of his being was covered in evidence of what scared him and it consumed him entirely.

I'm telling you that Martin Blackwood was a man who so absolutely cared for those around him to the point that he would sacrifice himself for those people no matter the consequences of doing so, and it left him entirely out of the loop of what could be happening to those that he loved and those that loved him to the point that his idea of protection became completely and utterly flipped on its head.

I'm telling you that Jonathan stumbled upon something he should never have had the chance to have, because of the foolish whims of mortals and the devious plans of a being outside of his scope, and became hopelessly trapped by a plan that gently nudged him in all of the right ways towards the ending that Jon's every move in life was tainted, and rather than believe that he could possibly rid the world of the mess he caused and live among people again with it, he decided the option that would bring it all to a complete stop would be the only way to handle it.

I'm telling you that the closest they could get to escape was a cabin in the woods and even then it was brought with them because Jonathan had been manufactured to feed off of the very thing he hates, and because of that fact the closest thing they had to an escape was cut infinitely shorter than it could have been.

I'm telling you that without the trauma that they both incurred together and everything that they had to go through, Jon and Martin would not have even been compatible with each other. Martin's crush may have been around, but Jon's opinion of Martin took the elimination of basic social norms to even lighten considerably. The only path that brought them together was the path that led them to devastation.

I'm telling you that Sasha was swept out from under their noses, causing Jon to desperately cling to the concept of keeping the rest safe. Martin didn't discover it until much later, and was left to mourn a memory he could only be sure was false. They both lost Tim in the same incident, Jon living through it happening, and Martin thought he lost Jon too. Daisy was nearly entirely doomed and Jon nearly died trying to make sure she wasn't lost forever, only for her to sacrifice herself for everyone else and be killed in front of their eyes later. Georgie and Melanie both withdrew from the group before things got too bad and left them isolated and alone for the umpteenth time. Basira left Jonathan so many times that neither could consider themselves close enough for more than bare trust. Everyone they were ever close to disappeared or died and the only things that became reliable and known and certain were the other.

I'm telling you that Jonathan brought the entire universe to the end and was pulling it over a cliff, and his love for Martin was all that stopped him from destroying it, granting him an act that would be considered selfish by the standards of the multiverse but in every other sense saved the lives of billions, and it meant that Martin had to destroy the only person that had been there through it all and shown him that love could be pure and sweet and giggly and not just the uncertain and conditional situation that his mother had left him in.

I'm telling you that they both expected to die forever in that moment, Jon and Martin, together, and that escape was impossible from the moment Jon entered the archives, and that if either of them lived, together or alone, they would continually be haunted by what had followed them, if not actively be tousling within it yet again, and that the tragedy lies in that their love was there, but it could never survive when it was created solely to die.

That is what I am telling you.

So. I just finished The Magnus Archives.

You’re telling me that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, began his journey from such a place of uncertainty and desperation to prove himself worthy of the title, and ended as the embodiment of everything that tormented him?

You’re telling me that Martin Blackwood, who held so much love for the people around him, unintentionally paved the way for his lover’s desperate martyrdom?

You’re telling me Jon was marked for this from childhood, manipulated by forces older and greater than civilization to bring such harm upon the world that the only solution he could see was to end it?

You’re telling me there was no escape for them?

You’re telling me they could have lived happily together, but they could never have taken that path because it lies contrary to who they are?

You’re telling me Jon and Martin had everything and everyone slowly and agonizingly ripped away from them until they had nothing left but each other, until neither one could fathom surviving without the other?

You’re telling me that Martin and Jon kissed at the center of a collapsing reality, then Martin felt the life leave Jon’s body as he stabbed the only living person he loved?

You’re telling me there is a chance they are Somewhere Else, but that would mean they never escaped the Fears and never will?

You’RE TELLING ME-

[aspenmissing]

I loved your writing about Viktor x Jayce's sister Reader! (aka cockblock brother Jayce xD)

Imagine Jayce leading Sister Reader to the altar and crying like he's going to loose his baby sister forever ;-;

ᴀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ!ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ!ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5301 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ, ɪ ꜰᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ. ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

Years had passed since Viktor and Y/N first crossed paths, and despite the smooth growth of their relationship, there was one constant in their lives: Jayce. As much as Viktor had come to adore Y/N's older brother, the man’s persistence—his absolute inability to take a hint—remained an endless source of exasperation and amusement.

One evening, Viktor and Y/N managed to steal away for a quiet dinner at a local café. The atmosphere was everything they’d hoped for: warm, intimate, and peaceful. The flickering candlelight danced across the table, casting soft shadows on their faces. The hum of conversation from other patrons created a gentle buzz, but it was nothing compared to the calm, content feeling that washed over Viktor as he sat across from Y/N. They had finally found a moment to enjoy each other’s company, away from the chaos of work and the ever-present shadow of Jayce.

But as Viktor was about to pour them both a glass of wine, he noticed the subtle shift in Y/N’s posture. Her eyes flickered across the room, her gaze narrowing in that way that Viktor had come to recognise all too well. She wasn’t just looking around; she was searching for something—or rather, someone.

Viktor, curious but cautious, subtly followed her line of sight. At a table near the far end of the room, he saw him. Jayce.

Though he hadn’t yet been noticed, Viktor knew that unmistakable silhouette anywhere. There he sat, shrouded in the most absurd disguise Viktor and Y/N had ever seen. A trench coat so large it almost consumed him, a pair of oversized glasses that could’ve been made of magnifying lenses, and a hat so ridiculously oversized it seemed to defy all sense of proportion. Jayce was attempting his best impression of a secret agent, though it was anything but subtle.

Viktor’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, who was visibly holding in her amusement, trying not to burst into laughter. She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you see him?" she murmured.

Viktor gave a small, knowing nod, carefully placing the wine bottle back on the table, as he shifted in his seat. "I see him. He really thinks this is fooling anyone, doesn’t he?"

Y/N grinned mischievously, the corner of her lips tugging up as she settled back in her chair. She had no intention of calling him out. Instead, she had an idea—a wicked, playful idea. They could have a little fun with Jayce. He’d made a career out of ruining their peaceful moments, so why not turn the tables?

"We can’t let him get away with this," Y/N said, her voice low but laced with amusement. "Let’s mess with him."

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement flickering in his own eyes. He already knew Y/N was up to something, and he was all in. Besides, if there was one thing he knew well, it was how to keep a straight face while absolutely throwing someone off their game.

They both subtly leaned back in their chairs, pretending to ignore Jayce, while in reality, they were carefully observing him. Viktor casually sipped his wine, giving the impression that nothing unusual was happening. Meanwhile, Y/N, her face an open book of innocent indifference, kept her eyes just low enough to avoid suspicion but not so much that it looked unnatural.

Jayce, oblivious to the fact that they knew exactly what he was up to, leaned forward on his table, practically vibrating with excitement. Meanwhile, Y/N’s eyes twinkled with mischief. She leaned slightly forward, whispering to Viktor.

"We should really make him think we haven’t noticed him at all," she said, her voice thick with mock seriousness. "Let him keep thinking he’s got the upper hand."

Viktor’s lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. "Agreed. Let’s play it cool."

For the next several minutes, they carried on their dinner as if nothing was amiss. Viktor continued to engage in conversation with Y/N, his voice steady, as he occasionally shifted his position. Y/N played her part, smiling and nodding along, all the while secretly watching Jayce from behind her lashes.

Jayce, growing bolder by the second, began to “adjust” his disguise, as if he were blending into the background like a seasoned spy. He shifted his oversized glasses, adjusted the collar of his coat, and even stood up to stretch in what appeared to be a calculated move to “blend in” with the other patrons. His eyes constantly flicked back to Viktor and Y/N, watching for any sign that they had caught on.

But Viktor and Y/N remained impassive, not giving him so much as a glance. They didn’t acknowledge him directly. Instead, they carried on as if he was no more than a part of the restaurant’s décor.

As Jayce settled back into his chair, no doubt trying to figure out if he’d been detected yet, Viktor gave a quick, surreptitious glance at Y/N. She caught his eye, the two of them silently communicating the shared amusement.

Then, as if on cue, Y/N reached into her bag, pulled out a napkin, and without a single word, placed it carefully over her lap—just like she would if the entire restaurant were watching them. Viktor caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately followed suit, placing his own napkin over his lap. Both actions were so exaggerated, so completely unnecessary, it would’ve been obvious to anyone with a modicum of awareness that they were putting on an elaborate show.

Jayce, who had been watching their every move, seemed to think this was a critical moment in the plan. His eyes widened behind his comically large glasses, but he seemed utterly confused. Was this a signal they were trying to send? Was it a challenge?

They continued this little charade for a while longer, each minute escalating the ridiculousness of the situation, Viktor's cane tapping quietly in time with the beat of a song that wasn’t playing. Meanwhile, Jayce squirmed in his seat, trying to figure out what was happening, all while completely unaware that his cover had long since been blown.

Finally, Viktor gave Y/N a subtle nod, and with a shared look, they both stood up to leave. Viktor’s cane clicked against the floor as he carefully made his way toward the exit, Y/N walking gracefully beside him. As they reached the door, they allowed themselves the smallest of smirks, knowing Jayce would be left utterly confused.

"Well, that was fun," Y/N muttered under her breath, glancing back to see Jayce still sitting there, his face contorted with puzzlement.

Viktor chuckled softly. "He’ll be stewing over that for weeks."

And just as they stepped out into the cool evening air, they could hear Jayce’s voice faintly trailing behind them, still trying to puzzle out what had just happened.

"Did they notice...?"

A few months later, Viktor and Y/N had finally managed to carve out a sliver of time for themselves. After weeks of work and endless interruptions, they decided to make the most of a rare day off. They planned the perfect, simple outing—nothing extravagant, just a quiet walk in the park, perhaps a light picnic by the lake. It was going to be their escape from the world, a chance to breathe in the fresh air and enjoy each other’s company without anyone else intruding on their peace.

They were confident. They thought it was safe.

As they approached the park entrance, the sun filtering through the trees and the distant sound of children playing filling the air, Y/N spotted a figure perched upon a bench near the entrance. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light—perhaps someone else, maybe a random park-goer. But then, as the figure straightened and adjusted his glasses, there was no mistaking it.

It was Jayce.

Y/N froze, disbelief creeping up her spine. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked several times, hoping she was imagining things. But there he was, unmistakably Jayce, in full disguise—an ensemble that made the previous attempts seem almost subtle in comparison. He wore a pair of gigantic, reflective sunglasses that would have been ridiculous even on the brightest, sunniest day. His moustache—no, that thing was not real. It looked suspiciously like it had been borrowed from a wax statue, perfectly styled but somehow out of place on a living person. And the fake beard. The beard. It was so elaborate it nearly touched the ground, a long, bushy monstrosity that clashed terribly with his clean-cut face.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped in disbelief, her heart sinking a little as she muttered under her breath, “Jayce...”

Viktor, who had been walking beside her, followed her gaze and groaned when he saw the familiar face. His exasperation was palpable, but he gave a small, dry laugh. "Of course," he muttered, more to himself than to Y/N. “I should’ve known.”

Jayce, spotting them, stood up and adjusted his absurdly large sunglasses, puffing out his chest with an almost theatrical flourish. His face, framed by the ridiculous fake beard, wore an expression of utter confidence, as if he believed his disguise was foolproof. With a dramatic wink, he gave them both a thumbs-up. “Hey there, you two!” he called out, his voice oozing with far too much enthusiasm. “Just checking in! Can’t let you have too much fun without me, now can I?”

Y/N didn’t even try to hide her irritation. She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing, and let out an exaggerated groan. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, voice dripping with disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing? We were supposed to have a peaceful day!”

Jayce merely beamed, utterly unbothered by the frustration in her voice. “Ah, come on! You’ve got to admit, I’m a natural at this,” he said, gesturing to himself with a grand flourish. “I’m just looking out for you two. Can’t have you wandering off without a little supervision, can I?” He gave Y/N a knowing look, as if to say he was protecting his precious little sister. “And for my baby sister, of course.”

Viktor rubbed his forehead, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The air around them seemed to grow heavier with the weight of this latest intrusion. His cane clicked gently on the cobbled pathway as he shifted his weight, trying to muster enough patience to deal with this. "Why are you always... everywhere?" he asked, incredulous, his voice carrying the faintest traces of a chuckle despite the obvious frustration.

Jayce only shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “Because, my dear Viktor,” he said, as though imparting some deeply profound wisdom, “I am your eternal shadow. A shadow that must constantly supervise and ensure your safety. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t protect you from... well, everything? Can’t let you two have too much fun without me. I’ll just be here—keeping an eye on things.”

Y/N exchanged a look with Viktor, one of sheer exasperation. There was no point in arguing, not when Jayce was in full “protective big brother” mode. Viktor, already exasperated, mumbled under his breath, “I need to start carrying a spare disguise kit for these occasions.”

Y/N gave up entirely on the idea of having a peaceful afternoon. “Let’s just go somewhere more secluded,” she muttered, her voice tinged with resignation. She grabbed Viktor’s hand and began leading him down the path, away from Jayce’s prying eyes. But as they walked, they couldn’t help but feel that heavy presence still trailing them.

No matter where they went, Jayce followed.

At first, it was just a few steps behind. But as they made their way deeper into the park, Jayce didn’t even try to disguise the fact that he was shadowing them, maintaining an almost comical distance that felt just close enough to be uncomfortable. Every time they paused to take in the view or simply enjoy the serenity of the park, Jayce’s voice would inevitably ring out from behind them with some unsolicited commentary, often loudly enough for others nearby to hear. He would casually remark on the weather or offer unsolicited advice about how they should be careful not to get too close to the edge of the lake, as if they hadn’t known how to safely enjoy a walk in a park before.

Viktor’s patience was wearing thinner with each passing minute. He glanced at Y/N, who looked like she was about to pull her hair out, and without a word, he quickened his pace. But Jayce was relentless. He kept up, easily matching their speed, his fake beard swaying with each step like some kind of absurdly dramatic prop.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Viktor asked after a while, his tone sharp and almost pleading. He had to make his voice carry, over the sound of Jayce’s increasingly loud steps behind them.

“Nope!” Jayce replied enthusiastically, as though this was the greatest adventure of his life. “I’ve got nothing but time. I’m just here to make sure no one tries anything funny.”

Y/N sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping further. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know,” Jayce said with a proud grin. “It’s my superpower.” He gave a mock bow, only to straighten and puff out his chest again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

As they approached a small grove of trees, Y/N glanced at Viktor, the plan already forming in her mind. A quiet, mischievous smile spread across her face. She could see the trees and shrubbery up ahead, a perfect spot to escape from Jayce’s prying eyes for a moment. “You know what?” she said softly, her voice practically dripping with sweetness. “Let’s take a break. Just for a minute.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You’re not actually thinking of...”

“Watch me,” Y/N replied with a wink, her hand gripping Viktor’s arm as they veered off the main path and into the grove.

Jayce, of course, followed. But this time, when he approached the grove, his footsteps slowed. He peered cautiously around the corner, expecting to catch them in the act of whatever “fun” they might be having. What he found instead were two people calmly sitting on a bench, sharing a quiet moment of peace.

But in the distance, hidden from Jayce’s view, Viktor and Y/N exchanged a knowing glance, their plan unfolding. They couldn’t escape him for long, but they could certainly have a bit of fun with his over-the-top surveillance.

"Viktor," Y/N whispered with a small grin, "I think we’ve lost him for now."

For a moment, everything felt quiet. But of course, as expected, Jayce's voice soon echoed from somewhere in the distance.

"Not so fast!"

The day Viktor had been planning for months had finally arrived. Every single detail had been thought through, from the perfect location to the exact timing of the sunset. The spot atop the hill was secluded, the perfect little retreat for just the two of them. The sky was bathed in soft shades of pink and purple as the sun sank lower, painting the landscape with a golden hue. The cool air carried the scent of fresh earth and leaves, a quiet stillness that felt like a moment out of time.

Viktor had poured so much of himself into this day, ensuring everything was just right. The ring, a delicate and beautiful thing he’d spent days designing, sat safely in his pocket, its precious weight a reminder of the significance of the moment. His heart was racing in anticipation, but as he looked at Y/N, he felt a calmness wash over him. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—the moment to ask the woman he loved to be with him forever.

His fingers brushed against hers, the warmth of her skin grounding him. He turned towards her, gazing into her eyes.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “You’ve become my world, and every day with you feels like a gift. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me a better person, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. To laugh with you, love you, and grow old with you.”

He could feel the gravity of the words in his chest, the sincerity of everything he was about to say. He reached for her hands, squeezing them gently.

“Will you—”

Before he could finish the sentence, a voice shattered the moment.

“Y/N! Viktor! What’s up?”

Y/N’s heart sank into her stomach as she slowly turned, knowing exactly who it was before even seeing him. Viktor, too, let out a groan, frustration and disbelief flooding him.

There, standing under a tree not far from them, was Jayce. He was decked out in full hiking gear, binoculars hanging from his neck like some kind of adventure-ready explorer, his mischievous grin shining through.

“Just wanted to see how the proposal was going!” Jayce shouted, his voice echoing across the hill. “Did you pop the question yet? I’m here for moral support! And, of course, to make sure no one’s pulling a fast one on my baby sister!”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in pure disbelief. She immediately buried her face in her hands, groaning deeply. Viktor, despite the absurdity of the situation, tried to stay calm. His lips twitched, the corners pulling upward in a thin, controlled smile, though his patience was clearly thinning.

“Jayce…” Viktor started, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was no hiding the frustration creeping into his words. “You do realise we’re in the middle of something important, right? Like… a moment?”

Jayce just grinned wider, unaffected. “Eh, moments are overrated,” he said with a shrug, as if this interruption was a trivial inconvenience. He stepped closer, clearly determined to make his presence known in the most dramatic way possible. “But hey, I’m here to make this unforgettable! You know, wingman duties and all. Gotta make sure everything’s going smoothly for my baby sister, right?”

Viktor exhaled slowly, trying to maintain his composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The beautiful moment he’d planned with such care was slipping away, the words he’d prepared now hanging uselessly in the air. It felt like the world was conspiring against him.

Y/N, still standing with her face hidden in her hands, muttered a defeated, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Viktor looked at Jayce again, his patience fraying. He couldn’t hold back the frustration any longer. “I—” he started, but the words stuck in his throat. The proposal had been completely derailed, the intimate atmosphere lost to Jayce’s absurd antics. What had been a carefully orchestrated moment was now reduced to a chaotic mess.

Jayce, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness he’d caused, just stood there, grinning. “C’mon, Viktor, you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you? I came all the way out here to see this!” His voice was loud and cheery, like a child excited for a school play. “Gotta make sure it’s all good! No one’s messing with my sister!”

Viktor exchanged a glance with Y/N. She looked back at him, her eyes apologetic and resigned. She knew her brother was a force of nature, and there was no escaping him. The two of them shared a silent understanding: Jayce was always going to be around, no matter how much they might try to carve out private moments.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “You know, I think I’m just about ready to throw him off a cliff.”

Viktor chuckled, despite the situation. “Trust me, I considered it. I’m just glad you didn’t suggest it before I made it up this damn hill,” he said, gesturing with a little nod to the incline they had just climbed. Despite his cane, which helped him walk, he’d still pushed himself harder than usual to make this proposal perfect for Y/N. The pain in his legs had been worth it, but now Jayce’s antics had all but ruined the effort. Still, he wasn’t going to let that take away from the seriousness of his feelings.

Y/N let out a half-laugh, shaking her head. “You’d never catch me throwing him off, though I’m sorely tempted.”

Viktor smiled, his expression softening as he looked at her. He reached for her hands once more, his tone quiet and sincere as he continued, despite everything. “Fine, Jayce, you’ve ruined my moment. But I’m going to do this anyway.” He met Y/N’s eyes, that same warmth in his gaze, the love never faltering. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words. In that moment, despite the chaos, everything felt right. The sky, the landscape, Viktor—nothing else mattered. She smiled softly, the weight of his question finally sinking in. “Yes, Viktor. Yes, I will marry you.”

Behind them, Jayce let out a dramatic cheer. “Now THAT’s what I’m talking about!”

Viktor chuckled softly, his face lighting up with relief and joy. “You’re impossible, Jayce,” he muttered under his breath, but his tone was fond, resigned to the fact that his best friend—and Y/N’s older brother—would always be a part of the picture, no matter how chaotic.

And Y/N, her smile growing wider, whispered to Viktor, “You know, this isn’t quite how I imagined it, but it’s perfect.”

Viktor leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the overwhelming feeling of love flooding over him. “It’s perfect because it’s ours.”

The day Viktor and Y/N had long awaited had finally arrived—their wedding day. Every detail had been meticulously planned to perfection, from the delicate flowers that adorned the church to the soft, soulful music that filled the air. The sun shone brightly outside, casting its golden rays through the stained glass windows, creating a warm, ethereal glow inside. It was supposed to be the most perfect day of their lives, the culmination of years of love, struggle, and unwavering devotion.

Y/N stood in the back room of the church, a vision in her white dress, the delicate lace and flowing fabric hugging her figure with an elegance that took Viktor’s breath away every time he saw her. Her heart pounded with excitement, joy, and a touch of nerves, swirling within her as she took in the moment. This was it—the moment she would marry Viktor, the man who had captured her heart in ways she hadn’t even known were possible.

Viktor stood at the altar, looking every bit the handsome groom. He was tall, his posture straight as always, though there was a quiet tension in his stance. He adjusted his tie nervously, his fingers brushing against the polished cane that helped him steady himself. There was a quiet strength in him, but today, as he awaited his bride, even Viktor seemed a little more vulnerable than usual. His gaze flicked to the door, eagerly waiting to see her, to finally hold her, and to promise to spend the rest of his life with her.

=

The soft murmur of the congregation drifted through the air as Y/N stood just outside the church doors, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the music begin to swell, the sweet notes of the strings filling the space with their soft, lilting sound. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Today was the day she would marry Viktor, the man she had loved for so long, the one who had captured her heart in ways she never thought possible.

Her dress felt like a dream, the delicate lace and silk flowing around her as she stood still in the vestibule, waiting for the moment when she would step out and into the life she had chosen. It was surreal, standing here on the precipice of forever, her life about to change in ways she could hardly comprehend.

And then, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

Y/N looked up just in time to see Jayce emerge from around the corner. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but as his eyes met hers, it softened, and she could see the familiar mix of pride, love, and a tinge of sadness in his gaze. He paused in front of her, his hand resting briefly on the doorframe as he took her in.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a slight tremor, though he did his best to mask it.

Y/N smiled gently, her eyes glistening. “I think so. But I can’t believe it’s actually happening. It feels like we’ve been planning this for forever.”

Jayce chuckled, but it was a bittersweet sound. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He stepped closer, the usual confident, protective older brother posture replaced by something more vulnerable. “You’re really going through with it, huh?” he teased lightly, though the jest was strained.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound a mixture of joy and nervousness. “Yes, I am. I can’t believe it, either. I’m about to marry Viktor.”

Jayce blinked, clearly struggling with the weight of the moment. His eyes dropped for a moment, but when they met hers again, the intensity was unmistakable. “You know, Y/N…” His voice faltered slightly as he reached for her hand, his fingers trembling with emotion. “I’m really proud of you.”

Y/N squeezed his hand gently. “I know. And I’m proud of you, too, Jayce. You’ve always been there for me. No matter what.”

Jayce cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as he fought to keep his composure. He looked at her with a mixture of pride and something else—something almost painful. “I just… I never thought this day would come, you know? I’ve always looked out for you, always protected you. But now…” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly.

Y/N’s heart ached for him. She could see the rawness in his eyes, the way he struggled to let go of the little sister he had always protected. She reached up to gently touch his cheek, offering him a soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Jayce. You’ll always be my brother. You’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have yours. That won’t change.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jayce’s lips, but it was laced with bittersweet emotion. “I know. I guess I’m just not ready for you to go yet. But you’re right. You’re still my sister. And I’ll always be there for you.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed his cheek softly, her voice low and tender. “I’ll always need you, Jayce. Even if I’m married. You’re not losing me.”

Jayce’s hand gripped hers tightly, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. They simply stood there in the quiet space before the ceremony, the weight of the moment settling around them like a heavy fog.

But then, just as quickly, Jayce let out a small, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “Alright,” he said, his tone returning to something more familiar, though there was still a tenderness in his words. “I’ve got to let you go, don’t I?”

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart full. “I’m still here. And always will be.”

Jayce took a deep breath, standing up straighter, the vulnerability slowly giving way to a more confident stance. He nodded, wiping his eyes quickly with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Alright. Let’s do this then.”

As Y/N turned to walk toward the doors, Jayce stepped beside her, offering his arm with a look of quiet pride in his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice stronger now.

Y/N took his arm, squeezing it gently, and nodded. “Ready.”

=

With one final deep breath, they both turned toward the doors. As they swung open, the light from the outside world flooded in, bathing them both in its warmth. The congregation fell silent as Y/N, arm in arm with Jayce, took her first step into the church. The soft rustle of her dress, the faint click of her heels on the polished floor, and the quiet murmur of the music surrounded them as they made their way down the aisle, all eyes on them.

Jayce kept his gaze straight ahead, but his grip on her arm was firm, a silent reassurance that he was right there beside her, as he always had been. Y/N’s heart raced with anticipation, each step feeling like a dance between the past and the future. She looked ahead at Viktor, standing at the altar, his face a mix of emotion—love, pride, and a hint of nervousness as he awaited her arrival.

Jayce gave her arm a gentle squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N turned her head toward him with a soft smile. “Thank you, Jayce. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

He nodded, his expression softening before it returned to the task at hand. As they neared the altar, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt a flutter in her chest. Viktor’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes locked on hers with a mixture of adoration and something deeper, more meaningful.

When they reached the altar, Jayce gently placed Y/N’s hand into Viktor’s, his fingers brushing against Viktor’s for the briefest of moments. He met Viktor’s gaze with a look that was both intense and sincere, the years of sibling protection and love woven into the unspoken words that passed between them. There was no need for further explanation—just a single, resolute nod.

Jayce’s voice, low but unwavering, was the final unspoken seal on the moment. “Take care of her,” he said, his words carrying the weight of years spent watching over his little sister. His eyes softened as he added, “She’s yours now, Viktor. I trust you with her.”

Viktor’s grip on Y/N’s hand tightened just slightly as he returned the gaze, his own voice filled with a promise that could not be broken. “I will, Jayce. I will love her, protect her, and be there for her always.”

Jayce gave a final nod, his eyes flickering between Viktor and Y/N, as if absorbing the enormity of what was happening. He stepped back with a soft sigh, his usual bravado replaced with a quiet solemnity that came with the knowledge that his little sister was stepping into a new chapter of her life.

As Jayce moved to the side, he gave Y/N one last look, a mixture of pride, sadness, and love in his eyes. She offered him a small, reassuring smile, a silent promise that no matter where life took them, they would always have each other.

The ceremony continued, but for that brief moment, the only thing that mattered was the passing of the torch—Jayce’s silent recognition that Y/N was no longer just his sister, but Viktor’s partner, his responsibility to love and protect. Jayce’s role was shifting, but he would always be there, watching over them, a silent protector from the wings.

Viktor, now holding Y/N’s hand, looked down at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m so honoured to be here with you,” he whispered, his voice just for her.

Y/N smiled softly, her heart overflowing with love. “And I’m so glad to be here with you,” she replied, squeezing his hand in return.

As the ceremony unfolded around them, their hearts beat in unison, knowing that this was the beginning of a new chapter, not just for Y/N and Viktor, but for all of them. The ties of family, love, and protection had woven their way into this moment, and Jayce’s role, though changing, would always be part of the fabric that bound them all together.

And when the vows were exchanged, when Viktor kissed Y/N, sealing their promises, Jayce, standing quietly at the back, allowed himself a small, content smile. He wasn’t losing his sister, he realised. He was gaining a brother in Viktor, and that thought brought him peace as he watched them begin their life together.

[cluelessatthispoint]

What If someone tries to kidnap the baby from dragons hoard how would they react and how would they get the baby back?

Ohh, this is a great question. I definitely think that the kidnapper wouldn't get very far in terms of actually kidnapping the reader.

It would go something like this:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Price: If anyone stupid enough were to try and kidnap the newest member of the hoard. They would simply fade into obscurity and out of the minds of those who knew them. Price would find a way to ensure that the newest addition of the hoard would be protected at all costs. As much as the reader right now wants to be alone and away from the strange hybrids, you'll find that being alone is nigh near impossible.

Price would for the most part spend time in their cave sleeping or making sure everything is in neat and orderly precision. If you want to play hell bring out some pretty golden trinkets for you, but if you even think about setting foot out of the nest without his permission, he'd wrap you up in his tail and keep you next to him by his side or on his lap as he'd try his best to distract you with stories of his youth. If you (the reader) were spending time in the cave with Price when a potential kidnapper arrives you can bet he'll cover the your eyes and ears as he incinerates the intruder to a burnt crisp. If the smell of burnt flesh and clothes bothers your sensitive nose, Price will tuck your face into his neck and carry you out of the cave for a nice walk while he puts Gaz or Soap on clean up duty. Lord knows werewolf Soap could use the extra protein if any meat is left.

Gaz: If you were with Gaz when an intruder were to stumble upon the cave and try to kidnap you. Gaz would do what birds do best in order to process their young. Similar to geese he would let out a feral warning hiss with his wings splayed out menacingly. If that doesn't scare the idiot off, the Gaz would quickly tuck you into the layers of the nest and quickly fly the kidnapper out of the cave with speed and agility that goshhawks can't ever give to surpass.

When you're trying to free yourself from the tangled mess of fabrics from the nest, Gaz would be enjoying the skies; ignorant of the bloodcurdling screams that rip from the kidnappers throat as he hurdles down towards the earth. Afterwards, Gaz would come back to the nest as quick as can be. A smile on his face as he got a good flight in for the day.

Soap: The werewolf would simply attack first and ask questions later. The first smell of something or someone setting foot in their home would set Soap on edge. The very sight of a stranger would have him hurdling full speed towards the intruder. You wouldn't even have time to process what the hell just happened as Soap goes for the jugular and drags the carcass away. Out of all the people in the hoard, Soap would be the most protective of you. Whether that's good or not remains to be seen. But the second he walk back to the nest seeing you all tucked in and shivering from the sight of blood on his lips all the way down his front. You can bet he'd feel ashamed of himself. His tail would stop wagging the instant he saw you. The scent of fear wafting off of you would make his ears bend back and a whine escape his lips. When Price, Ghost, or Gaz would find out what happened, Soap will be sleeping in the doghouse literally and figuratively.

Ghost: Ghost would react very strongly to anyone who would disturb what he calls "family bonding" with you. In reality it would just be him and you wandering around the cave the pack/hoard lives in. He Ghost wouldn't be the type to hold your hand as you explore. I steady he would simply watch you from a few paces back. Or if you thought you were being sneaky and trying to run away he would watch from within the shadows. The moment anyone would come in and try to take you away would be the moment Ghost would whisky them back and away from you before they could utter a sound to alert you to their presence. When all is said and done, he would gently corals you back to the nest sometime later. And while night rolls around, when you ask where Price and Soap are Gaz would coo softly to you and soothe your fears while Ghost tells you not to worry about it. The shared look between them says enough, now they can rest easy knowing that as Price and Soap will be satiated with their midnight snack.

~~~~~~~~

Tada!~

[tobi-rx]

HOLY FUCK. I’m going insane lowk, because I’m currently writing about what being cogless miners might’ve been like in a TF Fanfic, and this made me think more about what it might’ve been like for Elita specifically, and reexamine this moment in the context of the film as a whole, because I think this moment was the Catalyst, actually.

Warning: this is going to be long because I have a lot of thoughts, and oh boy do so many things in this movie work so cohesively.

Let’s start with something the movie clearly establishes:

1. The mines are a death trap.

Jazz nearly died in the mines, he would have if protocol was followed.

I don’t think Elita-One was wrong for trying to get D-16 and Orion to leave Jazz behind. It wasn’t guaranteed that Orion and D-16 would actually be able to succeed in rescuing Jazz and making it out of the collapsing mine tunnel themselves. Better to have 1 bot die than to have all 3 die. In her own way, I think she cared about the other bots, because when she saw that D-16 and Orion might actually make it out with Jazz in tow, she attempted to aid them by throwing one of the things the miners used to keep the tunnel open into the collapsing tunnel.

I think all the cogless bots in the energon mines cared about each other, at the very least in the camaraderie sort of way where it’s like, “hey we’re all stuck in this shitty situation together, better to look out for each other and make sure we all stay alive for as long as possible.” Because what happened with Jazz had to have happened many times over, and many times over, the Jazz in the situation probably did die. All the cogless mining bots have had to watch so many of their friends die over the cycles. They all know energon mining is dangerous, as illustrated by the flashback to Orion and D-16’s first meeting. However, as Darkwing stated they are cogless bots with limited options, so as a result, most are probably resigned this to being their reality. They probably keep going on the hope that maybe they’ll be able to rise in the ranks, and have a less dangerous job, where everyday isn’t another dance with death. At least, until Sentinel finds the Matrix of Leadership, and they no longer have to mine for energon, which will surely happen soon, right? (It won’t.)

I have a headcanon, based on the unused storyboard version of the confrontation with Sentinel. I think rising in the ranks to better guarantee he and Orion wouldn’t die in the mines was D-16’s plan. He states in the storyboard he would have been happy being a miner, and playing strat ball with Orion every night. He also states that he wanted to make shift boss and lead an expedition off world. Moreover, D-16 is strong as shit evidenced by him punching rocks as he and Orion carried Jazz out, and with the unused scene where he punched a dent in a punching bag.

He probably would have been able to survive, and look out for himself just fine. Maybe he was a bit of a loner, trying not to get too attached to anyone just in case he’d have to bear the hurt of losing them in an unfortunate, but commonplace accident. Then there goes Orion Pax, who probably wormed his way into D-16’s heart and before D-16 knew it, he was attached. D-16 knows very well his strength isn’t enough to save everyone, but maybe at the very least, he could make shift boss, and save his best friend. And D-16 would have been happy with that, especially because D-16 still had faith in Sentinel, faith in the system, faith that this whole fucked up situation would be temporary. This precise thing is why the truth about Sentinel hit so much harder for him than it did for any of the other 4 of the main gang. Out of all the 4 of the main gang, D-16 is the only one who truly believed in the system, and had idols to become newly disillusioned of.

Many bots in Iacon probably hoped the same: that all this would be temporary, and someone had to mine for energon since it stopped flowing. They probably didn’t mind as long as they still got to live their lifestyles, so long as they didn’t have to think about the fact that sooner or later, energon would run out and they’d face starvation. While Sentinel’s regime probably couldn’t use force to make fully fledged transformers mine for energon, if a whole generation had their cogs removed, their inherent ability and power stripped from them, then Sentinel’s regime could do exactly that to the cogless. The bots of Iacon city would not have walked away from Omelas.

Elita probably had a similar mindset to D-16, of not getting attached to anyone, and just focusing on rising up the ranks. Except she didn’t happen to have a bot like Orion Pax as her best friend and saboteur. Elita was so close to finally getting promoted, and maybe getting out of the death trap. I think that’s why she was so devastated that she was stripped of everything she had worked for.

D-16 probably have been Elita’s rank if he didn’t have a bot like Orion Pax as his best friend, because D-16 probably suffered a demotion or 2 for helping Orion Pax get away with his crimes (breaking and entering where he wasn’t supposed to). It’s probably why despite clearly caring about Orion, D-16 still offhandedly, half jokes, that he needs a new best friend. He’s trying to save himself and Orion, but Orion, at least in his point of view, keeps sabotaging that.

Here’s something else the movie establishes:

2. Elita’s assessment of Orion is right, and it’s also wrong.

Throughout the film, it’s stated and implied that other bots think Orion is crazy, stupid, defective, and idiot. And to some extent, Orion probably thinks of himself like that also, given that in response to D-16 asking “ARE YOU CRAZY?” He says, “sure feels like it.”

His actions seem crazy, idiotic, etc. Like the logic component of his processor has something wrong with it, but that isn’t true at all. Sometimes I feel like the fandom characterizes Orion as just a silly little guy full of whimsy, a dumbass, or incompetent because of his low rank.

Elita is right, in that Orion has this optimism and hope that no other bot seems to have, and that this is what drives his choices. Orion is upbeat and silly, because he kinda has to be if he wants to keep that hope alive, in others, and especially in himself. The will to make the world better isn’t quashed by resignation that he is powerless in the system, like it is for so many other bots.

Elita is right in that his choices are bold, but also very stupid. His choices are stupid, I think, because of desperation resulting from a logical conclusion that Orion must have come to. Elita is wrong in saying that his optimism is blind. His optimism is survival.

Every bot probably knows that if the Matrix remains lost, then they will all eventually starve. The lower ranked bots would be the first to be hit, the hardest hit, and likely were already being hit with rationing, as in the movie, Sentinel states to the Quintessons that there is barely enough energon left for the cybertronians. Earlier, when Orion was being chased, he takes as much energon as he can carry, and stuff as much as he can into his mouth, because maybe he hadn’t been getting as much energon as he actually needs. Impending starvation would be the first component of Orion’s desperation, because that means time is quickly running out.

I think at the beginning of the film, Orion still had faith in the system, just not as much as D-16. Like most everyone in Iacon, Orion’s hopes hinged on finding the Matrix of Leadership, so that he, D-16, and all their friends would no longer have to mine for energon. Unlike D-16, I think Orion had lost full faith in Sentinel long before the reveal of the truth. There’s probably only so many times Sentinel can come back without having found the Matrix before bots start thinking maybe the search for the Matrix might be futile. Except Orion can’t let himself believe that the Matrix isn’t out there somehow. There’s a missing piece to the puzzle to the search for the Matrix, a puzzle which Sentinel clearly has yet to solve.

The Matrix is powerful, it’s semi sentient because it’s described as an “entity” by Alpha Trion in the first sequence of the movie where Orion breaks into the archives, and it’s shrouded in mystery. There’s so much bots don’t know about the Matrix. Sentinel didn’t seem to know that the Matrix would dissolve in his hands if he wasn’t deemed worthy. He seemed to think it was an object he could just take. That too was news to our main gang when Alpha Trion showed them the truth.

So if Orion can better understand the Matrix, maybe that would help solve that missing piece to the puzzle. Maybe a better understanding of the object they’re all hoping to be found would let them get better at finding it. When answers in what he could freely access proved unsatisfactory and limited, it was probably only then that Orion broke into the restricted vaults of the Archives. He’s no stranger to breaking and entering, and does break and enter into more than just the archives (because is very familiar with the restricted area of the Iacon 5000 stadium he broke into and took D-16 to).

Now we’re going to get to why I think Elita getting fired was the Catalyst.

Orion is a bot of great will and determination, and he also has a strong sense of justice.

Every bot probably KNOWs the system is wrong, but they don’t exactly have the power, but more importantly, they don’t have the will to fight back. They haven’t hit their point where they’re like “this is intolerable, and something must be done.” I think Elita getting fired was when Orion hit that point.

Orion is good natured and joking towards the bots that chase him out of the Archives. Sure he might get beaten up, but he IS breaking and entering into someplace he’s not supposed to be. That’s justifiable.

Orion might have made a joke about flipping Darkwing off, but he wasn’t joking in his expression of resentment and anger towards Darkwing on behalf of Elita. He is genuinely sorry that his choice of not following protocol resulted in the chain reaction that led to Elita getting fired, but only because it got Elita fired.

Now even if Elita isn’t as close to other cogless bots as I think most cogless bots were probably to each other, Orion Pax is observant, and intelligent as hell. This quality is evident in the sequence where Orion is getting chased out of the archives as he improvises the many stunts he pulls in his escape.

The original poster and the tags in the other reposts suggest that Darkwing is abusing Elita because of her mirroring Darkwing’s behavior and mannerisms. If my headcanon about Elita not letting herself get close to anyone is right, her situation probably wasn’t helped by the fact she was already isolated. Maybe that’s why Orion tried to make small talk with Elita… wait hang on. I’m looking back at the script again.

Oh my god. Orion could tell she was in a good mood today despite D-16 not really seeing it. Orion is still trying to joke and make small talk with her despite being rebuffed by Elita.

And she chuckled at Orion’s joke. Oh my god guys what if Orion was the closest thing Elita had to an actual friend, or like the only bot who didn’t stop trying to be friendly to her, and Orion either suspected strongly or knew about Darkwing abusing her, so he’d been trying to reach out.

The point is, Elita probably was happy because if that day went well, Darkwing might have no longer had power over her, but then one of the Energon processors got destroyed. And so Darkwing, having the power to do so (probably on a whim), stripped her of all her rank.

That was unfair, that was unjust, that was probably the final nail in the coffin for Orion to say that the system is broken, this is intolerable, and something must be done. Because it is right after this sequence that Sentinel announces the Iacon 5000 is happening, and then Orion gets the idea to race in the Iacon 5000 to really shake things up for the status quo.

And of course, he drags D-16 along because they always had each other’s backs. D-16 was his partner in crime.

Orion Pax is a bot of great will and determination, but I think he also gets tunnel vision when he puts it in his own head that he has to do something like race in the Iacon 5000, or stop Sentinel from continuing to rule under a pretense built on betrayal and falsehood. This is what leads him to ignore D-16 not wanting to go along with Orion’s plan to race in the Iacon 5000, but if things go wrong, maybe Orion throught it would, worst case scenario, end with them getting a few injuries and D-16 would eventually forgive him. This same tunnel vision is what leads Orion to prioritize stopping Sentinel, and overlooking (despite noticing) D-16’s spiral as a result of D-16’s crisis of faith.

I think maybe Orion being the closest thing Elita had to a friend is why despite ruining her life, she doesn’t just completely hate him. I think maybe that’s why she has such insight into Orion as a person, and thus why she is willing to go along with his crazy scheme to find the Matrix, because she still harbors some good will towards him, and knows he’s not a complete idiot despite referring to him as such. I think this is sets the stage for why she ultimately does back Orion up in leading rather than lead herself in attacking the Sentinel’s tower to rescue D-16, Bee, and the captured high guard.

End of my breakdown and theorizing, hope this makes sense and hope whoever reads this to the end found the whole thing interesting and worthwhile.

late but i was rewatching the mouth of unicron scene and noticed that elita didnt use her flashlight??

which is odd bc she was just leading the gang earlier so youd think shed use it

but then i remembered this scene

when she was demoted, (if we are following the whole “bodily autonomy” themes) darkwing most likely took that ability from her bc of a new lack of status

if i may also add elita is the only bot that actively flinches at darkwing. (ironhide does not and orion only flinched at him when he saw that he was bout to be punched)

darkwing is known to be aggressive and violent but both d16 and orion are shocked that he would put his hands on him while elita seemed to be bracing herself, assuming the worst from him

him crippling her probably isnt the first hes done something awful to her

[warping-realities]

Alright, folks, I promised a break but the images for this story were almost all ready. The main idea came from a request from @innermostthoughtsartappreciation . Hope you’re into it! Oh, and there’s a little surprise at the end for those who’ve checked out my other stuff. Now, I’m really gonna take that promised break (I think? But I still have a couple of videos to turn into written stories, so who knows???).

Desire is the Devil’s Dwelling

Andrew sat in the front row of the classroom, a place he chose not only because he found the subject of the lecture extremely interesting, but also to get a privileged view of the man who was teaching it. Professor Dr. Williams spoke in a nearly hypnotic manner about the importance of cultural diversity in contemporary literature. His words were eloquent, and Andrew truly wanted to pay attention to what the man was saying, but in reality, his speech became a distant backdrop. What really mattered were the defined muscles that stood out under the professor's tight shirt and the way he smiled, as if each laugh was a promise of something unattainable.

Andrew’s thoughts floated between admiration and guilt. How could he feel this way? In his mind, the image of his family and hometown overlapped with Dr. Williams’s figure. He remembered family talks about morality and values, the disapproving looks he’d get if anyone knew about his feelings. The weight of those expectations seemed to grow heavier every day as his internal struggle intensified.

As the professor continued discussing how literature can reflect society, Andrew wondered if he’d ever be honest with himself. He wished he had the courage to present himself as he truly was, but the fear of disdain and rejection still kept him trapped in a life of secrets that felt like a weight on his chest. The class went on, but Andrew barely noticed time passing. He jotted down a few quotes here and there, but most of his notes turned into doodles and sketches depicting the professor in different scenarios. Dr. Williams, with his captivating confidence, became an inspiring muse for Andrew, who would give anything to express his own truths without fear and captivate everyone like the professor did.

When class finally ended, Andrew hesitated to stand up. He watched the professor walk away, chatting animatedly with other students. A sudden impulse made him want to approach, but he quickly pulled back. With a deep sigh, he grabbed his backpack and headed for the exit, his mind still dominated by conflicting thoughts.

On his way home, his heart raced at the thought of possibilities. What would happen if he allowed himself to be who he really was? What if, for just a moment, he could set aside expectation and pressure? These questions echoed in his mind as the city blurred around him.

Andrew opened the door to the apartment and was greeted by a wave of comfort and familiarity. The smell of home-cooked food filled his nostrils, and he smiled upon seeing Lucas, his roommate and best friend, sitting on the couch. Lucas was skinny and pale, with messy brownish honey hair and bright eyes that sparkled with an almost hypnotic intensity. From day one in college, they had formed an instant connection, and even though Andrew hid his deep feelings for Lucas, their friendship flourished.

“Hey, Andrew! How was class?” Lucas asked with genuine interest. The way he spoke always made Andrew’s heart race, and he felt a mix of joy and anguish at the same time.

“It was good, interesting, you know how Dr. Williams is,” Andrew replied, trying to keep the conversation light. He sat down next to his friend, but to hum the tension in the air was palpable, even though Lucas didn’t seem to share that feeling. On the contrary, he was sitting closer than usual, and his presence made Andrew feel like the space between them was charged with unspoken meanings.

As they chatted about class and other trivial matters, Andrew couldn’t help but steal glances at Lucas’s hands. It was as if every gesture was an invitation, a subtle touch that could open the doors to something more. When Lucas accidentally brushed against Andrew’s leg while leaning to grab the remote, a shiver ran down Andrew’s spine. He looked at Lucas, and for a brief moment, he felt there might be something there, something that could be more than friendship.

But fear quickly set in. What did he really know about Lucas's feelings? What if he was just projecting his own hopes onto an innocent moment? His heart raced, and the courage he felt moments before drained away. With a sudden impulse, he averted his gaze and said, “Sorry, I... need to use the bathroom.”

He stood up hastily, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks. As he walked toward the bathroom, his mind spun in a whirlwind of confusion and repressed desire. He locked himself in the small space and pressed his palms against the edges of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The image he saw was of a young man torn apart, consumed by a desire he didn’t dare to name.

“Why is it so hard?” he murmured to himself, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom. Andrew knew he needed to open up, but the idea of being rejected by Lucas was unbearable. What if revealing his feelings broke their friendship? The thought was agonizing. Sighing and composing himself, he made his way back to the living area, pausing to look at his friend’s back, wishing he could be like Dr. Williams, a man who carried himself with confidence and who knew how to command the space around him, and maybe then he could live the way he truly desired.

The problem with desires is that you never know who might be listening.

….

Lucas watched Andrew walk away, feeling a pang of worry. He knew those moments when his friend shut down, diving into his own thoughts all too well. The truth was, Lucas was also grappling with his own feelings, and what haunted him the most was knowing that behind Andrew's facade of confidence, there was a young man feeling trapped between his convictions and the burning desire growing inside him.

“Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you?” Lucas thought as he sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the remote in his hands but unable to focus on the channel options. The idea that Andrew might like him back in the same way he liked Andrew was a thought that wouldn’t let him rest. Lucas knew there was something special between them, but the fear of ruining their friendship kept them distant. He wondered how he could make Andrew realize that feelings like theirs weren’t wrong, that there was space for love and acceptance between them.

Lost in his thoughts, a knock on the door made him jump off the couch. The knock was firm but not too loud, and for a moment, Lucas wondered if it could be someone bringing good news or something completely unexpected. Andrew, hearing the sound, said he would answer, and Lucas seized the opportunity to try to push his dilemmas aside.

In the silence that followed, he tried to focus on the TV, but an overwhelming sense of unease took over him. Why was Andrew taking so long? What could be happening? He looked at the door and saw his friend standing there, staring at what seemed to be emptiness.

“Andrew, is everything alright? Who was it?”

“Yeah, just the new neighbor wanting to introduce himself,” Andrew replied without turning around. Something felt off in his voice, and Lucas decided to get up to check, but just then, the remote control shocked him in his hand.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed at same time as he heard the door slam. Shaking his hand, he stood up and looked towards the kitchen, only to find Andrew taking a drink straight from the bottle. He couldn’t help but admire his friend’s lean, muscular body, his dark skin reflecting the soft light of the room. Andrew was wearing just shorts, and Lucas felt a mix of excitement and confusion at the sight before him.

“Why are you staring at me?” Andrew asked, breaking the silence.

“I... I wasn’t staring at you,” Lucas replied quickly, trying to look away. “I was just... wondering if you’ve been hitting the gym. You look different.”

Andrew smiled, a smile that lit up his face and made Lucas feel butterflies in his stomach. “Well, of course! I’m focused on gaining mass. Every rep counts.”

Lucas forced a smile, but the conversation was starting to feel stranger than he’d like. “Oh, cool. But... do you want to watch something on TV? We could chill for a bit before bed.”

“No, actually, I’ve missed my bedtime. It’s during sleep that muscles grow,” Andrew replied, with that confident demeanor he always had. He turned and walked toward his room, his stride confident and almost casual, but Lucas couldn’t help but notice how distant he seemed.

“Wait,” Lucas called, his voice a bit weaker than he intended. “Just... is everything okay? You seem off.”

Andrew paused for a moment, looking back. His gaze was intense and full of restraint. “What would be wrong, dude?” he replied with a smile before entering the room and shutting the door, leaving a thoughtful Lucas staring at the TV screen without really seeing what was in front of him.

….

The next morning, the sun’s rays filtered through the curtains, and Lucas woke up with the feeling that something was different. He stretched and quickly realized he urgently needed to use the bathroom. Getting up from bed, he walked through the house toward the bathroom, still groggy and with his mind filled with confused thoughts about the night before.

When he opened the bathroom door, Lucas froze. Andrew was there, standing in front of the mirror, recording a video for his followers. The soft light reflected off his muscular body, which was almost on display, and his captivating smile lit up the space. He seemed completely at ease, as if he were on stage, and Lucas couldn’t help but admire the confidence radiating from his friend.

However, Andrew didn’t seem too happy when he noticed Lucas’s presence. “Hey! You can’t just walk in like that, man!” he exclaimed, clearly irritated as he turned off the camera. “I’m trying to film here!”

Apologies started spilling from Lucas’s mouth in a whirlwind. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were recording. I just... needed to use the bathroom.” He felt his face heat up, a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

Andrew took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “It’s fine. Just give me a heads-up next time, okay? I don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of a recording.”

As Lucas stepped back, his thoughts began to swirl. He looked at Andrew, who was now adjusting the camera again. “He's so muscular... Has he always been like this?” Lucas questioned himself, as he felt a bit guilty for interrupting his friend. “Of course, he’s always been like this. Nobody changes overnight.” He thought as he watched his friend record a new video.

After their brief and tense interaction in the bathroom, Lucas took a quick shower and decided to sit at the table for breakfast. When he arrived in the kitchen, he found Andrew already sitting there, an enormous amount of food in front of him. The plate was piled high with scrambled eggs, grilled chicken breast, and a generous portion of oatmeal. Lucas watched, a bit impressed, as Andrew methodically stacked food on his plate.

“Are you really gonna eat all that?” Lucas asked, trying to break the ice while serving himself a bit of cereal.

“Of course. I need to make sure I’m hitting my macros. Every meal counts,” Andrew replied, focused on his food. “You know, and protein is essential for gaining mass.” He looked at Lucas, who just nodded, not really knowing much about the topic.

The conversation didn’t seem to flow well. Lucas talked about the latest news from a game he’d played, while Andrew seemed more interested in his workout routine and diet. The connection that once felt so natural now seemed strange and distant. Lucas realized that despite being friends for so long, their lives were taking different paths.

“Don’t you ever get tired of just thinking about workouts and food?” Lucas asked, trying to understand what was going through Andrew’s mind.

“It’s not just that. It’s a passion, a lifestyle. You must get that, right? Everyone has their priorities,” Andrew replied, his expression serious. “And I don’t have time for distractions.”

Lucas felt a tightness in his chest. He looked at Andrew, who seemed so focused on his food, and wondered why he felt that mix of longing and frustration. “Sure, everyone has their priorities,” Lucas murmured, trying not to let his disappointment show.

When Andrew finished eating, he quickly stood up, grabbing his backpack and getting ready to leave. “I gotta go, I have a workout now. We’ll talk later, alright?” He said, not waiting for a response, and rushed out.

Lucas was left alone in the kitchen, staring at Andrew’s empty plate. A feeling of loss washed over him. He questioned what was happening between them. Why did it affect him so much? Their relationship had always been like this. What had changed now? Why care now?

He leaned against the table, lost in thought. “Why do I feel like there’s something different?” Lucas asked himself, looking out the window. The sun was shining bright, but his mind was shrouded in clouds.

With his thoughts still swirling, Lucas decided it was time to head to college. He threw on a game t-shirt he loved and some worn jeans, trying to feel more comfortable. On the way, he couldn’t shake off thoughts of Andrew, how their relationship seemed to have changed in a way he didn’t understand. Classes started, but Lucas’s focus was nowhere to be found. He could barely pay attention to the professor’s lecture on programming, a subject that used to fascinate him. His thoughts kept drifting back to his friend, to what had happened that morning and the frustration he felt.

During a break, Lucas sat alone in a corner of the cafeteria, distracted, scrolling through his phone. He opened Instagram and began to browse through Andrew’s profile, searching for any clues that could explain the change. The photos were always vibrant and energetic, showing his friend in intense workouts, posing with other athletes, and even some images from events he had attended. Everything seemed just as he remembered. Andrew’s bright smile, the confidence radiating from every picture... But there was something Lucas couldn’t pinpoint, something that left him uneasy.

He spent the day like that, scrolling through social media but finding no concrete answers. The clock ticked on, and when afternoon finally rolled around, Lucas decided to take a look at Andrew's Stories. His heart raced when he saw there was a new update. Andrew appeared with a cap over his wet hair, his muscular body on display, and a smile that seemed radiant. He held a protein shake while talking about the benefits of post-workout nutrition. Drops of sweat trickled down his sculpted muscles, and that dazzling smile seemed like an invitation to get lost in that incredibly fit body. But everything flashed through Lucas's mind without registering because this time, something was really wrong, and he was sure of it—he had just seen picture after picture of Andrew and knew that something impossible had happened: he looked like he had aged at least ten years. Even though his face was cheerful and youthful, it was undeniable that this couldn’t be a 21-year-old man.

Lucas tried to rationalize it; maybe it wasn’t Andrew but rather someone else. Quickly returning to the Instagram feed, he got a second shock—all the photos he had seen earlier looked exactly the same, with just one difference: the Andrew of 21, with toned muscles, had been replaced by this man with larger muscles in his late twenties or early thirties. Lucas left campus with his mind in a frenzy, each step toward the apartment feeling heavier than the last. What the hell was happening to Andrew?

Upon entering the house, Lucas took a deep breath and headed straight for Andrew’s room, determined to confront him. He knocked on the door, feeling his heart race. “Andrew, we need to talk!” he shouted, anxiety bleeding into his voice.

After a few seconds of silence, the door opened slightly, and Lucas found Andrew lying on the bed, phone in hand, completely oblivious to his friend’s presence. He barely lifted his eyes. “What’s up? I’m busy,” Andrew said, distraction evident in his dismissive tone.

Lucas hesitated but knew he had to be firm. “Don’t you see that something’s wrong? You… you’ve changed, Andrew. It’s like you aged overnight and… I think there’s more to it than that!” Frustration erupted in his voice as he moved closer to the bed, trying to grab his friend’s attention.

Andrew let out a sarcastic laugh. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

“I’m serious; I’m worried!”

“Didn’t know you cared so much about me. I thought a nerd like you only cared about games and coding.” He shook his head as if he found the situation amusing.

“That’s not it! Look, I’m not saying you can’t work out or take care of yourself, but you’re different.” Lucas felt anger mixed with sadness, and his words came out more intense. “What’s going on with you?”

Andrew finally lifted his eyes, but the expression he wore wasn’t one of concern; it was disdain. “I don’t have time for your nonsense, Lucas. I’m focused on my life, on things that actually matter. And you should do the same instead of wasting time here.” He turned away, completely ignoring Lucas’s insistence.

“Andrew, please!” Lucas said, his voice almost pleading. “I just want to understand. What’s happening?”

Andrew suddenly stood up, his imposing posture making Lucas take a step back. “Look, kid. I never thought living with someone younger would be a problem. But if you keep acting like this, one of us is gonna have to move out. Got it? Now get lost. I have a date soon, and I don’t have time for crazy talk.” He slammed the door in Lucas’s face, leaving him alone in the hallway, pain and confusion consuming him.

Lucas leaned against the wall, feeling a wave of despair. The nagging voice in his head tried to convince him that everything was fine, that he was just overreacting. But he knew it wasn’t just that. Something was very wrong, and he couldn’t just ignore it. He was going to do something… He… He felt the world spin around him before everything went dark as his consciousness slipped away.

…..

Lucas woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains in his room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled his nose, but there was something unsettling in the air. He rubbed his eyes and tried to recall how he got to bed the night before. The last memory he had was a heated argument with Andre, his roommate. Lucas had always admired and desired Andre, an attractive and charismatic personal trainer, but he’d never had the courage to admit it.

He slowly got up, feeling a bit dizzy, and walked toward the living room. He paused at the door, hesitating. What if Andre was there? He shook his head, brushing off the confusing thoughts, and decided it was time to face the situation.

When he opened the living room door, a chill in his stomach made him stop. Andre was there, deep in thought, looking out the window. The sea stretched before him, its waves dancing under the sunlight. Lucas frowned. “This has always been the view from the apartment, right?” he thought to himself. Of course. The view doesn’t change just like that.

“Hey,” Andre said, pulling his gaze from the horizon. He looked surprised but also a bit lost. “Sorry, I’m just in my underwear. I... went to get a glass of water and got distracted by the view.”

Lucas swallowed hard, trying to ignore the image of Andre in minimal clothing. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a bit louder than he intended.

Andre smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be, kid?”

Something in his tone made Lucas’s heart race. He knew there was something wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. They weren’t friends, just two strangers sharing a space. Lucas felt foolish for worrying. “Right,” he murmured, forcing a smile.

“I’m running late,” Andrew said, turning back to the bedroom. “I’ll get dressed.”

As Andre disappeared down the hallway, Lucas approached the window, sitting on the couch. The sea was beautiful, but his mind was elsewhere. He wondered what could be happening. Why had he and Andre fought? He couldn’t remember. The silence in the room was palpable, and Lucas found himself wishing they could be more than just roommates.

“Hey, Lucas!” Andrew called from the bedroom, interrupting his thoughts. “Have you seen my black sneakers? The ones I like?”

“Uh, no. Maybe they’re on the balcony,” Lucas replied, trying to hide the worry in his voice. They didn’t have a balcony, did they?

“Thanks! I’ll check.”

Lucas stood there, gazing at the sea. The beauty of the moment contrasted sharply with the growing unease inside him. They were just strangers sharing the same roof, but the connection he felt was undeniable. What if the argument had been more than just words? What if something was really wrong?

When Andre returned, dressed, Lucas decided he needed to ask. “Andre, are you sure everything’s okay? I... feel like something isn’t right.”

Andre hesitated, his expression shifting for a brief moment. “Kid, look, thanks for worrying about me, I really appreciate it, but just stop, please. I’m fine. Try living your life, and I’ll live mine!” replied the muscular black man as he walked out of the apartment.

Lucas left the house, still feeling restless. The walk to campus felt longer than usual, and with each step, he felt the weight of thoughts about Andre pressing down on him. He sat in his chair in the classroom but couldn’t focus on the professor’s explanations. The only thing filling his mind was the image of Andre looking out at the sea, his enigmatic smile, and the tension that lingered between them.

After a few hours of class, he decided he needed a distraction. He grabbed his phone and, without thinking too much, opened Instagram. Andre’s photos popped up on the screen, one after another. They varied; in some, he was in a workout session, showing off impressive muscles, and in others, he was smiling next to friends at parties or the beach. Lucas felt a chill in his stomach as he saw all this, as if he were reliving moments he hadn’t experienced. The sensation of déjà vu washed over him, like he had seen those images before, but he couldn’t remember when or where.

He spent more time than he wanted scrolling through the feed, analyzing every photo and video, trying to figure out what was wrong. As if some hidden truth was buried in those pixels. But after hours of browsing, frustration took over. It didn’t make any sense. He was just fooling himself. He gave up and closed the app, convincing himself that his mind was just creating fantasies.

On the way back home, still with his head full of confusion, something caught his eye. An ad on Instagram for a gym. He stopped, eyes glued to the image. The gym was called "Elite Fitness," and right below was a video of a personal trainer known as DeAndre Williams. The guy flaunting his stuff in the video was a jacked bodybuilder, muscles bulging and a confident grin. But something didn’t add up. Lucas furrowed his brow. "No way… it can’t be… but it is! That dude is Andre. How is this possible? This guy’s at least five years older than him!" he thought, adrenaline pumping through him.

Then the déjà vu hit him hard. He had been through this before! He was sure of it. A wave of panic and confusion washed over him. Without thinking twice, he started running, feet pounding against the ground as his heart raced. Each step took him back to the apartment, determined to confront Andre and find out the truth. What was going on? He needed to know. The run felt endless, but anxiety pushed him on. The image of DeAndre Williams wouldn’t leave his mind; he was Andre, but how?

When he reached the apartment, Lucas stopped in front of the door, breathless. He hesitated for a moment, his mind swirling with questions. But the need for answers outweighed any fear. What would he find inside?

Lucas took a deep breath and opened the apartment door, his heart pounding. He felt a mix of fear and anticipation as he walked toward André's room. The living room was quiet, and the soft afternoon light streamed through the windows, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Each step seemed to echo in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the thoughts of what he might encounter.

Arriving at the bedroom door, Lucas hesitated. With a surge of courage, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

To his surprise, DeAndre Williams was lying on the bed, naked, his muscular body exposed to the soft light. His dark, shiny skin glistened, and a well-groomed goatee accentuated his striking features.

He looked at Lucas with a curious expression. "Who are you? And how’d you get in here?" DeAndre asked, his deep, confident voice echoing in the room.

Lucas felt his heart race at that familiar tone. "Andre? Is that you?" He hesitated but decided to take a shot. "What’s going on? You need to explain this!"

DeAndre propped himself up on his elbows, watching Lucas with an amused look. "Only friends call me Andre," he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "And you, kid, are not my friend. I don’t know how you got into my place, but you gotta leave."

"No, no, wait!" Lucas exclaimed, feeling frustration bubble up inside him. "We share this apartment! You can’t just forget that!"

DeAndre laughed, and Lucas realized the man’s expression was a mix of amusement and disdain. “Share an apartment with a kid like you? Never,” he said, shaking his head arrogantly. "If you don’t bounce now, I’ll throw you out myself."

Panic surged in Lucas’s chest. He tried to argue, but the words failed to express what he felt. "Please, you need to remember me! I… I care about you!" His voice was almost pleading, but DeAndre just looked at him with disinterest.

"I don’t have time for your nonsense," DeAndre replied, his expression growing impatient. "You need to leave. Now."

Lucas's heart raced. He felt dizzy, like he was in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. "Andrew..." he started, but the word barely left his mouth before everything around him began to spin. The room seemed to drift away, and he felt his legs give out beneath him. The sensation of falling overwhelmed him, and Lucas lost the battle against the darkness, calling out Andrew’s name one last time before everything faded to black.

…..

Lucas woke up in a room he didn’t recognize. The walls were painted a neutral shade, and the decor was minimalist, almost impersonal. He sat up on the bed, confusion flooding his mind. Soft morning light streamed through the window, but everything felt surreal. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized white shirt that didn’t seem to belong to him.

Getting up, Lucas hesitantly walked around the space. He wanted to understand where he was and how he had ended up here. Stepping out of the bedroom, he found a hallway adorned with pictures of DeAndre, the bodybuilder who had once been his roommate, Andre, and before that… Andrew! How could he have forgotten? How?

Each image showcased DeAndre at bodybuilding events, and Lucas noticed that in some of them, he looked years older than he remembered. The strength and confidence radiating from the photos were undeniable, but there was something unsettling about how time appeared to have affected the man who had once been his friend.

As Lucas moved down the hallway, his heart raced with a mix of fear and curiosity. He felt like he was in a place that belonged to someone else, a space totally disconnected from the life he knew. With every step, the opulence of the house became more apparent. The polished wooden floors gleamed in the sunlight, and the luxurious details on the walls spoke of wealth and success.

Finally, he reached the living room, a spacious and elegant area with black leather sofas and glass tables. And there he saw him. DeAndre was sprawled on the sofa, clad only in black underwear, his massive, muscular body reflecting the light. His ebony skin seemed to shimmer, and his physique was impressive, with well-defined engorged muscles that spoke of years of dedication to training. He had a commanding presence, an aura of power that made it clear he was the king of this space.

But DeAndre wasn’t alone. In a nearby armchair sat a muscular man, though not quite up to DeAndre’s level, completely relaxed and sprawled out. Lucas had the distinct impression that this guy was indeed the king of this new world. The man had bronzed skin and a well-groomed beard that shaped his attractive face. His eyes were a honey color, but in the brief moments Lucas held his gaze, they seemed to shift to yellow, like a cat's or a hawk's, giving him a sly and playful expression.

"Look who finally decided to join us," he said, his voice smooth and teasing. "Our persistent young friend. I wonder what we should do with him, DeAndre?"

Lucas’s heart raced at those words. The tension in the air was palpable, and he felt paralyzed, his mind spinning with questions. What was happening? Why was he here? And what were DeAndre and this stranger planning?

DeAndre lifted his head, a satisfied expression on his face. "Ah, the kid's awake," he said, his deep, authoritative voice filling the room. "I was wondering when you’d finally join us."

Lucas, finally recalling who this man was, felt a weight in his chest hearing that voice so distant from Andrew’s. But the worst part was the look of total domination DeAndre shot him, hitting him with a wave of panic. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice coming out louder than he intended.

The honey-eyed man leaned forward, a playful smile on his face. "DeAndre here just wants to move on, and you’re in the way. And as for me? I want nothing you can’t give, my young friend. I just want you to understand what it means to be part of this world, since you’ve tried so hard to stay in it." His expression was provocative, and Lucas didn’t know whether to feel intrigued or threatened. “It’s time for you to discover what happens to those who dare to enter my circle uninvited, especially those who insist on staying even when they’re not welcome. But first, let’s have a little chat about power, control, and the nature of desires."

He then leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and disdain. "You can call me Alastair," he said, his voice smooth and melodic. "And you, my young friend, are in a place where I’ve long decided who comes in and who goes out. I’ve been around longer than you can imagine, and occasionally, I like to have a little fun." He paused, watching Lucas as he tried to process his words.

"I was around when the little, pale, bland Andrew wished to become someone like Professor Williams," Alastair continued, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. "And, of course, I had the pleasure of making that wish come true. But why do it without a bit of fun, right?" He chuckled softly, as if reminiscing about a private joke.

Lucas felt a chill run down his spine. "You... you were the one who did this?" he asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Oh, my dear, you don’t understand. What I did was simply give Andrew what he wished for, a transformation that would make him everything he ever wanted to be. What I didn’t count on was your persistence." Alastair raised an eyebrow, his tone growing more serious. "You should have been taken out of the equation early on, so I could enjoy Andrew’s transformation into DeAndre. But you insisted, and that frustrated me."

Anger welled up inside Lucas. "Andrew is still in there, at least a small part of him," he said, his voice steady. "You may have changed his appearance, but the essence of who he is still exists."

Alastair laughed, but there was no joy in his laughter. "You really think that 'essence' is strong enough to resist what I’ve done? What you see before you is the result of your own insistence. I had to push him to the limit to erase you from within him. But now I've finally succeeded. DeAndre is everything Andrew wished to be, and more. You should feel honored to have been part of that process."

Lucas felt his determination grow. "Andrew didn’t ask for this; he just wanted to be accepted."

"Ah, acceptance is easier when you’re a massive, successful behemoth. Andrew didn’t know what he truly wanted until I showed him. And now you’re here, trying to prevent him from living the life I gave him," Alastair said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Lucas took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "You may have changed Andrew, but you can’t change who he is inside. And I will find him."

Alastair tilted his head, a sardonic smile on his face. "What a fighting spirit you have, kid. But that won’t change the fact that I’m in control here. And to be honest, you’re not in a position to challenge me."

DeAndre, who had remained silent until then, finally rose from the sofa, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Lucas. "Lucas," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "You need to understand. You may want me to be the boy you knew, but Andrew doesn’t exist anymore. To the rest of the world, including myself, he never existed."

Lucas looked at DeAndre, feeling a mix of pain and hope. "But you’re still him; part of him is still there. I know you can hear this. Please, don’t let this take you away."

Alastair stepped forward, his dominating presence filling the room. "Enough, kid! You have no idea what you’re dealing with. If you keep interfering, I’ll have to take measures to ensure you’re no longer a problem."

The tension in the air was palpable, and Lucas knew he had to be careful. "I won’t give up, Alastair. Andrew is still in there, and I’ll find him. No matter what you do." Then something astonishing happened. As if the threads of reality were unraveling, the corner of the opulent living room of DeAndre transformed into the simple sofa of the old apartment they had shared.

"What do you think you're doing, kid? You better stop that right now and shut that mouth of yours!" Alastair said, his eyes gleaming with a malice that made it clear he wasn’t joking. "Because I’m sure I can find a way to make you quiet for good. Let’s see what I have to work with," the man declared. Suddenly, Lucas found himself only in his underwear, standing before him. A wave of fear washed over him, but along with it came a renewed determination. "I won’t be quiet. I will fight for Andrew. I… I love Andrew… I’ve loved him for years, and I should have told him that a long time ago." The young man said, looking at the massive figure that had once been his friend. To his surprise, and even more to Alastair's shock, DeAndre responded with a voice much softer than seemed possible.

"I… I love you too…" Upon hearing that, Lucas smiled, and the old reality seemed to strengthen beside him.

"You think you’re playing with some idiot? I’ll turn you into a little manwhore, always chasing after some dude, never satisfied, and you, DeAndre, will use him and toss him aside," Alastair sneered, raising his finger. In that instant, Lucas contorted in pain. What Alastair apparently didn’t expect was that the same would happen to DeAndre. The hawk-like eyes widened in shock as he watched the bodybuilder writhe and murmur through the agony:

"I give up my wish, I give up…"

“Damn it, I just wanted to have a little fun. DeAndre, look at me; I’m not going to separate you two, but there’s no turning back now, the process has already begun. Look at me and tell me what you desire. I can make Lucas happy; I can make him happy by your side. Is that what you want?”

“Yes… I… I want Lucas… I want us to be happy.”

“Great, but it’s still going to hurt. That bastard got on my nerves too much to deserve a smooth transition. Now witness.”

Lucas stood silently in the corner, the last remnant of his reality amidst the opulent living room, appearing fragile in just his white underwear. Suddenly, a strange sensation began coursing through his limbs, as if his muscles were being stretched and twisted.

A searing pain engulfed his body, making him writhe involuntarily. His arms, once thin and undefined, began to swell, veins bulging against his skin as the muscles contracted and grew. His biceps and triceps bulged, giving him a powerful and intimidating appearance.

Agony spread through his chest, and Lucas felt his ribcage expand, the ribs becoming more pronounced as his chest hardened and defined. His pecs jutted out forcefully, creating an imposing and masculine silhouette. He gasped, struggling against the pain that seemed to consume every cell of his being.

Meanwhile, Alastair watched the transformation with delight, alongside a horrified DeAndre. In his state of agony, Lucas was oblivious to what the other two could see—his skin appeared to age rapidly. Wrinkles and spots began to form, and his once-fine blonde hair darkened and thickened. A dense beard sprouted on his face, framing his increasingly angular and mature features. As this happened, the reality of the opulent room reshaped around him, erasing all traces of the apartment and the life that Andrew and he had shared.

Finally, Lucas flexed his arms, marveling at the strength flowing through his limbs. The veins stood out on his skin, pulsating with his growing power. His expression, once soft and delicate, was now hard and determined, reflecting the radical change in his appearance. Concluding the transformation, he raised one of his powerful arms, showcasing his biceps and triceps in all their glory, a satisfied smile forming on his lips. And so he stood, watched by the perpetrators of this situation—one accidental and the other who relished every moment of what he had done.

Alastair observed Lucas’s transformation with a satisfied smile. Each second, the young man became stronger, more imposing, and he knew the final result would be a spectacle of power that few could ignore. He turned to DeAndre, who stood there, stunned but also in awe.

“Look here, DeAndre,” Alastair said, his voice smooth and teasing. “This is Louis Caron, a naturalized American Frenchman and the husband who has deeply loved you for 15 years. Soon, all of this will make sense in your minds. Until then, Louis, why don’t you come stay with your husband?”

Louis looked at DeAndre with a smile that reflected a deep connection, a camaraderie that went beyond words. He walked towards DeAndre, his steps firm and confident, his posture erect and his gaze determined. And even amidst the horror of everything that had transpired, DeAndre couldn’t help but smile.

.....

On the sunny coast of California, the beach was alive with activity, the sound of waves gently crashing on the shore and the salty scent of the sea in the air. DeAndre was enjoying the refreshing ocean water. At 43, his muscular body was a testament to his dedication and hard work in the gym. The sunlight reflecting off his powerful, well-defined ebony muscles created a visual spectacle that drew admiring glances from passersby.

On the sand, his husband, Louis, was animatedly chatting with Alastair, a long-time friend of the couple. He gestured enthusiastically, mixing in French words, while Alastair, with his bronzed skin exposed and mischievous honey-colored eyes, listened to the other man with a playful smile.

"Alastair, you have to stay longer! Malik needs to meet you!" Louis exclaimed, his voice full of hope. Malik, DeAndre’s brother, a College Professor was a staunch advocate of his singlehood, but Louis believed Alastair could be the key to opening his heart.

Alastair raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I thought Malik was straight. Isn’t he?"

Louis laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, he is! But I’m sure you’ll work your magie. You always do, you magnifique créature!”

As they chatted, DeAndre emerged from the sea, water cascading down his muscular body, and cast an intense gaze toward Louis and Alastair in the distance. The sun illuminated his powerful form, and Louis couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he looked at his husband.

"If Malik is as hot as DeAndre, maybe I’d be tempted to stick around and stir up some trouble," Alastair quipped, winking at Louis, who chuckled, imagining the encounter between the two men.

DeAndre approached, his muscles still glistening with seawater, and shot a curious glance at Louis and Alastair. "What are you two laughing about? Some inside joke I’m not aware of?" His voice was deep and captivating, and his smile was irresistible.

Alastair, with a mischievous grin on his lips, replied, "We’re just admiring the impressive sight before us." He gestured dramatically toward DeAndre, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s hard not to get lost in a body like yours, isn’t it?"

Louis laughed and added, "Plus, Alastair was about to leave, and with him, we don’t know how long it’ll be until he’s back." He looked at Alastair with a playful expression. "So we need to make the most of his presence while we can."

DeAndre raised an eyebrow, a cheeky smile forming on his lips. "So, we need to do something about it?" He glanced from Alastair to Louis, a glint of malice in his eyes. "What do you guys have in mind?"

The two friends exchanged knowing looks, aware that the afternoon promised plenty of pleasure and fun. Alastair stepped forward, his dominating presence radiating confidence.

"I can think of a few devilish things."

…..

In a pulsating night in the heart of New York City, the lights of the Devil’s Den flickered in a frenetic rhythm, reflecting the vibrant energy that was about to emanate from within. Poncho, the oldest bartender there, with his piercing gaze and well-defined muscles, meticulously organized the bottles lined up behind the bar. His muscular arms told stories of an intense life, and he moved with the confidence of someone who knew he was in control.

The door swung open, and a man with Mediterranean or Middle Eastern features—hard to tell which—entered, exuding confidence. With dark hair and an enigmatic smile, he approached the bar. “A double shot of whiskey, neat,” he ordered, his voice laced with seductive charm. Poncho, on his way to the bar, turned around smiling upon hearing that voice. The boss was back.

Poncho went to the bar and grabbed the bottle of the best Scotch in the house. As he poured the drink, he couldn’t help but notice the aura surrounding him; he radiated power, like always when he had been up to something. “How was the trip, boss?” he asked, leaning in slightly to hear the response. The man took a sip and let out a low laugh. “Fun in an unexpected way. It’s not every day someone manages to come out on top against me.” He paused, his eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and frustration. “But true love is always a pain to deal with.”

Poncho nodded, not entirely understanding. This was a common occurrence between them. But soon, the tone of the conversation shifted. “But now that I’m back in my lair, I feel an immense urge to stir up something truly luxurious,” he said, a devilishly satisfied smile forming on his lips.

“Jerome is active and will send some groups for tonight,” Poncho informed, winking at the man. The mention of Jerome made the boss’s eyes shine even brighter. He knew the fun was about to begin.

The man smiled, his plans forming in his mind like dancing shadows under the lights of the Devil’s Den. “Perfect. The night is young and full of possibilities.” He raised his glass, toasting to the electrifying atmosphere that promised something beyond the boundaries of the human perception.

Poncho returned the smile sensing what was about to happen, the work at the Devil’s Den was like a symphony of laughter, secrets, and lust, and he loved every moment of it. Meanwhile, three reckless young men strolled toward an unexpected destination.

If you want to know where the night will lead, I suggest you click the link below.

[sossolei]

things I learned after shifting to Hogwarts ‧₊ ᵎᵎ⋅ ˚ △⃒⃘

SIDENOTE: hogwarts was not the first reality I shifted to ! this is a uni reality ! there is no war ! ask any questions you want !

.☘︎ ݁˖ BATHROOM. I’ve genuinely never seen anyone talk about this but ( at least in my reality ) there’s a bathroom on the Hogwarts Express and holy fuck??? On the outside it looks tiny asf but I went in there to change into my robes and it’s wayyy bigger than it looks on the outside. It works like the tents in Goblet of Fire basically. The toilets and everything look relatively new so I’m assuming they change it every couple years just to keep in good condition.

.☘︎ ݁˖ MUGGLES. Have you ever wondered exactly how the muggles don’t notice wizardry, or at least at the platform? In my personal experience, unless it’s magic very intentionally and obviously done in front of muggles, there will usually be a moment distraction where they don’t see the magic happening. In the sense of platform nine and three quarters, there’s usually a couple trains that arrive around the same time and blare the horn so everyone usually gets distracted by that. But a personal example of this happens when I was standing in front of the barrier getting ready to cross through the wall, a young child was watching me from afar and as soon as started walking forward, he tripped over the wheel of his mothers luggage and didn’t see me go through the wall.

.☘︎ ݁˖ THE GREAT HALL. The candles are never ending. They don’t drip. They don’t melt in any way. I just had to say that cause I legit stared at them for almost an hour trying to see if it would melt. You have to talk pretty loud to be heard at the front where Dumbledore usually gives his lil speeches, which means the students who sing have lungs for DAYSSSS it’s actually so impressive. The benches are uncomfortable, not unbearable but not recommended for sitting for a long time lol. There’s no menu or anything, the food rlly does just appear there but there’s always something for everybody. Some people even walk up and down the table looking for what they want.

.☘︎ ݁˖ OTHER SCHOOLS. I didn’t stay in this reality for very long but I was always asking questions ( sorry mcgonnagall ). Ilvermorny is currently trying to admit more Native American wizards into their school but Native American wizards (as far as I know) have their own kind of magic and legit do not want anything to do with Ilvermorny. Kind of similar issue in Australia and Aboriginals I’m pretty sure. There’s a lot of, like a fuck ton of wizarding schools in Africa. I know JK Rowling has like one wizarding school in Africa but geographically speaking, that never made sense to begin with and I wasn’t surprised when I found out there were different/smaller wizarding schools around Africa.

.☘︎ ݁˖ STUDENTS. I don’t know how many students are in Hogwarts but I do know that it’s never a surprise who comes to Hogwarts. The ministry genuinely keeps track of every single wizard who has children, and even hold records of wizards who have families without wizarding abilities, just in case someone pops out with it. Easiest way to think of it is that families like Ron’s are always kept track of as well as Hermione’s, so it’s never usually a surprise when someone turns up muggleborn cause they’re usually expecting it.

.☘︎ ݁˖ PROFESSORS. The professors are not as silly goofy as they are in the movies guy :( They’re not miserable or anything but they all just remind me of the standing emoji LMAOOO. But seriously, someone like Mcgonnagall is not as welcoming or “chill” as she is in the movies or towards Harry. But some definitely are more chill, especially the younger ones. Slughorn is my silly king but even he has his moments.

Since this is a uni, Snape isn’t as uh…violent (?) as he is in the movies. Neville is a grown ass man, Snape is def not his biggest fear but Neville in general has a strong urge to prove himself and it reflects in his relationship with Snape. Snape isn’t scary, he just demands lots of respect and has respect for people that have proven they are “worthy” of it, i.e., high marks, put together, confidence, strong willed, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖ DIVINATION. Did you guys know that being a witch/wizard doesn’t automatically make you good at all forms of divination? I scripted Mattheo Riddle into this reality and me and him are soooo good at other forms of divination like tarot, coffee grounds, and even the the crystal ball, but Theodore Nott fucking sucksss at it. Hermione also didn’t do as well in the class as I know she could’ve done, but according to Treylawney, all forms of divination require open mindedness towards something you can’t understand. Someone like hermione, for example, wants to know everything all the time and doesn’t beat around the bush, so tarot isn’t her cup of tea because she doesn’t think it’s giving her exactly what she wants.

.☘︎ ݁˖ HOMEWORK. Homework can either be really fun or really time consuming. It’s just like regular homework where you recall everything you learned in class but homework isn’t very common the more you move up in classes, mainly because the magic you start to do becomes more hands on rather than memorizing. This doesn’t apply to Snape though. He loves homework.

.☘︎ ݁˖ UNIFORMS. THE ROBES ARE INSULATED. It’s very thick, good quality fabric and keeps you real warm during the winter but during the later hot months like September, it’s not uncommon to walk around with the robes open or in your hands, but you have to wear them in your body during class, no exceptions. They absorb stains??? This is one I wasn’t expecting but it’s a magical robe so…okay! I dropped cranberry juice on the sleeve and it just completely absorbed and it didn’t stink or anything. This doesn’t apply to the tie or anything else, those have to washed for sure.

.☘︎ ݁˖ REALITY. If you haven’t shifted yet, you’ll often hear people say “it’ll feel natural because you’ve already lived there your whole life” and while that is true, it’s also not because how am I supposed to be natural walking past Robert fucking Pattinson to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts???? In my mind, he’s always been Edward from Twilight and seeing him in the hogwarts robes just made me stop in my tracks and stare. Some things come natural and some things don’t but I embrace everything with open arms.

.☘︎ ݁˖ EXTRA. Draco is blonde as hell! Like Targaryen level blonde. I do think it’s natural tho cause Luna has the same platinum type of blonde going on. Harry’s scar is soooo much cooler in this reality, it’s thin but branches out on the side of his face and it’s much more noticeable than the one in the movie. Hermione has curly curly hair! I don’t know if she straightens it in the books but I know she does in the movie, in this reality she literally just got a better curl routine. She has a ton of products and really cares for her hair and she’s lowkey embarrassed cause it’s the one thing she considers “vain.”

There’s a “club” of sorts where a bunch of students get together and run around the castle at the crack ass of Dawn for exercise ( best believe they have NEVER seen the likes of me ). I was told there are wizards who are famous in muggle spaces, typically for music or art. The painting will warn people when the stairs are about to move lol. That whole house discrimination stuff doesn’t happen as often as it does in the movies/books, most people don’t actually care and Slytherins get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs well—however, Gryffindor does have the tendency to poke fun and Slytherins respond with dry sarcasm so sometimes it’s not a perfect fit! House discrimination was bigger in our parents age but as the years have gone by, the current gen doesn’t care fr.

That’s all I can think of atm, thank you for reading and yes I will be doing this with other places I’ve shifted to!

[jules-makes-stuff]

Been seeing ppl on reddit argue about magic in fantasy for a while and I don't want to lose 3 hours bickering over there but I have *thoughts*

By now hard and soft systems are pretty well known but people ague againt hard systems because it "takes away the, well, MAGIC of magic". I think people aren't considering tone and the overall goals of a work and are conflating personal taste with truth again.

In my mind it really depends on the above though. Say you are Hoffman writing The Golden Pot. You want your work to be dreamlike, ethereal, like a half remembered song. Everything operates on dream/fairytale logic and emotion is reality. You should absolutelt NOT explain magic. It should be a strange force adhering only to narrative and emotional forces.

If you are writing a magical realism piece, like One Hundred Years of Solitude, the magic again is there to emphasize the absurdity of reality people at the time faced. Explaining anything takes that away. Same with horror or something like Metamorphosis. You don't know why this is happening and that means you cannot stop it or it doesn't matter how it happened, only the consequences.

Then there are more classical fantasy stories like Lord of the Rings. Magic is something ancient and grand and mysterious.... and none of the hobbits have it besides stray magic items. That is what people miss, I believe, when using this example. Gandalf isn't our pov character. Most characters there do not have magic or only have limited magic w very specific limitations, tools essentially. So we can follow along and anticipate how these will be used. There is big, scary, unknown magic, but it is usually something used by the opponents or characters that come in and out of the narrative. And I think that's a good balance! Its fine that we dont know the science of magic, because we understand enough when we need to, we can make predictions and there is enough wiggle room for something like Gandalf the White to happen. A looot of fantasy had followed this setup: the mc has only a few well defined spells and magic items, the world has more deep magic.

But, I personally do like harder magic, if the mc is supposed to be a wizard (or the equivalent). I would call most battle shonen hard magic (I think this is where ppl might want to kill me) becauss in a good battle shonen we know what everyone can do and we can plan along with the characters and predict how the fight will go. When a problem is solved in an interesting way we can go "I should have seen that comming!"

In BAD versions people yell really loud and whoever yells loudest about friendship (once we wasted enough screentime to call the third act done) wins. And this here is my problem. Because I have seen stories where characters do the same with magic and it breaks my immersion. When magic used by the mc can suddenly do anything and everything what is the point? I'm no longer following a story w interesting twists and turns, Im waiting for the author to say "ok thats enough we can push the win button now". And listen, obviously its a made up story, none of this is real or matters, but its the authors job to keep the illusion alive that it isnt.

This is different from creating a mcguffin that can do anything once and having a quest about it, there getting the item is the challenge, not using it.

And a system being hard doesnt mean we need to know the science behind it, just that we need to know what it can do and the limits. In avatar they can manipulate the elements w martial arts. Period. Why? How? The spirits said so. Most ppl fuck up hard magic imo by starting to write a thesis about magical physics or overcomplicating it instead of taking 1 simple idea and exploring all the cool things that it can do. Witch Hat feels super magical and yet all there is to magic is drawing magic circles and we actively learn how to draw them in the series and the way the characters problem solve w magic and their try-fail cycles are super fun!

The point of this ramble is that I need structure that fits the narrative goals of the work. If we're doing a dream like narrative throw away explanations. If Im a wizard playing mind chess w other wizards you better tell me what chess pieces we have.

[hughesybear]

Vancouver Canucks team president says there is no good solution in rift between Elias Pettersson and J.T. Miller

Jim Rutherford, president of hockey operations for the Vancouver Canucks, made a career as a small 5-foot-8 goaltender by overcoming any obstacles in his way, but he’s facing one now that he can’t seem to get past. He has two star players who apparently can’t stand one another: top centres J.T. Miller and Elias Pettersson. And it’s put him and the organization in an unfathomable bind.

In the past, he has always felt like he could find a solution to any tricky situation, Rutherford told The Globe and Mail during an interview on Monday, “and I felt like for a long time that there was a solution here because everybody has worked on it, including the parties involved.”

“But it only gets resolved for a short period of time and then it festers again and so it certainly appears like there’s not a good solution that would keep this group together.”

While that may not come as a huge surprise to the Vancouver market – both players’ names have been connected to trades amid reports they have repeatedly clashed – it is still sobering to hear when the president of the team confirms it. And then when he admits there is no solution that is likely to make anyone happy, well, then, reality really does sink in.

Of course, personality differences exist in every NHL dressing room. For as long as the league has existed, there have been situations where players haven’t liked one another. You would think that in this case, an alpha male who likes to push his weight around like Miller, 31, and a more sensitive and soft-spoken player like Pettersson, 26, could put their differences aside for the good of the team. But apparently not.

“We’ve had those conversations and I think the parties understand that and I think they’ve tried,” Rutherford told me. “As you know, sometimes emotions get deep and as much as people try sometimes you can’t get over it. It certainly appears that’s what’s going on here.”

It is, to put it mildly, a problem that could end up impacting the Canucks for years.

“We’re talking about two of our top players,” Rutherford said. “Certainly, our two best forwards. It can really be tough on a franchise – not only present but into the future – when you’re planning on peaking this team into a contending team and then you find out that’s not going to happen. Or at least it’s not going to happen with the group we have now. Then you have to put together a new plan.”

Last year, this situation seemed, well, unimaginable. The Canucks played a feisty, tightly-structured game that took them to the seventh game of the second round of the playoffs, which they ended up losing to Edmonton Oilers, an eventual Stanley Cup finalist. It was a safe assumption that the team would take another step this year, and Pettersson in particular would be back to his old, prolific self. But that didn’t happen.

Pettersson hasn’t looked anything like the player who earned an eight-year, nearly $93-million contract last March, making him one of the top-paid forwards in the league. It’s often seemed like the burden of expectations that come with that sort of deal has been too much. Or maybe it’s been the problems he’s experiencing with Miller that has shaken his confidence. Doesn’t matter. He’s been a shell of his former self.

Miller hasn’t looked like the dominant player who roamed the ice last year either, one of the top two-way centres in the NHL. He missed 10 games this season when he had to step away from the team for personal reasons. Who knows if the situation with Pettersson has impacted his game as well. How could it not if it’s as bad as Rutherford makes it out to be?

But the whole team hasn’t looked like the same either. This year’s version has, in recent weeks, taken down Toronto, Edmonton and Washington – three of the top teams in the league. But then other times, far too often, they have looked disorganized and disengaged. That’s the maddening part about it.

“When you don’t have chemistry, it’s hard to be that consistent team because there’s too much going on in the room for everybody to concentrate on what they’re supposed to do,” Rutherford said.

I asked Rutherford if he means the Miller-Pettersson drama has impacted the entire team.

“Yes, yup,” he said.

Rutherford and his general manager, Patrik Allvin, are uncertain if removing one of either Pettersson or Miller will fix the problem. “We don’t know,” Rutherford said. “We’ll just have to wait to find out. We’ll have to take it a step at a time. If we try and do it too fast, that’s really when you can make some mistakes.”

Of course, the Canucks’ problems are no secret. The entire world knows. This includes general managers who have been circling the team like vultures looking to make away with an outstanding meal for very little cost.

Rutherford said he’d been doing the same if he were in their shoes. But he didn’t earn the reputation he has by buying high and selling low.

If the right deal doesn’t come along, it’s conceivable that both players could finish the season on the team. He said he’d rather not have to trade either player.

As much as he wants to fix the problem, he has to be smart about it. He can’t just sell Pettersson and Miller for multiple first-round picks and start over, for one simple reason – superstar defenceman and captain, Quinn Hughes.

Hughes is just 25 and entering his prime as a player. He could win multiple Norris trophies before his career is over. He does not want to be part of any rebuild in Vancouver. A retool perhaps, a rebuild definitely not.

“If we were going to completely start over that means he goes,” Rutherford told the Globe. “And we’d like to figure out a way that he’s here forever.”

What does that look like?

“We’ll have to do the best we can in trades,” Rutherford said. “Whatever assets you get in return, you may turn them into something else. And we have to work our way back into being a contending team.”

Still, any way you look at it, the Canucks are in a vulnerable – scratch that – are in a lousy, horrible, rotten, just-about-as-bad-as-it-gets position. Both Miller and Pettersson are No. 1 centres. In these times, you don’t trade a No. 1 centre and get a No. 1 centre back. “Those deals aren’t going to be there,” Rutherford acknowledges.

“So yeah, if a centre goes out of here we have to get some kind of centre back but it’s not going to be the same as the centre going out. It might not even be a No. 2 centre, but you’d have to do the best with what we have until we figure out how to fill that spot back in.

“And then, of course, you have to get extra things [in any trade] that you can either use in the future to flip for NHL players now or for other positions or things like that.”

This won’t be music to the ears of Canucks fans, but Rutherford is just being honest. It’s not like he asked for this nightmare to be foisted on him because he was bored with winning.

What the Canucks look like at the end of this season is anyone’s guess. Odds are they are going to look a lot different and likely a lot less appealing. At least for a while.