#VW THEMES

[zipzapzopzoop]

There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Chapter 12: Splish Splash I Was Taking a Bath

Following the paint trail on the buildings was like following a marked out path through a maze. At least Frankie sang some snazzy tunes as they searched!

They were just rounding a corner when the sound of screaming cut through the bustling noise of the city. The four shared a look and took off in the direction of the sound, Franny taking the lead. Frankie held onto her hair ribbon and flopped around in the air.

They looked on in shock as Lefty happily splashed around in a fountain, completely unbothered by the terrified onlookers. Most people ran away screaming, while others watched in shock. One mother grabbed her child and pulled him away in terror. A driver was sidetracked by the sight and rear-ended another car. The entire area seemed to be unfolding into chaos.

Franny lept into action. “Lefty! Come on, let’s get you somewhere safer! We can’t be attracting so much attention!”

Wilbur dodged when one of Lefty’s many arms swung around. When he stood back up, he noticed another man trying to get Lefty’s attention. Wilbur did a double take when he saw him.

“Uncle Fritz!”

His skittish uncle looked just as shocked to see him.

“Wilbur! Where have you been?”

The two ducked as another arm swung over their heads.

“Everywhere. I found Lewis and he’s-”

Another duck.

“He’s gonna help us get home!”

“It’s about damn time we get home!” Ah, and there was Aunt Petunia!

Lefty seemed to want to listen and climbed out of the fountain. Lewis paused when he heard sirens in the distance. There’s no telling if it was for them, but they weren’t about to stick around and find out. “Let’s go!” He yelled. Franny and the group picked up the pace, ushering Lefty quickly through the stunned crowd and back in the direction of home.

------

Tallulah helped a limping Gaston out of the trenches of the city. 

He insisted he was fine, but when she knew it was a lie the moment he began limping. That damn dog bit him pretty good. She had him lean on her while he showed her where to go. Buster was alright, save for a couple scratches here and there. He noticed Gaston limping and played a little limp of his own, hopping alongside the two.

“There she is,” Gaston grinned and nodded towards a modified 1955 Teal Ford Thunderbird. It looked like it had been thrown out, cleaned up, and modified with some clunky bits here and there. It was still bright, but could use some polishing.

“Gaston… what is that thing?”

“That’s Clemintine.”

“Wh- never mind.”

She helped him get inside and they headed to a better part of town, leaving the dangers behind them.

Neither of them saw the man watching them.

------

Cornelius rummaged through one of the logs while some of the employees were out for lunch. 

“Subject is quiet and disinterested. Wouldn’t respond much to questions other than some hums and clicks. He seemed more interested in watching TV. Will try again later.”

Cornelius folded the paper and tucked it in his lab coat. He needed to know who else the lab had custody of.

---

Follow the story on my Archive!

[dandyads]

Volkswagen Cabriolet, 1983

Theme Week: Cars 🚗

[collieii]

the way vash and wolfwood are both shown to be good with kids. they care about kids so much. they go out of their way to be kind to them and connect with them. they are so parent coded it makes me insane

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

still love this line, still love this line coming from sylvain, still love the fact that it is always sylvain who talks abt being at dimitri's side, still love the fact that he gets these lines and in every route in both games is actually shown doing what he preaches and always being at dimitri's side, sometimes literally.

[claudevonrieganstan]

I can't pick any of the fe3h questions but I also don't want to say all of them so just pick three that you want to answer

hahaha, ok!! <3 <3

12. favorite activity (tea, fishing)?: I like eating meals with people :)

16. what class would you be if you went to garreg mach?: mage class!! i'd follow the gremory route :) (also confirmed bc lysithea has chronic fatigue & fainting and so do i so this is proof magic class is good for spoonies)

20. unpopular opinion?: I'm using this to hit everyone with a long post and a Hot Take, which is that I think the Verdant Wind route is the True Good Ending of the game. Most people think Azure Moon is, or that Verdant Wind is weak and just a throw away kind of route story wise. I disagree!! and I think the themes present in VW are the ones that lead to the best kind of world for Fodlan.

I also think that VW being the only route where you fight Nemesis isn't some weird oversight on Silver Snow's part, but confirmation that VW is the best ending. A big part of that path is digging out Fodlan's corruption from the roots (the characters have many lines about this, and about the history of the country vs the history they'll be creating; this is also why we have Lorenz the way he is, as a foil to Claude. Old conceptions of nobility vs new possibilities). So having the final battle be the current heroes fighting against the undead 10 Elite is very symbolic of that. The main problem isn't Edelgard. It isn't the church, it isn't even really the Agarthans. The main problem is Fodlan's history. Fodlan's rotten system. Many of these heroes are descended from the 10 Elite, and I love that they are the ones to say no, we will not praise you anymore for your dominance, we will strike you down with the same weapons that you used to take power and to build this unjust world. I also don't think it's a coincidence that VW has the highest number of commoner students (especially when you include Cyril, and consider why he's majorly involved in VW).

At the end of VW, the Kingdom has been razed and the Empire has been brought down. But this isn't where we end, bc Leicester isn't free from it's rotten past either. Leicester is the area that is most hostile to Almyrans after all. So before we celebrate the end, Nemesis comes out from the eastern section of Leicester and cuts through it before getting to Garreg Mach. At the end here all 3 parts of Fodlan have been destroyed, ready to build anew from the ashes, after they go all the way down to the roots and tear them out. I also love the thought that Nemesis never really was killed, he was stored away (potentially the same situation with the Elites). The problems and systems they created were never destroyed by Rhea or by the Empire or anyone else. They were just dormant underground the entire country, the whole time. And having Claude, a mixed race man and an initial foreigner to Fodlan, lead this route into his new dawn is smart too. It takes someone who is invested, but was raised outside Fodlan, to be the one who's curious about finding answers, who's questioning not just the church system but the country's value system as well. It takes him to finally be able to see the problems below. And at the end, the doors of Fodlan do open to the outside world. They're healing, reaching their hands out and choosing to rebuild into a better future.

[dmclemblems]

I mentioned this in That Ask under other context, but one thing I do love about AM is a more positive context is that the ending reflects the opening theme. I like that it loops everything back around right to the beginning.

Since it’s Edelgard’s “theme” in a sense (and the JP title is more expressive of that than the English version but it still stands), it makes sense that it would be from her point of view. While I know some people prefer to think about it as more than just Edelgard’s theme, I’m personally in between I guess?

But something I love about AM’s ending cutscene is that, if you look at the lyrics from Edelgard’s perspective, you do get the “reach for my hand, I’ll soar away” part of it only in AM. This doesn’t happen in CF, SS or VW for any characters, instead reflecting perfectly on her relationship with Dimitri. After the fighting, he reaches for her hand/reaches out his hand (opening lyrics versus his own words which are extremely similar), something he’s previously mentioned wanting to do.

Instead of reaching back, she knows she’s lost her own war and doesn’t want to live on having lost (which should could consider something like living in disgrace), so she forces Dimitri to kill her by stabbing his shoulder with the dagger and his body instinctively reacts to it and he ends up killing her. In that way, she soars away and can’t reach back.

I think most people see the opening as Edelgard’s perspective to her school days and Byleth, but I feel like if nothing else, if it’s only from her perspective, that it’s more of a mix of her school days, Dimitri and maybe Byleth. I feel like a lot of people talk much more about her relationship to/feelings for Byleth don’t really match that to how important Dimitri was to her. AM is the only route she gets her memories back, and that’s the route where she calls Dimitri her dear forgotten friend.

Nobody else literally reached a hand out to her (i.e. there was no literal/physical symbolism of this) in any of the other routes. Dimitri was the only one. The person who cared for her and wanted to be there for her (shown throughout the first half of the game, such as him checking on her before she goes on a mission just to make sure she’s safe on her mission) is the only one who actually wants to help her up and make peace with her even after the fight is over.

It’s just a nice callback to the theme imo, since it tied the very end of the route right back around to the very, very beginning of the game through the opening song.

[raspberryspace]

8/13/23 - Meteors & Meditation & Manual & Makers

[ursa-mediocre]

I can’t find a vw bus neon sign for less than $200, but I could get this for $40

[mimic-of-hysy]

brain is fighting between making a millions knives theme, a wolfwood theme, and a VashWood theme

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done , Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : this one is pretty PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing in this chapter is warning worthy, but the story in general is going to turn pretty smutty from chapter 3 onwards and there will be strong language throughout. I’m not going to list all the different ways things get smutty unless I think it’s something that could be considered triggering. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~4.5k

A/N : this started life as an original piece that I couldn’t finish, so I decided to make a few little changes and turn it into a fanfic. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a tumblr, so sorry if I fuck this up. The story as a whole is going to veer recklessly between cute fluff and some much darker things with themes of obsession, will-they-won’t-they, and running from past trauma. Both Billy and reader are messy AF.

CHAPTER ONE

You checked your phone for what had to be the hundredth time. A measly two minutes had passed but the August heat made it feel longer. You found yourself thinking about how you were going to kill your roommate for making you chauffeur her around in the height of summer, trying to ignore the way the sticky New York heat made your tank top cling to your body beneath your unzipped hoodie.

You’d given up on waiting in the car after the first ten minutes - the AC in the old VW was busted, making it even less comfortable than sitting on the hood of the car under the glaring sun. Still, the parking lot was nicer than some of the places you’d found yourself waiting for your roommate over the years. That was the thing with Tammy; everyone around her lived on her schedule, did what she wanted to do. And you were no exception.

Actually, this whole thing was your idea. A friend, albeit in a very loose sense of the word, had told you that ANVIL were hiring office staff, and you’d passed the message along to Tammy who’d - well, she’d turned her nose up at it at first, she’d even laughed at you. But Tammy needed a job and ANVIL had a reputation for paying well.

So, you agreed to drive her to the interview and even agreed to wait.

Every now and then someone would appear - honestly, it looked like a steady stream of models leaving the building, the sorts that Tammy fit well with - but, for the most part, it was just you, mindlessly scrolling Instagram, trying not to think.

Until you saw him.

He came out the door and just stopped. It looked like he was breathing a sigh of relief at being out of there, and you couldn’t help but smirk a little at that. Poor guy.

Despite the weather he was dressed in a suit, dark hair slicked back, tall and slender. You suddenly felt out of place, like you shouldn’t be there, like you shouldn’t keep watching him, but the longer it went without him noticing you, the harder it was to try and tear away your eyes. He answered his phone as you watched, even without being able to hear a word, you knew he wasn’t happy. When he turned you got your first glimpse of his face and -

Fuck. 

Your eyes dropped back to your phone, knowing that he’d seen you watching him. Fingers swiped across the screen, jumping from Instagram to emails to Facebook, looking for anything to reply to. Your eyes stayed fixed on the phone even as you heard the shuffle of boots on gravel moving towards you, trying to act like you hadn’t been staring at him even as his shadow fell over you.

“Do you make a habit of hanging out in parking lots or are you here to interview?” His voice didn’t sound quite the way you’d imagined - though you weren’t really sure why you’d been imagining his voice to begin with. There was an edge to it, something that sent a shiver up your spine.

“I’m waiting for someone,” you answered, squinting as you looked up and the light seemed to halo around him.

“Friend?” he asked.

“Roommate,” you answered awkwardly before shaking your head, “but, yeah, she’s my friend too.”

You weren’t expecting him to laugh at that, for him to smile the sort of smile that probably had women all across the five boroughs ready to drop their panties. (And that was another thought you weren’t sure you should be having.)

He didn’t move, for a few moments he just looked at you as if he was taking measure, and all you could think about was how there was a bead of sweat rolling down your back. You probably looked completely gross while he was standing there in what looked like a professionally tailored suit that probably cost more than you could make in a year, with not a hair out of place despite the oppressive heat. 

“Does she make you wait around for her a lot?” He asked as if it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard, like he’d never allow anyone to put him in your position.

“She doesn’t drive,” you shrug, “anyway, this is nicer than most of the places she drags me to.”

“Yeah?” he prompted with little more than a raise of his eyebrow.

“Tammy’s an actress - at least, she wants to be. So I end up waiting around while she auditions.”

The look he gave you was surprisingly sympathetic. “Actresses can be hard work.” You didn’t think to ask how he knew that.

“Yeah, I’m just glad she gets to keep her clothes on for this interview,” the words slipped out and you instantly grimaced but if he noticed that, he didn’t let it show. “Not like - I mean, she’s not doing porn or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with women wanting to -”

You could see him fighting back a laugh the more flustered you got.

“I mean, it’s not the nudity that’s a problem - you should read some of the scripts, they’re just so bad.” You finally managed. “It’s like ‘oh no the serial killer caught me with his knife and now my tits are out’.”

Silence fell again and you watched him glance away, daring to hope that he was done with you. He’d walk away and forget all about you, and you’d spend the rest of the day replaying this moment in your mind, cringing at how ridiculous you are.

“I was going to grab a coffee, your friend is probably going to be another hour or so, so if you want you could always join me?” 

You quickly started coming up with reasons why you couldn’t, why you shouldn’t. But, it was just coffee, it wasn’t like he was asking you to leave the country with him. And, besides, you weren’t sure you could stand the heat much longer.

“There’s a place nearby that does amazing iced coffee,” like he was reading your mind. And that sold it.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great,” you decided, sliding off the hood of the car in a less than graceful manner.

Once you were standing you could really appreciate the height difference between the two of you; you almost had to tilt your head to look at him. You pushed the thought away, taking a moment to check that your car was locked up, following after him when he started to leave the way.

As you walked, it dawned on you that you still didn’t know his name, so you clumsily introduced yourself.

“Billy,” he responded with a smile, realising that he’d made the same mistake you had, “come on, it’s just across the street.”

You both fell into silence as you left the parking lot, but it wasn’t long before it got to be too much for you in an awkward, uncomfortable sort of way. It struck you that he didn’t look uncomfortable though, in fact you were already pretty certain that he wasn’t the kind of man to get uncomfortable easily. 

“So, do you work at Anvil?” You asked him, wanting to fill the silence but also wanting to know a little bit more about him. You weren’t sure what he found so funny about the question but the smirk he shot you left you feeling like you were missing something obvious and he found your ignorance amusing. You started to fiddle with your sleeves, gaze dropping from his.

“Yeah, I work at Anvil.” And then silence fell again.

When you looked up again you were outside a little coffee shop that was so small and non-descript that you’d completely missed it when you drove by it earlier. He held the door open for you and let you slip inside before following, watching as you breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air from the AC hit. When you moved towards the counter, you realised he was only a step behind, towering over you almost possessively.

The girl behind the counter smiled at him first before bothering to spare you a glance.

“What would you like?” He asked. You quickly realised that he was intending to pay and that just unsettled you further.

“I can get mine,” you were quick to tell him. You didn’t need him paying for you and you’d never been the sort to accept drinks from men you didn’t know, not even coffee. So, you ordered your drink, your favourite iced coffee with syrup, before he ordered his, an americano with an extra shot of espresso. But before you could pay, he reached over and tapped his phone on the reader, flashing you what you could only describe as a darkly mischievous smile.

“You didn’t have to -” you started to tell him.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Billy shrugged, “besides, I owe you for keeping me company.”

The girl behind the counter shot you the sort of look that made you think that she would have been more than happy to keep Billy company herself and that she saw your presence there as an annoyance. You guess that was probably the effect he had on a lot of women.

“Here you go, Billy, just how you like it,” she smiled as put your drinks on the counter, leaning and fluttering her eyelashes at him, completely ignoring you. Billy gave her a muttered thanks and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as you reached for your drink. 

As you turned, Billy placed a hand on your back, leading you towards a table by the window, far enough from the counter that it felt a little more private. You sat on the edge of your seat, eyes nervously wandering towards the door for a second and, when you looked back, you found him watching you. There was a confidence about him that was getting harder and harder to ignore, he was clearly a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it - so, what did he want from you?

Company? Or maybe you were being used to make the barista jealous? No, that didn’t feel right, he’d barely even looked at her, anything between them was obviously one-sided. Maybe you were there to keep her at bay so he could drink his coffee in peace? Though from looking at him you knew he had to be used to women fawning over him, with those dark eyes that looked right through you and the shirt that fit so perfectly you could make out the muscles beneath as he shrugged off his jacket. 

“What?” 

Shit. You realised that you’d been staring at him and your cheeks started to warm. He didn’t look bothered, in fact he was still smiling at you, amused, almost as if he wanted you to look.

“Sorry,” you apologised, dropping your eyes to the table, quickly thinking of a way to move the conversation along, “so how long have you worked for Anvil?”

“Too long,” he answered and, again, there was that little laugh, that little smirk telling you that you were missing something. Billy obviously didn’t want to talk about himself though. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Bike messenger, mostly...” you shrugged awkwardly knowing how guys like him looked down on people like you. You weren’t ashamed of what you did; it paid the rent, put food on the table, you just hated having to defend it to someone like him who probably made money in his sleep. He surprised you by not reacting - there was no look of superiority, no pity, just a nod of his head.

“Mostly?”

“What?”

“You said mostly,” 

“Oh, right, yeah. I do some work as a photographer. Just freelance and a couple of exhibitions,” you shrugged again, “it’s actually how I found out that Anvil were hiring.”

“Really?” It was hard not to notice how intently he was looking at you, like he was hanging on your every word. You started fiddling with your sleeve again.

“Yeah, sometimes I do work for The Bulletin if someone is out sick, and my friend Karen knew Tammy was looking for a job, so -”

“Karen? Frank’s girl?” 

“Yeah,” you’d never met him but Karen had been talking about him a lot since they got together, “we were talking and I guess I let slip that we might have to move to a smaller apartment if Tammy can’t find a job…” 

“High rent?”

You nodded. “Higher than either of us can really afford, but Tammy’s parents pay half and we split the rest.”

“Her parents still pay for her?”

“They’re loaded and I guess they didn’t want her having to live anywhere that might be ‘dangerous’,” you offered, but you knew how it sounded. You and Tammy were both in your thirties , it was strange that they still went out of their way to provide for her, but you didn’t fault them for wanting to look after their child, something that your own parents had never seemed inclined to do. The thought sent you down a rabbit hole and had you falling silent, wondering how he’d look at you if he knew the truth about you.

You took a drink, letting your eyes drift to the window and the street beyond. His eyes stayed firmly on you and you could almost feel him watching you. It made you tense and shift uncomfortably.

“What kind of photography are you into?” 

“Mostly candids, but since I moved to New York, I’ve been really getting into urban stuff and I’ve been playing around with architecture shots.” Billy listened, looking interested in everything you had to say in a way that had you smiling again.

“And you put on exhibitions?”

“Little shows sometimes, yeah.”

“I’d love to see one sometime.” He kept smiling at you, all his focus completely on you, and you found that you didn’t entirely mind it. It was nice talking to someone who seemed to care about what you were actually saying. “Did you study photography in college or -”

“No, I never got to go to college.” It wasn’t until you’d said it that you realised how much it gave away; that college wasn’t your choice, that you’d been stopped from going.

“I never went to college either,” Billy offered, as if he sensed your sudden discomfort. You nodded, eyes dropping to your fingers, tugging at your sleeve again. “Do I make you nervous?” He asked suddenly, pulling your attention back towards him. He was still smiling, still looking at you in a way that made you feel like he was taking you apart in his mind, piece by piece.

“What? No - that’s not -” you stumbled over your words, embarrassed that he’d caught on so easily. You took a second before letting out a sigh. “It’s not you, I just don’t do this a lot.”

“Which part?”

“The whole going for coffee with a random guy I’ve never met before.”

“Is that because guys don’t ask or because you don’t normally say yes?” He asked but didn’t give you time to respond. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I already know the answer.”

An eyebrow raised, unimpressed by the assumption; the situation might have been making you nervous but you weren’t going to take shit from a stranger. “Oh yeah, and how’s that?”

“You’re too attractive for men to ignore.” Billy shrugged and your eyes rolled. Yikes, what a fucking line.

“Maybe I’ve got a boyfriend,” you retorted, “or a girlfriend.”

Billy laughed. “You know that wouldn’t stop most guys, right?”

“Would it have stopped you?” You were pretty sure you knew the answer to that.

“I dunno, do you have a boyfriend?” He asked. “Or a girlfriend?”

“Do you?”

“Have a boyfriend?”

“Or a girlfriend.”

“Would you be here having coffee with me if I did?” He asked, turning the tables so effortlessly that it made it seem like flirting was an olympic sport and he was a gold medallist.

“Would you have asked me if you did?” You answered back, trying to fight back a smirk of your own at how ridiculous this was becoming.

“Do you always answer innocent questions with more questions?” It was obvious he was enjoying whatever this was, his dark eyes practically shining with excitement as he watched you from the other side of the table.

“You call that an innocent question?” You retorted, letting out a snort of laughter.

Billy let out another laugh, holding up his hands and signalling surrender.

“Maybe you should come work for Anvil, I bet you’re a pro at interrogations.” And that really made you laugh, and the sight of it had his gaze fixing more intently on you and his smile widening. 

“I don’t think I have the necessary qualifications to work somewhere like that,” you shrug, “besides, I like my job.”

“Really?” Usually his question would have pissed you off, but there was something in the way he asked that made it seem like he was genuinely curious to hear your reasons rather than it being some kind of judgement.

“Yeah, I get to see the whole city, there’s no office politics to deal with, and I get to listen to music all day,” you found yourself shrugging again, and his eyes were still fixed on you, like he was fascinated. So, it felt like your turn to ask; “what?”

“Nothing,” he sat back and lifted his mug, taking a long drink, “I think it’s great that you like your job, there’s a lot to be said for enjoying your work.”

“Do you? Enjoy what you do, I mean. With Anvil?” Whatever that was.

“Some days more than others,” he smiled at you.

“And today?” You asked stupidly, before considering the implications and how it might sound.

“Today’s definitely getting better.”

Your eyes dropped to your drink again, teeth running over your bottom lip. He wasn’t talking about you, he couldn’t be talking about you, but some part of you wished he was. But you wouldn’t have known even if he was, you’d never been good with those sorts of things, flirting and separating a little bit of fun from something more. Billy was an enigma to you in the same way that most people were, but there was something about him that made you almost want to break all of your rules, just to see what might happen.

“What do you do for Anvil?”

“These days I mostly deal with the bureaucracy,” and the look on his face told you just what he thought of that.

“So you don’t - I don’t know, go on missions, all Seal Team 6, kicking down doors?”

Billy let slip a laugh that was equal parts amused and offended.

“Seal Team 6?”

“What?” You laughed, awkwardly.

“You know a lot of Anvil are ex-Marine Corps, right? I’m an ex-Marine.”

“Is there a difference?” You knew there was though, honestly, you couldn’t remember exactly what it was, and the look on his face was priceless enough that you didn’t regret asking.

“Okay, wow, you’re really going to make me explain it to you?” You nodded in response. “Okay, it’s -“

Before he could start on whatever lecture he was about to give, your phone started to ring, loudly - loud enough to make you almost jump out of your skin. (You must have knocked the volume while you’d been frantically trying to look like you hadn’t been spying on him earlier.)

“Fuck, it’s Tammy,” you tell him before answering.

Moments later, you’d wish that you hadn’t. She was at the car waiting for her ride home and you were nowhere to be found, which was apparently so inconsiderate of you. You finished the call with a sigh and looked at Billy. 

“Guess her interview didn’t go well,” you took one final drink before pushing back your chair and getting to your feet. “I’ve got to go, if I leave her standing around out there I’ll never hear the end of it, it’s been -“ you stopped as he got to his feet.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“No, that’s fine, really, you don’t have to.”

“I insist.” His tone making it clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“I’m sorry, she’s just -“

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

When you started towards the door, he was right behind you, again staying close to you. Outside the oppressive heat hit you again and it pissed you off; you’d been having a nice time and Tammy just had to ruin it. Now it was over and you’d never see him again. 

Billy didn’t say anything, even as you picked up the pace. You wanted to get this all over and done with, you wanted to drive Tammy back to the apartment and - you didn’t know. All you knew was that you didn’t want to be around her, you didn't want to have to deal with her bullshit, and you didn’t want to think about the man walking a step behind you. 

You didn’t see him frown at you, you didn’t dare look back because it just felt childish. You’d met him forty minutes ago, he’d probably forget you by the end of the day. 

You rounded the corner, about to cross the street when you felt his fingers around your wrist. All it took was one gentle pull and you were turning back towards him, stumbling into his arms. It felt like a moment pulled from some romcom; you spilled forward into his arms, your hands against his chest. And then you looked up, finding those impossibly dark eyes staring down at you.

Billy looked at you like he was trying to decide something, fingers still wrapped around your wrist. The, less than a second later, he was kissing you, pulling your body against his. And you let him. Later you’d tell yourself that it was shock but, in that moment, you wanted him to kiss you for no other reason than he was nice; you’d had fun getting coffee with him. It took you a moment to return to your senses, to use the hands on his chest to gently push him away.

“Billy —”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I’ve been thinking about doing that for the last thirty minutes.” He grinned. “Go to dinner with me.” You couldn’t tell if he meant it as a question or a command, but it definitely sounded more like the latter. Maybe he was just that used to women doing what he wanted them to do.

“I think you’re supposed to ask that before kissing someone,” was all you could think to say with a nervous laugh.

“Well, now I’ve asked…” And a second later, his lips were on yours again, tongue running against the seam of your lips, desperately wanting to deepen the kiss, and you let him. For a few sweet moments, you gave yourself over to him - to a random stranger you’d known for all of forty minutes.

Finally, you pushed him again, taking a step back, out of his arms and back to reality.

“I can’t,” is what you told him once you’d managed to find your voice again.

“Can’t or won’t?” He dared to try and take a step closer, forcing you to take another step back.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?” Honestly not sure you even wanted an answer from him.

“So I can figure out how to change your mind.” He explained, like he thought it would really be that simple

“You can’t.” But that just made him laugh.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.” And there was something dangerous in that; you didn’t know what he was capable of. “And I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

“I told you; I don’t do this.”

“This can be whatever you want it to be. I’m very adaptable.” He reached for you again, fingers brushing your cheek before you managed to pull away.

He looked ready to say something else, like he had some line on the tip of his tongue that he was sure would convince you, his lips even parted ready, but nothing came out. You weren’t sure why until a moment later.

“Oh my god, there you are! Do you know how long I’ve been standing around waiting for you?”

Tammy. You didn’t know whether to be glad of the interruption or pissed at the tone she was taking with you.

“Sorry,” Billy stepped around you, towards Tammy, “I distracted her.”

“That’s -“ and then the impossible happened. Tammy actually fell silent. You decided that it must just be the effect that Billy tended to have on women.

“I’m Billy,” he offered out his hand and Tammy was quick to take it, no doubt falling for his charms already. And Billy, well, obviously he’d managed to get over whatever momentary insanity he’d been suffering from when he kissed you and had moved onto the next victim.

Only that wasn’t exactly what happened.

“Oh, I know who you are, Mr Russo. I’m Tammy.”

“Wait… what?” If anyone heard you, neither bothered to respond. How did Tammy know who he was?

“I hear you’ve just been interviewing to come work for me,”

For him. Not with him.

Your stomach dropped, remembering something Karen had said about a Russo, about how Frank called him a pretty boy and Karen thought he was a bit of a womaniser. He kept talking to Tammy but you barely caught a word, too stuck on everything that had happened and how you’d let it. 

“Come on, Tammy,” finally, you snapped out of it and started to walk, “if you want a ride home we need to go now.” 

You didn’t even wait for an answer, you just let her say her goodbyes to Billy.

“Let me know when you’re free to go for that dinner,” Billy called after you, You chose not to answer, some part of you hoping that Tammy wasn’t going to follow because you knew what would come next.

Fumbling for your keys, you had them in hand before you got back to your car, not daring to look behind you. What had just happened? Your lips still tingled from his kiss, you could still taste him, could still feel his hand on your hip. And some part of you was inexplicably still annoyed that the moment was over.

Tammy followed behind you, calling after, barely making it into the passenger seat before you started the car.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed and you steeled yourself for the oncoming argument, “you are the best friend ever.” 

There was no sarcasm, no anger - she was actually smiling at you. What the hell did she think you’d done?

“What?” Throwing the car into reverse and trying to ignore the fact that Billy was there, watching you as he made his way back towards the office building, his office building. There was something unknowable in his dark gaze as it followed you and, again, you found yourself thinking about how you had no idea what he was capable of.

“Flirting with Billy-fucking-Russo to get me a job at Anvil.”

CHAPTER TWO

-

END NOTES : if you made it this far, thanks for sticking around. Like I said, this is something that started out as an original piece and I was struggling to find the energy to finish it. I’ll be trying to release a new chapter at least once a week, though the second part will probably be up in a few days time because the first two chapters are really just to help set things up, and I know that’s not what people are interested in. I already have the first five chapters pretty much written, they just need some editing before going in the queue and, in total, I have around 20 chapters planned. I’ll be working on this through NaNoWriMo too, so how much I get done might change the posting schedule a little.

Likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, though this fic will be posted regardless of engagement because I just need to get this story out of my head once and for all.

Anyway thanks for stopping by, I hope you have a wonderful day wherever you are!

[hopelesslys-world]

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 1

Pairing: Christian Grey x innocent!reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

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*𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

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𝐈 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐍 the reflection of the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won’t behave! And also damn Isabella Clark for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission.

I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at my reflection in the mirror, you blow dry your hair into oblivion and with the help of some hairspray you managed to put your soft curls into place.

Now you finally look somewhat presentable.

Bella is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered.

I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no–today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious—much more precious than mine–but he has granted Bella an interview. A real coup, she tells me.

Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Bella is huddled on the couch in the living room. “Y/N, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Bella begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice.

How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Bella. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Bella, would I do this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks Y/N/N – as usual, you’re my lifesaver.”

Gathering my things, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Bella talk me into this. But then Bella can talk anyone into anything.

She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful – and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Bella’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK.

I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. Oh, the Mercedes is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors.

It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous – and frankly intimidating – glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr. Grey. Y/N Y/L/N for Isabella Clark.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Y/L/N.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I’d borrowed one of Bella’s formal blazers.

My outfit definitely didn't suit for something like this, but at the same time I've neve done anything like this.

I love my skirts, basically all of my closet is filled with skirts, dresses, sweaters and the occasional jeans and formal pants.

For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Clark is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Y/L/N. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign in.

She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators pastthe two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby – again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and white who rises to greet me.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my bag, and go through them, inwardly cursing Bella for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty.

The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Y/N. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Y/L/N?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.

“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your coat?”

“Oh please.” I struggle out of the long black coat.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um – no.”

Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.

“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Y/L/N a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss Y/L/N, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you.”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Grey.”

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!

“Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door.

“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Y/L/N. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two says.

I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my bag, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through the impressively giant office. I notice a man his face hidden behind the computer. But in a moment he raises his head and approaches me.

That's when I see his face.

Holy Cow, his young nothing like I'd imagined him.

“Miss Clark” He extends a long-fingered hand to me. “I’m Christian Grey.”

So young – and attractive, very attractive. He’s tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and black tie with unruly dark copper colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.

“Um. Actually–” I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static.

I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. “Miss Clark is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.”

“And you are?” His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it’s difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m studying English Literature with Bella, um… Isabella… um… Miss Clark at Washington State.”

“I see,” he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I’m not sure.

“Would you like to sit?” He waves me toward a white leather buttoned L-shaped couch.

His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

“A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey when he catches my gaze.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

“I couldn’t agree more, Miss Y/L/N,” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing.

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the person who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Bella’s questions from my bag.

Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Y/L/N,” he says.

“Do you mind if I record your answers?”

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?”

I flush. He’s teasing me? I hope. I smile shyly, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Bella, I mean, Miss Clark, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree.

I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.

“Good,” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I thought you might,” he says, deadpan. He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

“Business is all about people, Miss Y/L/N, and I’m very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare.

“My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.”

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Bella’s list – but he’s so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

“I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Y/L/N. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing theirenergies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ ”

“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Y/L/N,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control Freak.

“I employ over forty thousand people Miss Y/L/N. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility. “Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s so arrogant. I change tack.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?”

“I have varied interests, Miss Y/L/N.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.”

And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.

“Well, to ‘chill out’ as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.”

He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Y/L/N, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”

I glance quickly at Bella’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable?

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.”

His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?” I ask, intrigued by that information.

“Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Bella’s list.

“I’m a very private person, Miss Y/L/N. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews,” he trails off.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Clark off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”

I know how tenacious Bella can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Y/L/N, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”

He shrugs, very non-committal. “It’s shrewd business,” he shrugs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense – feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle. I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

“I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking that we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over.

Surely Bella has enough material now? I glance at the next question.“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows. “I have no way of knowing.”

My interest is piqued.

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Y/L/N.” His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap.

Yes of course – if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question.” He’s terse.

“Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Shoot. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions?

Damn Bella and her curiosity!

“No Y/N, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does

not look pleased.

“I apologize. It’s um… written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.

He cocks his head to one side.

“These aren’t your own questions?”

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

“Err… no. Bella – Miss Clark – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame. “No. She’s my roommate.”

He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I’m compelled to answer with the truth.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She’s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It’s not just me.

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

“Where were we, Miss Y/L/N?”

Oh, we’re back to ‘Miss Y/L/N’ now.

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His gray eyes are alight with curiosity.

Where’s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I swallow.

“There’s not much to know,” I say, flushing again.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Bella, find a place, find a job. I haven’t really thought beyond my finals.

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze. “We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job? “Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I answer, completely confounded. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

Oh no. I’m musing out loud again.

“Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I’m not blonde.

“Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers.

What’s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

“Would you like me to show you around?” he asks.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It’s begun to rain. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” His tone is stern, authoritative.

Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” he adds.

“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my bag. His eyes narrow, speculatively.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.

As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.

“Until we meet again, Miss Y/L/N.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I’m not sure which. I frown.

When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

“Allow me to escort you outside.” He gives me a small smile.

He's so polite now.

“Sure, Mr. Grey,” I smile, and his smile widens. Together, we walk into the foyer. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

“Did you have a coat?” Grey asks.

“Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my black, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on.

Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his.

The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It’s distracting. His burning gray eyes gaze at me.

“Y/N,” he says as a farewell.

“Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[ series masterlist ]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[dandyads]

Volkswagen Cabriolet, 1984

Theme Week: Cars 🚗

[lovable-liar]

hii could i request some just dating headcanons for hasan? like how did you meet, what is it like, fun moving in escapades lol

love your writing lots!!

𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗮𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

You and Hasan met at a mutual friend's party. It was an immediate connection when you guys started actually talking about your interests and not how you both knew the host of the party.

For your first date, Hasan took you to a cozy, independent bookstore that he frequented. You both explored the aisles, recommending books to each other.

Beyond literature, you discovered other shared interests. Hasan is a foodie, and you both enjoy exploring new cuisines and cooking together. He also introduced you to his passion for astronomy, and you've spent countless nights stargazing with a telescope in your backyard.

When you decided to move in together, Hasan made it an adventure. He surprised you by renting a vintage VW camper van to transport your belongings to the new place. You took a road trip to your new home, stopping at picturesque spots along the way, enjoying picnics, and making memories.

On lazy Sunday mornings, you and Hasan often stay in bed, surrounded by a cozy pile of throws, blankets and pillows. 

Hasan loves to travel, and you've gone on exciting adventures together. Whether it's exploring ancient ruins in Greece, hiking through the rain forests of Costa Rica, or simply wandering the streets of a charming European city, you both cherish these experiences and the bond they've created.

Hasan is not only your partner but also your biggest supporter. He encourages your passions and pursuits, just as you do for him. Whether it's attending each other's book launches or cheering each other on during tough times, you make a fantastic team.

Hasan surprises you with book-themed dates. He'll set up a small outdoor picnic, complete with fairy lights, blankets, and a stack of books he thinks you'll love. These surprise book dates are a testament to his thoughtfulness and your shared love for reading.

Hasan is a surprisingly good cook, and you enjoy trying out new recipes together. There have been a few mishaps in the kitchen, but you both laugh them off and order takeout when needed.

You both love spending weekends in nearby nature reserves. Hasan, with his extensive knowledge, acts as your unofficial tour guide, sharing interesting facts about the flora and fauna you encounter along the way.

Movie nights are a must in your relationship. You take turns picking films, but it's always a challenge for Hasan to find a movie that meets his high standards. He'll spend hours researching and curating the perfect list before finally settling on one.

Hasan is a thoughtful and considerate partner. He listens intently to your thoughts and feelings and is always there to offer support and encouragement. You both share a passion for social justice, and you often engage in meaningful conversations about current events, activism, and how you can make a positive impact on the world together.

When you decided to move in together, you embarked on a quest to find the perfect furniture. Hasan's taste leans towards minimalism, while you enjoy a cozy and eclectic style. The compromise led to some hilarious furniture-shopping escapades.

You both enjoy DIY projects. From painting rooms in bold colors to building your own bookshelves, you've had your fair share of DIY successes and hilarious mishaps.

Cooking together in your new home became a fun challenge. You've had cook-offs where each of you chooses a cuisine, and you compete to see whose dish turns out the best (or most edible).

Setting up a home theater system was an adventure in itself. Hasan's tech-savvy nature and your love for movie marathons made this a fun, yet sometimes frustrating, experience.

Dating Hasan is an adventure in creativity and intellectual stimulation. You find yourselves going on art-inspired dates to museums, galleries, and even collaborating on your own art projects. Hasan introduces you to his world of social commentary and activism, and you both engage in meaningful conversations about important issues. You also discover a shared love for cooking, experimenting with new recipes together, and hosting dinner parties for friends.

Hasan's sense of humor keeps the relationship lighthearted, and you both enjoy playfully debating various topics. Your shared interests in current events, politics, and culture make for engaging discussions and late-night talks.

[octuscle]

Brahhh what's up?! Givin' ya another call tech bro! Surfer life is fuckin' sick man, huhu wish you could join me bro! Wait... dude... that's right! Social media bro made a thing on your app idk... like a precinct? Preset? Shit man idk. He's a nerd, respect the hell out of it. Made some link and posted it all over our socials and when people click the link they become just like me bro! He says it goes right in their app or somethin'. You should try it out dude! Already got a bunch of people down here on the beach just bein' bros and laughin' and shit! Take a break man and lets catch some waves!

Ur social media bruh is a fucking genius! 2 integr8 the installation of the chronivac app and the running of a scenario into 1 link @ the same time is a masterpiece.

the # of surfer st1r-themed transformations is exploding rn. Dude, im off werk a/w. Im taking 2morrow off. Im turning my bike into a vw bus. And then hit the rd!

how r the waves, dude? and weres der something 2 smoke pot?

[fireemblems24]

Why Fandom Gets Felix Wrong Sometimes

Ever seen someone say "Felix hates Dimitri" or anyone argue that any route but AM is the actually the "best" for Felix? Yeah. I'm talking about these people.

The people who argue that "CF is good for Felix, actually" (let's be real, guys, it's ALWAYS CF with this) want him to be a character that he isn't.

Here's their core argument as I understand it. AM!Felix is negative character development because he ends up doing what's expected of him and becoming part of Faerghus "toxic culture" rather than crusading against it. When Felix sides against Faerghus he is "freed" from it and the unfair expectations of nobility. What they ignore is that this is not the character development arc Felix gets in CF - at all.

Felix isn't "free;" he's miserable. He becomes what he hates and wants to die. What we learn about Felix in CF, SS, and VW isn't that Faerghus, Rodrigue, and Dimitri were toxic hell-pits Felix escapes, but that Felix is a traumatized, emotionally-constipated teenager who deeply loves his family and friends.

When Felix doesn't resolve things with his Faerghus family, he goes on downward spiral. By fleeing his problems rather than maturing and dealing with them, Felix grows toxic, but the closer proximity he has to Dimitri, Rodrigue, and Faerghus, the better off he is. But they just ignore Felix's dialogue and endings and make up the version of Felix that they want to exist because that's the character and themes they want. It's fine for fanfiction, but annoying when they act like this is cannon.

Felix hates who he becomes in CF. He commits mindless violence since he has nothing to protect and nothing he believes in anymore, just things he hates. CF isn't "freeing" for him no matter how thematically that fits someone's view of it.

His character arc isn't about how toxic Faerghus/Dimitri/Rodrigue is, it's about learning how to mature, it's about facing trauma and accepting the complex nature of reality and duality of people, about accepting the idea that not everyone thinks and reacts the same way he does and sometimes differences in beliefs are ok and neither person is wrong. It's a lesson that's extremely hard to learn and emotionally complicated. It's, well, right in line with all of what AM and the Blue Lions are about.

Sometimes you just have to accept that CF may not be the best route for the entire cast (Annette, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid especially) and stop doing mental gymnastics to act like killing your friends and family is this totally healthy, liberating, and mature thing. 😅

[fantasyinvader]

I was thinking about how Pat localized Cornelia's death quote again.

In the Japanese, owing to the subtext that Edelgard is manipulating everyone, she dies realizing that while TWSITD believed they were the ones in control Edelgard had them dancing to her tune. In essence, while TWSITD are the force operating in the shadows behind the war Edelgard isn't being controlled by them. She's the one actually in charge, and planning to wipe them out after the war is over. Edelgard is simply using them to achieve her own goal of hegemony over all of Fodlan.

Pat's translation simply has Cornelia dying while saying Edelgard is acting according to TWSITD's plan. Like removing the line about her using an information campaign to sway the commoners to her side (when she isn't executing those who resist being conscripted and forced to fight), it seems to downplay Edelgard's manipulative nature in order to make her look more heroic.

But think about what's being said here. Everything Edelgard is doing is according to TWSITD's plan, just like how VW makes it out that TWSITD manipulated her and the Empire into starting the war in order to kill Rhea. Edelgard starting a war to eliminate Rhea IS the Agarthan agenda, the reason why they experimented on her, killed her siblings and turned her father into their puppet. Thales even tells her this in White Clouds.

Pat's localization is basically saying that everything Edelgard does in Crimson Flower is her being a puppet of TWSITD. They, the people the game makes out to be behind Fodlan's ills, were the ones who pushed Edelgard down this path. From this, it kinda makes sense why some people are upset we aren't meant to sympathize with them rather than the Nabateans.

Pat might try to make Edelgard out as a good guy, but her victory is tainted by this. All she did was play into the hands of the games cartoonishly evil cult, killing or exiling the people who were heroes of the other routes. She still is shown as a liar though, and per the developers comments the worldbuilding is full of evidence to support Silver Snow's narrative that Edelgard is the villain with Edelgard's final boss theme playing at the end of Crimson Flower. Pat might make Edelgard to be about freedom, but she is still a hegemon and hegemony is incompatible with freedom as it's about one person or force dominating the rest. Edelgard is still dominating the continent after her war of conquest is won, including controlling the people's faith. There is still Hubert spying on the people and putting down those he deems as a threat, as well as would-be rebellions against Edelgard. Her ideals are still shown to be toxic, yet she'll put them above the people. And this is the result of the player siding with the person manipulated by the bad guys into being their weapon. Death of the author can not ignore thi, as the evidence even in English can't be ignored.

Funny how Edelgard's manipulative nature still damns her even when the translation downplays it.