#and jack and crow get to continue to love it

[team5ds]

like for the record, i do not think jack, crow, and yusei's motivations of wanting to prove themself is bad character writing for the wrgp. i think it tracks with their characterization to never fully be satisfied, especially with the fresh reminder from kiryu about the duel gang & how they realize now they could've done more in satellite. saving the world was proof of their abilities, and now they're desperate to test them further. i think it tracks also with their youth too. they're trying to figure out what they want to do with their rest of their lives.

[storiesforallfandoms]

more than a song ~ alex turner

word count: 2937

request?: yes!

“hi lovely! i wanted to request an alex turner x reader. just something based off of the song you’re so dark by arctic monkeys. he’s been friends with you for a while but a side comment from his girlfriend (something just like she doesn’t get how they’re just friends) and it’s just snaps into place. ig just him writing the song and moments of them together. maybeeeee him jacking off imagining her on all fours 👀. something like that! thank youuuuu”

description: in which he starts by writing a song about his best friend who is much different than him, and it turns into something more

pairing: alex turner x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (male masturbation), kind of cheating since alex is imagining the reader and not his girlfriend (who will be a made up character, not his real girlfriend louise), also the reader doesn’t really know what alex was doing so idk take that into consideration? idk these warnings are a mess now

masterlist (one, two, three)

It all started with a comment his girlfriend, Cheryl, made.

“She’s so dark. How are you two friends?”

They had just left a night out with Alex’s bandmates and his best friend, (Y/N). It was the first time the two women had met, which Alex was hoping would go well since both of them meant so much to him. They had just barley left the bar when Cheryl made the comment.

It amused him so much that he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Why do you say that?”

Cheryl gave Alex a look. “Really?”

He stopped walking so he could turn to face her. “I’m serious. What do you mean she’s dark?”

“Alex...she talked for nearly an hour about HP Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe.”

Alex waited, expecting her to explain why that was a bad thing. When she didn’t, he said, “Yeah, those are her favorite authors.”

“They’re very depressing authors.”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve never read any of their stuff.”

Cheryl closed her eyes and sighed. “She’s got a very dark personality, Alex. Like murder of crows follow her around, Addams family’s long lost member dark. It’s just weird to me that you’re her friend when she’s so depressing.”

“Hey, you may think that, but she’s still my best friend. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t insult her like that.”

Cheryl crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe I should be questioning your friendship with her in different ways.”

It was safe to say the night did not go as planned. Alex brought Cheryl home in a tense silence. He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek before she got out without a word, slamming her door shut behind her.

The night had definitely left a slight strain on their relationship. Cheryl had decided that she hated (Y/N) just because of this idea she had that Alex and (Y/N) had romantic feelings for one another, but Alex refused to end his friendship with her when that wasn’t true at all, and when he had known (Y/N) for so much longer than Cheryl. So, even though they decided to continue their relationship, it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing.

But Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N)’s personality stuck in Alex’s mind. He had never noticed a “darkness” to his best friend. She was just (Y/N), the person Alex had known since they were kids. But now he was thinking about the things she liked, and the way she acted and just her general personality. He found himself humming to himself around his apartment; a melody at first, but eventually lyrics started forming in his mind.

“You got your HP Lovecraft. Your Edgar Allan Poe.”

He quickly rushed to his work desk to scribble down the lyrics as they came to his head.

“You got your unkind ravens, and your murder of crows.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he thought of Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N) being like a murder of crows. What Cheryl didn’t know was that (Y/N) had a tattoo along the backside of her left shoulder that was a flock of black birds. They weren’t distinguishable birds, but she often said it was a murder of crows since they were black birds. Cheryl would probably have lost her mind if (Y/N) was wearing anything that would’ve showed off that tattoo.

Thinking of Cheryl caused his mind to wander to the turmoil of their relationship. He looked down at the verse and chorus he had written about (Y/N) and thought about the fact that he was in the process of writing a song for his best friend when he had never had thought about writing one for Cheryl at all since they started dating. Maybe Cheryl was right to think Alex felt stronger feelings than friendship for (Y/N).

He shook his head. No, that’s not it. She’s my best friend since we were kids, and I’ve only known Cheryl for a few months. That’s all it is.

“I know you’re nothing like mine, cause she’s walking on sunshine. And your love would tear us apart.”

Alex was at his desk for nearly an hour putting the song together. He had two full verses and a rough outline for the chorus, but it still needed something more. He was toying around with more lyrics when he started writing, “You watch Italian horror and you listen to the scores. Leather-clad and spike collar, I want you down on all fours.”

“Whoa,” he muttered to himself. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

But now that he had written it, he couldn’t help but picture (Y/N) doing exactly what he had written: on his bed, down on all fours, her ass in the air.

He shook his head. “No,” he scolded himself. “No, stop. This is wrong.”

But he couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and the image was embedded into his eyelids. He felt himself straining against his jeans as he imagined himself knelt behind her, looking down at her ass in the wear, wearing only a pair of lacy black underwear.

He groaned as he palmed himself through his jeans. The desire was far too strong to ignore. He had to take care of this, otherwise he knew he’d have a nasty ache between his legs that he would not be able to get rid of.

Just one time, he thought. Then I’ll never think of her like this again.

Alex unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his knees. His dick was hard as a rock and angry red. He hissed as the cool air touched the sensitive area. He spit on his hand and wrapped his hand around the base. His head tipped back as a moan erupted from his throat.

He closed his eyes and the image of (Y/N) appeared again. Her face buried into the pillow beneath her, moans muffled by the fabric of the pillow. Alex’s dick plunging in and out of her tight pussy, her ass bouncing every time his hips collided with it. He imagined that her moans were as pretty as her regular voice was. Picturing that pretty voice moaning his name caused his dick to twitch in his hand.

The wet sounds of his hand stroking his dick mixed with his heavy breathing and moans filled the room. His mind drifted from having her bent over in front of him to having her sat on his lap in the very chair where he was sat. He imagined (Y/N), still just in a matching lingerie set, pulling him away from his songwriting so she could climb up onto his lap and straddle him. He imagined her pulling the fabric of her panties to the side, a string of arousal connecting her needy hole and the underwear. He could almost feel the warm, wetness of her walls as she sunk herself down onto him, and her lips on his neck as she started to ride him.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “God, that feels so good.”

His desire to have her grew, even though he knew he never would. She was his best friend. There was no way she felt this way for him, too. And he definitely was not going to risk their friendship by bringing these feelings up to her. More than anything, (Y/N) was his friend and he wasn’t about to lose her all together. For now, the only way he’d have her would be in his imagination, and he was more than okay with that.

Behind his closed eyes he could see (Y/N)’s perfect tits bouncing in his face. He squeezed the base of his dick a little tighter as his jerking motions became quicker, almost more desperate. He could feel his high creeping up on him, and he was desperately trying to chase it.

In his mind, (Y/N) was leaning into his ear. In a sexy, sultry voice, he pictured her whispering, “Cum for me, Alex.”

And that was all he needed to go tumbling over the edge. He called out her name into his empty apartment as his hot cum spilled over his hand, lap, and some on his shirt. He mentally cursed to himself for not preparing more for the mess, but physically he felt incapable of fixing it. He let his head rest on the back of the chair as he breathed heavily. When he opened his eyes to finally face reality, he was looking up at the ceiling instead of at (Y/N)’s beautiful face.

There was a slight ringing in his ears as the blood flow from his brain to his dick finally went down. It was loud enough that he almost didn’t hear his phone vibrating on the desk and took him a moment to realize someone was trying to call him. He reached out with his clean hand to look at the caller ID, and his heart skipped a beat when (Y/N)’s name and face popped up on his screen.

Against his better judgement, Alex answered. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” (Y/N) asked, a joking tone in her voice. “I’ve sent you, like, five text messages.”

Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the lockscreen to see that (Y/N) had in fact tried to text him.

“Hey fucker, what are you doing?”

“Hello? Alex?”

“Quick wanking off and answer me.” (That one both made him laugh and made his heart pound harder against his chest.)

“Listen, can I come over? I wanted to talk about something.”

“I really hope the reason you’re not answering is not what I think.”

“Sorry, I was - uh - I was busy writing,” he said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “I got really into it and had my phone on silent. Didn’t even know you were texting me. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Well, I’m currently parked outside your place. Can I come in to talk about it?”

He felt his blood run cold. (Y/N) was outside his place right now trying to come in to talk to him, meanwhile he was sat at his work desk with cum over himself after jerking off to the thought of her.

This truly could not be any worse.

“Yeah! Yeah, just give me a second,” he said, quickly trying to figure out a solution to this.

“Alex, I’ve known you for years, you do not have to tidy the place up for me,” (Y/N) said.

“I know, I just need to...I just have to do something before you come in. Give me a second.”

He hung up before (Y/N) could protest any further. He quickly took off his already cum-stained shirt and used it to wipe off his hand and the area around his dick. He threw the shirt with the rest of his dirty clothes, tucked himself back into his jeans, and found a new shirt to put on. Just as he was pulling the shirt over his head, the doorbell started ringing. He quickly raced to his front door and threw it open to reveal (Y/N) stood there.

“Are you done whatever you had to do?” she asked, but pushed past him before he could answer.

“Come on in, make yourself at home,” he teased as he followed her in.

“I always do,” she said with a smirk. “You’re lucky I respect your privacy enough that I didn’t just get that hidden spare key and barge in here before I called.”

Very, very lucky for that, actually.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked her as they reached his living room. “Your texts sounded serious.”

(Y/N) sighed and flopped down onto his couch. Alex sat across from her, leaving a decent amount of space between them. His mind was still reeling from the mental images from earlier that he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to be so close to (Y/N) right now.

But she seemed very troubled, which was very concerning to him. (Y/N) always talked to him when something was wrong, but very rarely did she physically come over to his place to talk about something. He knew whatever it was had to be very serious for her to show up so suddenly like this.

“I ran into Cheryl at the store just now,” she said, looking down at her lap. “And...well...I know she doesn’t like me. I’m not stupid. I know there’s a reason she doesn’t come out anymore when she knows I’m there, and our brief run ins since we first met always include a glare whenever she sees me. Don’t even try to deny it, Alex.”

He wasn’t going to, but his mouth had been open to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he would’ve said, so he closed his mouth again and allowed her to go on.

“I saw her and decided just to try and avoid her. I expected her to do the same. There was really no reason for her to approach me when it was just her, so I thought. But she came right up to me in the middle of an aisle and she...well, the best way to describe it is she went off on a tirade about not liking me and how she wishes you would just stop being friends with me, and even told me that I should be the one to end our friendship so that she didn’t have to stress about me and you anymore.”

Alex’s hands balled into fists on his lap. He couldn’t believe Cheryl would really go up to (Y/N) like that when he wasn’t around. Like (Y/N), he figured that Cheryl would’ve just walked the other way and left her alone since she disliked her so much. But to go up to his best friend in a public and to go as far as telling her to stop being friends with him for the sake of a relationship that wasn’t even a month in was further than he ever expected her to go.

“I thought you weren’t responding because she got to you first,” (Y/N) continued. “I thought she was going to come to you with some made up bullshit saying that I was the one who attacked her or something.”

“I haven’t heard from her,” Alex said. “I guess she’s waiting till whenever I see her next.”

“Listen, I’m sorry that I’m causing this strain on your relationship - ”

Alex reached out to take (Y/N)’s hand to cut her off. The contact sent a spark through him, but he tried his best to ignore it.

“You’re not the one causing any strain to my relationship. Cheryl is. She’s the one who is feeling so insecure about our relationship that she has to go as far as calling you down to the dirt while I’m not around. I’ve tried everything to assure her there’s nothing to worry about between us, but it’s not enough for her. I think...I don’t think I can continue this relationship with her. Especially not after what you told me.”

(Y/N) looked down at their joined hands. In a soft voice she said, “She’s a fucking bitch.”

Alex smiled and chuckled softly. (Y/N) did as well, and eventually, they were both laughing at her comment.

When the laughter died down silence fell over them. Neither one of them knew how to break it, but they didn’t really feel like they had to. Silence always felt comfortable between the two of them. They never felt like they had to speak if they didn’t want to. They could just sit like this for hours and it would be fine.

But their hands were still joined together. (Y/N) was tracing circles in the back of his hand with her thumb, almost absentmindedly. He liked the feeling of her hand against his. He never wanted to let go of her.

“You said you were writing when I came?” she finally asked, looking up at him. “Anything good?”

“Oh, um, I think so? I haven’t really put it together properly. It’s just a couple verses and a chorus that I have to finish.”

“Can I hear it? Or see what you have written, at least?”

His face burned at the question. He knew he was definitely blushing by the way that a confused look creeped on (Y/N)’s face. How did he show her this song, which was clearly about her and included a line about wanting to fuck her, and not absolutely ruin their friendship in this moment?

“I-I guess, if-if you wanted to,” he stuttered. “But, um...it’s...it’s a little embarrassing because...well, you were my muse for it.”

Her face seemed to brighten. “Really? You were writing about me?”

“Yeah. There’s some lyrics...well, you’d know it was about you the song is released so I guess there’s no getting around it, there’s some lyrics that are a bit...more than friendly.”

And there it was. There was no taking it back.

He watched her face, trying to gauge what her reaction to that revelation would be. She was just looking at him for a moment, as if registering his words, before a smirk crept across her face.

“Then show me,” she told him, her voice low and sultry the exact same way it had been in his imagination.

And Alex swore he had never been more excited than in that moment.

[crusty-chronicles]

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Zoro (One Piece)

An: I wanna face plant in his tits. 👉👈

---------

Zoro knows you're stupid

He knows

But he'll still take your advice like you actually know what you're talking about

Resulting in it back firing at him 90% of the time

"Hey! Which snakes are poisonous again?" He asked after getting bit by one.

"Red and yellow will kill a fellow. Red and black are friends of Jack." You recite proudly, remembering what Robin thought you.

"Okay, so what does this count as."

He holds up a bright yellow snake.

"Um.... Probably not venomous."

It was indeed venomous and poor Chopper had a heart attack trying to come up with an antidote.

Especially after Zoro kept insisting 'he was fine' and 'he'd tough it out.'

Honesty, he doesn't care if you're stupid most of the time.

Luffy's just as dumb and look at him.

Well, maybe don't. But it doesn't change the fact that he's already following one idiot around.

What's one more?

You leave out food? For the ants??? So they don't get hungry?????

"You're gonna cause an infestation in the kitchen...Wait, never mind. You're doing a good job."

He'll help you put the blame on Ussop just so Sanji can continue to suffer.

"What do you mean you broke the fish tank!?!? Franky's gonna be pissed!"

"That stingray was looking at me funny."

You gesture towards a fish that was not a stingray.

Honestly you give him a headache most days.

But he's too lazy to worry about what you do

As long as you don't rope him in.

He also won't baby you.

Rather, he helps cover up whatever trouble you caused or just laughs off your antics.

Partner in crime, at least until Nami finds out

Then you're officially on your own.

He still loves you tho

Just from a distance 👉👈

You probably came along a little after Thriller Bark.

Joining from the island they were currently resting at because according to Luffy, 'They're really cool.'

Which is never enough reason to join the crew.

But it's not hard to see what he meant when he asked you to 'do the thing' and you tore a tree up from its roots.

Yeah, you can stay

Just don't cause trouble.

He warms up to you after a while.

Namely seeing you interacting with Nami and her actually smiling.

If Nami likes you, then either she was gonna hurt you or you must've been genuinely a good person.

(It's because she'll tell you to do something and unlike their captain, you don't complain.)

You also get on Sanji's nerves, which immediately puts you in his good graces.

There isn't an isolated moment or anything leading up to him falling for you.

He was just watching you mess around with Luffy and Chopper when he realized he liked your laugh.

Then your smile

And when you caught him starting, you waved with an overly excited expression.

Like a puppy

And it makes heat flood to his cheeks, forcing him to turn away.

Zoro is about as romantic as a rock.

There's no way he's going to court you

If you're expecting a date, then I've got some bad news.

However ☝️

Zoro's way of flirting is inviting you to train with him

You're the only one allowed in the Crow's Nest when he's in there.

He's a man who admires strength, what can I say.

Toss him over your shoulder, punch him, hell lift some weights and he's 💗💗💗

It's also a way for him to show off

Slightly flexing to see your reaction. But of course, you're stupid so you don't really notice when he does it.

Tell him he's strong and he'll carry that with him the rest of the day.

If your weapon of choice is also a sword, he's smitten

In the stupid way tho. Like trying to teach you his techniques or critiquing yours.

"You're not doing it right." Is an excuse to correct your form and touch you

If he really loves you, he'll invite you to nap with him.

Sit on his lap or he'll sit on yours. He doesn't give two shits.

Either way, he's tired and wants to cuddle.

Let's you smoosh your face between his boobs if you ask nicely.

Only you 🫵

He'll glare if someone's watching and laughing.

"Yeah? Jealous it's not you?"

Zoro loves fighting with you

He won't hold you back if you want to fight

Not only can you keep up, but you move a little faster than him.

Seeing you sink marines gives him a feeling of pride.

Like, look at you!

That's his S/O!

He'll be excited to see your bounty go up along with his.

NEVER go exploring on an island alone

You two will not be found for days

Somebody who isn't an idiot and has a good sense of direction has to go with you.

It's probably Sanji tbh

Does Zoro get jealous?

He doesn't have the attention span to get jealous

Someone's flirting with you?

Eh, you don't notice it anyway. That person can try but they'll never get anywhere.

You haven't been spending a lot of time with him?

He'll just sleep with the full confidence you'll be back when he wakes up.

He just isn't worried about you losing interest

BUT he'll be damned if that cook comes anywhere near you.

Again, about as romantic as a rock.

He's not gonna be calling you lovey dovey names.

He also finds it embarrassing.

You won't catch him pulling that 'Nami-Swan!' crap.

He'd rather die

But on a very rare occasion where it's just the two of you, he'll call you baby or babe.

Nothing other than that

And he'll deny he ever said it

No confession to be found

He likes you and you seem to like him, so you're his.

Unless you say otherwise, you're dating.

MASTERLIST

[wolff-cub]

Last Laugh

a Landoscar stand-up comedy AU

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.” “Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.” Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando. “You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage... watching a set you hate.”

-------------------

As the most successful comedian on the Fringe Rising showcase lineup, Lando believes he should have been given the show's prestigious final billing slot. Over the course of the festival, his resentment for the amateur Australian comedian who's stolen his spot grows... into something else altogether.

-------------------

Special thanks to @jadesaturn for beta-reading and @afriques for the lovely banner!!

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

“Papaya!”

Onstage, the spotlights shine almost directly into his eyes as Lando springs upwards like a demented jack-in-the-box, popping forth on one leg, arms swinging around wildly. A split second later, he stops abruptly in the middle of the stage, directing an unimpressed look into the inky blackness beyond the stage.

“Okay, but really. Have any of you even had a papaya? That’s right. It’s a shit fruit. It has none of the zest, the fun, that its name implies. Who even named it? What the fuck were they thinking?!”

As his tone borders on hysterics, laughter washes over him like a warm blanket, sent his way from the shadowed masses before him. Keeping his energy up like this, even as his set draws to a close, is never easy — but so worth the laughs. The spotlights shining into his eyes are so bright that the crowd is nothing more than a series of imposing, faceless silhouettes. 

But Lando doesn’t need to see his audience to connect with them. If performing a comedy set is like screaming into the void, well… Lando has always been capable of drawing laughter from within the void.

“Yet here I was, sipping from a glass of papaya juice so good that I thought I’d tasted heaven. One sip was all it took… to move me to tears.” Here, his voice grows theatrical, and he begins feigning an almost clownish kind of sadness. His fingers tremble as he mimes a comically small sip from the world’s tiniest teacup. Somewhere in the audience, someone cackles so loudly that their voice cracks.

“Thank you.” Lando can’t help but grin back in the face of such open adulation, which only garners him even more cheers. “Anyway, I’ve changed a lot since then. I discovered therapy, for one. And antidepressants. The lows? No longer as low. The highs? No longer juice-related.”

Cheers. Whistles. Laughter. Oh, how he loves the sound of it.

“That’s right, folks! It’s only going uphill from here! I’m taking my life and making it papaya!”

“Papaya!” someone in the crowd shouts back.

Lando doesn’t miss a beat, turning that tiny bit of reciprocity into a full-on chant, clapping his hands over his head in time with the beat. The crowd roars back at him without needing much encouragement at all. Their silhouettes sway back and forth in time. “Papaya, papaya!”, and the abyss laughs, and laughs, and laughs right back at him.

“Thank you so much, everybody! I have been Lando Norris, and you… oh, you have been such a great crowd!” Lando crows, even as the crowd keeps up its chant for him. Not even his clumsy attempts to affix the mic back to its stand — the customary sign that his comedy set is about to end — discourages them from continuing to bid him farewell. “I’ll be here doing Fringe Rising every Tuesday and Thursday, along with a solo show during the festival, every other day of the week! Hopefully, I’ll see some of you there, but until then, that’s my time! And—you’vebeensuchagreataudiencethankyoubye!”

The grin that spreads across Lando’s face as he rushes offstage is so wide, it makes his cheeks hurt. The crowd’s sustained clapping is so buoyant for his spirits that he might as well be floating down the stage steps, a cartoon character drifting through the air on a cloud of his own high. He’d had no doubts about the success of his set tonight — he is, after all, the biggest name on the lineup. But god, does it feel good to bask in an audience’s adoration. 

Lando almost wishes he could run back onstage again, arms outstretched, and drink it all in. He is, after all, none other than Bristol’s boy king of comedy, whose career went stratospheric after two years of pain, self-doubt, and tireless honing of his craft through it all. He’s worked hard for everything he has to his name — the slot on this prestigious, curated showcase at the Edinburgh Fringe, the sold-out solo shows running all month long, the appearances on primetime comedy television, and even the Netflix comedy special in the works. Every clap, every cheer, has been earned. After so long, Lando is finally — finally! — reaping what he’s sown.

It isn’t exactly going uphill from here. As far as Lando is concerned, he’s already at the top.

Lando’s eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the venue in time to give the MC a customary high-five and backslap, as tradition calls for. Every comedian gets a high-five no matter how their set goes — a congratulations if the set goes well, or a commiseration if it’s bombed. Of course, Lando hasn’t had any of the latter in a while. Failure is something he no longer remembers the taste of. And with how hard he’s been working… surely, that’s just what he deserves.

“Whoa! Wow, wow, wow! You guys!”

Onstage, Alex Albon — part-time comedian, full-time zookeeper, all-around good guy, and tonight’s MC — has to shout into the mic over the rapturous applause, still going after Lando’s set. “Oh my goodness! I would tell you to give it up one more time for Lando Norris, but you guys clearly got the memo already!”

Lando’s smug grin remains even as he weaves past the front-of-stage seating, beelining towards a swarthy, dark-haired man nursing a beer alone at the back of the venue. He parks himself smoothly on an adjacent bar stool and gratefully fist-bumps his old friend, his grin not fading as Alex continues to sing his praises onstage.

“Oy, cabrón! You fucking killed it up there!”

“Aw, thanks, Carlos. It was nothing.”

“Oh no, Lanno. You cannot be doing this false modesty thing all the time. You know you did well, so… take the compliment, eh? Most of these people are probably here because it’s the only way they’ll get to see you. Your solo show sold out so fast!”

Lando smirks at the sound of his longtime comedy compatriot’s signature mispronunciation of his name, courtesy of the strong Spanish accent that makes him so popular with crowds. “No way, mate. You got plenty of cheers before your set even started, and you’ve been doing this comedy thing for much longer than I have. All the Fringe veterans are probably here to see you, all the way over from España.”

“Ah, but I am not the one who has been on Taskmaster in two countries. I don’t even want to do this full-time. If a genie came to me and asked me, ‘Carlos, would you rather have your own Netflix special, or improve your golf handicap by two?’ I would take the handicap.”

“But I still think you should reconsider that way of thinking. If I’ve made it to where I am today, you’d make it farther in half the time. Your comedy is genius, Carlos. You deserve a sold-out solo run and a Netflix special as much as I do!”

Carlos just shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s not about what we deserve, cabrón. It’s about what we want, and what we do to get it.”

Lando is about to argue, but Carlos shushes him so dismissively that he sits back in his seat like a told-off child. Onstage, Alex’s speech is approaching a crescendo, and Carlos has always been the type to show fellow performers as much decorum as possible.

“Anyway, thank you all so much for being here tonight at Fringe Rising! You’ve made it such a great opening night for me and our amazing line-up here, and we all appreciate you taking the time to come out and see our little showcase. Please, put your hands together one more time for our wonderful comedians from far and wide — Charles Leclerc from Monaco! Carlos Sainz from Spain! And Britain’s very own, Lando Norris!”

Lando’s grin reappears as the cheers wash over him, while Carlos puts on a demure smile, ducking his head down behind his beer bottle jokingly.

“Where is Charles, anyway?” asks Lando, suddenly realising that the showcase’s usual opener is absent. “Doesn’t he know you aren’t really supposed to leave before everyone’s done with their sets?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Don’t be so harsh on him, Lanno. He’s new, but he’s not stupid. He had to leave early to do that showcase that George Russell hosts every year.”

Lando has to stifle a snicker. “Charles is doing the comedy Powerpoint showcase?!”

“Ay, don’t look so surprised. He’s actually very funny if you give him a chance.”

Lando would beg to differ, but doesn’t want to argue with Carlos over the sound of Alex’s speech. At the risk of sounding petty and mean, Charles is still a rookie comedian, and all his sets that Lando has seen have been unpolished at best and amateurish at worst. Lando can tell that Charles cruises through his sets; that he doesn’t workshop his material and probably doesn’t even know how to. And Lando would definitely never say this out loud, but deep down he suspects that Charles had only landed this Fringe Rising spot (and plenty of other comedy club slots) only because he might be the hottest man to ever attempt a career in stand-up comedy.

But, that also explains why Charles is a rookie, and why Lando is within grasp of the top rung of the stand-up comedy ladder. Nobody works for this quite as hard as him. Nobody deserves this like he does.

The crowd soon falls into hushed whispers as the cheers for past performers gradually dies down. Onstage, Alex quickly segues into the next bit of his speech before any more stray cheers add even more time onto their already overtime showcase.

“We’ve got one more set for you tonight,” says Alex, “and boy, am I excited to introduce him. Now, this next act is like the ghost of international stand-up comedy. Almost nobody’s seen him perform… and yet everyone’s talking about him! This man is so very difficult to pin down, mark my words — but we’ve managed to wrangle him to the Fringe Rising stage, all the way from Australia, for what might be one of the rarest and most hype-worthy performances at this fest. Let’s get the energy back up in here, guys! Please give it up for… Oscar Piastri!”

Carlos leans in towards Lando. “Oh, I’m interested to see this guy. Some people are saying he’s only done five shows total, and nobody can stop talking about him.”

Five shows total? Is he fucking serious?!

Lando’s fist clenches involuntarily. Just like at concerts and festivals, the last set in a showcase is always awarded to the most prestigious performer on the lineup. When he’d gotten the email that he would be performing second-last in the night, Lando had presumed that Alex had somehow managed to land a real big hitter — one of the rare few comedians who sold out arena tours and ran their own TV shows. 

But this is who they’d given the final billing to instead of him? A complete fucking amateur?!

“You’d think the show closer should be someone more… accomplished,” Lando starts, only to get shushed by Carlos again as Alex ducks offstage and the lights dim once more.

The filler music fades, and a lone figure clad in a hoodie, cargo shorts, and Birkenstocks — no mean feat for Edinburgh weather — walks slowly onstage, lifting a hand in front of his eyes to fend off the harsh spotlights. His short brown hair is accentuated by a long, floppy wave of a fringe that falls into his eyes carelessly, making his boyish face look even younger than he already is.

“Whoa,” says the newcomer, his voice slow and languid with a stereotypical Australian drawl. “Pretty bright up here, hey?”

A few people in the crowd start chuckling. Lando’s brow furrows. What the hell is going on? The man hasn’t even said anything actually funny?!

“Anyway, how’re ya doing tonight, Edinburgh? My name’s Oscar, and… well, apparently I’m here to do some comedy. But I’m not quite sure how this whole comedy thing works in these parts — I’ve come all the way from Australia, and, well, you know. We do everything upside down there. So, uh, you’re gonna have to be pretty patient with me, alright? Cause I’m, uh… not actually supposed to be here.”

He shoots the audience a conspiratorial look, and a rustle of both anticipation and uncertainty travels through the crowds. No laughs yet, though — and Lando secretly hopes that it remains that way for the rest of his set.

“So, I just moved up here from Melbourne,” continues Oscar, “and I don’t really know anyone here — no friends or family. But the other day, I had to go to the hospital, and the nurse… she took down my details, and what I was at the hospital for… and then she asked me for an emergency contact. And I told her, ‘Barbara, I don’t have an emergency contact in this country. I don’t know anyone here except… well, you. So maybe you could be my emergency contact.’ And Barbara just shakes her head and keeps saying, ‘No, I can’t be your emergency contact. You need to give me the name and phone number of someone in the United Kingdom that you trust.’”

Lando slumps over onto his crossed arms and lets out a yawn. Overly long buildup, lacklustre delivery… where is this even going?

“Now, I’m a little offended by this.” Oscar puts his hand over his heart, feigning shock. “I said, ‘Barbara! How could you imply that I don’t trust you?! You’re the only person in this country who knows my deepest, darkest secret, Barbara. You’re the only person in this country who knows I have haemorrhoids!

“I put my trust in you, Barbara, and this is how you treat me? By not wanting to be the emergency contact for someone who has been so vulnerable with you by telling you that he has haemorrhoids?!”

A few isolated laughs rise from the crowd. Oscar raises an eyebrow at the crowd, seemingly dissatisfied by the reception to this joke.

“Uh, hello?” A small smirk flashes across his face. “Did you guys get that? No? Ah, fuck.”

To Lando’s horror, this blatant request for more laughs gets Oscar exactly that. Full-bodied guffaws and a lone whoop rise from the crowd, as Oscar pulls a comically mortified expression. Lando scans the audience, tries to read into their body language from all he can see of their backs. Are they even watching the same set as he is?! Is this really what counts as comedy at the Fringe these days?

“Long story short, guys, Barbara didn’t want to be my emergency contact.” A chorus of ‘aww-s�� prompts Oscar to nod along, gratefully accepting the crowd’s pity. “Thank you, thank you. Anyway, now that I’ve also entrusted all of you with knowledge of my haemorrhoids… would anyone here like to be my emergency contact?”

Something in the room snaps as soon as Oscar’s joke comes full circle. Even though he’d forcibly torn open the floodgates himself, the crowd suddenly seems more than happy to grant him their approval. No sooner than he delivers his first punchline with a self-deprecating smirk, the audience starts shrieking, howling, with pure delight. 

Next to Lando, even Carlos is crowing with laughter; his wheezy chuckles reminiscent of a dying pterodactyl’s cries. Lando regards his friend with utter disbelief — but Carlos is too busy laughing; too enraptured by Oscar’s joke to even notice Lando’s disdain for the set.

“Wow,” Oscar remarks dryly, once the audience’s hysterics have calmed to a volume low enough for him to be heard once more. “You guys really liked that one, huh? Okay, noting that down.” 

He flashes a comically embarrassed look at the crowd, and a new wave of cackles escapes the audience. 

“Like I said, I’m not really supposed to be here. After leaving the hospital, I just Googled ‘things to do in Edinburgh that don’t involve sitting down.’ Aaaand… now I’m here. Doing stand-up.”

Lando rolls his eyes at the pun, feeling embattled as the crowd rewards this lowest form of humour with roars of laughter. He’s almost grateful that there isn’t a real scale for measuring how much a crowd is enjoying any given set. If that existed, he’d certainly want to compare his own metrics to Oscar… and he’s no longer confident that his results would knock the other comedian’s out of the park. 

For some unfathomable reason, the Australian doesn’t need to work for the house’s approval at all. He merely needs to ask them to laugh, and the crowd will acquiesce like clockwork.

Oscar leaves the stage to thunderous applause and cheers so deafening that it feels as if the walls might crumble any second. Carlos turns to Lando as the venue lights come up, grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. Even as Lando is slumped over onto folded arms beside him, Carlos remains completely oblivious to his new pensive mood.

“Oi, Lanno, come on.” Carlos hoists himself off his bar stool, boisterously gesturing for Lando to do the same. “Let’s go to the green room and congratulate him. What a set for an almost-newcomer, huh?”

Lando shakes his head slowly. “You know, I actually don’t really feel so good. Might go back to the hotel and get an early night…don’t wanna risk having to cancel my show tomorrow.”

Distracted by his intent to head backstage, Carlos doesn’t see through his lame little lie. “Ah, okay. You push yourself too hard, Lanno! Five shows a week is crazy, even Charles isn’t doing that many. Get some rest, okay, cabrón? I’ll tell the new guy you said hi.”

“Yeah, sure,” replies Lando, even though the last thing he wants is for the new guy to think that he holds him in any kind of esteem.

Part of him wants Carlos — one of the only comedians in this room that he actually respects — to notice his frustration. To ask what’s wrong, and maybe abandon going backstage in favour of buying him a drink. But, just like all the flaws in his set; all the failures of comedy theory that Lando could so easily list if asked, his contempt for Oscar is both as imperceptible and irrelevant as his growing chagrin. 

Nobody notices… and nobody feels the same.

///

Over the next few days, Lando’s disdain for Oscar grows and festers like an untreated wound. His excitement for Fringe Rising before the start of the festival had been virtually unquenchable. Now, he thanks his lucky stars that he only has to do this showcase twice a week. Having to see Oscar any more than that would make him inclined to blow his brains out on stage. 

Every time he sees the floppy-haired Australian and his shit-eating smirk, he is reminded of just how unfair everything has become. Lando is only where he is today after shedding plenty of blood, sweat, and tears. He owes his success to the countless nights spent perfecting his sets, even when it meant pushing through sheer exhaustion accumulated over too many shifts at too many thankless part-time jobs. 

All that, and for what? To be ousted for final billing at a Fringe showcase by a no-name from the world’s most godforsaken continent, with a mere five shows under his belt? 

That just doesn’t seem right. Something’s gotta give.

But night after night, Oscar never bombs — never even comes close to bombing, because the audience always inexplicably becomes putty in his hands the moment he asks them to laugh at him. 

Lando never bombs either, but nobody seems to care that he doesn’t.

So Alex never offers Lando final billing, and Lando’s own opinion that this is a grave oversight never changes either. The Fringe soon becomes a kind of mental purgatory for him, with nights spent stewing in a cocktail of his own envy and rage. Day after day, the festival ticks by… but nothing ever changes. And Lando grows ever more resentful.

In an ideal world, his path would never cross Oscar’s, apart from the times they are forced to watch each other’s sets from the back of the venue in the name of artistic courtesy. But, as this entire experience has already shown him, the world he lives in is very far from ideal. 

In reality, their paths cross more times than he would like. In the dressing room backstage, where Oscar always sends a meek hello his way, and where Lando — without fail — doesn’t even acknowledge him before storming back out. At the venue bar — same thing. Lando even runs into Oscar at the grocery store, once. That pre-show snack run ends with him leaving Tesco empty-handed, after lying that he’s leaving and  in a big hurry, just to avoid any further conversation with him. 

Lando does his show hungry that night. His stomach starts hurting twenty minutes into his fifty-five-minute set — but at least the loud growl of his gastric pangs earns him an unexpected extra round of laughter from the audience.

Wednesday may be hump day, but Tuesday and Thursday are the real bookends to Lando’s shit sandwich of a week. Unlike Charles, Lando has nowhere to be — or even to pretend to be — during Oscar’s sets. So he always has to stay, to watch a set that never gets funnier than the last, delivered by a comedian who never grows more appealing, no matter how many times he’s forced to look at him.

And look at Oscar he does. Because what the fuck else is he supposed to when he’s a captive audience member for a set he can’t walk out of for fear of being cancelled by comedy Twitter? 

Soon enough, the Australian’s visage becomes one he can recall on command, every detail instantaneously available. The short, shiny, yet floppy brown hair. The long, rabbit-like front teeth hiding behind lips almost permanently curled into a lazy smile. The smattering of freckles and tiny moles all across his cheeks and neck. The deep brown eyes.

Sometimes, when he is alone at night, Lando summons all these details in his mind’s eye, painstakingly assembling as detailed a picture of Oscar as he can. Then he tacks it to a dartboard in his mind and fucking obliterates it.

The most infuriating part of all this? Despite how open Lando’s hostility is, Oscar doesn’t seem to notice… or care. Before every show, a hello. After every show, a wave goodbye, even though Lando scrambles out of his seat to leave the moment Oscar descends from the stage. 

Lando soon convinces himself of a secret third possibility — that Oscar has noticed, and does care, and is using their forced proximity as a reason to rub his omnipresence in Lando’s face. To terrorise Lando with his constant hellos and heys and painfully Australian okays. To ensure, simply speaking, that Lando will never know peace as long as the Fringe is running.

What’s worse is that, after barely any time at all, Oscar’s nefarious form of psychological warfare actually works. As Lando’s animosity towards the Australian grows, he begins to search for him wherever he goes, obsessed with fantasies of telling him exactly what he thinks of him. 

He searches for Oscar in the crowds at his solo shows, his eyes straining under the spotlight, desperate to catch sight of that floppy brown fringe somewhere in the seats. He even begins frequenting the Tesco Metro on snack runs more often than not, hoping that Oscar will be there for him to unleash the full power of the contempt in his heart, even if the Australian opens with his naive little hello.

But, as always, this is not an ideal world. Oscar never returns to the Tesco Metro. Lando never goes to the green room. Their paths remain as distant as they can, for two comedians working the same show.

And then, one night, Lando is offered redemption.

He spots Oscar in the crowd for his solo set immediately after he bounces onstage. The Australian’s placid brown eyes are fixed on him in the split second that Lando notices his presence — and, judging by the slow, relaxed smile that crawls onto his face, he knows he’s seen him. Lando’s smile freezes for a beat as he spots his nemesis. He fumbles to remove the mic from its stand, spending extra seconds clambering about as the audience waits for him to begin. 

So, Oscar has really done it. He really had the balls to show his face at the superior comedian’s set. Well, if he wants so desperately to get schooled in the art of real stand-up, who is Lando to deny him?

That night, the show is unequivocally the best solo set he’s ever put on in his entire life. Lando’s brand of comedy has always been fairly slapstick and energetic, but tonight he is something else altogether onstage. He’s a whirling dervish — jumping higher, acting harder — all to get the crowd laughing louder and louder to feed the hungry void of ambition within him. 

Not even halfway through the set, a few people in the front row are actually wheezing with exertion. The air positively sparkles with mirth, along with the glint of teary-eyed audience members, who are doubled over and crying with laughter. 

But Lando barely notices any of this. He’s performing for one audience member alone, eyes fixed on the dead centre of the room, tracking Oscar’s every reaction like a hawk. He sees when Oscar smiles, sees when he laughs, sees when he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied guffaw right when Lando’s repertoire is meant to take the audience by surprise.

Do you see it now, Oscar? he wants to say. This is how comedy is meant to be done.

The crowd is electric when the lights come up. The buzz and rustle of their post-show discussion remains at a constant volume as his audience relives their favourite moments from the set amongst themselves. Only a few figures make their way to the exit almost immediately. The rest remain milling around the bar, or even in their seats — waiting for Lando to come around and mingle with the audience, all wanting a piece of him.

Lando spends the rest of the night working the crowd. Making small talk with new fans. Hugging old fans he recognises from back in the day. Taking pictures with Fringe grannies who have dedicated their twilight years to exploring the arts — and don’t they love a dashing young man who can make them laugh. 

He almost forgets about the unwelcome interloper in the audience altogether. But then the crowd thins out, the bar staff get ready to close the venue for the night, and Oscar appears in front of him once more — a fluffy-haired nightmare emerging from the pub’s gloomy atmosphere.

“Lando!” His name sounds foreign on the other man’s tongue; so unrecognisable that he wishes he would say it again, just so he can better get used to the sound of it. “Congrats, man. That was an amazing set. I’d heard a lot about you, but tonight completely blew me away. I never really knew comedy could be like this before.”

It takes all of Lando’s willpower not to let out an exultant scream directly into the Australian’s smug little face. He barely hears Oscar’s continued babbling over the imaginary crescendo of a million variations of his triumphal speech, all meticulously laid out in his vengeful fantasies. Now is his chance to put Oscarin his place. Now is the time to live out his dreams.

Oscar has stopped talking now, and just looks at him expectantly, as if Lando would care about anything he has to say. He reaches within himself; searches for the words that he’s rehearsed for so long.

And all he can say is a lame, muted, “Thanks.”

Lando can’t tell if it is disappointment or satisfaction that makes Oscar turn away. “Okay,” he says, in that same semi-ironic deadpan cadence he uses incessantly onstage — or is that just his voice? “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to take you away from your other fans. See you on Tuesday, mate.”

And then he turns away, waving over his shoulder as he disappears out the pub doors and into the night. Lando immediately turns to the next fan waiting to speak with him, but something about the night has inexplicably changed for the worse. His smile feels plastic, his enthusiasm more strained than genuine.

After leaving the bar, he finds himself looking around the doors, half-expecting Oscar to emerge from the darkness again and shoot him that infuriating smile of his. But of course, the other man is long gone. 

And Lando walks home alone, burning with shame.

///

The third and final week of the Fringe dawns, and Lando senses that a reckoning is near.

Festival fatigue has set in for most Fringe performers now, taking root so deeply in their bones that most of them barely have the energy to go out for drinks after their sets. 

Lando himself is no exception. He has been curling up beneath the covers of his hotel duvet earlier and earlier each night, unable to keep up with Carlos and Charles’s constant, fervoured partying. Lando’s especially unable to face the possibility of running into Oscar; to see that smile directed at him under the warm fairy lights of some outdoor beer garden. 

All he wants is for the festival to be over, so he can go back home to London, sleep for a week, and forget that he’d ever been upstaged by an amateur comedian from fucking Australia. Who he still can’t stop thinking about.

Performing the same material for two weeks straight grows stale for even the most seasoned comedians. So, in this third and final Fringe week, Lando decides to try something different. 

Ensemble showcases at comedy clubs are more often than not used to test new material on unsuspecting audiences — so what better time to switch up his set than in front of one of the most distinguished festival audiences in the world? 

At worst, he doesn’t get a laugh after one punchline and immediately switches back to his tried and tested material. And at best? He proves himself to be the best improviser in the comedy arena and gives the usurper of his rightfully-deserved final billing slot a run for his money. 

“So, what is it with so many people these days thinking I’m Australian?” he starts one night, in place of his old set closer about papayas. “I was actually down under for a short tour recently, and no matter what I did, all the MCs just kept introducing me as a local comedian. But I’d never been to Australia before that. Don’t have the accent. Have never even tried imitating the accent — I know, right? Aren’t I a saint?

“So, after a couple of nights of letting it slide, I decided to bring it up. I was like, ‘Hey, man, you’ve got to stop telling the crowds I’m Australian. Why do you even think I’m from here, anyway? Is it my hot surfer bod? Is it the fact that I’m kinda sun-kissed and incredibly fuckable? Cause, uh… thank you, but you’re still wrong. About me being Australian, I mean. All the rest of it, you’re toootally right about.”

This gets a fair few laughs from the crowd — Lando’s anecdote is building nicely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar watching his set from the bar, an inexplicable smile forming on his lips. He forces himself to pivot to the opposite end of the crowd, to ignore his urge to storm offstage and grab the other man by the throat, and scream, This is not about you! This is my set!

This is about me!

Every comedian always envisions their jokes being met with at least a modicum of enthusiasm when they’re delivered for the first time. But never in his wildest dreams had Lando expected this strong of a reaction from the audience tonight — certainly not for a joke fresh out of the oven with no feedback in sight. It is a twisty, turny anecdote, one about scandal and mistaken identity with a second punchline that leaves a few audience members braying hysterically. 

By the time he walks off that stage, Lando is convinced that tonight has confirmed which one of them is better, once and for all. He’s done it, now. He’s out-written, out-performed, even out-Australian-ed Oscar. 

The reckoning has come, and Lando has come out on top.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Oscar saunters onstage a few minutes later. He stops. Squints at the crowd. Pulls a sheepish expression and says, “Well, uh… g’day, everyone. It’s me again. Lando Norris.”

And of course, the crowd absolutely. Fucking. Loses it.

So this is what all of Lando’s efforts have come to. Hours spent crafting new jokes, weighing up the risks of debuting untested material in front of a discerning crowd… all for Oscar to ride in on his high horse and deliver his first joke of the night, entirely at Lando’s expense. 

The rest of his set passes in a blur, as Lando seethes and fumes and curses Oscar for taking a comedic opportunity that he knows, deep down, is perfectly fair game. But that taste of victory, the way it felt in his hands before slipping out of his grasp again — Lando’s ego won’t allow him to let go of it just yet.

And so, he launches himself out of his chair before Oscar has even fully left the stage, leaving a bewildered Carlos calling out questions in vain. His footsteps thud angrily on the bare concrete backstage as he makes his way to the green room, shoving its flimsy wooden door open so hard that it bangs against the opposite wall.

Oscar is in there, gratefully chugging down an entire bottle of water only to choke with surprise at Lando’s frenzied entry. When he turns to see who it is, that shit-eating little smile returns — and Lando can’t wait to wipe it off his face once and for all.

“Oh, hey, man!” Oscar caps his bottle, feigning nonchalance — or maybe he really does respect Lando that little; maybe he really just doesn’t give a fuck. “I don’t usually see you back here. What’s up—”

“You little shit!” yells Lando, not caring who can hear him even as he slams the door behind them. “You fucking amateur. You think you can come here with your unfunny little set, and your shitty jokes that say please, please, please laugh at me, and take my fucking top spot on the billing? You think you can do all that and then piggyback off the joke I spent half of this festival writing?!”

Oscar’s eyes widen with genuine shock. Whatever sort of blowback he’d been expecting from Lando had certainly not been this loud or intense in his mind.

The Australian holds up his hands as if to placate him, and Lando can’t tell if the mocking edge to his movements is actually there, or if it’s entirely his imagination. “Dude, hey, no need for that. I would never have built off your joke if I knew you’d object to it. I’m really sorry, okay? If you’re gonna run that bit at the end of your set again, I promise I won’t repeat what I did tonight.”

“It’s not about whether I’m objecting to it now,” Lando replies through gritted teeth. “It’s about the fact that you don’t get to make jokes of your fellow comedians like that! What, did you want to fucking rub it in a little harder? An amateur, taking last billing over the guy with the real solo hour and the real Netflix special? Well, fuck you too, dude!”

Oscar flinches slightly at Lando’s grotesque imitation of him. “Lando, I genuinely have no clue what you’re talking about, okay? I respect you a lot; I think you’re one of the coolest comedians at the fest. But… isn’t that what we’re all here for? To make jokes out of ourselves?”

Lando chuckles bitterly. “Of course you would say that. You haven’t worked for this for a day in your life, have you?”

He pivots to leave, but is overcome by a fresh wave of self-hatred as Oscar’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Hey, come on. Can’t we talk this out?”

“Oscar! Oscar.” Lando lets out a hysterical laugh. “You don’t need to pretend you want to be my friend any more, alright? There is nothing to talk out! In fact, I would rather not be talking to you at all, because everything you do gets on my last fucking nerve. So let’s just do our last show on Thursday, and not step on each other’s toes, and then we can both go back to never seeing each other again. Okay?”

Oscar blinks. And then, to Lando’s continued frustration, he smiles. Again.

“Nah, hold up. There’s definitely stuff to talk about here. Just… let me get this straight. You think I’m unfunny. You think I don’t deserve a spot on that stage. You hate me.”

“Yes. Exactly. Glad it’s finally gotten through that thick skull of yours.”

Oscar just fixes his big, impassive brown eyes on Lando; brought to life for once by a wry spark that flickers into being for just a split second. 

“You hate me… and yet you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Lando lets out the most patronising scoff he can muster. “Untalented and delusional. Just when I thought you couldn’t—”

“You hate me, and yet you’re always in that same little corner seat in the back of the pub when I’m onstage.” Oscar’s eyes remain locked directly onto his, his tone mirroring the half-dead neutrality of someone reading boring facts off a piece of paper. “You could just go home and call it a night, but you’re always there anyway. Watching a set you hate.”

Lando opens his mouth to speak, and nothing but a shaky, slow exhale hisses out of him. He is spent; a deflated balloon. When he inhales, the air feels stale and used — Oscar is so close now; breaths mingling in the shared air.

“You hate me, so you keep looking for me every night in the audience of your solo hour… and when you do find me, you don’t even look away again, so it’s like you’re delivering your entire set to me alone.”

“You’re insane.” Lando means to spit the line in his face, heroically aggrieved, but it comes out as a plaintive, airy whine instead. He swears he sees the corner of Oscar’s permanently impassive mouth twitch — the ghost of a smug, triumphant smile passing over and through him. 

“You hate me,” Oscar continues, as if Lando hasn’t even said anything. “Which is why you think about me all the time, right? You hate me.”

Lando feels his expression spasm involuntarily. Control over his facial muscles appears to be rapidly slipping out of his grasp. “Yes,” he manages to growl; his voice a ferocious whisper rising from the back of his throat. “I hate you.”

“Okay,” says Oscar — that fucking stupid, guileless, deadpan okay again. Something about the way Oscar says it — the detached sheen that descends over his eyes, the nasal twang of his Australian accent — makes Lando want to punch something. 

But he can’t even feel his fingers; couldn’t clench a fist if he tried. Oscar’s shoulder knocks against his provocatively, daring him to say something. To do something. 

Surely Oscar knows, then, that the proximity of his body to Lando’s is the thing that has neutralised his opponent. He is a cat, toying with the prey he holds immobilised beneath one paw.

He’s enjoying this.

“You hate me,” says Oscar, his face now unfathomably close to Lando’s, “and you definitely don’t want me to kiss you.”

“No.” Lando’s voice is barely louder than a breath on the wind. “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

Oscar blinks ever so slowly, those impassive brown eyes like a vortex threatening to swallow Lando whole. His lips part, revealing a flash of teeth — a snarl, a smile; an indecipherable, predatory, in-between thing.

“Then stop me,” he says.

Lando hates the way his voice shakes when he speaks next. “What?”

“Stop me,” Oscar repeats. “You don’t want me to kiss you. So stop me.”

There it is — a real smile now. Tentative. Shy, almost. Oscar may have the upper hand, but he doesn’t know that he’s won.

So Lando does the only thing he knows will catch him off guard. He pushes out with the flats of both palms, shoving Oscar so that he stumbles slightly, balance transferring to his back foot. 

And then, while the surprise is still fresh on his face, Lando grabs the collar of Oscar’s hoodie in both his fists, pulls him back in, and kisses him first.

Time freezes, turning a single moment into eternity. Lando can taste the surprise on Oscar’s lips — and oh, does his little reward taste sweet. 

But neither does it last long. Oscar returns the kiss slowly, tantalisingly… only to shove Lando away just as he eases into the tempo of their shared movements.

“Look at you,” teases Oscar, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever. “All red in the face for the world’s most boring comedian.”

One of Oscar’s hands pushes him back up against the green room wall. The other begins tugging at Lando’s belt buckle slowly, drawing his attention to the fact that he is undeniably, achingly hard. All he can think about still is Oscar’s lips; the burning need he has to shut him up again; to kiss him so long and deep that they both forget how to breathe. 

Yet he can’t move; can’t brandish another witty retort against Oscar’s verbal onslaught. His open palms brace himself against the cool brick walls of the dressing room. The only sound that escapes him, right as Oscar’s hand roughly curls around his cock, is a small, plaintive moan.

“Stop me,” says Oscar, looking him right in the eye; a request for consent disguised as more vicious banter.

Lando sees his opportunity, takes it. “Don’t tell me what to do. Shut the fuck up and finish what you started.”

Oscar’s eyes brighten with a new, mischievous twinkle. His smile grows even more insidious. Contrary to Lando’s expectations, he seems positively delighted that Lando has finally found some bite. 

“Ah.” His brown eyes grow coy. “So you do want this. Maybe I should just go, then. Or maybe I should make you beg for it.”

“Like you beg your audience for laughs?”

Oscar draws closer to Lando once more, his lips hovering just out of reach from where he has Lando pressed against the green room’s walls. Down below, his spit-slicked hand begins working Lando’s dick slowly, to a rhythm that is as delicious as it is infuriating.

“Sure, I may beg,” he says, as Lando’s breath begins to hitch in his throat. “But I also get what I want. Every. Single. Time. And now, you’re going to give me what I want too.”

Lando’s palms, still braced against cold, hard brick, clench inconsequentially into fists as he fights back another moan. “Fat fucking chance.” He barely manages to get the words out from between gritted teeth as Oscar’s thumb tantalisingly circles the head of his cock, right as he begins to speak.

Oscar’s eyes widen with mock surprise. His hand all but stops moving, his grip loosens… and to Lando’s embarrassment, the shock of it is so jarring that he lets out a pathetically loud whimper.

“Okay.” There it is, that hatefully deadpan delivery sending a fresh rush of blood to his erection even as Oscar withdraws. “That’s cool. Let’s call it a night, then.”

For a moment, Lando actually falls for Oscar’s feint. The sudden void left by Oscar’s hands, no longer on Lando’s chest or cock, is wholly unbearable. A wave of embarrassment courses through him, as he struggles to pull his briefs back up with trembling fingers. “Fucking arsehole.”

Oscar lashes out almost faster than Lando can process, both hands snatching up his own and pinning them to the wall. “I’ll ask again,” he says teasingly. “Are you going to give me what I want?”

“What the fuck do you want?!” Lando’s growl is equal parts anger and desperation.

“Tell me I’m not boring.”

“No way.”

Oscar’s right hand loosens on Lando’s left, returning to caress Lando’s cock slowly — too slowly.

“Tell me. I’m not. Boring.”

“No fucking way.”

In response to this, Oscar tightens his grip, moving slightly faster again… and Lando understands the rules of the game now. He has to grudgingly respect Oscar’s ruthlessness when it comes to flipping the rules whenever he wants — especially if this is the effect it’s having on him offstage.

“Say it, Lando. Give me what I want.”

“You’re a hack,” he retorts, as forcefully as he can in between shaking breaths, while Oscar’s hand moves faster with every vitriolic syllable that falls from his lips. “You being in this show was a total fluke. You are painfully. Fucking. Unentertaining.”

“Am I, now?”

Lando presumes the question is rhetorical, but his lack of a response earns him another sudden stop that makes him choke with surprise.

“Am I?” Oscar repeats.

“Yes,” whines Lando, even as he senses a new trap being set. The return of Oscar’s smug grin confirms his instincts barely a second later.

“Aw,” he coos, voice dripping with toxic endearment. “You’re a good comedian… but a veeeery bad liar.”

Lando can barely speak through the pressure building in his chest. Through the frustration of his imminent orgasm being withheld yet again, Oscar diabolically slows his pace. “I’m… not… lying.”

“Are you sure?”

Faster once more, to Lando’s relief.

“Cause if I’m so unentertaining…”

Faster, and faster, and faster—

“…then why was it so easy to make you come?”

And Oscar steps away deftly, just in time, as Lando makes an absolute mess of himself.

A strange, potent cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and elation bubbles through the haze of Lando’s post-orgasm brain fog. A hand on his shoulder brings him out of his reverie — Oscar has brought over a towel from the green room rack.

The Australian’s brown eyes search his again. No trace of mischief or malice remains in them. Now, they are just curious… and, dare he say it, kind.

“You okay?” he asks.

Lando just nods as he wipes himself off, still too buzzed to speak.

“Okay. Good. Phew!” Oscar smiles, and it is a real one this time; a cheek-to-cheek beam with a hundred megawatts of charm. “I don’t usually do that without dinner and drinks first, by the way. But you can buy me a beer tomorrow before the show to make up for it. Sounds good?”

Lando’s head jerks back up to look at Oscar. The earnest expression on his face catches him completely off guard. There are clearly no more games left to play now — all that’s left is to decide where they go from here. And Oscar has clearly already decided for the both of them.

But the change in tone is still as absurd as it is welcome, bringing with it relief… and amusement.

Lando cracks a smile — small, at first, but it grows and grows.

“Sounds great,” he says.

And then for the first time, as Oscar looks on, he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[queer-dancing-fandom-nerd]

Falling - ficlet for #Suptober24 Day 1: Autumn

AVAILABLE ON AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59351350

Something tickles Castiel’s hair. He pulls it out and studies the leaf in his hand. It’s bright red, but not the color of blood that he’s seen too much of. No. It’s a warmer red, made only more luminous with the rays of afternoon sun shining through. It’s autumn in Kansas, and in all the years they spent in that bunker this is the first they’ve been able to enjoy. The first time they could step out of the bunker, without the weight of the world on their shoulders, to just experience the world. Together, as a family.

Castiel has always loved nature, and yet he never had much chance to revel in it. Trees with leaves of almost every color, all bright and warm, surround him. He looks over at Dean, playing with Miracle in the enclosed dog park space, both panting with joy. To his other side, Sam is attempting to teach Jack how to throw a football. Objectively, it isn’t going too well, yet their laughter never ceases.

In this moment, Castiel is content to sit and enjoy this peace that they fought so hard for. Part of him wishes that this moment can extend for eternity, and he can stay in it through his possibly infinite lifespan.

A golden leaf flits in the breeze, slowly finding its path to the earth, and he can’t help but think of his own fall all those years ago. He was so different back then, so sure, so steadfast, so unchanging. To him and all his brethren, to fall was to meet an end. But that was wrong. It was a beginning, a change.

The leaf lands at his feet, and the color looks familiar. Jack’s celebratory cheers pull his attention, and the color is right there in his wind-tousled hair. Jack, his own son. All the leaves are like this, reminiscent of the people in Castiel’s life, even of the souls and graces that exist on a completely other dimension from the earth and yet still so strongly connected to it. At one point, Castiel would have seen this earthliness as un-angelic, almost a sacrilege. Because it’s impure: it necessitates change, and even though it had always fascinated him he knew it was wrong. But he was wrong.

The leaves fall to the Earth, and become one with it. The trees die, but not really. They’ll come back with something new in the spring.

Dean trots over with Miracle, leading him to a water bowl next to the bench. Miracle laps it up eagerly splashing water at their feet, but the sensation is cool and refreshing and Castiel doesn’t mind it at all. Dean sits down next to him with a big sigh of relief.

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” He asks, flashing a grin. The sunlight catches in his eyes and Castiel is left breathless. A human sensation. But he gets to revel in those now. That you’re beautiful.

“That I’m happy,” Castiel replies, and he’s not lying. He bows his head with a light smile. Because he gets to be happy now. Not just for a moment before he’s ripped away into emptiness, but continuously so. And that happiness seems to only grow. Dean reaches over and grabs his hand interlacing their fingers. The gesture is new, and yet feels so completely natural. Castiel looks up to find Dean smiling at their interlaced fingers.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, then tilts his head up and for a moment they get lost in each other’s eyes. Castiel is brought back to Earth at the squeeze of his hand, just in time for him to catch the corners of Dean’s lips pull up into a smile, the crows feet that line his eyes crinkling softly.

“Me too, Cas.”

Autumn is not about falling, nor is it about death. It’s a celebration of change, revering the journey while knowing that something wonderful is not too far away. Castiel’s life these past ten years, building his own family, has absolutely been changed for the better. And he knows something truly wonderful awaits them all.

[raihann1]

STOP

When I tell u the corpse bride and CP fic was so unexpected but so needed. Basically

I LOVED IT OML😭 IT'S ACTUALLY A REALLY CREATIVE CONCEPT AND A FUN READD AHH

Anyway, if you could make a part two I would be forever grateful. But don't push urself, I don't mind waiting<3 AND UR ART IS ADORABLE--

Okay, I'll leave you be now. Have a great day/night 🤧

🦋The other man⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖Eyeless Jack x Reader 2.

NOTES: AW THANKS!! Im going to continue this series untill its basically the whole thing, who should Victoria be? 😭

OLD!Notes: Gosh I love Corpse bride.. how about eyeless jack as a corpse husband though? 😼

Unaccurate E/J

This was made to fit F!readers sorry :( 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚✶🦋☆🦋★🦋☆🦋★🦋✶ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

You ran, ran for your damn life. What even was that thing?! No way in hell would you get catched by that! You ended up bumping headfirst into a large tree, whimpering in pain you saw the figure slowly making its way towards you. Your vision was blurry but you knew it was him. It had to be. You tried running agian only for you to embarassingly hit your head once agian on the same tree. You shook your head and dashed out of there. Slipping on ice and dashing through the forest as the figure seemed to try and reach out for you. The sharp branches you dashed through seemed to grab you and hold you in place as you gasped as one clung onto the collar of your shirt.

"Oh god!" You whispered as you trudged through them making it towards the bridge.

Crows seemed to appear out of nowhere and soon everything seemed peaceful once agian. Your breathing was heavy as you conciously looked around. Sighing in relief once you saw no trace of the man. You walked slowly backing away when suddenly.

BAM

Staring right back at you was the man, or demon or whatever this monster was! You gasped in shock. Backing away eyes widened as he slowly stepped closer to you reaching out for you.

"You may kiss the bride." The mans raspy demonic voice said as you could just sense he had a shit eating grin behind the mask. ---------------------------- Ｔｗｏ Your vision was blurry as you noticed two figures. One was the man, and another.. a skeleton.

A skeleton?!

"A new arrival?" The skeleton said intrigured.

"She must have fainted, are you alright?" He said tilting his head and reaching to place one hand behind your head.

"W-what happened.." you said seeming dazed.

"Looks like we got a breather!" The skeleton said its face inching closer to yours.

You gasped in shock.

"Does he have a dead brother?" A lady said shoving the skeleton out of the way.

"She's still soft!" A child like skeleton said joyfully.

You backed away, slowly moving upwards and taking in your surroundings.

"A toast!" A short skeleton with a cutlass shoved into its body said raising his glass. Another skeleton removed the weapon as the weird drink dispensed into his cup.

"To the newly weds!" He continued as the cutlass was once agajn plunged into him.

"Newly weds?!" You said astonished.

"In the woods! You said all those vows.. so.. perfectly!" He said gently grabbing your hand where a gold rusted ring was.

"I-i did?!" You said staring at your ring finger.

"I did!" You said realizing, you fell hitting your head over and over agian.

"Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!!"

"Coming through! Coming through! My name is Paul," a talking head said.

You gasped agian.

"I will be creating your wedding Feast!"

Suddenly a boy with blonde hair, black eyes and blood seeping from them appeared. He seemed to be some kind of glitch, a virus? His voice sounded of a child.

"Wedding feast?! Fuck yes!!" He sajd giggling as his whole body seemed to glitch.

"Your "husband" smiled and nervously laughed."

"Viruses.. hah.." he said.

"Oh!" You said almost falling AGIAN..

"Keep away! You grabbed the cutlass from the tiny skeletons body, struggling to retrieve it."

"I- i've got a.. dwarf and am not afraid to use it!" You said shaking.

The room gasped.

"I want some questions...NOW."

"Answers." The skeleton corrected you.

"I think you mean answers.."

"T-thank you yes..answers, I need answers."

Your "husband" seemed shocked.

"W-whats going on here! Where am I!" You said fumbling.

A pool ball fell from a pool table awkwardly.

"Who are you?!"

"Well.. thats kind of a long story."

"What a story it is, a tragic tale of romance, passion and a murder most foul." A skeleton in a top hat said.

"This is gonna be good!" The small skeleton said as you looked confused.

---------------------------------------

Notes: you should listen to Remains of the day so it makes it more realistic :). Here are the changed lyrics!

Hey!Give me a listen, you corpses of cheerLeast less of you who still got an earI'll tell you a story, make your skeleton cryOf our own judiciously lovely corpse spouseDie, die we all pass awayBut don't wear a frown 'cuz it's really okayYou might try and hide, and you might try and prayBut we all end up the remains of the dayDie die die, yeah yeah, die die dieWell! A man is a gem known for miles aroundA mysterious stranger came into town she was angel like good lookin' but down on her cashAnd our poor little baby he fell hard and fastWhen his mother said no, he just couldn't copeSo our lovers came up with a plan to elopeDie, die we all pass awayBut don't wear a frown 'cuz it's really okayYou might try and hide, and you might try and prayBut we all end up the remains of the dayDie die die yeah yeahDie die die yeah yeahDie die die yeah yeahDie die die yeah yeahYeah, so they conjured up a plan to meet late at nightThey told not a soul kept the whole thing tightNow her fathers suit it fit like a gloveYou don't need much when you're really in loveExcept for a few things or so I'm toldLike the family jewels and a satchel of goldThen next to the graveyard by the old oak treeOn a dark foggy night at a quarter to threeHe was ready to go, but where was She?She waited(And then) There in the shadows, was it a Girl?(And then) His little heart beat so loud!(And then) And then baby, everything went blackNow when he opened her eyes, he was dead as dustHis jewels were missin' and his heart was bustSo he made a vow lyin' under that treeThat he'd wait for his true love to come set him freeAlways waitin' for someone to ask for his handThen outta the blue comes this lovely young girlWho vows forever, to be by his sideAnd that's the story of our own, corpse husbandDie, die we all pass awayBut don't wear a frown 'cuz it's really okayYou might try and hide, and you might try and prayBut we all end up the remains of the dayYeah

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚✶🩸☆🩸★🩸☆🩸★🩸✶ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

Part 3 anyone?

[aerodaltonimperial]

(For @spacegatito 💚)

The music is loud. In hindsight, Bowens probably shouldn't have put Max in charge of it, but he thought it was a nice gesture given how bummed Max has been recently about things. MxM, the fights he keeps getting into on Twitter... anyway, he's regretting it now, but he can't say anything because Max has already spent the last twenty minutes glaring daggers at Colten Gunn.

Maybe this theme was a bad idea. Also, hindsight. It's really not Bowens's fault that Colten took the theme of "dress as something you love" to create a giant fake Tweet of Tony Khan saying that "Max Caster is a talentless hack and sucks" out of cardboard. It's really unfortunate, because the sheer amount of work that went into it is impressive, but Bowens has had to glare a lot and pretend it's all horrible. (Colten can't even fit through half the doorways, it's so wide.)

The doorbell rings. Bowens only hears it because he's parked next to it; otherwise, the raps are too overpowering. When he swings the door open with a cheery "Happy Hallo...!," he loses all his joy midway through. "What the fuck?"

"What?" Darby asks. "You sent an invite."

"I sent an invite that you CLEARLY didn't take seriously," Bowens groans, because what the fuck. Specific instructions. He'd said dress as something you love, because the roster is on fire lately and they all need something positive, and here's Darby on the doorstep dressed in a grey shirt, black jacket, and a Scapegoat armband. "You know, this isn't funny."

Darby frowns at him. "Wasn't supposed to be. I'm starving, you got food in there?"

"Can't you just try to go along with things once in your life?"

"Dude, what the fuck," Darby says. "Get off my dick, I did what you asked. Now let me in, cause you're being an asshole."

Bowens can't really tell him to go, so he lets Darby past, but like, what the hell. He'd asked for one thing. One thing! Honestly, a fight is gonna break out, and it's not gonna be his fault. He sits back down on his stool while Max continues to toss tootsie rolls at Colten, which keep bouncing off the painted cardboard. God dammit, that costume is funny.

The doorbell rings again, and when Bowens opens the door the second time, he's met with... pink. Fuzzy pink.

"What?" Bowens exhales, aghast. "Did...?"

Jack stares at him, a challenge. Oh my god, he's got the greasepaint on and everything. "What?"

"Why are you...?"

Jack frowns. "You sent a theme. I did the theme."

Is this an elaborate prank of some sort? Bowens has to be hallucinating. Did Hook switch out the Haribo bears with weed gummies? "The... the theme was..."

"Yeah, open up, man. He's in there, isn't he? He didn't even wait for me, which is so fucking typical."

Bowens opens the door, but only because his brain is spinning like a hamster on a wheel. Jack breezes past him, spies Max on the turn table, and yells, "Goth phase!" which immediately draws a delighted crow out of Max and a change in the music.

Bowens stays there for a minute, trying to sort things out. He's still there when Daddy Ass comes by, and asks, "Hey, did you notice that Jack and Darby are dressed as each other? Did you not send them the theme? It's like they thought they were supposed to be scary or something."

"No," Bowens says. "No, I sent them the theme!"

They both go silent for a minute.

"No," Bowens says again.

"No way," Daddy Ass agrees, but it's a little dubious.

The two in question have found each other in the living room, and are sort of arguing with each other, gestures back and forth. So that's all very normal and expected, even if they are weirdly dressed as each other and Bowens is just about to write the whole thing off when Darby abruptly laughs, grabs Jack’s face, and plants a kiss right on his mouth. A ridiculously sloppy kiss with gusto that Jack does not immediately punch him for.

Oh, god.

"Huh," Daddy Ass says, brow furrowed. "I did not see that coming."

"Well, you know what I DO see coming?" Bowens points. "Max attempting to strangle one of your sons with the mic cord. We gotta go stop this. Worry about weird roster relationships AFTER we prevent murder."

[yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere]

Jack Wolfe, i love you so so much♥

+

I hope Jack NEVER stops re-acting "Just Girls?" :https://yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere.tumblr.com/post/768200262755221504/and-the-saga-continues-just-girls-i-hope

-Jack Wolfe on the nevermind. podcast w Veronika Slowikowska & Kyle Chase (Dec2024) :https://open.spotify.com/episode/40uF58oaP9w0Rbr0Ypc3gC?si=BpeOgxD2RJe3IXcRWiMNMA (WHOLE ep video on youtube) :https://youtu.be/fed55vhpxw

-Jack Wolfe on the nevermind. podcast w Veronika Slowikowska & Kyle Chase (Dec2024) NEW FRIENDS THEME SONG(that part, Jack singing here is!!!) :https://www.instagram.com/nevermindpod/reel/DDaHbKxxqWj/

-show fans are never going to know who wylan van eck actually is. they’re never going to know his true last name, the weight it carries. they’re never going to know that he grieved a woman who wasn’t even dead for years. they’re never going to know how strong he is, the abuse he endured. they’re never going to know that he survived a murder attempt ordered by his own father. they’re never going to see him tailor himself to look like someone else because he wanted to be someone different so badly. they’re never going to see him slowly work past his shame. they’re never going to see inej tell him that he wasn’t his father. they’re never going to see kaz tell him that not being able to read didn’t make him weak. they’re never going to see jesper call him a genius. they’re never going to know that the crows were wylan’s first friends, his only friends, and even if he had a pick of a thousand companions, they would’ve been the ones he chose:https://yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere.tumblr.com/post/770359780895260672 &https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/770359780895260672?source=share

-Shadow and Bone Season 2 + subtle hints to Wylan’s backstory(in GIFS):https://www.tumblr.com/stevenrogered/712346903736664064/shadow-and-bone-season-2-subtle-hints-to-wylans

-i started shipping wesper with a passion when wylan literally stopped in the middle of a prison break to ask “wait but are you into guys?”:https://yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere.tumblr.com/post/774106073928990720/just-girls-iconic &https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/774106073928990720/just-girls-iconic?source=share

-he fell first, he fell harder :https://yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere.tumblr.com/post/711788484640260096/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere-yes &https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/711305533150380032/yes-iconic-whos-mark?source=share

[daffodilsonaprettystring]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love❤️

Thanks for the tag @brandileigh2003 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I should say most of these are unfinished lol I love writing but I’m a little all over the place

1. Without You Wolfstar Titanic AU my beloved I promise to complete you someday soon hopefully! Remus as Jack and Sirius as Rose, yes there will be MCD and it is unfinished but I adore this story with all my heart.

2. so ready to give up my soul my Destiel “Beautiful Creatures” movie AU, again unfinished but I love it so much and hope to finish it soon. Castiel as Lena Duchannes, Dean as Ethan Wate, and though the plot mostly follows the movie so far I’ve combined it with another idea I had to expand on it a little more and I’m very excited to continue it!

3. Flight Risk An imagining of how Show!Wesper Wylan Van Eck reveal could’ve gone if Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows had continued on Netflix. It’s a one shot so it is finished and genuinely one of my favorite things I’ve written, I love Wesper and Wylan so much and I’m still so upset we’ll never see anything like this in the show (F you Netflix)

4. Cursebreaker and Fireheart/Son of Night and Daughter of Stars Oh my Wattpad days how I miss you, back in 2020ish I wrote a four-part Sarah J Maas fanfiction series of a crossover between the ACOTAR and ToG worlds, starting with Feyre and Aelin in the first two and then time-skipping to their kids’ story in the next two. I created Estelle, Aelin’s daughter, and used the canon name of Nyx as Feyre’s son to create my own version of him and write him and Estelle meeting and falling in love. Sadly, the fourth fic is still unfinished, so Estelle and Nyx do not have their happy ending just yet but I LOVED writing those stupid fanfics so much they were my first attempt at fanfic and Estelle and Nyx were my first attempt at a love story and even if the writing isn’t amazing I’m still so proud of these damn books.

5. Scars Of A Gold Moon: I have never actually published this one, but it’s my Wolfstar Bookstore fic as it’s been dubbed by my friends. It’s one of the only fics I’ve written with no AU tie in or anything, just my own story with the Marauders characters and I adore it. It has Wolfstar, Reg and Lily as Remus’s best friends, Sirius in a band, Black Brothers reunions, lots of secrets from both sides of Wolfstar lmao, and ironically, this fic is the only reason I have Without You. Sirius made Remus watch Titanic so I rewatched it so they could make funny comments, and then Without You was born! Lol someday I’ll finish this and post it.

No pressure tags except I don’t know any fic authors so let’s tag some famous ones I love just for funsies @mayescapade @cal-daisies-and-briars @smilingbuckley @motswolo

And anybody else who happens across this have at it too lol

[nesting-dreams]

I feel like by the end of the series. Akiza and Crow both got shafted. Instead of hating on crow. Be upset with the writers for making only Jack and Yusei important. Cuz while she got hardly any screen time eventually. She ended up being a doctor in the end which is perfect for her journey, but we didn’t get to see the journey. Like she went from wanting to destroy everything to wanting to heal everything. (Love her). The twins future ended up making sense for them, but we didn’t get to see their journey too it.

Now crow ended up being a cop and that makes no sense, no matter which way you look at it. His passions is being an adrenaline junkie and children. It’d make more sense for him to continue turbo duelling or trying out for sports or one of those monster truck rallies or do a career with children.

[cgarttrailsandtails]

Halloween Incorrect quotes! (Eaps, Sams, Laes)

Ships: TwilightDancer (crackship), treasurebox, NatureGator, Lumini, WorkBook (Solar x Nebula), StarShades (Eaps Monty x Ballora)

———————————————————————

Sunshine: I think I may try dressing up as a clown this year for the kids!

Eclipse: you can’t dress up as something you already are-

Sunshine: D:

———————————————————————

Jack: Trick or Threat?

Person: uhh why not treat?

Jack: Okay, threat. Ahem, give me candy or I will use my knife fingers on you! *shows knife fingers*

Person: oh dang! *gives candy*

(Before the next house)

Solar: Jack it’s “treat” not “threat”-

Jack: wha?

———————————————————————

Jack (dressed as a scarecrow):

Dazzle (dressed as a pirate):

ITS THE SPOOKY MONTH!! *cue spooky dance*

———————————————————————

Ballora: this year, I hope I can be your girlfriend for Halloween!

Eclipse: oh yeah, then I hope I can be… dead :D

Ballora: >:/

———————————————————————

Puppet, talking about a skeleton decoration Eclipse has hung up in the theater: Nice! Where’d you get it?

Eclipse: …

Puppet: Eclipse, where’d you get it?

Eclipse: …

Puppet: please tell me it isn’t real…

Eclipse: real? Oh no, I got it at Walmart.

Puppet: oh phew. So where’d the realistic looking crow come from?

Crow: *stares into soul* (it’s real-)

———————————————————————

*Earth and Lunar are shopping at Spirit Halloween*

Earth, holding up a mini raven figurine: I’m sure this guy would like to take a peck (peek) at the decorations!

Lunar: Man I’m dead-

*Earth looks at him to see a plastic skeleton falling over*

Earth: OH DEAR STARS-!

———————————————————————

Moon: hehe *throws fake spider at Sun*

Sun: *SCREAMS like a little girl and runs in the opposite direction*

———————————————————————

Nexus, in the middle of the night (Solar’s room): *materializes*

Solar, having just woken up from a nightmare: Ah! *continues screaming while running away*

Nexus: 🤨 😳

Solar: *yeets chair in Nexus’s face, still fucking screaming*

———————————————————————

Eclipse: hey, trick or yeet?

Jack: uhh yeet?

Eclipse: *throws Jack*

Jack: aiyeeeee…!

———————————————————————

Eclipse: I wonder what I should be for Halloween…

Ballora: Mine ;)

Eclipse:

Eclipse: yeah that would be pretty scary-

———————————————————————

(Setting up for a Halloween party)

Lunar: *phone dings* Oh, it’s my brother!

Monty: ooh, did he get me the stuff?

Lunar: yep, he says he got you the clown costume, the power drill, and… 12 gallons of blood.

Monty: wow, where’d he find 12 gallons of fake blood?

Lunar: you wanted fake blood?

Lunar:

Lunar: I’ll go call my brother…

———————————————————————

Foxy: why’d you two dress up as each other for Halloween?

Puppet: Eclipse is the scariest thing I can think of! (Trying to be nice)

Eclipse: Puppet told me I should pick the dumbest costume possible.

———————————————————————

Dark Sun: what do you want to be for Halloween?

Ruin: Loved.

Nexus: don’t do that-

———————————————————————

Earth: why is there blood all over the place?

Eclipse: I may have aggressively poked someone with a knife

Earth: YOU STABBED SOMEONE?

Eclipse: no no, I aggressively poked them with a knife.

———————————————————————

Moon: I’m going to wear a trash bag for Halloween so when people are like “haha you dressed up as trash” I can just say “close but I dressed up as my dad”

———————————————————————

Lunar: Jack, you think every round fruit is an apple.

Jack: No I don’t

Lunar: *holds up cherries* what are these?

Jack: tiny apples.

Lunar: *points to a pumpkin* what is that?

Jack: a Halloween apple.

———————————————————————

(At a pumpkin patch)

Dazzle: Jack, where did you go?!

Jack: *holding up a big one with all his might* P U M P K I N

———————————————————————

Lunar: Don’t make me unhallow your ween!

Jack: NOT MY WEEN

Monty: I really don’t understand them sometimes…

———————————————————————

Earth: Wow, Monty! Where’d you get all these fake skulls from?

Monty: …Fake?

———————————————————————

Earth: What do you guys want to be for Halloween?

Lunar: Respected.

Nebula: Appreciated.

Solar: At peace.

Earth: … I was gonna be a cat-

———————————————————————

That’s all, happy Halloween!!

[crossdressingdeath]

Viago: We are not here to be formal. There have been enough funerals. Teia: Did you know, I was just turning to say something to Heir the other day, before I remembered she was no longer there. Viago: Fletcher. (Sighs) Rook: I didn't know Chance for long, but he seemed like a good man. Viago: Terrible taste in furniture. He always smothered everything in gold. (Sighs) I'll miss hearing him complaining that I complain about it. Teia: The Diamond, the entire city feels so empty. I wonder if it will ever not feel that way. Rook: Just another thing the gods have to answer for. Teia: A fine sentiment... for the day you face the gods. And there is only so much good their deaths will bring. We must make the rest for ourselves.

Ah, the pain and suffering continues. The scene in occupied Minrathous where you have that moment at the Wall of Light is also painful, but the way the Crows' memorial scene specifically brings attention to these victims of the blight having been personal friends to Teia and Viago and active allies (if not necessarily friends) to Rook makes it hurt more to me. Racing through the city to rescue Lorelei and Hector and getting there too late to find anything but their bodies definitely does hurt, but the game taking a moment to acknowledge directly that Heir, Fletcher and Chance had friends who love and miss them after you're forced to kill them is so much. It's not that the Viper doesn't grieve the loss of his allies, obviously, but the way these particular deaths are so personal for Viago and Teia really gets me.

I also like the acknowledgement that bringing down the gods isn't actually going to fix this. I mean, while the characters don't know it at this point it might help with the blight given killing Elgar'nan and sticking Solas in the Fade clearly alters how that works (it seems to die around Minrathous and your blighted companion is if not totally healed at least somewhat recovered), but the damage is still done. But Teia also mentions that they have to make good themselves, which I think is a such a valuable theme in DAV; you can't just do one dramatic, violent act and call the world fixed! One act of violence might help depending on the situation at hand, but that in and of itself isn't a lasting solution. You're going to have to plan and work for a better future even if it's hard, and that's both why Solas ultimately fails ("1. Bring down the Veil despite the massive death toll, 2. ????????, 3. Profit" was never going to end well, Solas might claim he has a plan but given he is designed from the ground up to be a trickster archetype and spends the two games he's in constantly lying both actively and by omission in the absence of solid evidence his word isn't worth jack shit) and just... something I think is important to say in the times we're living in IRL.

[thedarkone121]

Well, they say the Devil works quick but I think the Just Dance fandom works faster. I was not expecting such a quick response in that last post I made and for that, I guess I can share the idea that I really want to make into an animatic (due to the fact I’m really busy for graduation and getting my resume/job-hunting in order, please don’t expect the animatics right away, I know my track record 😆)

Everyone, say hello to my Fallen Prince Playlist!

Grenade by Bruno Mars — No one should be surprised by this addition. This takes place not long after Tainted Love, where Jack Rose was too late to catch the Swan Boat. As he laments his loss of a chance, loosing his friends, and the despair that his mother might’ve won, Night Swan’s magic comes around once again to try and corrupt him. However, Jack’s determination is able to keep the influence off enough — he’s DONE playing his mother’s game. Near the end of the song, Jack was able to defeat the Corrupt Influence… By imitating his mother’s own dance style and absorbing it into his own Flow. Startled by the sudden events but now more determined than ever, Jack sets off to rescue his friends… In spite of how much pain he seems to be in after absorbing the his mother’s magic.

Thnks fr th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy — Jack manages to get on board the Swan Boat, where he faces off against the Corrupted Coaches, one by one. Each dance battle he uses his own ballet style to absorb the corruption from them, only to be in more pain with every absorption. A dark aura begins to surround him and yet, he still continues to fight. The fight goes from Mihaly, Brezziana, Wanderlust, to finally Sara. Sara is the toughest final boss, since Night Swan is also participating in this fight as well. But Jack manages to rescue Sara… And the dark aura gets worse. The coaches could only stare on in horror as Jack gives them one last smile, before Obsidian Crow takes over. With one last act from Jack, Obsidian Crow throws himself into a portal to his own prison, leaving behind the devastated coaches and a confused and powerless Night Swan.

Falling Inside the Black by Skillet — Obsidian Crow and Jack are locked in a battle with one another in their shared prison. Within the first verse, the two are switching back and forth, Jack is in pain while Obsidian Crow is enjoying his new existence. Along the second verse, the Coaches manage to enter the prison and Sara (it’s time for some found-siblings, folks) faces off against Obsidian Crow. Again, it’s flickering back-and-forth between the two. Sara tries to pull on Jack’s arm to separate the two but the first attempt fails. She tries again near the end of the song and this time, she succeeds. Now the coaches are left to deal with the Phantom Obsidian Crow.

And that’s the gist of what I have planned for this idea! There are some other things I wanted to include; like the coaches’ plan on how to save Jack or doing a segment on Night Swan in aftermath of Thnks Fr Th Mmrs but this is pretty much the barebones of what I want this idea to be. Maybe I’ll do a drawing of Obsidian Crow sometime in the future so until then, peace!

[lavender-teardroplettes]

All (current) Si ships - Updated 5/15/2024

Another look into all the ships for Si that I currently have running around my head at all times. The backlog for art is still long and I continue to pile onto it like the down-bad fool I am. Some ships have been removed due to falling outs, let's leave it at that. ❤️

Note: There will always be more I just need to establish lore for new ships/get around to seeing how I think Si would fit well with.

Here we go part 2, electric bugaloo!

RH:

Ezra x Si (main pairing admittedly)

Exra x Si x Chris (Guard Dogs au)

Ezra x Si x Bess

Si x Bess

Si x Steph (accidentally angsty but also cute besties to lovers)

Si x Steph xBess

Si x Sammy (⚠️horny⚠️)

Si x Chris

Si x Chris x Bennie (realized I could add him to the list now lol)

YaH

Si x Adam

Si x Cain

MDHM

Si x Alan

Si x Stu (mostly were au, but some in game angst hohoho)

Si x Jules (I've been eyeing him recently)

STNAF

Si x Friend

Si x Carter

Si x Z ( were!Z though still *knuckle bite harder*)

Be My Muse (LMRY)

Si x Zecharias

Si x Salvador (waiting on more lore but Sal and his cute lil tsundere crush- *gets pelted with a violin bow*)

SWWSDJ

Si x Jack/Jacktor

Si x Shaun (da-

Si x Nick(-ddies)

Si x Ian (ex-boyfriend and angsty purposes until more lore is dropped)

DachaBo

Si x Bo

Blackberry Winter

Si x Conrad

MINE/FLVN

Si x Keith

Si x Damien

CWP

Si x Harper

Si x Malik

Si x Malik x Gavin

Si x Dante (yan!Dante yan!Dante yan!Dante----)

Si x Gavin

Si x Sophie

Si x Jazz (yes anon got me thinking of them both lol)

Mushroom Oasis

Si x Mychael

ATA

Si x Douglas

Would You Stay?

Si x Virgil

Si x Virgil x Rizza

Would You Pick Me?

Si x Mikey

Si x Jack

Si x Narrator

ADSM

Si x Charles

Si x Charlie

Si x both of them maybe?

Seven Blood Nights

Si x Ares

Si x Beelzebub

Si x Morpheus

Si x Eros

Si x Hubris

The Kid at the Back

Si x Sol

Si x Crowe

Weathering Feelings

Si x Dr. Nubloso (uwu if you know you know)

Yandere Island (so far with current routes available)

Si x Markus

Si x Oliver

Si x Torrin

Si x Nicholas

Don't Trust Him (as far as the current demo goes it's being reworked)

Si x Riley

Si x Dia

Si x Leon

Froot Basket Valentine

Si x Momotaru

Love Me Dearly

Si x Takuma

Duplicity

Si x Tris

Si x Griffin

Vile Strangers

Si x Theodore

Yan ocs w/o a game

Krow x Si (@ thekrows-nest)

Vic x Si (@ starsetven)

Avery X Si (@ starsetven)

Si x Miles (my oc)

BG3 (Si’s a Teifling btw uwu)

Si x Will x Karlach (trying for this in current play through, but will be happy with just Karlach lol)

Si x Halsin

Si x Astrion (not romanced in game yet)

[bestygogirl]

BEST YGO GIRL: Round 3, Group D

Match 2

please use this as an opportunity to say why you like a character, not why you don't.

Propaganda under the cut!

Martha

Yusei/Jack/Crow's adopted mother, also just a badass who takes no one's shit martha, martha, martha. yes, she's yusei, jack, and crow's adoptive mother. but have you ever like. considered martha as a person? considered the fact that she grew up in satellite before zero reverse, and took in the orphans of that event without a second thought? she opened her home in a time when money would have been tight and continued to take care of orphans even after the bridge was repaired. she's also the one who imparted to yusei, jack, and crow to not trust anything given for free - suggesting she gave out life advice to all those kids too. when a cop entered her home, she immediately put him to work and made him clean the bathroom. martha also teased yusei about his crush on aki, showing that she's willing to keep a sense of normalcy even under high stress points. she's such a cool character and she's not really given a lot of attention in the fandom at all. vote for martha, because she's actually a pretty interesting character.

Kotori Mizuki

Tori deserves more love!!! Despite not being a duelist she’s the protag’s number one supporter!!! Heck she’s one of the only people who stands by his side WITHOUT DYING. I say she deserves the best friend role claim more than the actual character who has that title. Also she’s a cutie pootie that’s a fashionista! She is unironically a force to be reckoned with in Duel Links. Her introduction is her slaying fool after fool in her quest to hunt down Yuma and get back at him for ditching her. Heck even within just Zexal she doesn't take anyone's crap and was ready to fight the Barians (space demons) with a frying pan at one point. She's vastly underrated in my opinion. One time she said “all Yuma’s good for is eating food and crapping it out” completely out of pocket and I love her for that no other yugioh girl is doing it like her also I’m certain she beats out all other yugioh girls on Amount of Times The Yutagonist’s Name was Said and that has to count for something

[mathemagician93]

I know I’m speaking with the benefit of twenty-ish years of hindsight and am no way a professional writer, but I’ve entered the start of the duelist of the week part of the pre WRPG and I feel like some of these duels could have worked better if they had just switched the duelists

And I know some people might feel like trying to fix this part of 5Ds is beating a dead horse, so I’ll put my rambling thoughts after the cut.

Like, you’ve got the vice principal at Duel Academy in the love letter to GX. Aki stands up to him, but it’s Yusei who comes in and duels him because the principal hired him to do it. And the lesson we are supposed to take is that Yusei has the power to fix people’s souls and the vice principal is wrong for disrespecting low level monsters

And Yusei is very much the correct choice for teaching the lesson that no card is trash…but we already know he’s got the power to bring out the best in people. Look at where Jack and Aki were at the start of the arcs compared to here- we’ve seen Yusei do this already. Instead of giving the one shot antagonist the character lesson, why not just let Aki handle it?

In the last arc we saw a flashback to her in duel academy terrifying her classmates with her powers. Show us Aki now being the hero to her fellow students who doesn’t need her powers to win this duel. It’s not perfect as it has the development happening off-screen but it at least shows us it did happen instead of telling us it happened. Plus, it gives a chance for Aki to show us a card in her extra deck other than Black Rose Dragon or Splendid Rose and that’s another positive

Then we’ve got the old man with the junk family deck, and this being a Crow episode just gives me whiplash. Like, last we saw Crow getting focus he was rocketing himself through Godwin’s monster in a move so awesome the crimson dragon made him a signer for it. Now in this episode, he gets clowned on by the kids he was looking after and slapsticked around a junkyard. Quite the step downward in terms of respect given to a character

And it seems like this would have been such a layup to make it a Yusei episode. The opponent is a man who focused on his work and ended up losing his family because of it, and he uses a junk deck. Then we’ve got yusei, who grew up an orphan because of his father’s work and uses a lot of junk monsters. We saw in Yusei vs Rudger that Yusei has complicated feelings about his father (I’m not sure if “inherited survivor’s guilt” is a thing but it would be the simplest explanation I can give). You could have this be a fun mirror where each side connects with the other as a surrogate for the family they lost. Seems like a lot of character potential you could add on here, and if you have duels that don’t impact the plot you can easily make them engaging with good character work

Just my thoughts and I might have more as I continue my rewatch, but I wanted to write this down and this blog seemed like the best place as a way of shouting into the void of the internet