#and of course in his origines he's a lot less mature

[jaguarys]

Hello! I don't know if someone already asked, but if not, please tell us you thoughts about Danaël?

Thank you for asking! On a real note I super appreciate all the LL asks that people have been sending, I LOVE to yell about this series.

In a lot of ways, he's really the straight man of the series, but I honestly think that's sort of what makes him so great. He's the one who the rest of the group revolves around, not just because he's their leader, but he's also just their focal point. He's the one who brought them together; he's the one they follow. I think in a lot of ways he's the one they aspire to and model themselves after, and I do firmly believe he's the best of them.

He's also truly the definition of haunting the narrative. His absence is more acute than his presence in a lot of ways, and I think narratively it's a lot more important. I'm genuinely obsessed with the way the series shifts after his death–– it's a tangible absence, and no matter how much they try to cover the gap he leaves, there's just no way for them to.

Of course, the series post-Anathos becomes a lot darker, but I also think it's just more... bleak. They've really and truly lost their core, and they don't ever regain the sense of family their group had before. They scattered during their recovering period following vol 10, and they never fully reconverge much as they might want to.

I don't think it would be impossible, had they had the time. They're focused on trying to rebuild what they had, when I think what would have been best would be to create something new. And, I think, being that he was the glue, they never really learned to fill those gaps (and actually communicate. I think he was the one who made them talk to each other, holy shit (affectionately, they're dumbasses)).

I absolutely adore him. I won't get into his Dynameïs version here but I think about that a lot too... really depends on how you want to interpret Kalandre's hold over their group (are they still themselves? Are they entirely other people? Is it full control or just influence? I'm obsessed.)

[moonstruckme]

hi love what about a Sirius pre relationship request where reader is super sick and he comes over to check on her and she's just kinda feeling the fever delusions and she asks him why he doesn't like? She's like I want to be ur gf ur so amazing what am I doing wrong? And just angst with fluff bc Sirius does have feelings for her

Hi, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve made this friends-with-benefits Sirius instead of them just being like platonic. Thank you for requesting!

cw: implied past sex? or basically mature themes

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Sirius is moderately concerned that this might qualify as breaking and entering, but he’s a lot more concerned about how you’re not taking his calls, and if you hadn’t wanted him to know where your spare key was, you should have done a better job of hiding it. 

He unearths the key. It slides into the lock welcomingly. Your apartment is dark and quiet, but it doesn’t take Sirius long to find you. Your bed looks like a tornado has hit, your sheets tangled, torn up from where they’re usually tucked underneath the end of the mattress, and one of your pillows fallen off to the side. Only the very top of your head pokes out from the mess, disheveled hair and a sliver of forehead. 

You don’t stir as he eases the covers down underneath your chin. Your face is sweet and placid, your lips pursed funnily where you’ve smushed them against your pillow. The sight of you all rumpled and sleepy melts Sirius to his core, and he says your name with more sweetness than he intends. 

Your lashes only twitch. 

Sirius knows he could nudge you awake with his hand atop your comforter, but he’s selfish. He slips it beneath to touch your shoulder. Your skin emanates a dry heat. 

“Hey,” he says, indulging in a sweep of his thumb when you start to rouse slowly. “What’s your deal, huh? What’s wrong with you?” 

Your eyes open, clearly feverish but nevertheless lovely as always. Your brow scrunches a little as you blink up at him. “Oh.” You sound more than tired, like you’ve not spoken in days. “Of course you’re here.” 

Sirius can’t help but smile. “Of course I am,” he agrees. “You think you can just dodge my calls and I won’t come knocking?” 

You sigh and pat under the covers around you until your hand emerges with your phone. “It’s dead,” you say, showing it to him. 

“You didn’t want to charge it?” 

“Charger’s all the way in the living room.” Your voice doesn’t seem to be growing any less sluggish as you wake up. Sirius finds this vaguely concerning. “I was gonna go get it in a little bit.” 

He wonders how long you’ve been telling yourself that for. You haven’t been responding to his texts or calls since last night. 

Sirius slots his palm alongside your cheek, though he already knows what he’ll feel. You close your eyes, tilting your face into the touch, and a tiny, fond twist behind his ribs makes his breath catch momentarily in his throat.

“How long have you been sick for, sweetheart?” 

You hum. “A while.” Your eyes open reluctantly. “Sorry, m’not much good for a lay right now.” 

Sirius’ hand draws back with the sting of your words. “You’re—that’s okay. I haven’t come looking for one.” 

You study him through the crush of your lashes. “Then why are you here?” 

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Granted, he had originally called to see if you were in the mood. But that cause ceased to matter when he didn’t hear from you, and when he asked around and no one in your circle had for at least a day. Then he’d just wanted to see you. “I came to check on you.” 

Your expression pinches as if his words pain you. It creates a little line on the insides of each of your brows and a sad tightening around your mouth. You look at him like this, occasionally. When there’s a room between you or when you’re high off sex, but never so openly. Never when you know he can see. 

“You’re so nice,” you say mournfully. 

Sirius’ laugh is soft with surprise. “You only think that because of the time I showed you last Friday.” 

“Don’t joke,” you say firmly. He feels his grin slip. “You always act like you’re not, but you are. You’re amazing, Sirius.” The urge to make fun of you rises in his chest, but he squashes it back down, where it settles like an ache behind his ribs. “I really wish you liked me.” 

It feels like all the air in his lungs dries up. “What?” he asks breathlessly. 

“You’re so smart,” you say, nearing a whisper, “and you are funny, but you’re also really good at lots of stuff. You’re good in general.” You seem like you’re looking at him and through him at the same time, your gaze faraway and wistful. “I know you don’t always think so, but you’re good. It makes me wish you liked me back. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong that you don’t like me.” 

Sirius feels like you’ve reached inside him and scooped all of him out. He’s nothing but a pile of guts and mush, his devotion to you in every sorry bit. He wants to tell you that he’s not half the things you say. (That you’re all of them and more.) He wants to say that you’ve never done a thing wrong in your life, or at least nothing that could matter to him, and the worst thing he ever did was letting you look at him with pain in your eyes and pretending he didn’t see. He wants you to know that he more than likes you, that he hasn’t found a word big enough for the feeling he carries around all day which aches in a way he hasn’t decided if he enjoys and throbs horribly when you’re around. And he wants to tell you all of this in a way that’s cool but sincere and makes you smile by the end. 

But when he looks at you your eyes are glossing over, all Sirius’ words tangle up in his mouth. 

“Hey, dollface,” he says, suppressing a much sweeter name and rubbing your cheek tenderly with his thumb, “stop that. Don’t get upset, please? You’re too lovely for tears.” 

The last bit comes out with a teasing bent, Sirius’ habit of shrouding affection with humor kicking in automatically. You smile like you’ve caught him again. It’s a half-hearted, flickering thing. 

“Sorry,” you say, blinking them away. One squishes out the corner of your eye, and Sirius catches it with his forefinger. “I’m being silly.” 

“You’re never silly,” he replies, then reconsiders. “Well, actually, you are. About lots of stuff, but we don’t need to talk about that right now.” Before he can stop himself, he’s bending to rest his lips on the spot where the tear started to roll down your cheek. When he draws back, his lips are warmer and taste of salt. 

Sirius swallows. “Would you be alright if I stayed here for a bit? I want to help make sure you’re okay.” 

You regard him through glassy eyes nevertheless lovely as always. “Okay,” you say. Your voice sounds so normal he almost wonders if you’ve forgotten what you’d spoken about just a few moments earlier. “That’s nice of you, thanks.” 

He fights the urge to correct you a second time. “It’s no problem,” he says instead. “We can talk about the rest when you’re feeling a bit better, yeah?” 

Your expression turns nervous. You haven’t forgotten. “Really?” you ask, voice breathless like it’s a wish you don’t expect granted. 

That unnamed feeling gives a deep, powerful throb. “Yeah, sweetheart.” Sirius rubs your cheek again, your skin soft and precious under his thumb. “I promise.” 

[yunhoszn]

motive

PAIRING choi san x f!reader

WORD COUNT 3.37k

GENRES kinda fluff ig﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, friends to lovers, reader is lowkey down horrendous, but san is too i guess, um tbh this is just porn with minimal plot… 😭, reader gets jealous, Tension, i can’t think of anything else for the tame aspect so, making out, exhibitionism, soft dom!san, marking-ish, scratching, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, they’re like kinda clumsy in the way that everything is a fucking joke to them, actually a lot of kissing, san’s a sweet talker, public sex, shower sex, unprotected sex (pls be safe), creampie, cutesy ending

SUMMARY it’s annoying that your gym partner constantly gets flirted with right in front of you, especially when you have a crush on said gym partner. good thing your gym partner has a crush on you, too.

MORE HELLO oh my god okay, this is my first written fic on this blog and im actually so nervous posting it… but fuck it! we ball! this wasn’t originally the first fic i was gonna post but,,, the other one is still marinating in the drafts so you get mr. choi san instead <3 ALSO THANK U SM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS HELLO. my blog is 2 weeks old that’s insanity 🤕 big thank u to the loml @kimsohn for betaing for me ilysm maya <<3 pls reblog if u enjoyed and pls moot me :( i need more atiny friends 💔

“Wow, San, you’re so strong,”

You scoff to yourself as you watch the trio of girls surround him, dainty fingers touching anywhere they can. He laughs sheepishly, shifting his seat on the weight bench. You think it’s funny, really, the fact that he was eating up their attention and acting like he was so shy about it. He was supposed to be your gym partner. 

With a small grunt, you take the dumbbells in front of you and focus on your form in the mirror. You make attempt after attempt to ignore the commotion behind you, but ultimately fail. How could you not stare with all the obnoxious giggling? Even as you lunge, eyes zeroed in on the perfect 90° angle your legs make, you can still make out the group’s reflection in the mirror. 

Every drag of a manicured nail along his bicep, each twirl of hair, it was pissing you off. You had no real right to be mad, though. It’s not like San was your boyfriend or anything. You were just friends, and he’d volunteered to help you out when you mentioned struggling at the gym. What started as him spotting you when needed and giving tips to help improve your workouts, turned into waiting around for him to stop flirting with the girls who flocked over to him. 

Maybe you were being a bit dramatic. It’s not like this happened every time you came to the gym, but it was enough to be irritating. There was also a very high probability that it ticked you off so much because you had a crush on San yourself. Your infatuation was less superficial, however. Yes, he was an attractive man, that was one fact that couldn’t be refuted, but there was more to him than his big muscles and handsome face.

You’d known San since you met in your first year Anthropology course. This was way before he started hitting the gym and building his physique. He used to be this thin, pretty boy. Girls thought he was cute, but that was about it. No one was jumping at the chance to ask him out, or giggling at his every word. No one except for you.

He was not only cute, but he was sweet and funny and just about every good quality you could think of. You didn’t want to be one of those people who thought you were special because you knew him before his insane bodily transformation, though in a way you were. San was your good friend above anything else, and you had a fear instilled in you that that’s all he would ever be. The idea made your stomach churn.

”Do you think you could bench me?”

A sigh pushes past your lips when you see one of the girls get a little closer to him. You’re over working out at this point, ready to just call it a day and go home. What were you doing here if your partner was going to ignore you the entire time? You set the dumbbells back on their respective rack, grabbing your phone and water bottle while simultaneously turning up the volume on your headphones to drown out everything around you. 

You don’t bother telling San that you’re leaving, making your way into the changing rooms to grab the rest of your things from your locker. The frown etched onto your face as you do so serves as a reminder that he would never see you in that way. Perhaps you were perpetually stuck as the girl space friend. With a giant emphasis on the space. 

There’s a gentle grasp around your wrist, making you jump in surprise. You turn around with wide eyes, pushing your headphones off your ears. San stares back at you with an unreadable expression, lips slightly pursed.

”God, San, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you hold a hand to your chest, heaving up and down a little.

”I tried calling your name, but you didn’t hear me,” he shrugs, releasing your arm and shoving his hands into the pockets of his athletic shorts. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ready to leave?”

”You looked busy.” Really, you wanted to hide the jealousy and bitterness from your tone, but ultimately failed, even throwing in an unintentional scrunch of your nose. It feels like your heart dropped to your stomach, resembling a prey caught by its predator when you realize the connotation behind your words.

San smiles at you, a smug grin that’s so out of character for him, you’re a little nervous now. He takes a step forward and you back up until you reach the lockers, one of his hands coming up to rest on the surface near your head. A small chuckle breaches the sound barrier, his eyes drinking in your figure like he might never get the opportunity to do it again. “Y/N… are you jealous?”

Instinctively, you shake your head. What he doesn’t know can’t kill him. But then he’s raising an eyebrow in question and you feel like a puppy with its tail between its legs. You blink up at him, nails digging into your palms to keep your composure. “Should I be?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, that same cocky smirk on his features. He knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He has you cornered and he’s using it to his advantage. The hand that isn’t holding his weight comes up to your face, fingers gliding along your jaw with a feather light touch. “No, I don’t think so. The only girl who’s attention I really care about is right where I want her.”

Your breathing stutters, halting in your throat and momentarily winding you. Choi San might very well be the death of you. Especially with that darkened look in his eyes, the chocolate brown color now resembling the night sky. His thumb swipes across your lower lip, letting it resume its original place. “What do— what do you mean by that?”

He was giving you a bone, a hint that he could potentially feel the same as you, but you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted the words to leave his mouth and verbally confirm that for you. Want wasn’t even good enough. You needed it. 

“There’s no way you don’t know,” San says, voice hushed. “No way that you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you since first year.”

Something similar to a choked groan departs from you, your pulse racing in your ears, thumping beneath your chest. You’re too stunned to move, frozen in your spot in case this is all some fucked up dream. It doesn’t even occur to you that someone could walk in, doesn’t even cross your mind that you’re in too public of a setting for this conversation or where it could go. 

“I don’t— I didn’t…” Your eyes attempt to stay on his, but keep flickering down to his mouth. 

“It was so hard for me to play nice guy for so long,” he whispers, a pout adorning his expression. “And today? I couldn’t even stare at you shamelessly because of those damn girls. It’s so fucking annoying when they bother me while I’m trying to flirt with you. But since I’m Nice Guy San, I can’t be rude.”

“You flirt with me?” You snort, your shell shock wearing off and a goofy smile worming its way onto your face. He laughs along with you, tilting away to hide the warmth blooming on his cheeks. The tension is still present, but it’s a lot more bearable.

”I guess I’m not very good at it if you couldn’t even tell,” he glances down at his feet, the confident San from before long gone and now replaced by a bashful version. “Am I going crazy, or is this gonna go somewhere? I don’t want to misread anything and ruin what we already have. The ball is entirely in your court.”

It’s your turn to be shy, shrinking in on yourself slightly. Acknowledging that you had feelings for San was a separate can of worms. There was a big difference between him confessing to you and vice versa. You know if given the stage, you’d just start blabbering on and on about how you feel for him, and that would just be embarrassing for both of you. So instead you say, “Can I show you?”

When he nods, your fingers raise to his jaw, cupping it gently as you lean up. Your lips brush his softly, barely grazing them. His eyes flutter shut, a shiver running down his spine simply from your kiss. A pleasant buzz courses through your veins from your lips to the tips of your fingers. You’ve wanted this forever, you don’t think you could ever go back.

You pull back and San fists the fabric of your t-shirt on your waist, eyes still closed as he chases your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N, can I kiss you again?”

“Please,” you whine, enveloping your lips with his as soon as you get the green light. This time is desperate, noses bumping each other. You’re going lightheaded and dizzy, already intoxicated by him. Your back presses into the lockers behind you, arching into his chest for more. 

He deepens the kiss and it’s almost too much. You’re overwhelmed by the emotions taking control of you, not at all prepared for what would come with actually being with San. It had always been a distant fantasy, something that felt so completely out of reach that you didn’t dare let yourself indulge in the notion for too long. The way his lips lock with yours, fluidly and synchronously like missing pieces of a puzzle, you think you can die happily. 

“As hot as it would be to fuck you right here, I’d rather not get kicked out of this gym,” he chuckles breathlessly. “And since we’re both sweaty from working out, I think we could use a shower. Don’t you?”

You leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth, nodding frantically at his suggestion. Though you imagined your first time with San being in a bed, slow and sensual, you’d be so stupid to complain about this. Fucking in one of the gym showers, where anyone could hear you? Go big or go home. 

He scopes the area to ensure the coast is clear before hauling you into one of the stalls, dragging the curtain shut. You kiss roughly between removing articles of clothing, San turning on the water while his lips make quick work of your neck. Goosebumps form on your skin when the cool water hits it, your fingers combing through his wet hair as he sucks harsh marks into your collarbone and sternum. 

“You’re so gorgeous, babe,” he mutters into your skin, nipping lightly at the tops of your tits. One of his hands travels south, sliding through your folds with ease. He rubs tight circles into your clit, prodding at your entrance with his ring finger. “I need you to cum for me once before I fuck you for real, okay?”

“Mhm,” you moan quietly, hiking one of your legs around his waist. His finger pushes inside you to the knuckle and then curls. Your eyes all but roll to the back of your head, back arching off of the tiled wall. “Feels so good, San…”

“Yeah?” He smiles against your skin, trailing pecks up your neck and along your jawline. You whimper in his ear, cunt sucking in his finger greedily. He adds a second, the middle one, and applies pressure to your clit with the heel of his palm. The sight of you falling apart by his hand alone is sending blood rushing to his brain. 

Your body feels hot to the touch, risking a downwards glance at where his fingers disappear into your pussy. It forces another whine out of you, your head tossing back. You tug at the strands of hair that stick to the nape of his neck, steeling yourself the only way you can in this position. San just seemed to know you, to know exactly what you needed without you having to tell him. Either he was really good at guessing, or everything he did seemed to be perfect, because you’ve never climbed to the summit this quickly before. 

There’s a knot in the pit of your stomach that weaves itself tighter and tighter with each curl of his digits and each swirl of his thumb on your clit. You think you could cry from how attentive he was, from how determined he was to provide you pleasure. Your cunt contracts around his fingers, and he can sense the precipice of your orgasm, speeding up his pace. 

You squirm around in his hold, allowing him to spread apart your thighs so he can brush the pads of the digits buried inside of you up against that spongy sweet spot. You’re trembling now, nearing the edge of that familiar cliff. “San, baby, I’m— god— I’m so close,”

“Let go for me, my love.” He coos into the corner of your mouth, hushing your moans. He doesn’t slow his assault, inching you further and further towards your release like it was his own personal mission. That knot in your belly begins to unravel until it slips through your grasp completely, your orgasm rocking into you like a tidal wave. 

San aids you as you ride out your high, already spent before he’s even gotten the chance to be inside of you. He kisses you tenderly, pulling out his fingers with caution since you were still so sensitive. Your nails claw down his front, scratching his abdomen with a purpose. He shudders beneath you, lips curling up into another soft smile. 

“What?” You ask with a giggle, mirroring his expression when he wipes water from your face. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, grin unwavering. “You just look really pretty like this.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants, Choi San.” You tease, yanking him down for a saccharine kiss. He reciprocates without hesitation, drawing his palm on your thigh so he can wrap it around his waist again. 

“Me? Never…” He laughs along your mouth. “Is it working, though?”

You roll your eyes playfully, reconnecting your lips. “Are you gonna fuck me for real now?”

“What kinda question is that?” He glides the tip of his cock between your folds, shutting you up instantaneously. He’s heavy where he sits, slipping the shaft through your lower lips. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget where you are, baby.”

Before you can even let out another sound of appreciation, he’s stretching you out, cock thrusting up into your pussy without warning. You jump up a bit to hook your other leg around his hips so he’s supporting your whole weight. The new angle makes it easier for him to delve deeper in your cunt, his dick accessing places you’d never knew existed. 

After he’s sure you’ve adjusted to his length, he starts to move, pistoning in and out of you much more forcefully than he did with his fingers. Your lips part for a voluminous moan, but then you hear a group of loud girls entering the shower area and San slaps a hand over your mouth. He makes no effort to stop, fucking into you without a single care for the people on the other side of the shower curtain. 

“Did any of you see where San went? He disappeared so fast.” 

You recognize the voice as belonging to one of the girls who was openly flirting with San while you were working out. Not even needing to see her, you can picture the exaggerated pout on her face based on her tone alone. 

“He probably followed after that stupid bitch he’s always with.”

Your half lidded eyes meet San’s but he still pays no mind to them, digging his nails into your plush thighs. He pulls all the way out, just to slam his cock all the way back in. His pace leisures, but his power doesn’t, abusing your cunt with every snap of his hips. 

“I think I’m gonna ask him out next time I see him. I have to stake my claim before someone else does.”

He holds back a laugh, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You drown out their conversation after that, too focused on the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls so deliciously to even worry about those idiot girls. Little did they know he was closer than they thought…

Thankfully, they leave not much longer after that, and he uncovers your mouth. You gasp for air, panting feverishly when he picks up his speed again. Your bottom lip quivers with a whine, too fucked out to conjugate words that make sense. 

“You’re taking me so well, baby. Taking me like a fucking princess,” San praises. He groans, water droplets slipping along the valleys of his sculpted chest and abdomen. It drips with every roll of his hips and every thrust of his cock into your pussy. This was what he had been building up to, what he’d been dreaming of for years. “Who’s fucking you like this?”

“Mmm,” you moan, supping him in deeper, further, as cavernous as humanly possible. “You, San— fuck— y-you are.”

You arch your back, sneaking a hand in the middle of the two of you and pressing the pads of your fingers harshly on your clit when you do so. San holds you closer to him so your pelvic bones nearly clash each time he punches into you. The change in depth that he fucks you has your cunt squelching, any semblance of coherent thought escaping you. 

Your vision goes blank, stars decorating the backs of your eyelids as your second orgasm blindsides you. Not a sound leaves you after it knocks into you, cumming with so much force you think you might pass out in San’s arms. When you’ve finished, you let out a guttural groan, walls fluttering around his cock. 

“Gonna cum— shit— where do—“ you interrupt him with a whimper. 

“Cum inside of me,” your begging tone has him spilling into you practically on command. He fills you up perfectly, a moan from deep within him reaching your ears. You both stay like that for a moment, skin sticking to the other’s due to the thin sheen of sweat coupled with the steam of the shower coating your bodies. 

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes, one of your hands coming up to caress his back gently. He pulls out with a wince, palms resting on either side of you as he recuperates. He breathes through his nostrils, forehead glued to your shoulder. His hands rub up and down your sides soothingly. 

“It’s safe to assume you’re gonna turn that girl down when she asks you out, right?” You ask suddenly, attempting to diffuse whatever’s in the air between you now. San laughs into your shoulder. 

“Y/N, I’m turning down any girl who asks me out from now on,” he stands upright, biting his lip before kissing you gently. “I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate that very much.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Girlfriend?”

“Am I being too overzealous?” His nose scrunches up. 

“You’re being the right amount of zealous, I think,” you brush away a strand of wet hair that falls into his eyes. “But I think your ‘girlfriend’ would like it if you actually asked her to be your girlfriend.”

Choi San is the prettiest man you’ve ever set your sights on, but somehow, he looks even prettier smiling down at you after having sex with you in a gym shower. It’s a feat that should be considered illegal, and you should receive restitution for the distress it’s caused on your heart. 

“Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

And well, maybe you’d deal with that later. It was kind of difficult to ignore that sparkle in his eyes, especially when it was directed at you. You nod without a second thought. 

“I would love nothing more.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[thatbookgirl1118]

I cannot for the life of me find the original post (tumblr is a hellsite) but this was sent in an atla gc:

@the-badger-mole

and tbh i always kinda felt like kataang was weird exactly because of that one-sidedness??? like there's one episode of katara maybe sort-of seeing aang as a love interest (when the fortune teller tells her she'll marry a powerful bender), but then the rest of the show is her being passive in the relationship or actively pushing aang away (like their second kiss). and then at the end she just randomly decided "okay i like you i guess."

whereas aang got a bunch of pining moments and you actually believed he was in love with katara.

and most of their relationship was about how she helped aang - he did contribute to her character development over the course of the series especially as a bender of course but it didn't feel as emotionally/spiritually deep as katara's literal one episode sidequest with zuko.

but then someone else wrote "I would argue the opposite? Kataang is where Katara choose the peaceful nomad which subverts the trope presented where zutara is where she chooses the strong protector/combatant. Aang as a character is a subversion of the typical hero while zutara is like,,, coloniser romance idk"

and honestly... i kinda get that. aang was problematic in a lot of ways, but he was definitely a subversive protagonist, and i can see the power of allowing the woman to choose the pacifist vegetarian over the extremely obviously hot jock badboy. this is an incredible oversimplification of their characters of course, but the point stands.

Basically, Kataang is the ship we all logically want - the sweet, friendship-based, seemingly subversive one. But Zutara is the one that actually makes sense in the story, with these characters, not their tropes. Aang is subversive, but he and Katara are also kind of terrible for each other - he isn't mature or selfless enough for Katara, who needs someone to force her to take care of herself because she's always the one taking care of everyone else (wonder what that's like). That's why she and Zuko are so perfect, because he not only takes care of her, he makes HER prioritize herself. Aang... does not. He's pretty selfish, which yes is partially due to his immaturity (I personally don't count Korra as canon because it treated ALL the og characters terribly so I'm speaking purely from his 12 yo self), but it's also just a basic incompatibility thing. And Katara is actually equally bad for Aang - she enables him waaay too much, and he needs someone who doesn't. Who forces him to stand up on his own two feet and take responsibility. She's too much of a mother, and her relationship with Aang is too mother/older sister-ish.

With Zuko, on the other hand? Katara started out HATING him, forcing him to prove himself to her instead of handing him everything she had like she tended to do with Aang and Sokka. He had to earn her care, and as a result he appreciates it way more and demands way less of it. He's a far less selfish character generally for the same reasons, and is much more mature/has a better understanding of life and gray areas. Southern Raiders is a great example of this - he's down for whatever Katara decides because he understands that there's no one right answer, unlike Aang who simply preaches forgiveness. I'm not necessarily attacking Aang about that either - I do believe that grudges eat away at a person, and taking a life does haunt you, so forgiveness isn't necessarily bad advice. But it's not what Katara needed. Aang is great as a friend, but I don't think he's what Katara needs from a romantic partner. Zuko just... is.

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 11

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warning: Mature content Word Count: ~18K

It takes a lot to understand the truth when it is covered under years of hearing the same words. The word exploded around me, in screams and chants, confetti and champagne, but it all felt dull because when the phone rang the following morning, it was not “Papà” that was written on the screen.

It was not the day before, either. Or the days that followed.

Monday morning. 10 hours past the race, and Dad had not called.

Rio called right after the podium. The words tumbled from my lips, breathless and infused with the rush of adrenaline when I picked up the phone from Rocco’s hands and accepted the call. Racing down the pitlane, phone pressed to my face, I could feel the dampness of champagne against my skin and Rio’s voice erupting from the other end of the line, from the other side of the world.

“Eva! What the hell?!”

I was shaking—every cell in my body reverberating with the thrill of what we’d just accomplished. Time seemed slowed down, every detail around me sharper, more vibrant. My skin was covered in goosebumps, a mix of elation and disbelief coursing through me. My lips tasted of champagne, the sweet fizz lingering on my tongue. As my eyes flickered around the pitlane, taking in the sight of the small crowd of mechanics waiting for us at the end of the pitlane, the flags waving on the stands and the vibrant colours of team gear in the pitlane, a loud chuckle left my trembling lips, my fingers grip stronger on the trophy.

Reality seemed distorted, stretched over whatever material dreams were made of.

“A podium finish, Rio! A fucking podium finish!” My words blended in the cacophony of the team’s cheers, a symphony that echoed through the pitlane, now replacing the sound of the engines that had filled the air for the past six hours.

Ahead, Alexei, Alessandro Bianchi for more official affairs, set the pace. His legs were so long and quick it seemed like he was almost running. He was the one driving the car during the final laps. As for Henrik and me, we spent those last laps in the garage, our attention fixated on the car and the unfolding Corvette narrative. Shifting from that nail-biting tension to becoming drenched in a cascade of champagne, it was the blink of an eye.

Henrik's arm found its way around my neck, playfully pulling me into him. His tall frame towered above mine. “Time to drop the phone, DiMaggio. Let’s join the fiesta!”

“It’s my brother. Give me a minute.” I looked up, meeting his frowning face. “Promise you. Just a minute.”

Henrik was Finnish, had hair as fair as sunlight and eyes as blue as the ocean. He just nodded, and then I freed myself from his pull, walking to the side, finding support in the pit wall.

“I knew you could do it, ‘Vita. Sooner or later!” I pressed the phone against my ear, attempting to amplify my brother’s voice. “Get your head right, and everything else will fall into place. Look at what you just did.”

“I drove for less than 2 hours—”

“And you put the car exactly where it needed to be.” There was a genuine awe in my brother’s voice, something that I wasn’t quite used to listening to. Dad wouldn’t react this way. As a matter of fact, he didn’t react at all. “Those overtakes! That place must be going wild for you right now.”

I laughed, looking ahead. Alexei was climbing a mechanic’s back, his 36 years of age eclipsing as his face went full of joy and he looked like a child.

“Yeah. It’s… pretty insane.”

“The race ended less than half an hour ago and we’re already hearing your name all over the hotel. And we’re just having breakfast. You have no idea.” I’ve never heard Rio speak so fast in my life. A clatter resonated from Rio's end as if he was dragging a chair, and then his voice returned. “By the way, your timing is impeccable.”

“Why? What happened?”

My brother chuckled. “You managed to steal Carlos’ thunder on race day.”

“Shit, he’s starting on pole, right? Wish him luck for me.”

"No need to.” Oh. I was not ready to hear him. "I'm right here." A blend of excitement and wistfulness churned in my chest, a familiar pang of longing to be in two places at once. He wasn’t right there. Not anywhere close. “Man—Eva…” His voice rang again, I pictured the smile on his lips, as my name resonated. “You’re absolutely incredible.”

I leaned against the pitlane wall. Champagne dripped from my hair onto my face, the lingering taste a testament to the euphoria of the moment. I glanced upward, the raucous celebration of the team unfolding before me, champagne bottles raised high, exuberant cheers filling the air. Then, I looked down, at my wet fingers wrapped around the trophy,

“I wish you were here,” I murmured, my voice a soft whisper carried away by the wind. “Both of you.”

“DiMaggio!! Leave the phone!” Alexei called for me. In large, determined strides, he made his way toward me, holding a champagne bottle in his hand.

"I'll make sure to save some of this energy for when we reunite," I mused, my voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and longing.

“Hang up!” Alexei screamed, a playful edge to his tone as he quickened his pace. Henrik was behind him, holding another bottle. Their trophies had been left in the garage, on top of the car.

“Hope it won’t take long.” Carlos's voice, filled with warmth and affection, was the last thing I heard before the joyful chaos consumed me again, drenched in champagne and carried on my two teammates’ shoulders, back to the small crowd.

But then Monday came. With a throbbing headache and a dehydrated body, after a too-over-the-top evening packed with celebrations. My phone rang on the nightstand, and after picking it up, Nicola and Lin's faces filled the screen.

“You’ve got toothpaste on your cheek,” Lin pointed out, her surroundings showing the sturdy brick of her New York flat. She was back home, I didn’t know that. Somehow, I still thought she would be in Europe. “And congratulations on the race, by the way!”

Nicola sat in a dimly lit room, a soft white glow illuminating her face—by background noise that filled the air, I associated that the white glow was probably the glow of her TV. “I hate this time zone thing. Can’t stay long, sorry, hubby’s waiting for me in bed. What are you up to today?”

I glanced at the corner of the phone, noting the time. It was a bit before 7 a.m. It was probably around midnight for Nicola. As for Lin, it was a little past 7 p.m. I wiped away the toothpaste from my cheek and sat back on the bed, too tired to move.

“I have an interview today. At the track. In like, two hours. They’re doing tire testing, and James Anderson thought it would be a nice background for the interview.”

“James Anderson? The James Anderson?” Lin's enthusiasm was palpable as she turned in her chair, getting up from it seconds later and walking to another point in the room. The unsteady movement of the camera made my stomach churn. “Girl!”

Nicola laughed softly. “Eva, on a scale of 1 to 10, how freaked out are you?”

“A big ass 11.”

“You've got this in the bag,” Lin's voice chirped through the phone, her enthusiasm cutting through the fog of fatigue that lingered in my mind. “Unless you’re still a bit drunk from last night.”

“Just a tiny bit,” I admitted, flopping back onto the bed. The sudden motion made me feel queasy. “Yeah. Fuck. Not exactly drunk, but way too hungover for this. I don’t even know why I said yes to the interview. There’s literally nothing to talk about.”

“He did an amazing piece on the race. Well, an amazing piece on you,” Nicola chimed in. “I’ll post it tomorrow on the team’s socials.”

“That’s why Rocco convinced me to say yes.” I rolled over in bed, seeking a hint of comfort from the pillow and the soft comforter. “Why? I don’t know.”

“Get out of bed, or you'll fall asleep,” Nicola urged. “Also, get out of bed so I can go to bed.”

“You can go. I'll keep her company and help with what she should say.”

“She knows it better than you do,” Nicola was right. I was usually the one media training my clients, providing them with a bullet point list of acceptable topics and answers. So, technically, I should be able to do it for myself. But exhaustion from the weekend's efforts, compounded by a hangover, left me feeling drained. “Don’t you?”

“I do. But I’m just tired. I really, really don’t want to do this right now. I have a belly ache.”

“Eva, come on.” Lin moved again, her energy almost overwhelming enough to make me feel nauseated. “If you get nervous, just imagine the man in his underwear. They say it helps.”

I burst into laughter, the absurd mental image of James Anderson in his underwear momentarily banishing the exhaustion that had weighed on me. “Who says?”

Nicola threw her head back, laughing in response.

Lin grunted. “Them. People.”

"Thanks for that mental image, babe. I'll keep it in my back pocket."

As the laughter subsided, my eyes caught the corner of the screen. Time was passing. The interview was getting closer, and the reality of facing the camera was beginning to set in. Lin's expression turned earnest. "Seriously, Eva, you've got this. Stop overthinking. Just be yourself and ride this wave of success. You're on top of the world."

“That’s what scares me.”

And just like that, a frown appeared on both of their faces. Nicola's frown was more pronounced due to the glow of the TV in the background. Then, she clicked her tongue. “Ah, that’s why you wanted us to call.”

“Exactly.”

“And here I thought you were just missing us,” Lin teased. “Seriously, babe. You’ve got this.”

“Tell us what’s wrong.”

"It's just that sometimes…. I don’t feel like I deserve this? Like it should be harder than it is. Yeah, I can race. And yeah, I'm good at it. Pretty good. But the pressure? The questions? The idea that people are looking at me and expecting me to fail… I've been sick to my stomach just wondering what's happening next because that's what all those goddamn reporters kept asking me yesterday. And—I don’t know. I feel like my Dad is right. I'm not fit for this. ”

“What did that jerk say to you, again?”

“Lin, he’s her dad.”

“Yeah, and he was, is, whatever, my boss. Screw him, honestly. Eva, listen.” She paused and slid one of her lock braids to be back of her ear. “I hope you know he’s a loser, and everything he does and says is just a reflection of how much of a loser he is. He needs to control your life in a way he never got to control his—”

“Lin—”

“No, I don’t care. Listen.” She paused. Nicola took a deep breath, and I followed suit. “He’s your dad, I know. But I’ve been there and I’ve heard the stuff he says. I know him. I worked with Rio when we were both fresh out of college, and I've seen the way he treats both of you.” Again, I attempted to stop her, but she raised one finger. “And I've had enough. The fact that he’s your father isn’t a reason for him to be as mean as he is when things don’t go according to his plans. I've seen him blame Rio, in front of the whole team, for a storm on a test day because he should have known—”

“A test day. Yes, well, those are usually…”

“I don’t care. He’s your dad. He parades you around the way he thinks is best. What did he say this time?” Lin had a way of cutting through the noise and getting straight to the heart of the matter.

“A lot of stuff about how this sport isn’t for me and how he can’t understand my change of mentality in the last few weeks… How I fit better in an office. Just—a lot.”

“Of course he can’t. He never understood you at all. He’s not a good man, love.” She paused. “And I’m sorry.”

“But he’s my dad.”

“He is,” Nicola hummed. “But that doesn’t mean you owe him anything. You’re your own person.”

“Actually, I owe him my entire career.”

“Just because he has the money. And—Think: he never did one single thing for you that would risk his money. For heaven's sake, he made you race in The Challenge after you spent a year at home, struggling with anxiety and depression and he didn’t care if you were ready or not. The only thing he knew was that he was going to lose money if he didn’t get a driver in that seat. Rio was completely done with racing and there was no one available to take the remaining spot.”

“But I wanted to race.”

“I know you did.” Lin’s voice softened. “But like that, hun? From FRECA to The Challenge? We hoped you'd advance to at least any other regional series. Or that he would push for F3, he did it for Rio and, let’s face it, he’s not half as good as you.” I took a moment to absorb her words. They were raw, unfiltered truths that I had been avoiding. “It felt like you were back to square one. Doesn’t surprise me that you kept yourself busy with that college friend. Amanda, right?”

“Yes. And I still am. Keeps me busy. I can't have too much downtime, or else I go crazy.”

“Exactly. So…” Nicola interjected. “That’s not how it should be. You need breaks. You need downtime. You need to rest. You just had a break, and you had the time and the peace of mind to find your groove again.”

“I was in good company. In a nice place. And was busy with that said company.”

“See? So the issue is your Dad. It’s been what? Two weeks since you came back from Mallorca, and you just got a freaking podium, and now you’re struggling again because your Dad said things that made you overthink everything. You were so happy during the weekend, what happened?”

“He didn’t call. I thought I had proved him wrong and he didn’t even bother to call. And he’s my dad, you know? And now James Anderson is going to ask me stuff about the future my dad is holding in his hands. And I don’t want to answer.”

“Okay, let’s…” Nicola took a deep breath, her hand reaching for her hair and pulling it back. I sat up in bed, realizing it was time to gather myself. “You are holding that said future. Get the fuck out of bed, put on some makeup, and head to the track. Do the interview. It will go well. Don’t overthink the answers. It’s PR and you’re great at that. So just—think you’re one of your clients. And if your mind starts spiralling, Rocco is right there; I know he can keep you occupied if needed.”

Lin burst into laughter. “Oh, he can definitely keep her occupied.”

“Gross. He’s technically an employee.” I retorted. “And I bet he’s taken.”

“I’m sure Pulcini will be around, too,” Lin added, and I finally got out of bed, leaving my phone on the credenza, capturing me as I moved around the room and picked up my sneakers. “Or have we moved on from him?”

“We’re not focused on that because I’m working!”

“Can I finally go to bed? I want to get occupied, too.”

“No one here is getting ‘occupied,’” I remarked, slipping on my sneakers. “But yes, go to bed. I’ll do my makeup and head out.”

“It will go well, baby,” Lin said. “And if it gets weird, well, remember the underwear thing.”

The pit lane buzzed with activity, a hubbub of conversations and the clatter of rattle guns. Standing amidst it all, I found myself at the center of attention. The warmth of the sun kissed my skin, while in the distance, I could hear the sounds of the paddock being packed into trucks.

Before me stood James Anderson, his lanyard hanging casually over his chest, almost masking the fact that he wasn’t just another journalist, but the renowned James Anderson himself. Two chairs were positioned at the heart of the pit lane, a camera strategically placed near the pit wall, and a bustling garage composed the backdrop. Alexei and Henrik occupied the seats on the pit wall, their legs dangling, dressed in relaxed t-shirts and jeans. Matteo was in his race suit, totally recovered from the food poisoning episode, and ready to take on the test day.

The car would leave the garage in 20 minutes, so we had exactly that time. Not one minute more.

Despite the camera, Anderson held a notepad in his hand. His salt-and-pepper hair danced with the wind, uncovering his eyes, and sparking with curiosity. I noticed the subtle lines around them, testimony to the countless years spent witnessing greatness on track.

“Happy we can do this, Eva. I've been trying since your victory at Imola. Exceptional performance at the Challenge, too, by the way.”

I wasn’t aware of this desire to interview me earlier. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t aware he was even aware of my existence until he met me in the garage, after the podium ceremony.

"Well… now, we have more to talk about," I remarked, my smile flowing naturally. Anderson nodded, directing his gaze toward the cameraman, a signal to commence recording. "Be gentle with me," I quipped, playfully brushing aside my anxiety.

His laughter rang out. "No need to worry."

Casting a final glance at Alexei and Henrik, the latter waving at me just before Anderson shifted in his seat, reclaiming my attention, I took a final deep breath. This wasn't within my training regimen. I was nervous. My belly aching.

“Eva, let me start by congratulating you on your remarkable performance this weekend. You stepped in for your teammate Matteo Serra during the practice session. Could you walk us through how you adapted to the situation so quickly and what mindset you had going into the race?”

I nodded. My hands were on my thighs, fingers almost melting with the fabric of my jeans. Jesus. This was hard. On top of that, I could feel Alexei’s coal eyes on me, the intensity of his gaze travelling above Anderson’s shoulder, boring into me.

“Yeah, well. First of all, thank you,” I began, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The sunlight played across my face, warming my skin as I spoke. The journalist's expression seemed to relax, his posture slowly becoming more open. “Ahm—right, honestly, it was a whirlwind. Stepping into Matteo’s shoes so unexpectedly meant a quick mental switch. But that's what we’re trained for and what the team expects from me. I had to quickly familiarize myself with the track and the car's nuances… So, the team support was crucial, really. Alexei and Henrik were amazing the whole weekend,” I glanced towards my teammates, looking at each other, smiling. “We worked together to ensure a seamless transition, and I'm truly grateful for their trust.”

The slight tremor in my fingers betrayed the composed façade I was trying to showcase. I could feel the weight of the race weekend on my shoulders.

“Your performance during the race, particularly your amazing overtakes, drew the attention of many in the paddock.” The reporter went again. “Can you share the strategy and approach you took to navigate through the field and secure that impressive fourth-place finish?”

“Well, thank you again.” I chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mixture of humility and genuine pleasure. “I’m not used to this, I’ll admit.”

“Just being honest.”

“Okay—well… the strategy was a mix of precision and calculated risk. The adrenaline was pumping, and I was fully immersed in the race… And when the command to push came, and I realised the team trusted me, I just went for it. My general approach was to find those windows of opportunity without compromising the overall strategy… I mean, we had more pace than we expected and we had to make something out of it. We didn’t qualify great, what was a boomer, because we had faith we could qualify in the top 10. So, that not being the case, we had to be at 110%. The team did amazing with the pitstops, and the guys did amazing stints as well… And.. Since I was feeling comfortable with the car—thankfully I drive a similar car in another series, so it became a bit easier… I had to go for it. So, yeah—It's quite surreal to think about it now, but… I'm still in awe of how everything came together.”

My gaze drifted to the marks of tire rubber still visible on the asphalt. I could almost feel the energy of the cars rushing through the main straight, my feet vibrating with the phantom energy still running around us.

“You mentioned the team’s trust… DAR Racing's decision to extend your stint turned out to be a wise move since we could clearly see that you were getting gradually more confident in the car and risking more. At your level, with so little experience, how did you manage to maintain your focus and energy during that crucial period of the race? Did doubt quick in or…?”

This time, I couldn’t find comfort in the details on the pitlane. Anderson’s eyes didn’t leave mine. Curiosity glistened through his dark eyes, his passion and interest so clear. Probably he had noticed my state on the radio. The thousand questions I asked, how I pressed from lap times and places of improvement. I was freaking out inside the car. Properly. I wanted to go fast. Faster. I wanted to come out of every corner perfectly.

“Interesting point… Yeah—So…” I took a moment, my hands subtly trembling from a mix of lingering adrenaline and fatigue. My eyes flickered toward the reporter, his expression a mix of interest and empathy. “Maintaining focus and energy during the stint was undoubtedly challenging.” Pause. A small breath. “As the laps went by, I did feel a surge of confidence building within me but the team's strategy and encouragement played a huge role in keeping me on track, both mentally and physically.” I chuckled softly, a glint of self-awareness in my eyes, realizing the play of words. “But yeah—doubt is a natural human response in such a demanding situation. I’d never done anything similar. Or even raced for this much time. What was it? A bit more than an hour and a half?” Pause. He nodded. “Yeah. So. There’s a lot involved and a big part is the mental game. I'm grateful I had the right support system to keep me motivated through the race.”

Alexei's presence stretched through the pitlane, his supportive gaze feeling like a reassuring anchor. Henrik, with his elbow perched on Alexei’s shoulder, sent me a nod of approval. They were witnesses to the doubt, to the lack of sleep on Thursday night when I was notified that Matteo was on his way to the hospital, after throwing up for almost one hour straight and my body and mind couldn’t seem to handle the fact I would be driving that weekend.

They were patient. They made it possible.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Anderson, probably noticing the silent exchange, looked over his shoulder. Turning to me, another question hung on his lips. “You seem really in sync with the team. And all throughout the weekend, I've noticed that many drivers and personnel from rival teams came over to congratulate you, especially yesterday, during the celebrations. Could you speak about the role of… camaraderie and sportsmanship in your approach to motorsports?”

“Absolutely,” I affirmed with a genuine smile. “Those values are essential aspects of motorsports for me. Racing is not just about individual performance—it's being part of a larger community. Every driver—rather, every person on the paddock shares a common passion, and that creates a unique bond. I believe that mutual respect and support make the racing experience richer and more fulfilling. When rivals come over to offer their congratulations, it shows that we're all part of a shared journey. And that helps put things in perspective.” I paused, my gaze returning to the journalist's attentive expression. “I grew up with a lot of good examples of great sportsmen, from different ages and backgrounds. They inspire me to be the athlete I am. And I learn from them. I know and I’ve seen that being in sync with my team and everyone around me is paramount. And about the team… we're like a well-oiled machine, working together to achieve a common goal. The team’s trust in me and my trust in them is the key to achieving an environment where we can perform at our best.”

“What happens now?” Anderson leaned back on his chair, crossing his right leg over the other. “What are the plans for the future? Do you think this race opened a couple more doors your way?”

It’s PR, I remembered myself.

“Right now, I'm still taking in the incredible experience of this race and savouring the team's success,” I began, my voice carrying a blend of satisfaction and excitement. “Looking ahead, the future holds exciting possibilities, that’s for sure. But we still have a few races this year, so we'll continue to analyze our performance, identify areas for improvement, and build on the momentum we've gained. And as for my personal journey… I believe this race has indeed opened a couple more doors for me. It's a validation of the hard work and dedication I've poured into my career. It’s not been easy, and the road has been long and hard, so it’s positive to see how it’s unfolding. I'm truly ready to embrace whatever challenges and opportunities come my way. Whether it's stepping up to compete more regularly, collaborating with other teams, or pursuing new ventures—I can say I'm determined to make the most of the doors that may or may not open and strive for even greater achievements in the future. Whatever they are.”

“I remember seeing you in FRECA, and it was a shame you didn't have a chance to end your amazing 2019 campaign.” My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. I was not expecting to go so deep into the past. “Did the unexpected end to the season, with you not taking part in the last races of the season, have anything to do with the break you took in 2020 and the new route you took last year?”

“Yes, well—” I moved in my chair. “The end of the 2019 season didn't go as planned, and it did play a role in the decisions I made afterwards. However, the break I took in 2020 was primarily a result of some personal issues and the need to focus on my overall well-being. With the pandemic, that forced me to slow down, I realized that I needed to take a step back, regroup, and come back stronger.”

As I spoke, the memories of that challenging period flickered in my mind—the uncertainties, the doubts, and the eventual realization that prioritizing my mental and emotional health was essential. 2019 was supposed to be my big year, the breakout. Yet, it was an utter nightmare. Losing a seat over team politics and small-minded men, especially when I was a championship contender, felt worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Can you elaborate a bit more on those personal issues?” Anderson tilted his head.

“I understand the curiosity, but I'd prefer to keep the specifics to myself.” Once again, the reported nodded.

"It's known you took a different route and you've not been driving full-time since then. Do you see racing as a hobby? It’s a very expensive one to have.” He chuckled. I moved in my seat.

Well, you would never say that to a man, I thought to myself.

“It’s certainly far more than a hobby for me. While it's true that my journey has taken a unique path in recent years, it's important to note that every step I've taken has been with a specific purpose.” I paused, not sure if I was truly conveying the message I aimed for.

2020 had been tough. Mom and Dad quarantining in Verona, with my grandparents. Rio focused on his heavily pregnant wife and, later, their newborn twins. Carlos was… doing his thing. And I was at home, being consumed by a monster that fed on my own sadness and self-doubt. I didn’t want to project that image. The world couldn’t know that person.

“As you know, the commitment, dedication, and effort required in motorsports are immense and it's not a pursuit I take lightly.” I continued. “As with any other driver, there are challenges outside racing. Some can handle them better than others. I felt the need to stop for a while and take it easy on myself. That doesn’t make me less of a driver.”

“Is this hybrid mode, if I can call it that, helping with those issues?”

“It helped, until now. A lot of other drivers have a business on the side, that’s just a small percentage of what I do. Did.” I corrected myself. “I intend to be 100% focused on racing next year.”

“What made you take that decision?”

“The timing feels right, both personally and professionally.”

“You’re on a high, that’s for sure,” Anderson said, his hand meddling with his pen. “Considering those challenges you've mentioned, how do you feel your experiences outside the track have influenced your approach to racing now?”

"A lot has been happening these last two years. To be honest, I’m still in the process of looking back, reflecting on my journey and reevaluating my goals. Especially these last weeks… I’ve reencountered some people from the past and it helped me to look behind… It helped me gain a deeper understanding of myself, my strengths, and the areas I wanted to work on. As a result, I'm feeling more like myself. Every good or bad thing that happens is a part of us. And it’s not a setback, it’s just a… detour. A part of the comeback, too.” Anderson smiled at my worlds, I smiled too. “This weekend showed me exactly that—that I’m still the girl I was a few years ago. All the setbacks I’ve found… All my experiences, really, have taught me the importance of balance, resilience, and essentially mental well-being, which I believe are essential not only for success on the track but also for overall fulfilment.”

“And as for the future? Could you tell us a bit more about the specific goals you're aiming to achieve with DAR Racing and in your motorsport career moving forward?”

“And as to the future…” I paused. “My focus is on continuous improvement and pushing my limits. And working on myself. I'm fortunate to be part of a team that believes in my potential and supports my growth. Right now, my goal is to contribute to the team's success, while also aiming to achieve personal milestones, of course. It’s all very in the open, to be honest. As I said, I'm dedicated to making the most of every opportunity and showcasing my abilities. Ultimately? I aspire to compete at the highest level, as any other athlete."

"Highest level?” His eyebrow pointed up. “What do you exactly mean?”

"Competing against the best. Motorsport offers various tiers of competition, and my ultimate goal is to eventually reach the pinnacle of motorsport, whether it's in Formula 1, endurance racing, or any other top-tier championship.” Anderson seemed surprised. I cracked a laugh and he followed. “Doesn’t hurt to dream, does it? I’m aware this journey requires consistent dedication, hard work, and especially the right opportunities. I’m just leaving it in the open." I shrugged.

"So, the single-seaters aren’t out of the question?"

"Absolutely not! Formula 1 remains a dream—more than that, a goal. While my current focus is on endurance racing, I wouldn't rule out the possibility of pursuing a career in single-seaters if the right opportunity arises.”

“That’s bold.”

“Can’t settle for less.”

Anderson laughed and extended his hand in my direction. “That’s the spirit.”

_

Amanda rented a small Airbnb in Berlin, paid for the company, of course, and located less than 5 minutes away from her client’s new store. The floor of the entrance hall was all boxes and shopping bags, greeting me as I arrived. On the corner, there was a small space for my shoes, the only free space, actually, which meant that I had to grab my suitcase and hover it over the boxes, to make my way to my room.

She had texted me just as I landed, telling me she would be at the store all morning and that I could use some time to sleep and rest and join her at the store in the afternoon. And despite being massively jet-lagged, I couldn’t phantom the idea of going to bed at noon. My body was completely disoriented after a twenty-hour flight that had departed from Japan on Monday night and landed in Berlin on Tuesday morning.

The concept of time didn’t make sense at all.

During the flight, I immersed myself in a sea of and stories about myself. The spotlight was glaring down on me, the expectations and anticipation weighing down my shoulders. “WHAT COMES NEXT?” plastered across every other tweet or headline. And, of course, I asked myself the same question.

Little did I realize that my little pastime was nurturing the little monster hidden in a corner of my mind, that I so desperately tried to ignore by eating cookies and Doritos and drinking whatever beverage they had available on the flight.

I’d said more than I should in the interview with Anderson, I realized.

In every other tweet, my name was linked to Carlos, to his dad and to a potential seat in F3 that I knew nothing about. On every social media post, a lot more comments than usual, especially after Marjorie’s Mallorca dump, where I was pictured with Carlos behind me, on the boat, his hand over my shoulder—what quickly became “proof” to our connection.

Too much happening in such little time.

And time didn’t make sense.

And my body ached.

And Even Amanda, whom I thought would be focused at work, was swept up in the buzz of the moment. There was a bottle of Ferrari champagne on the dinning table. “We will open it at dinner”, a small note said.

I couldn’t make tea because I couldn’t find the teapot, and heating up water in the microwave was just too low. I was tired. I needed coffee or tea, or just anything with a strong flavour and enough caffeine, and then I remembered there was a small coffee shop downstairs.

But I was just so tired, and so in need of a break, that my feet took me to the empty room at the end of the hallway and I collapsed in bed. Not to sleep. But just to take a break. To exist and listen to the silence, and to life happening outside, in some random street of Berlin.

The grip of jet lag tightened as Berlin’s heat added to my discomfort.

I rolled in bed.

And then I remembered that for the first time in more than a week, Carlos and I were in the same time zone. And life seemed a bit better. I stretched my hand to the phone. There was a message from him hanging in my inbox. “Call me when you land.”

“Oh, you were quick to pick up,” I said, my voice laced with traces of tiredness.

He chuckled on the other side of the line. “Yeah, it seems I can’t go too long without hearing from you. Is the flat nice?”

“It's cozy. Going to be an interesting experience sharing the place with Amanda for a few days. I had to perform some serious parkour moves just to get through the entrance because the hallway is packed with boxes. She’s not exactly the tidiest person.”

Carlos laughed softly. “As if you could talk.”

I playfully sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Virgo, if I don’t live up to your standards.”

He chuckled again, the sound soothing and familiar. "Well, just make sure you don't trip over any of those boxes. I need you whole when you get back."

"I'll do my best," I replied, a grin sneaking onto my face despite the fatigue that still clung to me. "How's your day been so far?"

We fell into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. His words were like a balm, easing away the remnants of jet lag and anxiety and replacing them with a sense of connection that stretched across the miles. He was still in Italy, getting ready to fly for Zandvoort. It would be a packed week, apparently. Starting on Wednesday, all the way to Sunday. And then repeat all of that for Monza, the next week. At a certain point, he started complaining about Rio and his insistence on taking Team 55 to dinner to celebrate Carlos’ birthday, and then spending midnight together, have a drink and toast to another year.

I would be at said dinner, but that surprise was something Carlos didn't need to know just yet.

Between stories of Amsterdam and Zandvoort and how Spa had gone for him, we finally reached the topic. Japan. The podium.

“About that,” Carlos's voice echoed warmly through the phone's speaker. I settled deeper into the comfy pillows, his words soothing away the fatigue that had clung to me since landing. "You won't believe it, but he couldn’t shut up about you. I've never seen Rio so damn proud as he was on Sunday," he confessed.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. "That's a first," I replied, my voice laced with amusement. "I think he'd sooner admit to believing in unicorns than admit to praising me.”

Carlos chuckled softly, and I could almost picture the affectionate smile on his face. “I barely saw him at the garage. He was around… networking, as he put it. Even took some notes from Caco.”

“He better take lessons from the master. Guess I'll have to rely on him since I don't have Dad to do it for me anymore.” Carlos cleared his throat, and it sounded like a gentle reprimand. “What was that for?”

“You would do it even if you were alone.”

“I don’t have the people skills for that.”

“You do,” he quickly interjected. His words hung in the air, and I scrunched my nose, the silence between us perhaps conveying more than words ever could. “Are you having doubts?”

I pondered for a moment, my body shifting in bed as if searching for a more comfortable posture to handle the subject. “Hm. It’s too late for that,” I began. “I mean, it's all done now, you know? I've adjudicated all my clients to other colleagues. My agenda is clean. I've sent my resignation letter. I’m just tying up some loose ends now.”

“That’s good,” Carlos said, and then a heavy silence enveloped us once more. It felt like a looming shadow, draping itself over me, heavy and dark. “Isn’t it?”

“It is. It just…” I hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Yes?”

“I’m… apprehensive.”

“Okay…” I heard him take a deep breath, and I closed my eyes, yearning for his comforting presence. “Why? What’s going on inside?”

A warmth spread through me, knowing that he cared enough to ask these questions. “Do we really need to have this talk?”

“Yes.” His response was firm, yet there was an undeniable gentleness in his voice. I felt a rush of emotions, a mixture of vulnerability and relief. God. How much I needed him right there at that moment. “I don’t want you to carry the weight of this change alone.”

Something shifted inside me, a sense of support that I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. I let out a sigh, feeling a strange weight lifting off my shoulders. The liberty to be human, and act like myself. To have fears, and doubts and to have the liberty to be vulnerable and share them.

“It’s been a lot, you know?” My voice cracked as my throat seemed to become small. I paused for a second, just to hear him hum on the other side, encouraging me to continue. “I can’t visualize it. I can’t see myself there, because I don’t feel like there is. I feel lost. And tired. People expect me to know what I want. To know the way. To be fierce and decisive, but I'm not that person. At least not now. I'm seeing her again, but I'm still... lost. I have this… thing. An anxiety that lives here, that I can’t put on hold.”

“Eva—”

“No, let me finish. I have more than enough reasons to know I’m kind of good, to know I’m good. But there’s something screaming that I’m not great. That I’m not enough. That I should have never stopped, that I should have started racing sooner…  I mean, take my interview with Andeson.” I paused. “I said too much, people are talking and going deeper into my life, and stalking my socials and making theories about everything. I have people liking photos from 2015, for heaven's sake. And I’m refusing to go on Twitter because I don’t want to read what they’re saying.”

Carlos chuckled, his voice soothing. “That's how it goes, love. It shouldn't be that way, but it's unfortunately part of the package. Remember that’s not what matters.”

“What happens on the track is what matters,” I asserted.

“Exactly,” Carlos took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you like being in your bubble, Eva. I do too. But unfortunately, I'll have to share you with the world if we want a chance to keep your name in their mouths. And we need that chance because you deserve a great seat for next year."

I sighed, understanding the weight of his words. "Share me, huh?"

He let out a playful sigh. "Let me be a bit selfish here. I just got you back, and now I'll have to share you with the world? Unfair."

"Is it really that hard to bear?"

Carlos replied in a teasing tone, "You have no idea. Sharing you with the world? Torture."

I chuckled, his playful tone bringing a sense of lightness to our conversation. "Well, I'll try to make it as painless as possible for you. Besides, you'll always have a special VIP pass to my bubble."

He chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "I'll hold you to that. Now…” he hesitated. "I have to leave in… 20-ish minutes. Nap time for you?"

I sighed dramatically. "Yeah, I guess I can squeeze in a bit of sleep."

"Good,” He paused. “You need rest"

"And you're not mad about me missing the GP?"

There was a short pause before he answered, his voice sincere. "I won't lie and say I'm thrilled, but I understand. Work's work, love. And I’ll have you in Monza. We'll have our celebration whenever is possible."

I smiled, warmth flooding through me. "Thank you for understanding, even when I'm disappointing your birthday plans."

He chuckled. "It’s okay, bebé. I'll survive the birthday blues. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. And get enough rest."

"I promise," I said softly, gratitude filling my voice.

“I’ll call you tonight.”

“Counting on it.”

I nestled back into the pillows, my mind finally quieting down as I let sleep claim me once more. Our conversation replayed in my thoughts, a reminder that no matter the miles between us or the challenges we faced, our bond remained.

_

“Carlos’ birthday is tomorrow,” I said. On the other side of the line, Marjorie's affirming hum tickled my ear. “What do you give a man that has everything?”

Marjorie's voice crackled through, a touch raspy and warm. “Really good head.”

I haltered, trying to muffle a chuckle and glanced discreetly at the man on the opposite side of the counter. I couldn't help but wonder if he overheard her audacious suggestion; it was practically impossible, but his stern expression made me second-guess.

“Let’s keep it a little more PG, shall we?” I whispered, my words barely escaping my lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of a watch. You know, like a normal person.”

She giggled, unapologetic. “Yeah, your denial game is strong.”

“You wouldn’t buy it even if I tried.” I think I sounded more annoyed than I expected, and Marjorie’s quick reply and tone did indeed confirm it.

“True. So, why deny it anyway?”

I shifted my gaze to the abstract painting on the wall, and then to the display filled with bracelets and watches. The light refracted on the screens, glistening and tempting me to pick one of them up. I approached one of the displays. One of the Rolex watches seemed to smile at me.

“It’s complicated,” I murmured.

“That’s your favourite word.” She paused, the silence a bit dull, but I wasn’t sure of what to say. “But you don’t need to say a thing, you know? It’s pretty darn obvious what’s going on between you two. Seriously, even standing five meters away, it’s nauseating.”

“Marge, don’t—”

“Eva, I get it. You want to take things slow, bla bla bla, I know your speech, already. It’s the same for every boy. Nut come on! It’s Carlos! I know you always liked him. And even if he was a stranger… I mean he’s still Carlos Sainz.”  She sighed.

“You won’t shut up, will you?”

“Never.” She paused for a second, and when I thought I could speak, she started again. "We all were in Mallorca, and I've seen enough walks of shame to spot one. And it was almost suffocating near you during Blanca’s dinner. The tension was absurd.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. At least stop being weird about it.”

“I’m not weird about anything. I called you just want your help to choose a gift for his birthday and you didn’t even let me talk yet. Are you and Rio giving him something?”

“Yes. Your brother is giving him something, not sure what, honestly.”

“You’re really trusting him with that?”

“It’s his best friend. If he fucks up, it's his responsibility.” She quipped and then cracked a laugh. I chuckled silently, my eyes drifting through the small collection.

“Going back to my gift…” I brought the conversation back on track.

“Yes…”

“I left the store to go pick up some food for lunch and I found a cute little shop on the way,” I started. It was much more than "cute"—it was truly a hidden gem in the heart of Berlin. “I was thinking of something vintage, you know? A watch… with a leather bracelet, maybe. And I don’t have much time to waste because I’m leaving today to Zandvoort and I can’t get there with anything.”

“He has a collection of watches, Eva.”

“He has literally a collection of everything,” I sighed. “Hence the challenge. I want to stand out.”

“Well, I told you one way to stand out.”

"I'm trying to be a little more sophisticated here," I retorted.

"Oh, do you need suggestions for a no-smudge red lipstick?" Marjorie countered, her suggestion dripping with mischievous wit. “I can help with that.”

“Fuck off.”

“Babe, you showing up there will be nicer than any watch.”

I hummed, my feet tracing the store floors, walking the steps I’d already walked twice or thrice that evening. before calling Marjorie, I’d spent ten minutes in there, staring at the watches, and despite loving the atmosphere and the feeling of all my senses being captivated by the allure of history, I was in need of going back outside and getting some food.

Every piece was a good pick.

Each one with a story of its own, sparkling under the soft glow of the display lights, their gears whispering secrets of forgotten eras, waiting to be unveiled by its new owner.

I picked up a beautiful antique Rolex with a leather strap, the rich aroma of aged leather mingling with the fragrance of nostalgia that permeated the air. It exuded an air of sophistication, and I could already picture him wearing it under the brim of his race suit.

“I’m sending you a pic on WhatsApp.”

And after I did, Marjorie's voice came through the phone, breaking my reverie. "That one is lovely.”

“But it’s so… normal.” I sighed, feeling torn between the classic elegance of the leather bracelet and the desire to find something truly unique for Carlos.

"It’s a Rolex.” She deadpanned. “I swear to God, it’s been years since I married into this family and I still can’t relate to you all. But yeah, somehow I get what you mean. But it's Carlos. He doesn't care about extravagant."

“But I do.”

“Miss,” the shop owner's voice interrupted our conversation, and I turned to face him with a polite smile. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, but we’re about to close.”

I nodded apologetically at the shop owner, realizing that I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Marjorie that I hadn't noticed the time. "Of course, I'm sorry. I got carried away… Marge,” I talked into the phone. “I’ll call you later, ok?"

"No need to apologize," he said kindly, gesturing towards the watch in my hand. "You seem to have a good eye for these kind of pieces. Is there anything specific you're looking for?"

"Well," I hesitated, glancing back at the watch and the man before it put it down in its place. "I'm trying to find a birthday gift.?"

The old man smiled understandingly, his eyes glistening under his round glasses. "Well,” he looked at his watch. “I can spare a few more minutes to help you, miss. Is it for a friend? A family member?"

"A friend. He travels a lot, he’s a racing driver… So I was thinking of something like a watch or a bracelet, something practical that he can carry around or just… something to have at home…? I mean…” I paused, my eyes wandering through the counter, my iris meeting the shiny screens of the watch under the store lights. “He has tons of watches, and now that I’m thinking about it, he’s not a guy to wear bracelets. It’s… a challenge.”

The old man's face lit up, a raspy smoker's chuckle leaving his wrinkly lips. "Ja, I know how difficult it can be. What does that friend value? What does he like?" The man leaned against the counter, his wrinkly hand holding onto the sturdy wood, while the other one traveled to the pocket of his cardigan.

"Meaning, I think," I replied, my fingers tracing the edge of the polished wooden counter. "He has basically everything already, so it's difficult to find something. Not that he's hard to please. Not at all. I'm just very picky, even when it comes to gifts for other people."

"Meaning," the old man mused, his eyes scanning the shop's interior. "You mentioned he's a driver, right?" I nodded in confirmation. "How about something that combines his love for racing with a touch of nostalgia?"

I furrowed my brows, intrigued by his suggestion. "What do you suggest?"

The old man's eyes gleamed with excitement as he led me toward a large leather album, slightly bigger than A3 paper, resting on a wooden display stand. "I was a big motorsport fan back in the day," he began, his voice carrying the weight of cherished memories. "I even traveled to America to watch some good old NASCAR races. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to meet many drivers and collected a few things people find valuable now."

With his permission, I opened the album to reveal a treasure trove of race posters, each one meticulously preserved and adorned with signatures from drivers and team owners. The pages were filled with a rich tapestry of racing history from various series.

"Oh, are these race posters?" I asked in awe.

The old man nodded proudly. "They are all signed, by drivers and team owners, from a variety of racing series. Perhaps a poster from Le Mans from his birth year? Or... what does he drive? What does he enjoy?"

"Formula 1," I replied. And then I looked up to him. "Maybe a poster from the Spanish Grand Prix of '94, if it's available?"

The old man's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Ah, the Spanish Grand Prix of '94. That was a memorable one. I think it’s in there somewhere."

As I stepped out of the shop, the poster and a frame we picked after were inside a carton box, with a lot of tape around it. It would survive the flight, I hoped. I couldn't help but notice how picturesque Berlin looked that afternoon. The sun cast a warm golden hue on the architecture, turning even the most ordinary scenes into works of art. I adjusted my sunglasses, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city. Cobblestone streets wound through neighbourhoods that seemed to have their own stories to tell.

With each step, I felt a little more grounded, the rhythm of my strides syncing with the beat of the city. People passed by, their conversations forming a melodic backdrop. Laughter spilt out from sidewalk cafes, and the aroma of various cuisines filled the air.

Eva: “weird to think that i once thought germans were the prettiest europeans”

Marjorie: “a loooot of layers to debunk there”

Eva: “they were mostly football players and sebastian vettel. not that many layers.”

Marjorie: “vettel? wow, that’s soooo surprising” Marjorie: ”no one would EVER guess your taste in men”

Eva: “yeah? what’s my taste in men then?”

Marjorie: “former red bull athletes that raced/race for ferrari?” Marjorie: ”duh”

Eva: “you’re so annoying”

Marjorie: “did you get the gift?”

Eva: “yes”

Marjorie: “what did you get?”

Eva: “ill show you later”

Marjorie: “ok, now you can stop overthinking and focus on the handsome spaniard waiting for you and the amazing birthday sex he's in for”

Eva: "omg” Eva: "can’t believe you’re a MOM”

Helping Amanda at the store helped me more than I wanted to admit. I liked being busy. I needed to be busy. Spreadsheets and checklists were the perfect escape from the stress accumulating in my mind. I needed that, the sense of being in control. And if I felt like I was not totally controlling my career, still being discussed online, at least I could be in control of numbers and store openings.

"Last project as a team?" Amanda's voice reached me, her back turned as she meticulously arranged fake flowers in a jar. "I finally saw your interview last night. Full dedication to racing, starting next year."

I leaned against an unopened box, half my size, my fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cardboard's surface. "Yeah, I've mentioned this to you before.” I took a break, using the seconds to take a breath. “I mean, I gave you like 70% of my clients."

She finally turned around, a plastic sunflower hanging from her fingers. "Yeah. I know. But I gotta admit, I half-expected you to stick around. Keep a client or two... Just in case."

A bead of sweat trickled down my back, my palms slightly sweaty as I wiped them against the cool fabric of my shorts.

"To be honest," I began, my gaze meeting hers. "No, I'm not entirely sure. But I don't think I ever will be. It just feels like something I need to do, you know? Stop doubting and take the leap."

She continued to observe me, her expression thoughtful. "And if it goes wrong?"

"Then I start over, just like I did a few years ago.” I settled onto an ottoman chair, taking a deep breath and picking my bottle of water from the side table. “Difference is: I have my own resources now. I have money. My money. I can travel, I can afford to try. I won't be relying on anyone else, this time."

"At all?" Her question carried a weight that made me frown. "I've seen the news. I've seen Twitter."

I rolled my eyes. "Ah, Twitter."

Her gaze remained steady on mine, unwavering. "So, are you two together or not?"

I sighed, a mixture of frustration and exasperation bubbling up. "Amanda, for once, I want to be my own person. To pursue my own dreams on my own terms." Stepping forward, I brushed my hands on my shorts, attempting to get rid of the sweat. "He's my friend, a really good one. But we’re talking work, not personal life."

She persisted, her tone unwavering. "Let's delve into the personal, then."

Turning away, I picked up a couple of the already empty cardboard boxes. "Honestly, I'd prefer if we didn't," I mumbled, carrying them towards the trash.

After ensuring Amanda wouldn't spontaneously combust from store-opening nerves, and after hearing her apologies for the intrusion, I bid farewell to Berlin. Every checklist and spreadsheet was printed and laminated, ready to be used for the inauguration. The gift boxes for the guests were carefully arranged on the counter and all the frames and backdrops for photos were set.

The airport buzzed with its customary end-of-August throng, yet, the line at security wasn’t so long.

As I dumped my belongings into the tray, the soft clinking of metal snagged my focus. My gaze drifted down, catching the glint of a tiny golden steering wheel illuminated by the airport's harsh lights.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips, swallowed by the surrounding crowd.

I’d been carrying it around since I’d left the track, half-drunk and drenched in champagne. I recalled being wearied by the day's events, too tipsy to recall the basics of Japanese and to walk in a straight line. I also remembered stumbling upon a souvenir stand near the track, my eyes fixating on those sparkling keychains. They had looked so delicate and golden, so artfully crafted that one might mistake them for actual gold if not for the 3000 yen price tag dangling from them—just shy of 20€.

Purchasing it had stirred up memories of our old tradition, those times when we'd strive to find the quirkiest gifts for each other. Snowglobes, magnets, postcards—each trinket carrying memories of the places we'd visited without each other.

"have fun at your dinner, soon to be birthday boy," I sent him a text as I settled into one of the seats by my gate.

Upon landing, a mirror selfie greeted me. There he was—a playful rogue, fresh out of the shower and sporting nothing but a strategically draped towel around his waist. A pout adorned his lips.

And as the caption: “i’ll try, but i’m feeling pretty lonely out here”

A one-shoulder black top draped over my frame, the asymmetrical neckline cutting the line of my chest. The wide linen pants I wore flowed gracefully with each of my steps, their relaxed fit exuding a laid-back vibe. My pants were cinched at the waist with a black leather belt, adding a subtle touch of edginess to the outfit. I reapplied my make-up in the Uber, after dropping my suitcases and the frame at the hotel lobby. Rio had arranged everything—a schedule so meticulously programmed that I couldn’t believe it was programmed by him.

I soon found myself standing outside the restaurant, my phone in hand as I dialled his number. Amsterdam was bursting with fans and tourists, nothing out of the ordinary for a night at the end of August, nearing the Grand Prix. Lost while observing the small crowds tracing the streets, I only noticed my brother’s familiar grin when he was close enough to trap me in a hug.

"Eva!" he held all the pride of the world in that hug.

"Hi," I laughed lightly. "Hey! I kinda need to breathe, you know?"

He released me with a sheepish grin, eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed my cheek before taking a step back. "Sorry, I’ve been saving this hug for a while now. And wow… The lipstick. Suits you.”

I put my hand on his chest, over the buttons of his dark green polo. “You're not looking too shabby yourself.”

His laughter echoed, genuine and carefree, as he linked his arm with mine. “Well, I do try to keep up appearances once or twice a year.”

“For birthdays and Christmas?”

“Yeah. Something like it.”

We strolled into the restaurant together. The anticipation of the evening hung in the air, tugging in my belly. God, what’s this feeling?

“What did you tell them?”

“Oh, you know—” Rio scratched the back of his neck. “Something about needing to take a call?”

I burst into laughter. "You literally managed to secretly arrange a flight and extra hotel room but couldn't come up with a more believable excuse for this?"

Rio joined in my laughter. "Hey, it worked! No one asked too many questions."

"Fair enough. Where’s the table?”

“At the back,” he pointed at an arch in the brick wall of the restaurant. “Have you spoken to Dad?”

“Not tonight, Rio,” I replied, pausing for a moment and turning slightly to face him. “Can we talk about all that tomorrow? It’s been a lot. I just want to eat something decent, rather, drink something decent and have a good time.”

He kissed my cheek. “Sure. I’m proud of you. Just remember that.”

Carlos was seated facing the archway, and my gaze was drawn to him the instant Rio and I stepped through it. It took Carlos a brief moment longer to register our presence. He was engrossed in conversation, his brows knit together as he spoke animatedly, his hands dancing with fervour as he talked. The room seemed to grow silent as my eyes focused on him. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, his gaze met mine.

And the world went completely silent.

His lips curved into a smile that transformed his features, smoothing away any tension. He seemed to be filled with light and I felt so weightless, I felt I could have floated through the air like a feather—it wasn't the sensation of falling for him; or falling for each other, but rather the exhilarating feeling of ascending together, drawn irresistibly toward each other's orbit.

And I felt at ease.

Rio playfully tugged at my arm, drawing me further into the restaurant. "He's so ridiculously in love," he teased with a knowing grin, watching his best friend, already getting up from his chair.

A wistful smile touched my lips, my heart echoing with silent questions. The words hung unspoken in the air, a gentle whisper carried by the currents of emotion that flowed between us.

It was warm and cold at the same time. Too much happening and nothing at all.

“Fuck off,” I whispered. My brother just laughed.

My steps quickened with each heartbeat, a subtle urgency pushing me forward, almost outpacing my brother’s pace. I had to consciously force myself to walk slowly and not betray my haste to reach the table. All the way, my eyes didn’t leave Carlos, already on his feet, his hand resting casually on the back of his char. Effortless attire—whitewashed jeans and a simple T-shirt. His hair was a charming mess, tempting me to run my fingers through the tousled strands.

Around the table, faces were beginning to light up with recognition and surprise, the gathering of friends and acquaintances slowly rising to greet us. I waved at them, “Hi! Good night,” and a soft giggle bubbled from my lips as I caught the shared amusement on Carlos' friends' faces.

“Hey,” Carlos said.

As he leaned in to press a warm kiss to my cheek, the familiarity of his touch ignited a sense of comfort. He smelled nice. His hands found their way around me, wrapping me in a hug that felt both familiar and intoxicatingly new. I reciprocated the embrace, savouring the closeness while maintaining an air of casualness as if this were an ordinary occurrence.

“You’re here.” He whispered, the small sound cutting through the noise echoing in the room.

“I am,” I murmured softly, my voice carrying a warmth that was reserved for him alone. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Carlos chuckled, his breath tickling my ear as he pulled away. "What are you doing here? You must be exhausted."

"Just a little jet-lagged," I admitted with a sheepish smile, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten in his presence. “Nothing a good night of sleep and some Red Bull tomorrow won’t solve.”

"Red Bull, huh? Giving the opponents some business, are we?" Caco playfully remarked, dragging his chair to the side, to create space to add another seat to the table.

I chuckled, playing along. "Well, a little cross-team support never hurt anyone, right?"

"Alright, everyone," Rio's voice cut through our moment; by his side, two waitresses, one of them carrying a chair and the other one a set of plates and a glass. "We need another seat here, please." He motioned to the place between his and Carlos’ seats. “And bring back the menu, please, so she can pick something to eat.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, short moments after, taking my seat. “And I’ll just have some carbonara. No need for the menu.”

“Welcome back, Eva,” Caco said, before picking up the bottle of wine and filling my glass. “We missed you around here.”

The night was alive with energy, laughter, and the warmth of connection.

It felt nice to be back in the midst of a Team 55 dinner, just like it used to happen years ago when Carlos still wore yellow or orange and we were too blind to actually read through the lines. The familiarity of faces, the shared jokes and the easy camaraderie were a comforting reminder of the bonds that had formed over time, and that he was in good hands those last years.

It had been three years since the last Grand Prix I attended by Carlos' side. He was a man, now. A Grand Prix race winner. A Ferrari driver. He wore red, burning red. The Italian anthem had played for him. Not many had that honour.

The low hum of conversation blended seamlessly with the clinking of glasses and the occasional bursts of laughter. I let myself observe the group, the connection between them all, the aura around the table. It was like stepping into the past and finding home, once again.

As the clock neared midnight, Rio leaned in with a sly smile. "I think it's time for some champagne, don't you think?"

“Oh, no, I—We have work tomorrow,” Carlos’ voice was interrupted by a chorus of boos that echoed around the table. From the archway, a waitress appeared with a tray of mini burgers adorned with candles in her hands. “Oh, you didn’t!”

His laughter blended perfectly with the melody of “Happy Birthday” being echoed from everyone in the room, not only from our table but from the other ones, too. I focused my eyes on him, only to find out he was already looking at me, grin wide and eyes glistening.

“Mate, you’re getting old!” Rupert exclaimed before hugging him. “Speech!!" He called out, his strong British accent ringing through the cheers and applause, raising his glass and prompting others to follow suit.

“No, no!” Carlos shook his head, a playful protest on his lips, as the chant grew in volume. "Oh, come on, guys."

“Stop being a chicken, mate. Come on,” my brother whispered.

With a good-natured sigh, Carlos finally stood up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He surveyed the faces around the table, and then around the room, his gaze lingering on each person before settling on me, his eyes warm and sincere.

"Alright, alright," he began, moving his hands in an attempt to hush the commotion around him. "Well, uh… Another one, right? 28!” The room grew quiet, the attention of every person fixed on Carlos as he spoke from the heart. One of the waiters passed him a flute filled with champagne. He took it in his hands and nodded, before whispering a thank you. "Birthdays have always been a time of reflection for me. A time to look back on the journey, the ups and downs and whatnot, and, of course, the people who have been by my side through it all. These guys right here.” He pointed to the table with the flute. “And I can honestly say that I am so incredibly lucky to have each and every one of you with me." He raised his glass and everyone mirrored his gesture, a sense of camaraderie filling the air. "To the team, to friendship, and to the memories we've created and the ones we're yet to make."

As the glasses clinked together in a toast, the atmosphere was charged with emotion and shared celebration. Carlos took a moment to catch my gaze, a twinkle in his eyes as he added, "And to Eva, who has been a constant source of support and inspiration. Here's to you, to your podium at WEC, and to many more victories."

I felt my cheeks burning and I tried to conceal my smile by having a sip of the champagne.

“To Eva!” My brother exclaimed, his glass raised in the air, prompting the others to follow.

“To Eva!” The room chanted, as Carlos approached me and planted a kiss on my cheek.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered.

“I hate you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

The combination of jetlag, wine, champagne and the events of the night had left me feeling simultaneously exhilarated and tired. As we walked back, the city lights casting a soft glow around us, I leaned into Carlos, my head resting against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me.

“Tired?” he inquired, his voice a gentle caress against the night breeze.

I nodded against his shoulder, my gaze trailing to the figures of our friends walking ahead of us. “And a bit tipsy, I think. The day just went by so quickly.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against my arm in a soothing gesture. With a warmth that seeped into my skin, he said, “We’re almost there. 10 minutes and you'll be in bed.”

“No rush, really. I still need to give you your gift and get ready for bed. Lot more than 10 minutes.”

“Okay, then…” He pondered. I looked up, noticing the way his brow furrowed playfully. A small chuckle left my lips. “Let’s say… 40, then.”

“Ugh,” I unfed, wrapping my arm around his waist, under his leather jacket. “That’s a lot of time for someone who slept like… 5 hours today.”

“You needed to rest,” his voice had that tone of concern I was not yet quite used to hearing. “Rest. Not add another fight to the list.”

“And I will rest this weekend. Just hope your driver’s room has a good couch.”

His laughter resonated in the air, the sound a welcome companion in the quiet of the night. “The best in the Ferrari hospitality.”

“I’m in good hands, then.”

We walked in silence for a little while, casually observing the surroundings. Everyone was just too busy living their lives to notice or to care he was there. It was a 5-minute walk from the restaurant to the hotel, our friends had already disappeared from view when we entered through a side door, free from the small crowd that could potentially be waiting at the main entrance.

“How was Japan?” He asked when we were racing the elevators.

I smiled, my head turning from the closed doors to his face. “Wild.” The memories of the race weekend flooded my thoughts. A chuckle escaped me as I recalled some of them. “Insane, really… I mean... The Challenge was great, and everything. But this was serious, you know? Like… WEC is serious. People saw me there. Saw what I did, you know?” He nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “And this might sound super cocky, but… it was amazing.”

“Oh, you bet the world saw you. Your name rang in the paddock the whole day. And that interview you did with Anderson?”

“What about it?”

“I’m just jealous. I never looked that good on camera,” he teased, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. I laughed and followed the ping of the elevator, that now opened its doors to us. With his back turned to me, while he pressed one of the buttons, he questioned, “Am I one of those people?” Then, he turned back to me, a smug smile in his mouth. “The ones you mentioned. Do I inspire you?”

The corner of my lips lifted in a playful grin. “Do you really need to ask?" I watched as he shrugged, a nonchalant expression on his face. I rolled my eyes, “Well, you know… every time I see your face on TV, I think, ‘Wow, I have to learn something from that guy’.”

His laughter rang out, a sound that was as comforting as it was infectious. “That’s it? My handsome face is just a reminder to work harder?”

I matched his playful tone. “Well, either that or the fear of becoming the least interesting person on TV.” As he leaned against the wall, his body language inviting me closer, I complied without hesitation. I stepped into his space, still at a distance. ”I’ll let you pick whichever makes you feel better.”

He rolled his eyes before his gaze locked onto mine, a whole different haze around those orbs. The quiet hum of the elevator seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of us in our own world. His index finger hooked on the belt hoop of my pants, a subtle gesture that pulled me toward him. His voice, soft yet filled with longing, wrapped around me like a velvet ribbon.

“I miss you,” he confessed. “I was dying for a moment alone with you.”

“I’m all yours, now.”

His lopsided grin transformed into a mischievous smirk as he closed the distance between us. A pair of tender, delicate lips met mine, and I could feel the hint of his smile as I melted into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping my lips.

I lost myself in him, in the touch of his hands touching me everywhere, reclaiming my body and pressing me against him. The urgency grew. My fingers instinctively curled around the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer with a determined grip. His hands ventured to my lower back, drawing me nearer. We could have transcended into another dimension.

As the elevator doors finally opened on his floor, we reluctantly pulled away from each other, our lips lingering for a moment before breaking apart. The hunger in his gaze mirrored my own. With a silent understanding, we rushed through the hallway—stupid teenagers in a rom-com.

I felt the weight of the door click shut behind us as he pushed me against it, his lips already on my neck. Our perfumes mixed together, a scent already familiar, yet to which I had no resistance. I felt drunk on it. His hands left my waist to pull my top down and reveal my bare skin beneath. There was urgency in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he exhaled when he took a step back and took me in.

Under his eyes, goosebumps ran across my chest. Thingles shot up from my nipples.

Carlos ran his thumb over one of them, eyes studying the rose buds, his tongue peering between his lips. “No bra?” He teased, his eyes glinting.

“Though I might save us some time,” I whispered back.

“I like the way you think,” he replied with a low growl. The warmth of his breath touched my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably before his lips reached my breast.

To that, I would never get used. The velvet touch of his tongue, the particular way his lips seem to perfectly fit each crevice of my body. My hands came up to his hair, tangling myself in the silky locks as he suckled on my nipple, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak. I gasped, my head falling backwards.

Electricity shot through my body, pooling between my legs.

“I want to do something for you, today," I said.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, his eyes darkening with desire. "What?" The husky timbre of his voice sent a chill down my spine, as he undid the belt of my pants. From then, to the moment they fell on the floor, was a couple of seconds.

I descended from my heels and guided him to bed, where he sat at the edge. Then sat down, gently, on his lap, my legs spreading naturally. Slightly hesitating, he reached out, and glided his palm over my back and my ass, before tracing a path down the back of my thighs. With a more urgent touch, his fingertips burning in curiosity and anticipation, he continued until his hand reached the back of my knees and with a strong motion, pulled me nearer to him. Fuck. I quivered in his lap, a broken moan escaping my lips.

He smiled. "You like that?"

I nodded, biting my lip as I felt the heat in his eyes. Tentatively, I placed my hands on his shoulders and moved again, shamelessly grinding against his jeans. Again, a low, husky moan left my mouth and his fingers dug into my ass. He was completely dressed and I was soaking through my panties.

Cupping my face in his hands, he brought his mouth back to mine. Fierce and wet. Possessive and savage. I moaned against his mouth as his hands came up to my breasts, kneading them as I rode him harder. His touch was overwhelming, and I could feel myself getting close to the edge.

"No. Wait. I—” My hand rested on his chest. “You’re making me lose focus."

My chin was locked between his fingers, as he held my face close.

"Hm?" He groaned against my mouth. "On what, baby?"

"On you," I said, between breaths, my voice almost breaking. I forced myself to stop moving, even when I felt every inch of my body under a spell. My clit was throbbing, crying for attention. "Your shirt," I commanded, and in seconds, it was flying to the floor.

The cool floor stimulated my heated skin, as I knelt in front of him. My eyes couldn't leave his face—the strands falling over his forehead, his slightly flushed cheeks, his swollen lips. I reached out, my fingers deftly working on his belt buckle, my every movement deliberate and tantalizing. Dark orbs stared at me from behind sleep-tousled eyes, desire taking them whole. Unzipping him, I let the jeans fall to his feet before touching him over his white Calvin Kleins. I could feel my mouth watering at the imprint of his erection on the fabric.

Looking up again, there was a grin on his lips.

His thumb gently traced the contour of my bottom lip, urging it to part. Without hesitation, I complied, welcoming his finger into my mouth. My lips closed around it, gently sucking as my hands explored him through the fabric of his boxers. His response was immediate; he bit his lower lip, a guttural groan escaping as I slid the elastic waistband down, releasing him into the open.

Carlos pulled himself up in bed, pulling off his boxers on his way. His eyes wandered briefly to a spot just beyond me, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Panties off, baby," he commanded. With ease, he positioned himself at the centre of the bed, his legs parted invitingly.

Glancing swiftly behind me, my eyes landed on a mirror. Without hesitation, I followed his command, sliding my panties down, ensuring my reflection in the mirror granted him the view he deserved. Then, I gracefully crawled towards him, positioning myself between his legs with my knees slightly apart, my ass elevated in the air.

His cock rested against my lips. I moved in, sucking gently, as I looked up. He didn’t know where to look: his eyes flickered from the mirror down to my face to the mirror again. I moved my tongue up and down his shaft and then he finally looked away from the mirror and at me.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and throaty. I blinked up at him, confused by his words. "So beautiful," he repeated. "The way you're looking at me, the way you're sucking me off. It's fucking beautiful."

I blushed, feeling shy and exposed under his gaze. I loved the way he looked at me, with such certainty and admiration. I loved that he saw me as something beautiful. Something worth saving. I parted my lips and slid my mouth around his shaft then pulled back, taking him as slowly as I could. He tilted his head and cried out, the vibration of his voice sending a shock of heat into my core.

I smiled up at him as I shifted, angling him so he was hitting the back of my throat.

"You like this?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face. I nodded, my head moving faster. "You're going to make me come in your mouth, aren't you?" I nodded again, my eyes locked onto his. His voice was low and commanding, his grip tight in my hair. I moaned around him, pleasure radiating through me as I felt him pulsating in my mouth.

My tights moved in the air, my pussy pulsating, crying for attention.

"Baby," he called. I looked up. "Touch yourself. But don't stop. You're doing so well."

I couldn't focus on anything else but what he was telling me to do. I reached down, feeling my wetness seep through my fingers. A moan slipped past my lips as I started stroking myself, faster and faster. My clit was throbbing, begging for attention. I glanced at Carlos, watching him struggle to keep control. He looked so strained, his body tense, his torso glistening with tiny droplets of sweat. He looked so fucking good.

"You're going to make me come, baby." He groaned, thrusting deeper into my mouth. I increased the speed of my movements, my head bobbing up and down on his shaft. I could feel him getting closer, the pulse in his cock growing faster and faster.

He came quickly, his cum filling my mouth and down my throat. I swallowed, my stomach muscles contracting as I drank down every last drop. He released my hair and lay in bed, his breathing erratic. "Come here."

"He—Where?"

"Here," he said like it was obvious. "Sit on my face."

For a second, I hesitated. But then he looked at me, his eyebrow pointing up, his tongue wandering between his lips and God, how, better, why would I say no? I complied, sinking down on top of him. His hands came up to my ass, spreading me open as he took my aching pussy into his mouth. And that was another thing I could never get used to. I gasped, my hands coming down to grip his hair, now tousled and sweaty. His tongue was wet and velvety as it flicked over my clit. I ground against him, my breathing becoming ragged.

"Come for me, baby," he murmured. He was a starved man. I was his precious meal. And how good it felt to me worshipped like that. "Come on my fucking tongue."

My body shook as I came hard, my pussy clenching tightly around his tongue. He kept going, licking and sucking until I was crying out in sheer ecstasy, my hands gripping the headrest, my knuckles turning white as the sensations overwhelmed me.

I lay sprawled on the bed, my legs still jerking, tingling with aftershocks of delight, my naked form glistening with a light sheen of sweat, utterly spent and exhilarated.

Carlos approached me, his nose touching mine, making me smile. “You were so good,” he whispered just before he pressed a slow, tender kiss against my lips. My mouth parted in anticipation of his, like always. My eyes drifted closed as I kissed him back.

“Happy birthday,” I said with drunken delight.

A small humm from him was the only response I got until I felt his hands pulling me to him, holding me close to his chest. A kiss on the forehead followed that, then another, this time on the top of my head.

His hands were warm where they trailed down my back.

And then I drifted to sleep.

There was a strange weight over my belly.

A warm stream of air against my skin, rhythmically kissing my ribs. The room was dark and warm, and my head hurt. A few morning sun rays seeped through the binds, wrapping the room in a warm yet slow yellow tint. I tried to move my leg, but it was wrapped in another body. And a smile emerged on my lips.

Slowly, I stretched my hand, the touch of his hair sending shivers down my spine. Heat flushed through me when my sleepy gaze fell on him. His back rose up in perfect curves, taut muscles rolling along his spine with every breath, like waves coming ashore. My tan glowed under his brown hair, which fell in soft strands against my chest. The curve of his torso disappeared at his waist, revealing a small hollow where he had curled up against me as if he belonged there—as if that moment was what life was all about.

Hearts beating so slowly.

A silence so full of a promise of peace and security in the uncertainty.

The previous days had been so full, so messy, so… scary.

And I was never a fan of sleeping like this, especially in the summer, but if it meant to wake up to that view, my mind could change.

I blinked awake, feeling disoriented and confused. Memories from last night swirled around in my head, jumbled and hazy, until my mind slowly pieced together what happened. A long dinner, a lot of wine. Messy kisses on the elevator, even messier in bed. Slowly, the memories coalesced into a coherent whole, and I realized that I was in Carlos' hotel room, our bodies naked and intertwined. I could feel the sheets beneath me, the weight of his body against me, the scent of sex and him, in an intoxicating mixture, pulling me back to sleep.

Silence stretched around.

The sound of his breath evened out, deep asleep.

It was hot, and the logical part of my mind urged me to get up, take a shower and remind Carlos of his commitments, but against reason, I resisted the urge. Instead, I lay there, gently tracing the short waves of his hair and basking in the sight of him peacefully sleeping on my chest.

And perhaps that is what life is all about, after all.

Our intimacy reverberated in the depths of that silence that didn’t need to be fulfilled. Felt right. The weight of his body shifted, relieving mine from the warmth and when my eyes met his, he was looking up at me, a soft lazy curve on his lips.

“You’re awake,” he murmured at some point, his voice barely audible.

“I am.”

Carlos leaned in, and our lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Each brush of our lips, a moment of pure vulnerability and adoration. The brush of his fingers on my cheeks, our legs intertwined, our bodies finding comfort against each other. Wafting through the atmosphere, the deep understanding that there was no better place we could be.

“You have to go get ready.”

Carlos hummed against my jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare skin. "I set an alarm," he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “Why you’re up so early? It’s like…” He stretched his arm to check the time on the nightstand. “6.30.”

“Time doesn’t make sense,” I hummed, a tired smile on my face. He chuckled softy. My fingers danced across his skin, the warmth and softness of it inviting my touch. They came to a rest at the nape of his neck, where delicate strands of hair brushed against my fingertips, silently urging me to thread them between my fingers. “And someone was crushing me.”

Carlos nuzzled closer, a playful smile gracing his lips. "I plead innocent. It's not my fault if you turned out to be irresistibly cuddly."

Feigning mock indignation, I swatted his arm gently. “Excuse me? Turned out? ”

His laughter bubbled forth, warm and rich, filling the room with its infectious energy. He then rolled to his side, and as my eyes fell on his barely disturbed pillow, I pondered whether we had drifted off like that or if he had moved during the night. Adjusting my position, I turned to face him.

“It’s quite nice to wake up like this, you know?” I admitted with a soft smile, my gaze locked onto his. Carlos’ chuckle danced in the air, playful and affectionate.

“Now… Excuse me! Actually nice? Were you doubting it?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes that mirrored the lightness of our banter. “Have you seen me?”

“Oh, yes. I have.”

“So, why is it actually nice?”

“Because I thought it would be different. That I wouldn’t be so comfortable to be naked in bed with you. I mean, I saw you eat worms as a child—” A giggle left my lips. “And now I let those same lips kiss me.”

“Oh, baby, you let them do so much more. I can still taste you,” he said with a smirk, his hand travelling down to my ass and pushing me to him.

A soft laughter escaped my lips, a mixture of surprise and amusement. Carlos' playful response was exactly what I had come to expect from him. "Oh, now we're getting cheeky, are we?"

His smirk deepened, his fingers tracing a teasing pattern along the back of my thigh. My leg was now wrapped around his. "Well, you know me."

I shifted closer to him, my fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "You're incorrigible."

The air between us was light, infused with a sense of ease that came so naturally when we were together. It was moments like these that I cherished the most—the unfiltered exchanges, the unspoken understanding, the unbreakable connection. His fingers traced patterns in my skin, mine stood still in his chest, the beating of his heart under my digits—a language of touch and glances that we had grown accustomed to without even noticing. The warmth of his body against mine, the intimacy of our shared space—it all felt so right, so beautifully intimate.

Carlos propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze tender yet searching. "You know, for what it's worth,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Waking up next to you feels... right," he admitted, his tone softening, his gaze holding mine. And then, as a contemplative expression crossed his features, he shifted his gaze to the window. "You know, I never expected this,” his voice tinged with a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. "I never thought we would ever fall on the same page. Either because I thought I didn’t deserve to be seen this way by you or because… I don’t know. I was so afraid of fucking up and losing you…"

His words settled like a gentle wave, each syllable a touch on my soul. The rawness in his voice stirred something within me, a connection that seemed to reach beyond words. His touch was warm on my skin, his words so low and his voice so rough, the timbre a caress that sorted through the depths of my emotions. I laid back in bed, my hands resting over my belly, in the spot where he had been asleep moments before. It was still warm.

"I couldn’t stop thinking about losing you. Until I did. And then I couldn’t stop dreaming about having you back. And then I saw you in the garage, at Mugello, and… it all came back, you know?” His eyes dropped to my chest, and then to my eyes. “The fear of letting you go," he confessed softly, his gaze unwavering.

The vulnerability in his words was a mirror to my own heart, an echo of the fears and doubts that had once haunted both of us. It almost felt too much.

"But then… The second you allowed me to get close enough, to look at you and truly see you…” He stretched his fingers and let his hand find the skin of my chest. Over my stern, he let his index wander, from my neck to my hands. “To feel you… This is not about losing. Is it?”

“It is not,” I replied, a small smile curving my lips.

His hand wandered to my side, his thumb tracing a gentle path over my breast. I looked down, admiring the way my body reacted to him—eager shivers, a symphony of sensations awakening in its trail. With every touch, it felt like being discovered anew. Each time he touched me, it felt like being touched for the very first time all over again.

“You have no idea how much I understand that,” I murmured, lifting my head from the pillow, my lips seeking his. He met me halfway, his head tilting to close the distance between us.

So mellow and slow. Warm and comforting. And lazy. Our kisses unfolded in unhurried movements, a languid exploration of each other's emotions. Time seemed to stretch and bend, because in that space, within the circle of his arms, we could afford to be lazy. Outside, the world was put on hold.

Carlos moved to hover over me, his frame settling in between my legs, shielding me from the sunlight rays seeping through the curtains. It was all him. And the lines of his stupidly handsome body and face, enhanced by the light hitting his back.

“I have a question,” I said, looking up at him.

The corner of his lips tugged up in a smirk, as he lowered himself to kiss my chin. “Not now, baby.”

“Yes, now, baby.”

He looked up. The lines of his face were disguised in the dark room. “I really would like to start this day inside you.” He ran his hand on my side, stopping at the back of my leg and guiding it around his waist. “Can we do that?”

“But that won’t answer my question.”

“That will make me very very very happy.” He kissed my chin, again. And then my cheek, my jaw, just below my ear. I exhaled, a stupid smile on my lips. Yeah, I had no chance against his tactics. My fingers moved on his biceps, tautening under my touch as he pressed his waist against me. “Can you feel how happy you make me?” he asked, his voice low and velvet smooth.

"Hmhm," I acknowledged. And he did it again, eyes locked on mine. A small moan escaped between my pressed lips and he chuckled, amused.

I shut my eyes as he moved his hips again, this time sliding against my slick folds. So close, yet so agonizing far. I could feel my own desire and the knowledge of it made my blood boil in my veins. I wanted him more than anything, and my body needed him just the same.

"Carlos," I begged, arching my back as he teased me mercilessly. "Please."

He chuckled softly, pushing himself up a little so that his lips could find mine. "Please what?" he asked, his voice a soft tease.

Make love to me. The words erupted from a very hidden corner of my mind, still lost in sleep and trapped in the fabric of dreams.

"Please," I repeated, this time a little louder. "I need you."

"I can see that," he replied, his voice low and serious. I opened my eyes to find him looking down, guiding his cock with one hand and using the other to move some strands of hair away from his face. "How are you so wet already, baby?"

How couldn’t I be?

I couldn't answer. All I could do was whimper as he teased me again, his tip sliding all the way through my slit, poking the entrance.

"You like being teased, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and sinful. "You like it so much that it’s a shame I can’t spend the whole day making you go crazy with it."

"Yes," I gasped, arching my back to get closer to him. He circled the entrance and I pressed my feet to the mattress, my head going back to the pillow as my body ached for him. "Please, Carlos."

"Okay, baby. I'm here," he said lowly, his voice a throaty whisper. He kissed me again, slowly but deeply. His tongue brushed against mine, my lips trapped between his teeth. "I'll make love to you."

The words were like a balm to my achy heart, a balm that soothed and healed. Carlos eased himself in slowly, a slow, torturous movement that made my entire body cry for him. And then out. Even more slowly. My hands moved to his shoulders, and then to his hair, urging him back. And when he was finally inside me again, I let out a long, trembling breath.

The slick, wet heat of us was heaven. His movements were slow and deliberate, a delicious torture that made me writhe uncontrollably beneath him.

"Austria," he breathed, his head hovering above mine as he moved his hips against me, burying himself deeper inside. I opened my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. "That's what made me go to Mugello."

A moan escaped my lips as he pushed even further, my back arching in response to the pleasure coursing through me. His eyes, filled with a burning desire, remained locked onto mine. "How? Why?" I managed to ask, my voice trembling with need.

"The fire," he confessed, his movements deliberate and sensual. His fingers slid through mine, our hands intertwining as he raised them above my head and thrust into me once more, the sensation more intense than before. "I didn't think about dying or getting hurt. All I could think about was you.” He moaned lowly, a fucking melody in my ears. “Your voice in my head."

I furrowed my brow, his words slowly registering in my desire-clouded mind. Sensations of pleasure and love pulsed through me as he continued to move, his gaze never leaving mine. He was taking his time, savouring every moment of our connection.

“Me?”

His grip on my fingers got stronger. “You.”

And then, in my cloudy mind, in the midst of all things I was feeling and desiring, the endless goodbyes we exchanged. His cologne mixed with rubber and oil, the sound of engines and rattle guns. The hugs at the airport, at home, before leaving and after arriving.

"Go race but don't die in there," I whispered, the words escaping my lips like a fervent prayer. He cracked a small, affectionate smile.

"Exactly that," he murmured against my lips. "And then, for a fraction of a second, I thought of dying. And how I wouldn't see you ever again."

I swallowed hard, the ache in my chest intensifying. My feelings seemed bigger than myself.

"I want to be with you."

Carlos's face softened at my words. "I want that, too, baby," he whispered, his voice full of love and tenderness, his chest pressing against mine as he caught my lips in a slow kiss, burying himself inside me once more.

And then he was moving faster, harder, and I was lost, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over me and the idea of how I had found home. I was falling. No safety net, yet the wind in my face was greater than any safety I had ever known.

-

Minutes after climax, both of us still lost in post-sex bliss and in each other, Carlos’ alarm rang on the nightstand. The room was now more brightly lit, but our bodies were still languid and sated, lost in the cocoon of our intimate connection. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the strident symphony of the alarm.

"Think I've got time for a quick nap?" I inquired with a playful raise of my eyebrow.

Carlos let out a soft chuckle as he silenced the alarm. "You can sleep while I hit the shower," he suggested, his voice still husky. "And then you'll need to get up and start getting ready, or else we’ll be late."

Feeling the weight of exhaustion creeping in, I sighed deeply while sitting up in bed. I looked around. Last night was still a confusing puzzle in my mind. And then, it all came to clarity. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing, "Rio has my key card."

"Why—How did that happen?"

"What do you mean, 'how'? He did the check-in, and I just dropped my bags here at the hotel and ran to the restaurant. I—Fuck. This is on you," I threw him a pillow.

Despite my efforts, he caught it quite easily. “How is this my fault?”

“You… seduced me in the elevator,” he laughed at my words, taking a hand to his belly.

Getting up, he threw me the pillow and walked to the closet, taking a robe out of there. To be honest, half my worries disappeared while he walked naked through the room, the view being distraction enough.

"Well,” he passed me the robe. “Rio's room is just across the hall. You can pop over there, grab the key card, and sort your stuff out. I can even go for you, if you want."

My anxiety spiked at the thought of such a direct confrontation. "You want me to just knock on my brother's door and say, 'Hi, I just spent the night with your best friend. Nice night overall, but now I need my stuff to get ready.’?"

Carlos pondered the situation for a moment before responding. “Yes.”

With a sigh and a reluctant nod, I accepted the robe. I wrapped it around me, the rush of nerves tugging around at the same time. Talking to my brother about last night wasn't something I was eager to do. If there was something good about having him moving soon out of the house, was the fact that never, in my whole life, had he encountered a guy leaving my room. But there was no avoiding it now, was it?

"Alright," I muttered, summoning my resolve. "I'll go get the key card and then I’ll get ready. We meet at breakfast. But if this turns into an awkward family moment, I'm blaming you."

Carlos chuckled, his voice a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. "I'll take full responsibility.” He picked up the second robe and dressed it. “It's not the end of the world, Eva. He’s done worse."

I gave him a wry smile, appreciating his attempt to ease my tension. "Easy for you to say," I quipped, heading towards the door. 

I mustered up the courage to walk across the hall and knock on Rio's door. Barefoot and with my hair tied in a terrible bun. It didn't take long before my brother answered, and the smirk on his face was undeniable.

"Eva, my dear sister," he said, his tone teasing. "Can’t say I wasn’t waiting for you."

"Cut it out, Fabrizio,” I moved in my feet. “Can I just get my key card?”

He feigned innocence. "Key card?”

“Come on, I need to go get ready.”

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Oh, I'm sure you do.”

“Rio, I swear to God—” he interrupted me with a laugh while taking a step back and opening the door. My bags rested against his closet. I frowned. “How? Why?”

Rio's laughter rang through the room as I walked in to retrieve my bags. He leaned against the door frame, still chuckling. "Well, sis," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I figured, why waste the money on a separate room for you when I knew you'd end up there anyway? Plus, it's been ages since I had a chance to tease you properly."

I shook my head in disbelief, simultaneously amused and annoyed by his antics. "I should've known you'd pull something like this."

He gave me an unapologetic grin. "What can I say? It's in my big brother's job description to embarrass you whenever possible.”

I rolled my eyes, but a fond smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Alright, alright," I relented, grabbing my suitcase, purse and Carlos’ gift. "I'll see you at breakfast. And for the record, Carlos is a way better roommate than you."

Rio laughed heartily, waving me off as I headed back to Carlos' room. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but shake my head at my brother's antics. On the other side of the hall, the door was closed. I knocked, hoping Carlos hadn’t yet stepped into the shower.

When he opened the door, his face broke into a grin, which quickly escalated into hearty laughter. “Guess it’s a sleepover, now,” I said.

He shrugged. “Good thing we get along well.”

I'll review the chapter again in a day or two, so I'm sorry if there are a few typos, but I just finished it. Happy birthday, Carlito. Hope Monza is good for him, this weekend. post weekend edit: MONZA WAS GOOD FOR HIM, IM CRYING HAPPY TEARS taglist: @alesainz @juliantheupsidedown @dreamsarebig (i forgot to tag people when i posted the chapter because i was just so nervous about posting this (we love anxiety) so sorry, but ill try to not forget next time) thank you all for the messages and the replies and especially the reblogs! i love you all SO much. thank you so much for the support. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. See you around. All the love, Bru 🤍

[bonefall]

I originally voted for StormCherry for Moonpaw, but I think I love the idea of Honeyfur for them instead - being named after her aunt is such a cute idea. Which led me to the next potential idea - Moonpaw as a FlipBay kitten (or PlumThrift), with any canonical siblings being for the other. Perhaps, just maybe, they end up with their kits at the same time - first time parents trying to figure out how to do everything, who end up relying on each other for advice for better or worse. If you do this, I'm not sure what kind of relationship they would have, but I imagine it would be fun to play with the dynamic of Moon and the other kit(s). Or like a sort of story of their parents struggles to be well... parents, told through the kit's perspectives of themselves/each other? I don't know if any of that made sense haha

It's a lovely idea, but I think I will try to avoid giving PlumThrift kittens unless it fits Moonpaw specifically the best. If I do end up doing it and Moonpaw comes with living siblings, I might go with the thought and give the extras to FlipBay though!

It would be useful genetically, for "futureproofing" the litter. PlumThrift can't have successful grandkids without tripping Rule 2, so if the writers grab a Moon sibling to have kits in the future I'd already be covered.

In a nutshell: PlumThrift Moonpaw, with siblings given to FlipBay.

That said, I'd love to explore the dynamic of "new parents helping each other out" with StormCherry and FlipBay instead, possibly with ShellFern in there if they have their litter around the same time. Then they'd be more like friends than family.

Plus, Stormcloud and Cherryfall are senior warriors while FlipBay and ShellFern are quite young in comparison. Something about that seems cute. Cherryfall would probably be stubbornly insisting she's got it all figured out and trying to pull rank, while Bayshine and Fernstripe conspire ways to get Stormcloud in the nursery more since he's obviously a better fit as a Mi.

Shellfur barges in whenever his love, Fernstripe, seems like she has a problem. Stormcloud takes any excuse to come and take care of everyone in there, probably becoming an assistant to Daisy for a while. Flipclaw has a surprising wave of maturity wash over him, finding out he's really good at weaving wicker bases for mossballs. Lots of little things like this.

I'll see what litters canon tosses at us in the next few books. I'm hoping Changing Skies opens up with a FernShell set to play with, or if we're REALLY lucky some kind of pregnancy announcement in the last book of ASC. Who knows. We might get a NightSun litter, which I'd IMMEDIATELY zap into SunFinch kittens.

If the nursery has less than 3 queens I'll deploy Leafshade and Honeyfur as StormCherry kits, who can grow up as Moonpaw's childhood friends.

(Provided Moonpaw doesn't become a StormCherry kitten herself, of course)

[dollypopup]

We need to talk about misogyny in the lukola fandom, and how it originated in the rampant misogyny in the Polin fandom and just continued to grow, because unfortunately, the two deeply intersect, and there's been such a lack of nuance in so many discussions

interestingly enough, this is actually being exhibited in a lot of Luke Newton discourse. Not toward him necessarily, but to the women around him, in comparison to him, for better or worse, including Nicola. There's been a lot of discourse especially around Luke being 'jobless' in contrast to Nicola being 'booked and busy'. and even in rejection of that discussion, the defense becomes that she is an exception, because she is exceptional, and that of course others look less ambitious in comparison. And at first, I'm sure this LOOKS like it's praising a woman for her hard work and dunking on a man for what we imagine isn't.

but has anyone ever asked why Nicola is booked and busy, especially? does she want to be? or does she *have* to be?

I want you to think about just how many women over the age of 40 are getting major roles. How many love scenes you've seen that feature more mature women. How in Queen Charlotte, the focus was on a younger actress, how Violet's and Danbury's and Portia's and QCs actresses don't even have a kiss scripted.

How much of that is by design in the entertainment industry

Nicola, in many ways, is creating a recipe for burn out, but she works alongside wonderful actresses who are incredibly talented- and do not get the opportunities they SHOULD. Roles in the entertainment industry are largely written for young women in their 20s, young, conventional women. And Nicola KNOWS this. She's a businesswoman, and her craft IS her business. The clock is, unfortunately, ticking. This is a very insidious aspect of the misogynistic entertainment machine. Yes, Nicola is booked and busy right now- she's building her brand and trying to break out of the awful cycle of female actors getting a few big roles, and then get relegated to side characters or mum number 3. Should the entertainment industry write more roles for women over 40? YES!!! They should be major roles with poignant narratives!! But it isn't the reality we live in. She is actively fighting against the sexism of the industry she is living in, she cannot take a vacation.

Luke Newton, however, *can*. He has privilege as a man to take his time. Whilst Nicola's career is in danger of a downswing, Luke's is, by most statistics? Just beginning. Men continue to get major roles deep into their 30s, 40s, 50s. In fact, I think MOST male actors only build notoriety as they age. So Luke Newton has the privilege of TIME.

And let me very clear: I'm happy he can. And I wish Nicola could, too. Grinding ourselves to dust in the pursuit of the perfect capitalistic darling is only going to breed misery. The fandom is SO caught up in saying 'oh, look at how great it is that xyz has this role!' and 'booo he's unemployed and jobless etc. etc.' that we don't take the time to ask. . .why is it NECESSARY and in fact praise worthy to lick clean the boot of grind culture? Are we not all tired? Do we not all want downtime? Holiday? Vacation?

Luke Newton is doing what is healthy: he's pushing away from Social Media, didn't spend too much time promoting, disengaged from the fandom in online spaces but is still generous with his time in person, poured himself into his craft, did a hell of a promotion tour, and in the time between fitting and costumes and learning lines for Bridgerton Season 4? He's resting.

As. He. Should.

As *Nicola* should. Because she also pushed to continue engaging with a fanbase who she hopes will act as security for her as she ages out of the roles writers are pushing into the world. Nicola SHOULD BE ALLOWED HER REST!!! She should NOT be booked and busy!! She should NOT be grinding herself to dust for the sake of keeping herself in good light to become one of the few women who continue to be big names beyond her 40s.

She, however, can't. Not because of anything Luke Newton has done, he is not, as many people want to believe, a problem. He benefits from the system ALL his male coworkers do, and does his best to uplift the women around him, likely understanding the struggles of such having been raised surrounded by so many women, but he is not perpetuating the system or creating it. Instead of directing our criticism on Luke Newton, we SHOULD be directing it to the entertainment industry. So Luke Newton is on a break from a serial successful production he has a guaranteed role for: so what? He is afforded that privilege. Having downtime is not the death knell of his career as doomsayers are insisting.

The average age of an Academy Award Winner who is an actor is almost 50. The average age of an Academy Award Winner who is an actress is 37. (source)

Should we be mad? Yes.

Is this something to be mad at Luke Newton for specifically? NO. Many male actors take breaks and time in their career trajectory, because they know they have longevity. The discussion in this fandom is misplaced, and the root of that misplacement is twofold: sexism and capitalist worship. It isn't that Luke Newton lacks ambition and should be working harder- I argue he's doing what is best for him and most people in the long term. This is self care, and it's important.

No, the discussion is that Nicola is forced to work in a pressure pot because of the industry, and the fandom continues to praise her for it, all whilst turning noses up at those who don't or do not have to, and continuing to uphold the narrative that women must be a beacon of exceptionalism in order to curry respect. They continue to uphold her grind as a virtue- look how great it is that she's constantly posting, constantly engaging with the fandom, always auditioning, booked and busy- have you not asked if she would LIKE a vacation? she deserves one, same as Luke Newton.

What you're mad at is NOT Luke himself- but the patriarchy. What you're mad at is that women must be held to standards of near unreachable excellence. But instead of working together as women and having any actual discussion about it that's meaningful, it turns into a crock of shit that then shoves everyone in the backspray, especially other women.

The slutshaming misogyny that has been directed at Luke Newton's girlfriend- *yikes*.

Oh, A is a hanger on. She's 'poptart', she's portrayed with an ant emoji, she's 'toilet twerker', she's 'controlling him' or HE should control HER, she 'should be reigned in', she's jobless, she's an infant who needs her big strong boyfriend to take her social media away, she's not been 'claimed' (like luggage, like a THING), look at him, he doesn't feel ANYTHING toward her- not like Nicola.

Our good, darling Nicola versus that awful whore Antonia/Jade/Any Woman in Luke Newton's Circle.

This sexism is deep and pervasive- being angry he's dating her 'because she's thin'. Insisting she's a villain and everything she does is to 'rile up the fandom' or 'stir up trouble' or that she 'hates Nicola'.

You all do NOT know this woman. And I don't either!!! Maybe she IS a shit stirrer, maybe she is thriving in the drama.

But aren't most of y'all, too?

Polin fandom built so much off of putting down other women to uphold Penelope: Marina is a bitch who was TRICKING Colin and Penelope was just doing what she had to do!!! Of course she kept her secret from him, she was SCARED!!! Eloise is a privileged brat breaking the rules and putting herself in danger but Penelope is a rebel who is building her own success off of taking necessary risks!!!

Our good, Darling Penelope versus that evil whore Marina/Eloise/Cressida/Any Other Woman.

This fandom is predominately female. Most of us identify as women. And a lot of us are *mean* to other women. We uphold sexism in our fandoms, uncontested, as often as we please. But we frame it in criticism of a man and so that's okay- as if that in and of itself is somehow uplifting women, being tied to a feminist cause- but putting down other women in conspiracy theories and bullying them, as occurred to Jade, under the guise of 'oh I'm just criticizing Luke!' is disingenuous. It's an excuse. 'I'm mad at him for-' not being your fantasy.

And Nicola isn't, either.

The truth is, the people in this fandom don't have respect for EITHER of them, just in different ways. A pedestal is a pedestal is a pedestal, and no matter what, any human being will fall from it eventually. And this fandom has proven that when that happens, it will NOT be met with empathy.

Now think about who that will actually hurt in the long term.

A lot of people in this fandom have soul searching to do.

[factual-fantasy]

27 asks! :00 Thanks ya'll!! :} 💖💖💖

Nope! Sorry, I don't take direct drawing requests or suggestions. <:/

Now I hear a few people saying; "But you've taken requests before" Now I do draw things in response to asks sometimes. But its rarely a direct request that I'm responding to. Usually its someone complimenting me on "something" and I feel so flattered and inspired that I draw that "something" again for them..

Would you think less of me if I said I legitimately was? For what I think is a very valid reason? Hypothetically of course-

@wolfie-777

:DD Oh hey!! Thanks!! Happy early Easter!! :}}} 💖🥚🥚🐺🥚💖

Oh there's no need to worry Anon, my body is kind'a forcing me to take a break... 😅

@yourstrulylightstar283 (In response to this post)

Thank you! And no worries, I'm sure I wont have to deal with all of this forever <:}

Happy late reply Friday! <XDD

@midnight193

Aww! Sweet widdol baby!! :DD

And thank you, I'm doing my best to take it easy.. <:}

Woof. That is quite the sentence to say to someone who's grieving their late wife-

Its especially strange considering that my Bowser isn't in love with Peach at all and isn't interested in replacing his wife-

I've heavily considered Louis having a crush on Ellie... 👀👀

The biggest eater is probably Louis, followed by Seafoam. Now Seafoam is no glutton mind you, he just eats a ton because he's so big and tall. He's got a lot of muscle that needs to be fed and maintained. Louis however just loves food and loves to eat <XDD

The pickiest eaterr.... couuuld be Red. Kids am I right? <XD Or maybe Spidercrab. He's rather thin so I imagine there isn't much he likes to eat. <:/ Or maybe Spidercrab isn't picky, he just doesn't have much appetite--?? <:DD

Aww! What a fun idea! :D I wonder if the game has anything like that.. and I wonder how a land animal like that would fare out on the ocean :0

(In response to this post)

Y-You realy mean all dat?.. Thank you.. 🥺😭💖

@manybrokenquills

XDD I am everywhere

(Also if you ever feel like getting those photos those would be hilarious to see XDD)

@rubyplayz12

YA- AWWWW... :(( sorry about the lost progress! I hope you catch back up to where you were pretty quick :( But YAY YOU HAVE IT BACK! XDD

A marshmallow cookie and a S'mores cookie already exist in the game :( so I shan't make my own 😔

I'm still working out the order of their ages.. So far I have decided that Ludwig is the oldest. And I'm leaning on Iggy being right below him, the second to oldest.

I'm solid on Bowser JR being the youngest, and Lemmy being right above him, the second to youngest. As for everyone else though..? I'm still trying to figure it out.

Thinking that Roy and Morton are on the older side, and Wendy and Larry are on the younger side. I just don't quite know what the order will be-

Hmm... I want Larry to be very different looking from Lemmy, maybe a bigger age gap would help. And I made Roy rather mature.. he could be older.. hmm...

Mayyybe.. in order from oldest to youngest, it goes,

Ludwig - Iggy - Roy - Morton - Larry - Wendy - Lemmy - JR..? I think I'll go with that for now <XDD

Now Bowser is complicated. Originally I wanted Bowser to be this ruthless monster. Both as a King and as a Dad.. But I made that Bowser around when the Movie trailers were all the hype. And boy, I hated how Bowser was shaping up to be. So my rotten Bowser was mostly just to make him more intimidating then the movie Bowser.

Since then I've settled down and thought that a purely evil Bowser is not that interesting.. or lore accurate. So I began to lean on him being a rather good dad, if not emotionally awkward.

....buuut then I saw the movie, and now I'm back on the Bowser hate train <XDD I guess right now its up in the air. He's not meant to be intentionally abusive or awful to his kids though. I'm thinking that maybe the gentle fatherly side of Bowser was usually brought out by his wife.. Since she's gone now.. well.. I guess he's a little emotionally absent at the least-

As strictly a King, I'm thinking that he's pretty rough. At least he's more ruthless than he may have been before. I guess a way to describe him as King would be.. The health and safety of his people are not his #1 concern. The strength of his kingdom and his position of power however, is. Though this Bowser is subject to change.. :/

XD He'd probably look like this 👇

@kaiserdarken

I'm not sure if the Pizzaplex would have decorated the place for Easter or not.. In present day or in the past.

But if they did in the past, I imagine it didn't feel much different compared to any other time of the year..

And if the present day Pizzaplex celebrates it..? I imagine its hard for the animatronics to see all the bunny imagery everywhere.. 💔

@beryl-shade

Google seems to suggest that there are no sirens in the games.. :( So Blue Beauty wouldn't be one, 😔

@hazardhazel20

Thank you!! I'm glad you do! :DD

You mean my Refinedtale Toriel.?

Man.. I'm sure she does.. (Though heck if I know what their names would be or any of that stuff-- but I'm sure Toriel would know <XDD)

Ooooo that's a good idea! :00 I haven't thought about it that way before..

@collisionofthestars-newblog

That sounds really fun actually! And normally I could see that happening.. though unfortunately, some of the structures I have set up in my AU make this scenario less likely..

For one, I intended for healing magic to be extremely complex and very difficult to master. And its intended to always leave a mark of some kind. A warning that Kamek gives to Lemmy and Iggy is something along the lines of "Whether you are healing, or destroying. Magic will always leave a scar." That's why Iggy's eyes look so strange and half of Lemmy's face and hair is discolored. The act of repairing their eyes left a mark on them..

What I mean by this, is that Kamek couldn't just turn around and heal them after every sparring session. Because it is very challenging to heal with magic and they would both be left with scars.. So they would both have to heal naturally over time after sparring. And considering that the Commander has a very important job, it would be wise to not tire him out or injure for the sake of some emotional relief.. :(

Although.. there could be a more mild version of this perhaps? Where the commander is involved in Bowser's training.? But not as his opponent. Perhaps he flies up high and chucks projectiles at Bowser for him to deflect. But not really getting involved on a way beyond that where he becomes overly exhausted or inured.

...Now for the Koopalings?? Dude, that's genius. Bowser is a hefty opponent and is sure to exhaust Commander and possibly even injure him.. But the Koopalings?? Commander would make a GREAT sparring partner for nearly all of them! :00

Specifically I can see him sparing with Morton, Roy, Ludwig and possibly Iggy. (The older Koopalings primarily) Whether its just muscle against muscle or being Iggy's target practice, I think he'd make a great sparring partner for the youngins :}}

It started with being inspired by my band-aid covered hands (due to dry hands and cat scratches) and adding them into my sona

Nowadays its maintained by me having reaaaaally dry hands 💀 (I wash them way to often/harshly and don't rehydrate with lotion often enough-)

You mean the factual fam? Aw, I'd like to think so. :}}}

Bold of you to assume Jangles doesn't have hair

@ghfhgkfngjvfnvfnvmfkf

<XD Yes, Bibi is around 2 years old-

[canisvesperus]

I’ve seen some discussion on this, so allow me to explain something.

Some people do not seem to grasp why artists like me draw so much fashionable Eridan. He’s not fashionable at all, just look at his canon outfit, they say. Well, it is simple. Eridan is one of the few trolls actually experimenting with fashion at a young age in the comic. Look me in the eye and tell me you too weren’t a hot mess trying to dress “fashionable” in middle school. Yet, chances are that if you had that awareness and drive early on, you will also develop a sense of style and grasp on aesthetics earlier in life compared to your peers. This was my experience. I was well known for being very stylish as a kid, but this didn’t happen overnight. Indeed, if you were one of these kids you most definitely started off with some odd or disharmonious clothing combinations that you threw together in an attempt to express yourself aesthetically despite inexperience in that type of self-expression. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I usually draw young adult Eridan. Obviously given some time, his tastes would develop and mature into something derived from those original aesthetic visions, but far more cohesive.

It’s clear he’s trying to assert his individualism and status in his clothing choices, and most of y’all shrug him off as having bad taste while not also foreseeing the intent and vision behind those choices. I see it, and so do other artists. We differ in how we portray this derivation because there are frankly a dozen different directions he could take it depending on the circumstances of the post-canon/fix it scenario. This is why you may see me refer to the Eridan in my depictions as “my Eridan”. I don’t presume to depict something identical to Homestuck proper, nor am I particularly interested in doing so. If you’re the type of person who is married to the events of canon and cannot consider a scenario involving an older Eridan who was allowed to grow and change, this is why we are not seeing eye to eye— and I’m certain this is the root cause of various other discourses as they pertain to portraying the character in post-canon fanworks. That’s fine. That’s your choice. My choice is different.

Eridan consistently demonstrates concern (an excess, really, which backfired for him in the cruelest of ways poor thing) with respect to how he is perceived, hence the consciously thought out image-crafting and classic Eridan façades that his own peers call him out on for being poorly executed, transparent, and otherwise not believable. They were kids. This is normal. Of course he doesn’t have himself figured out yet. It’s a process. Some people in this fandom believe his façade in the most literal and uncritical of ways but this is all a story for another day. Is his drip game shit though, without regards for fan interpretations? If you’re asking me, I don’t think it’s really that bad considering his age. I really don’t think it’s that bad. That kind of scarf with the cape is a bit much to wear around the neck. Maybe he’ll swap the big scarf for something similar in function and category but less top heavy— a cravat, jabot, bandana, or lavallière? If the cape is too overwhelming for the rest of the outfit, a smaller caplet, shawl, or a coat will work. To accommodate some of the alternative neckwear, a shirt with a collar would be preferable. What many people perceive as a turtleneck sweater, need not be entirely sacrificed. Put a sweater vest on that boy. I see lots of complaints about the shoes and pants. More discreet pinstripes and more formal shoes (field boots, paddock boots, oxfords) will work. Of course he can go in the opposite direction, less formal, in that case the cape can go and the long scarf can stay, get some cool sneakers, consider denim bottoms or casual slacks in a single color, accents welcome. However this isn’t the derivation I pursue so I feel less qualified to speculate. He could ditch all of it even. Start new and fresh especially if he were to go through a markedly subversive reclamation of identity and character redemption sort of process. In any case, he can work with it!!! You just have to believe in him.

I believe Eridan had a lot of narrative potential that was wasted, possibly out of disinterest for the character. It’s only predictable that artists like me simply want to devise a world in which these characters had a chance to actually live their lives. I truly do not understand why there has to be so much confusion over this. That‘s all.

[blackwwatch]

something i haven't seen wrt FoM feedback is the character writing and dialogue. there's a lot of it, and they can react differently if you give certain items, seen certain dialogue, experienced different events, etc. which makes it really fun to talk with them several times over the course of an in-game day.

i think it's also nice that they have preexisting relationships with each other. i think it would be even better if there was more conflict, goals, and distinguishing characteristics between them to allow them to develop as characters.

1. dialogue

it's a little difficult since many characters have similar backgrounds and therefore speaking styles, but i think the character voice could be improved by varying sentence length, word choice, structure, and topic. otherwise, many of the characters talk very similarly--very articulate, forward, and kind. if i take away the speaker, can you distinguish who's speaking which lines?

You're so busy, and you still find time to be this thoughtful! Thank you, [player].

Adeline was originally suspicious of me, but she let me stick around. Guess I have my uses!

This gift is wasted on me, [player]. But maybe I can pass it on.

I like to drop by the General Store on Friday before everyone starts gathering!

Early mornings are my least favorite time in Mistria. Everyone's so... cheery. Like they're about to break into song.

the answers are: Adeline, Balor, Valen, Reina, and Juniper.

it was probably easier to narrow down the last one to either March or Juniper, right? and i think that adds to their popularity--they're distinguishable from the other characters in that they're ruder and less cheerful. they talk about you or others more than they talk about themselves.

that being said, i'm not saying dialogue quirks is what needs to be added. we already have holt, dell, maple, and luc.

each piece of dialogue should say something about the character themselves. whether that is their outlook on life, their aspirations, etc., and every character should have something different about them. they can be cheerful--i think that's a charm of Mistria, where it's so safe and trusting that celine keeps her door unlocked so that juniper and the player can barge in to ask for help--but emphasize different parts of the cheer.

is adeline more optimistic than everyone else? is balor more persistent in his beliefs? does this translate to shorter, and more casual dialogue for balor because he's preserving his out-of-town accent?

does valen have higher standards for you? is her dialogue full of more jargon and prose than adeline because she believes you also share her language?

is reina confident in her organization and time keeping? does she talk as if she's giving you advice because everyone could use a little help in time management?

2. progression

i think seeing character development as you gain hearts with the characters would make it more rewarding to talk with them every day. we have mini "plot lines" that follow them (Balor getting more into D&D, Juniper and Terithia speculating about the townsfolk), and i think there could be more "subplots" to add to the excitement of a new day. for example,

could Adeline be so focused on running the town that she doesn't realize that Eiland would actually prefer spending all his time at the dig site instead? do you get to encourage her to put Eiland on more hands-on tasks instead of paperwork?

is ryis struggling to get noticed as a maturing carpenter in his own right? does landen ask for your help to promote ryis and officially retire?

it could be rewarding to see ryis or another character achieve their goals because you helped them, or even saw a different villager help them. it's nice that you could see them grow and change because you had taken the time to build that relationship.

3. heart events

i would also like to see heart events for non-romanceable characters because i think it would add more life to the town. since this is early access, i assume they're still in-progress.

[theladyragnell]

☕️ Leverage / Leverage: Redemption!

I feel like my adoration of Leverage is well-documented, so let's talk a bit about Redemption!

A lot of people have said that it's not as good as original Leverage, and I don't dispute that! Original Leverage was lightning in a bottle, the product of certain times and circumstances, and because it wasn't owned by Amazon, it had license to be a bit more pointed at times. I think in all of our minds, from the way the original show ended, what we wanted was Leverage: Black Book, where more and more crews signed on and they dealt with bigger problems, all of which is implied to be going on in the background but which doesn't get the focus in Leverage: Redemption.

But I think a lot of things are going on here that make people like it less, and I think some of them are really interesting!

So to start: there's no Nate (which, to be clear, is a good thing, given why the character was eliminated). And Nate was very much The Main Character. He had a team, but Nate got season arcs and the last word, he was the heist leader, and his abrasiveness and cynicism made for really specific character dynamics. They replaced him with Harry, a completely different character, which was wise, and Harry's first season arc in particular was a really cool one for the show to do, but he sort of moved the Shenanigans Window (like the Overton Window but for Shenanigans) in a totally different direction to Nate. So just by virtue of that, we've got a different show. (And actually a thing I really like about Redemption is that the first season was Harry's arc about his redemption and the second season is Sophie's. I'm really interested to see who comes up next, and it's going to be Very chewy when we get to Eliot.)

While we talk casting changes, we all of course miss more regular appearances from Aldis Hodge desperately. Brianna is great and I adore her, but also she's very much like Hardison as he was in the early days of the show, the youngest and most naive on the crew and often in need of protection, so it feels like the hacker hasn't matured at all when the rest of the team is in a totally different stage of career and character development.

And then there's the central problem, which is that things have gotten so much worse in the decade between the end of Leverage and the start of Leverage: Redemption. Everything sucks so much, corporations have incredible amounts of power, it's all So Bad, but Leverage is dealing with the same size of story. It's implied that Hardison isn't, and he's the window into the world's bigger problems, but again, he's a small part of the show due to actor constraints. So while the show has gotten a little sillier under Harry's influence (and quite possibly under the influence of the writer's room, they are choosing what to write for Harry, after all), the real-world stakes of the stories have gotten significantly more real to all of us, and it can be jarring!

There are other problems, things that don't quite fit characterizations, but I think the biggest problem is that Leverage: Redemption got pulled a little lighter by team dynamics when the world we live in got pulled a lot darker by Everything, so it's no longer really on the cutting edge and pushing the envelope the way it was a decade ago, and never will be because Amazon owns it.

And that sucks! I'd love to see a Leverage that went deeper and didn't have the corporate shine on it! But I think I'm also more forgiving of it than a lot of passionate Original Leverage fans.

[new-tella-us]

Up next Matthew! (22) 

If every child is made for a reason, Matthew was made for magic. He is a perfect breed of brute and succubus. The best of both worlds. However, he was born...different. He neither had the strength nor the height that reflected his brute origins and, for a while, it seemed that he didn’t have much magic either. He was the runt of the nobles. This caused the Demon Lord to lose all interest in Matthew quite quickly. Aezera was both offended and pleased. She knew better as she went through this same “runt phase” when she was young, but the speed in which the Demon Lord abandoned Matthew left him at the sole mercy of his mother.  

Matthew would learn everything James learnt under his mother’s control. The pros were that Aezera was a loving mother that encouraged Matthew to hone his talents, even the “useless” ones like making toys. He was also given more free time for roaming the castle to figure out what made him happy in life. He would become more well-rounded than his brothers overall. 

The con was that Aezera is highly possessive and controlling. While Matthew was given more free time, that doesn’t mean he was given more freedom. He had to wear certain things, eat at certain times, his training was just as rigorous as James or even more since he often worked harder for more free time, and it was hard to do anything without his mother knowing. Privacy was a luxury he never had.  

Also, she was heavily jealous of all the brothers, especially Damien. How dare they take up her son’s precious time that he could be spending with her or training? And why does her son see that whore’s child as an equal? He’s what wrong with this family. Matthew tries to not acknowledge that...uglier side to his mother. 

When he got the chance to go to the human world, he wasn’t trying to hurt his mom. In fact, he left so many toys for her before he left. But he needed some freedom, he needed to be off the leash, and if he was to be honest with himself, he needed to feel grown. Grownups don’t have to hold their mother’s hand for every decision, but she would accept no less so, he needed to leave. 

Meeting Mika was the first time he really got to speak to someone unrelated to him in a casual setting. Their meeting was of course awkward, him bleeding all over her house before giving her a murderous doll and all but she seemed chill and fun. She matched his energy perfectly. Their playful energy bounced off each other at rapidly increasing speeds, he was finally able to just have fun with someone. No formalities or expectations. 

He loves Mika’s fun personality, but he knew that was only the surface of her and there was possibly something darker underneath. The “Pre-kiss turning point” happens while they are out at an arcade, Mika seems off. From the player’s perspective, the world seems a bit duller as the day of the homecoming party slowly arrived. This is Mika’s mild depression kicking in and it happens in every route, some boys notice, others don’t. Matthew does and asks if she’s okay.  

You can either choose to say, “I don’t know” or “I’m fine”. For Matthew, answering honestly is the correct choice. 

Mika mentions that this happens sometimes, and the world just seems duller than normal. Matthew is concerned and doesn’t fully understand but appreciates Mika’s honesty. (Frankly, I think a lot of the boys have some form of depression thanks to their upbringing, but I don’t Matthew is one of them. He has issues but depression is not one of them.) 

From then on, Matthew’s behavior does slightly change. He seems more attentive to Mika’s needs. He was always fun loving and kind, but this is the first time he’s realizing that he can’t fix someone with just toys. So, he tries to pick up on what Mika really needs and the ways he can be there for her. This would be where Mika acknowledges that Matthew seems a lot more mature than his personality would give off. 

This is also where Mika notices how Matthew’s brothers treat him like a child. Even Damien, to a certain extent, is reluctant to rely on Matthew. And it’s clear that Matthew is bothered by this. He doesn’t say but there’s sadness in his eyes when strangers ask him if he’s old enough to be in certain places or drinking certain things or when his brothers shirk off his concerns or valid points because he didn’t say it in the most “adult” way. 

Even Mika must get over her own biases, which she does over time. 

During the Malix battle, like every other boy, Matthew tells you to run. The correct option for Matthew is to run. Mika needs to have faith in Matthew’s abilities and trust that he’ll keep her safe when he says he will. Any other option reinforces this idea that Mika doesn’t fully believe in Matthew. 

Like Erik, there’s a harsh temperature change in the air, the air feels of heavy blues and purples, fading as she runs from the warehouse and into the forest. A few minutes later, she hears Matthew calling for her in the distance. Whenever you choose the “run” option, the incubus you left will get hurt; for Matthew, this is a slice to the leg. When Mika finds him, he’s limping instead of walking. After all is said and done, Matthew thanks Mika for trusting him. 

Post Malix/Diana Arc- Matthew is really trying to show how much of an adult he is. At this point, he knows he has feelings for Mika and she’s the first person to truly treat him like a trustworthy adult. He doesn’t want that image to slip. Sometimes it does come off as a bit “try hard” but Mika appreciates the effort. Mika affirms her faith is Matthew while reminding him that he doesn’t have to do everything. He’s perfectly dependable just the way he is. 

The final choices with Diana then are 

“I love him!” and “He’s not a child” 

“He’s not a child” is the correct choice. 

Mika says that Matthew isn’t a child that needs his hand held through every decision. He doesn’t need to be held to a decision either, he can be trusted to stick to his word no matter what it is. Diana shouldn’t underestimate him so much. 

This is the true ending, so Matthew stays with Mika. 

~~~ 

Final one! (And my personal favorite) Damien (20) 

Remember what I said about some boys having depression? Yeah....that’s absolutely including Damien. He is the illegitimate son of the Demon Lord and his favorite concubine, Omaizel and OH BOY did no one let him forget that for even a second. With no favor from the Demon Lord and no claim to the throne, servants and acolytes alike treated the boy like trash. The wives, for the most part, despised him, the Demon Lord didn’t acknowledge his existence (at first), the only people to treat him right were his brothers and mother. 

To rub salt in the wound, the only time his father acknowledged his existence was to make sure that the magic infused chains on both Damien and Omaizel were still on and working. The Demon Lord didn’t want either of them escaping. Damien never understood why. He vaguely understood –and hated- the reason for his mother’s chains but why did the Demon Lord care if Damien escaped? Maybe it was just to make him suffer. 

At first, he was made to be servant, but Damien didn’t just lay down and die. He was defiant during his chores and with the endless support of his brothers, eventually, the Demon Lord simply gave up. Damien’s defiance wasn’t worth making all four of his heirs angry. From there on, Damien would wander the halls endlessly. His mindreading made him terrifying to some servants, others simply saw him as a nuisance. They thought that if he had even a small amount of intelligence, he would never get violent. And for the most part, they were right. 

But one day, Damien was going to get violent. He would finally put a particularly annoying servant in his place and get his peace, only to be stopped by his mother. Unbeknownst to Damien, his mindreading or more specifically, his lack of enough social skills to know not to blab about his mindreading slowly eroded his mother’s sanity along with the many nights under the Demon Lord’s... let's say “treatment” ...  

It was not that Omaizel didn’t love her son anymore, she was brought to the brink. If she could have killed the Demon Lord and taken her son out of the castle, she would have. But she couldn’t so she decided to try and kill him. To get away from his mindreading, to have some peace. Of course, it didn’t work, and she ended up killing herself instead. 

This is when the Demon Lord finally noticed Damien and not in a good way. His brothers may have been able to convince their father to spare his life but the number of scars and injuries that would appear on Damien would grow exponentially. 

Damien would be the first to hear the “angel” that would save them all. Harold Anderson, the most powerful warlock. Harold would offer Damien a way out and Damien would take it immediately. But how would he leave with the chains on his legs that prevented his escape? Harold didn’t have the magic necessary to break the chains, but he could put a buffer on the magic until he could obtain the holy magic necessary to break it. And with that, the boys escaped. 

Damien was the only one to enter the mansion knowing that it was Harold’s. The ghost of Harold guided him towards the mansion knowing “someone that could help you boys”. 

Meeting Mika, Damien recognized her immediately as the young woman who served them in the Pink Lady Cafe, the woman who called Harold, “Grandpa”. This put him at ease around Mika immediately. Anyone related to Harold must be a good person, right? (Clearly, he hadn’t met David yet) This feeling of calmness would only increase as she showed her generous and understanding side.  

Damien doesn’t fully understand social cues, he’s the type of guy to break into your room and hold you, despite not knowing you, simply because you had a nightmare or watch you while sleep then carry you down a flight of stairs, despite you not asking him to and barely knowing his name, because he’s worried that you can’t walk. (yes, he does both of these in canon) Over time, Mika gets used to his antics and comes to appreciate Damien’s straightforward way of thinking while also reminding him of the wonderful value of privacy. 

The “Pre-kiss Turning Point” happens when Mika wanders near the bedrooms on the other side of the house, where the boys stay. She notices that Damien is sitting on his bed, spacing out. It’s the first time Mika has seen the heavy dark circles under Damien’s eyes, he looks tired. Damien hears Mika’s thoughts and tries to be encouraging, offering to simply talk to her as he “needs a distraction from his thoughts”.  

As they talk, Damien seems so out of it and Mika finally asks what happened. He explains that while demons don’t need sleep, and it’s not recommended in the Abyssal Plains anyway, they still need rest. But Damien very rarely rests as he never truly felt safe to let his guard down in the Demon castle. He never shook the practice, even after six months in the human world. 

You can choose either “say nothing” or “Do you want me to watch over you?” 

The second one is the obvious correct one. 

Damien, at first, turns down her offer but Mika insists saying “You’ve protected me while I’ve slept before. I can do the same.”  

After some thought, Damien agreed and, for the first time, felt safe enough to fall asleep. 

During the Malix fight, Damien is the only one whose correct answer is “Stay”. The scene would play mainly like normal but instead of Mika joining the fight, she helps Damien by warning him of incoming attacks. Malix notices and tries to attack Mika only to be blocked by one of Damien’s shadow clones. This is enough to make Damien stop toying with Malix and just straight up kill him. He asks Mika to close her eyes and she does so, feeling the air turn ice cold and heavy with purples and blacks. Damien’s voice gains an echo and a harsh tone. Mika can hear ripping flesh and Malix screaming. Unlike James and Sam, Damien is not morally hung up about it.  

During the Diana Arc, the new concern is the mutual breaking down of emotional walls. All the boys would, eventually, acknowledge that Mika isn’t as happy as she seems, but Damien? He knew that shit from day 1 and he finally has the confidence to talk to you about it. So basically, mutual trauma dumping. It starts lightly but when Diana reveals Damien’s past with his mother, Mika felt it was only fair to be completely honest with him and just let the mask shatter for a while. This draws them closer to each other 

Now Damien’s route is different from the rest because Diana isn’t trying to take him away, so the “final choice” is really the final two choices and for once, I’m not changing which choice you should choose. 

The first one being “I love you” or “Cup his cheeks” when Damien asks Mika if she loves him. 

The correct answer is “I love you” 

Mika still goes on about Damien though, how kind he is, how strong he is, how much she’s come to trust him and how every day is made better because he’s in it. She doesn’t care about his mind reading, his status, his powers or even his species. She’s come to love Damien the person. 

The second choice is...his humanity. 

Okay small rant, love Michaela, love seduce me, why did there have to be any form of dubious consent in this route? Or lowkey trading sex for a desired item/outcome? Like, it’s bad enough for any route to have that IMO but it being in Damien’s route is extra seedy seeing that a major part of his past is “His mother was horribly assaulted constantly, and he was probably a product of that.” 

Eeeeeeeh so, I don’t usually change canon events but for my own comfort, we’re gunna change this deal a little. 

The deal is now that Mika is fully aware of her powers, including her angelic origins, in Damien’s route. She figured this one when she was able to snap off Damien’s chains after it was made clear that only holy magic could fully remove them. Diana wants Mika’s magic, all of it. She would have no magic at all (and that would affect the second game, unlike all the other routes) and she would lose any chance at connecting to her heaven side, but Damien would be human. 

Of course, you can choose to agree to those terms or not. The correct option is to agree. Mika wakes Damien up and tells him about the deal. He's concerned but agrees to the deal knowing what she's is willing to sacrifice. Diana takes all of Mika’s magic and she becomes a plain human then takes Damien for the ritual only to come back a few seconds later with a “human” Damien (we all know that’s not the complete truth). Damien hugs Mika and thanks her for turning him human and that is the end of Damien’s route. 

TL:DR- Matthew’s route is about being honest and learning to rely a little bit on Matthew. He gets to be the man he wants to be. Meanwhile, Damien’s route is about mutual trauma dumping with a big change to the final deal you make with Diana. 

A little bonus fact about the Malix Fight changes. It doesn’t change that Mika doesn’t know what their demon forms look like, no matter the option you choose.  

If you fight, they’re in their regular form until Mika gets hurt. No matter the boy you choose, they outright enthrall Mika to make sure she stays curled up, in the corner, putting pressure on her wound. They aren’t risking you bleeding out. 

If you stay, it’s the default fight but they ask Mika to close her eyes, to which she complies. Once the scene is said and done, Mika will ask if she can uncover her eyes, but they’ll puts their hands over her eyes to make sure she can’t see. This is where Mika gets the closest to “seeing” their form as their hands feel more like armor than skin. 

If you run, you obviously run away before they transform, and they go back to normal before they find you.  

And on every route, with every choice, after they’re done, they summon their brothers to help them get back to normal. 

This is the final part of 3 1| 2| 3

[mach-speed-spin]

Beyblade character design analysis: Kenta Yumiya

Masterpost here. Now let's take a look at Kenta, who somehow went from getting beaten up by the Face Hunters to gaining Ryuga's respect

Starting with the hair, it's green. This has nothing to do with his bey, but the green, and more specifically this shade, make Kenta stand out. The rest of Kenta's design is fairly generic, to the point where some actual background characters have more captivating designs (like Django), so the hair helps set him apart from someone like Osamu. Green is one of the lesser-used hair colors in mfb, and the characters with green hair all have a very dark shade (like Kyoya). Kenta is the exception, which catches our attention when the rest of his design doesn't

Kenta wears a yellow shirt with a blue stripe. The yellow-green-blue color scheme looks like the Brazilian flag (insert joke about the time the Garcias jumped Yu). The design itself is quite plain, but the colors are bright enough to make Kenta not seem like a background character. He's still a generic audience surrogate in design (and character, at least at the start), but without being too generic as to be mistaken for a background character

He lacks gloves or a visible belt, which are accessories used by most bladers. This makes his design seem more generic, and it's on purpose because almost everyone else has at least one of these 2. However, Kenta does have a belt that holds his launcher, which is just not seen very much. He is a strong blader, but doesn't seem like it at first

Kenta wears shorts. There's nothing I can really say about them other than they contribute to his child look (I mean, he is a child, but he looks way younger than almost everyone else)

His shoes are unremarkable, but unlike some other footwear, seems like something a real-life kid would wear, cementing Kenta's role as an audience surrogate for the first few episodes (though he grows out of it fairly quickly)

His hair in Fury is mostly the same, but altered slightly to be a little more detailed. This is still the same Kenta from the previous seasons, but he's older and more mature. He also becomes a lot more important to the plot in Fury. Despite having less screentime than in Fusion, his contributions are a lot bigger

His shirt gets a redesign. The new style makes him look older, which is the primary purpose. The blue stripe is also gone and instead we have a white, vertical stripe. With his redesign being more detailed in general, the blue stripe loses its purpose of making Kenta stand out as an important character. The white gives it just as much detail, if not more, but isn't as flashy. Plus, Flash Sagittario's facebolt has white in the center, unlike Flame's. Subtle foreshadowing maybe?

Kenta wears pants that are rolled up to look kinda like shorts. It makes him look older while retaining most elements from his original design. Despite how much Kenta grew over the course of the series, at his core he's still the same

His shoes are a little more detailed but still essentially the same. Not much I can say about them

[yeonjunszn]

like hot summer ☼

pairing park sunghoon x f!reader

word count 8k

genres fluff﹒slight angst ﹒smut

warnings 18+ minors dni, mature language, best friends to lovers trope, sharing a bed/room trope, insufferable heeseung + slightly less insufferable jake, features enha jay, txt beomgyu, taehyun, and huening + skz jeongin, also features nct dream, i’m so sorry for doing u so dirty jisung 💔, mentions of alcohol, hoon is kinda mean for like a singular second, vaginal fingering, marking?, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it 😒), finishing inside, Lots of Kissing, they’re kinda gross at the end like i made myself mad with how cute they were being so of course i had to ruin it… u’ll see 😇

summary you’ve been best friends for years now, so why does the idea of sharing a room with him get you so flustered?

more HAPPY 900 FOLLOWERS!! thank u guys so much for giving me this platform to write even if it is for boys who have no idea i exist 😭 writing has always been something very dear to me since a young age and i’m so grateful for being able to get this far on this site. i’ve had an issue with reach in the past and this blog has been nothing but kind to me. i’m forever indebted to all of u and my future followers 🫶 here’s a small token of my appreciation — i havent written anything nsfw since ? march ? i believe 💀 so i apologize if this is rough.. it was originally a vernon fic before i decided not to write for svt anymore and i actually started it in july 😭😭 which is why it’s another summer based fic LMFAOAOAO anyways it was supposed to be like 5k and i got carried away so here u go <3

“please do not take those with you.”

you look up from the suitcase you were stuffing clothes in, a pair of your most comfortable underwear currently in your hands. heeseung gives you a dissatisfied look, standing from his spot in your desk chair to snatch them and throw the garment behind him.

“okay? what the hell?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“we’re going on a trip where you’ll most likely be meeting new people. i don’t think you want to be dressed like a grandma when you do.” he explains with an eye roll, as if it was obvious.

“first of all, rude, they’re cute. second of all, i don’t plan on sleeping around,” you frown, glancing behind him at your poor underwear on the floor. “i should’ve just asked hoon to help me pack. you suck.”

“i’m pretty sure he’d also tell you to ditch the granny-panties.” he shrugs, sitting back on the rolling chair.

“n-no! i wouldn’t have even let him see me packing my undergarments.” you say defensively.

“you’ve been best friends this long and he’s never seen your underwear at least once? what makes me so special.” the brunette snorts.

“you’re… you.”

he gasps in feign offense, slapping his chest. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“don’t take it personally! i’d probably let jake see my underwear too,” you defend your words, rifling through your clothes to make sure everything you needed was good to go. when you glance up at heeseung, he has a grimace on his face and you realize what you just said. “stop it! i meant because i see you both like brothers, so it wouldn’t be weird.”

“there are two things to be discussed here; one being the fact that you’d let bitchless, has never felt the touch of a woman in his life, jake sim, see your underwear— even if you think of him as a brother. and two being the fact that sunghoon is somehow different despite knowing him the same amount of time as us.” he raises an eyebrow as you turn to your dresser in search for a pair of replacement panties, since he so graciously tossed aside your favorites, then zip your suitcase shut.

with a grunt, you lug the thing off your bed, checking your appearance in the mirror since you were getting picked up soon. you peek over your shoulder at the brunette, narrowing your eyes. “i hope you know that you’re the absolute bane of my existence, lee heeseung.”

a couple hours later you find yourself sipping on a margarita, poolside at the airbnb you and your friends were renting. the beach was within walking distance, but you didn’t feel like going so you stayed back by yourself. you didn’t mind it at all, because it was probably the only chance you’d get to be alone in a house full of boys.

nine of you crammed into a single house was not ideal, especially considering you were the only girl in your group, but you planned this trip every year. loud, gross, and annoying antics aside, you loved them more than anything. (except maybe when they asked you to set any of them up with one of your girl friends.)

you also felt like you needed a bit of reprieve before you called it a night, since you weren’t given the privilege of your own room this time. all of you made the grave mistake of putting beomgyu in charge of booking the airbnb and his dumbass forgot until about a month ago, when he scrambled to find something within everyone’s standards and big enough to accommodate your large party. and while he was able to secure something, it did mean you’d have to have a roommate.

everyone agreed that it’d be okay if it was just you and one other person to respect your boundaries. rooming arrangements varied from year to year depending on how you decided, but this was the first time you were included. the boys got straight into it the moment you all set foot on the property, arguing in the front yard while you figured out how to work the keypad on the door. due to your ignorance to their shenanigans, you didn’t know who your temporary roommate was until the whole ordeal was a done deal.

before anything was set in stone, there was a unanimous choice to give you and whoever you ended up with the master bedroom, because none of them wanted you biting their heads off for hogging the bathroom. in the first room (the one next to the master), was heeseung, beomgyu, and jeongin, delegated by a game of rock paper scissors. by some miracle or just sheer dumb luck, the three idiots wound up together and celebrated by hugging in a circle and jumping around like elementary schoolers. the second room went to jay, jake, taehyun, and kai. this left one person— park sunghoon.

had you participated in the actual game, you would’ve started a riot to switch roommates. hell, you’d even share a room with jake, and that said everything about how you were feeling towards this situation.

it’s not that you didn’t want to room with sunghoon, per se, it was more like you were afraid to room with him. he was decently calm and an easy person to get along with for the most part. except his ability to tease you in any situation lit a fire under you. his jokes that would seem belittling to anyone else felt flirty and it drove you crazy. all of the guys in your friend group were good looking, but you always found yourself gravitating more towards sunghoon. (besides, you could never in a million years see yourself making out with someone like taehyun; who you thought was quite honestly prettier than you or beomgyu; who enjoyed personally talking your ear off every opportunity he got.)

when the boys finally come back from the beach, the sun has set and you, yourself, had just returned from picking up dinner. the nine of you ate with comfortable conversation here and there, exhausted from the long day you just had, before drawing the evening to a close.

you feel awkward trudging up the stairs to your room with sunghoon in tow, like if you say the wrong thing you’ll alter the entire course of your friendship. he tells you that you can shower first and so you do, but halfway through, you realize you forgot to grab you clothes on the way in. you curse at yourself as you rinse your body wash, switching off the water.

you wrap your towel around yourself timidly, well aware that it’s the only thing stopping sunghoon from seeing your bare body. with a gulp, you reach for the door handle, pushing it open slowly. he’s sat on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone, uninformed of your presence. you kneel down to your suitcase to quickly grab what you need so you can rush back into the bathroom and change, but the universe hates you and doesn’t think it should be that easy.

“shit shit shit shit,”

you frantically sift through your clothes after getting your undergarments, only for your pajamas to be missing. you remember packing them and you know heeseung was there when you—

you were going to murder lee heeseung.

fuck him and his overt desire to make your life a living hell. first there was the underwear thing and now this. did he not think your care bear pajamas were cute enough to bring on this trip? either way, you couldn’t wait to strangle him, your fingers wiggling in anticipation.

“hey, is everything okay?” sunghoon’s voice calls out, pulling you away from your nefarious plotting. your eyes widen almost comically because you’re still very much naked under your towel and you don’t have clothes to sleep in.

“uh— i— i think i forgot to pack— i mean— i can’t find my pajamas.” you admit shamefully, too embarrassed to look up at him.

the bed creaks lightly, notifying you that he got up. you stand from your crouched position, careful not to accidentally flash him. he rummages through his own suitcase, spinning around to toss a t-shirt at you. you catch it with your free hand and your cheeks are still impossibly warm. you’re not sure if your mind is playing tricks on you, or if he really did rake his vision over your figure.

your heart is racing mortifyingly fast so you give him a tight lipped smile and raise your hand in thanks, bringing it back down just as fast when you think about the fact that you were holding your underwear in the same hand.

you think that’s the fastest you’ve ever run away from something, leaning back against the door while pressing the back of your palm to your forehead, your chest heaving. confidence wasn’t a weakness to you and it pissed you off to no end that it seemed to be only when sunghoon was around that you acted like a complete clown.

there was no chance of you surviving this trip.

the following day, you and the boys had gone out for an early lunch. because you were such a big group, they split you into two different tables. yours consisted of jake, heeseung, beomgyu, and jeongin. the entire time you kept your glare on the brunette sitting directly across from you, even as you shoveled rice into your mouth.

“woah, y/n. if looks could kill, hee would be dead by now.” jake laughs, pointing at you with his chopsticks.

“good,” you say flatly. “that’s what i want.”

heeseung looks thoroughly offended by your statement, clicking his tongue in response. “i don’t know why you hate me so much.”

“oh really?” you ask with a small scoff, sarcasm leaking through your words.

“what’d he do?” beomgyu snorts, flicking his eyes between you and heeseung curiously.

you don’t take your eyes off of the latter, rather you give him an even harsher stare than before. you squint slightly, crossing your legs and leaning back into your chair. “he was with me when i was packing my clothes yesterday and when i went to change after i got out of the shower last night, my pajamas were missing. and i swear i packed them. i even double checked my suitcase.”

jeongin purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “the care bear pajamas?”

“the care bear pajamas!” you exclaim.

“wow, heeseung, it’s like you’re asking to be suffocated with a pillow in your sleep.”

“that was such an oddly specific cause of death.”

“wait a damn minute! how do you even know it was me? why are you just assuming shit like that?” he defends, picking up his hands like he’s innocent of all crimes. jake holds back a laugh at his reaction and jeongin gives him a deadpan expression.

“why are you being so defensive about it? clearly that means it was you.”

“i agree! i know this is apart of his stupid ‘get-y/n-laid’ agenda. what if i don’t wanna get laid?!” you flail your arms exasperatedly.

beomgyu holds up a finger to halt you, scrunching his eyebrows together. “everyone wants to get laid. you’re no exception.”

you narrow your gaze at him as if to say ‘not helping’ and he shuts up, squeezing his lips together. if there was anything he could’ve said in that moment, that was not it. especially not when you were trying to prove your case. you were an independent woman! you didn’t need to sleep around if you didn’t want to! (you did, with a specific person, but that's besides the point.)

“so what’d you end up wearing to sleep?” jeongin asks, resting his chin in his palm before gasping. “wow, n/n, sunghoon got to see you half naked?”

“no! he lent me a shirt!” you dispute frantically.

“boring,” jake drags out the o. “i think i have an extra you can borrow for tonight if you don’t wanna wear that one again.”

“please, you’re a lifesaver, jake,” you clasp your hands together. “unlike someone by the name of lee heeseung, who’s currently on my hit list. you better sleep with one eye open by the way.”

“could you be a little quiet with it though? i share a room with him.” beomgyu throws in.

“don’t worry, gyu. i've been googling different ways that would be silent, quick, and successful.” you fist bump him, before resuming your eating.

“i don’t get why you’re not groveling at my feet and thanking me right now. i did you a favor, you know,” heeseung huffs, his words slightly muffled by the food filling his mouth. “you get to keep his shirt and sleep in the same bed as him. isn’t that a win?”

“i don’t like him like that, seung.” you say a bit harsher than you intended. the table grows quiet at your outburst, even if they all speculate that you’re lying. the silence causes the other table to look over in concern.

whether you’re just extremely unlucky, or the gods actually think you’re a waste of a human being, you don’t know, but things keep screwing up in your favor. you make accidental eye contact with sunghoon, whose lips are slightly turned downward when he sees how distressed you appear.

it pisses you off.

it pisses you off because all you want to do is kiss those same lips until you can’t breathe. you want him to press them all over your skin, making you hot and bothered. you want him to whisper sweet sweet nothings into your ear and pepper little smooches along the shell of it with them. it pisses you off because you know he doesn’t feel the same.

and it’s so fucking annoying.

you’re probably the only girl he’d never see that way, thanks to the long history you share. you’ll always be another one of the guys to him. you’re someone he knows will be there for him to fall back on when a talking stage fails. you’re someone he knows will sit there and listen to his tales of how he got his dick wet, listen to his bragging.

it should deter your feelings, honestly. not only due to the fact that you have no chance with him, but because he was your best friend. you shouldn’t be mad at him for treating you as such. except you can’t help that you are.

after lunch, the group decided you might as well have another beach day, seeing as it was within walking distance from the airbnb. since you weren’t much of a beach fan (you hated the salty air and, even worse, the sand), the boys allowed you to pick the activity for the night.

there was a club you passed by on your way back from the restaurant that looked intriguing, so that was what you landed on.

you watched your friends mess around by the water as you stayed planted on a beach towel under an umbrella, sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose. your body weight rested on your palms as you leaned back, soaking up the warmth on your skin. your cute white, shimmery bikini was a head turner, guys staring as they walked by you, ogling at your sunbathing.

you half hoped someone would just go up to you instead of drooling from afar, but at the same time, the thought of a stranger approaching you made you nervous. though, it would provide a decent distraction.

you try to act surprised when someone finally takes the bait.

he’s an attractive guy, you’ll admit, with dark hair that falls onto his forehead, slightly in his eyes which are also obscured by a pair of sunglasses. he ruffles it a bit before dropping himself on the sand beside you. he doesn’t talk for a few minutes, just copying your actions.

a small smile makes way onto your lips at his nonchalance and you turn to face him, pushing your shades up on top of your head. he does the same, giving you his own smile. now that you have a full view of his features, you can 100% say that he’s indeed handsome.

with an extended hand, he says, “hi, i’m park jisung.”

you return the gesture, shaking it with a firm grip. “l/n y/n.”

“wow, pretty name for a pretty girl. your parents must’ve known what they were doing.” he flirts with a laugh, almost like it’s second nature for him.

you can’t hide how bashful the compliment makes you, a tiny giggle bubbling from your chest. the bikini gave you a confidence boost when you put it on, but despite that, you were still you. so hearing little things like that always made you shy, especially because you weren’t used to it. how could you? being friends with a bunch of boys and all, guys never really cared to look in your direction.

“do you say that to every girl you meet, park jisung?” you manage to tease back, proud of yourself for recovering so quickly.

his smile morphs into a grin, his teeth peeking through his lips, and his eyes crinkle at the sides. “nope. just the really pretty ones.”

you tilt your chin into your shoulder as you feel heat spread across your cheeks. how was this guy so smooth? it’s like he knew exactly what you wanted/needed to hear and kept saying it.

when you compose yourself, you continue your conversation with jisung. it’s comfortable, even if you’d never met him before today, and it feels like you’ve known him for a while. you learn that he’s also on a trip with his friends, the six of them stationed just a few umbrellas over to your left. (he groans when you catch them spying on the two of you.) then he tells you that he noticed you earlier and his friends had finally convinced him to shoot his shot.

“you know, if you’d come up to me sooner, i would’ve been a lot less bored,” you sigh, scooting a little closer to him. “my friends have been ignoring me since we got here and i fucking hate the beach.”

he chuckles at that, subtly brushing his fingers against yours. “sorry about that. i guess you’re glad i saved the day, huh?”

“very,” you link your pinkie with his. “so, we’re going out later tonight to some club called allure? i think? it’d be really cool if you went, just saying. you can bring your friends.”

“that sounds like fun. maybe you’ll see us there,” he shrugs, nudging your foot with his. “depends on how bad you wanna see me.”

“nooo, don’t do me like that, jisung,” you whine halfheartedly, covering your face with your free hand. “i would like to see you there, but i don’t wanna beg.”

jisung laughs at how cute you are, poking your cheek with a nod. “okay okay, you convinced me. i’ll tell the guys.”

“okay, cool.” you breathe, tangling your fingers with his as you both stare at each other goofily. you almost lean in, the gap between you only disrupted by a centimeter, but then a throat clears itself and you jump apart.

it seemed that the guys all finally noticed you weren’t alone and decided to pay attention to you. you make eye contact with sunghoon and feel a shudder run down your spine, trying your hardest to conceal it.

“hey, y/n, who’s this?” he asks, albeit passively.

“oh, this is jisung. him and his friends are gonna meet us at the club tonight!” you give him a tight lipped smile, glancing over to gauge jisung’s reaction. he doesn’t look too fazed by their presence, instead standing up so he could introduce himself to each of them.

you sputter at the action, surprised that he was so willing to be buddy-buddy with the boys. you assume it’s because he isn’t too intimidated by them, considering they’d been ignorant toward your presence until now.

after he’s done, he turns to you and puffs his cheeks, blowing air between his lips. “i guess i better get going. i’ll see you later?”

“mhm,” you rub his arm. “see you tonight, ji.”

the nickname makes him grin and he ruffles your hair before bidding you all a goodbye. your eyes follow as he walks over to his friends, who are fist bumping in celebration of his success with you. your smile doesn’t go away as you look back at your own friends.

jake jumps up and down, shaking you aggressively by the shoulders. “y/n, holy shit! rizz master or what?”

beomgyu and jeongin burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, falling into each other as you roll your eyes. jake would be the one to use such a gen z term at his age. “please never call me that again.”

“well jakey, looks like she won’t need your shirt tonight after all. chances are she’ll use jisung’s instead.” heeseung jokes, smacking your arm playfully.

you cover your face with both hands to shelter how embarrassed they’re making you feel. rule number one for being best friends with a bunch of boys— don’t. they’re nothing but menaces. and if you happen to acquire a friend group of just males— don’t let them meet your significant other.

as you wrap up your day at the beach, so you could head back to the airbnb to get ready for your night out, you realize sunghoon is keeping to himself a lot. and you don’t know what to make of that.

you feel like a million bucks if you’re being completely honest with yourself. you packed one of the nicest dresses you owned in case you needed it and you were so glad you did. it would’ve been awkward rolling up to the club in shorts and a bikini top— though you’re sure management has probably seen that before.

it was gold and sparkly, with spaghetti straps and a lace-up back, low cut enough that it was cute rather than overly revealing. you styled your hair to preference and kept the makeup simple, soft glam that didn’t distract from the outfit. this was the prettiest you felt in weeks— months even— and it was a comforting change of pace.

when you step out of the bathroom, sunghoon is laying on his back on the bed, scrolling through his phone. the sound of your heels clacking on the wooden floor forces him to sit up. “how long does it take to—?”

his words die out once he sees you, his throat going dry and his stomach tightening with an incessant knot. you look so gorgeous, it almost makes him angry that it’s not for him. never in your seven years of friendship has he ever seen you put this much effort in your appearance. (he thinks that’s why he feels himself getting worked up.)

“woah, missy, you’re not leaving the house looking like that. where’s your coat?” he raises an eyebrow, masking the icky feeling brewing inside of him.

“hoon, it’s like a hundred degrees out. we’re in the middle of a heatwave at the peak of the summer, the fuck do i need a coat for?” you counter with a scoff, shoving your phone and some lip gloss along with your credit card and ID in the little clutch you were taking with you.

“i’m just saying,” he shrugs. “you’re practically wearing a piece of cloth, you might get cold.”

“shut up, i’ll be fine.” you snort, exiting the room and leaving him scrambling for control of himself.

the rest of the guys are already waiting downstairs, whistling and hollering once you reach the bottom of the steps. jake tells you to do a little twirl, cheering you on like he was best friends with bella hadid or something. (you won't admit that it fuels your ego.)

“where’s sunghoon?” jay asks crouching to see if he was visible from where he was standing.

“i don’t know, but he’s being weird. my vote is we leave without him.” taehyun holds up a finger, pursing his lips as if he was being totally serious about his suggestion. you laugh at his expression, flicking his forehead.

“don’t be mean, tyun.”

a couple minutes later, sunghoon finally makes his way downstairs, looking conflicted about something. as much as you wanna ask, you know you shouldn’t get into it right now, so you choose not to.

jisung and his group are already at the club when you arrive and he waves you over to the high tables they secured. he introduces you to his six friends; mark, renjun, jeno, donghyuck, jaemin, and chenle. once you’ve met them, the two of you introduce your own friends to each other. it makes you happy that they seem to hit it off, breaking off into smaller cliques.

you and jisung wander off to the bar, ordering some drinks for yourselves. he helps you sit at one of the stools, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back. it doesn’t take long for the bartender to hand you your poison for the night and you take a gulp with a wince, letting the alcohol burn in its course down your throat.

“you look really good, by the way,” jisung compliments, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin that peeks through the straps in the back of your dress. “i didn’t get to tell you when you got here.”

his mouth brushes your ear as he speaks so you can hear him over the booming top forties music playing. there’s not nearly enough alcohol in your system to warrant the heat blooming under your skin so soon. you just giggle in response, spinning in your chair so you’re facing him. you hold your straw between two fingers as you sip at your beverage, looking up at him through thick lashes coated in mascara.

“you’re really something else, y/n,” he shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink before you return to your friends. “i’m gonna use the restroom, i’ll be right back.”

you nod with a smile when he pets your head, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. it catches you off guard, but you don’t mind it one bit. at least someone was interested in you for once.

heeseung squeezes his way through the crowd to you and narrows his eyes, taking a hold of either side of your head. your cheeks squish together and your lips form a pout, so no matter how annoyed you try to come across, you just look silly. your attempts to get him off of you are futile, making you raise a brow to find out why he was being so touchy-feely.

“i still cannot believe you managed to make moves while you were alone. i literally never saw this coming.”

god, lee heeseung was such a lightweight.

“can you stop being sentimental? it’s kinda gross.” you grimace, your words mushed together much like your cheeks. it’s at this point that jake decides to join in, throwing his arms around your shoulders.

(jake sim was also a lightweight.)

“i love you guys! i’m so glad we’re here together right now!”

you spot jisung coming back from the restroom, pleading for him to save you with your eyes. he laughs and inserts himself in the conversation. “i appreciate you guys watching over y/n for me while i was gone, but do you think i can steal her back?”

“i guess,” jake sighs dramatically, dragging out the s. “but you better bring her back in one piece, park.”

jisung salutes to the brunette, even if he wasn’t at all intimidated by his overprotective parent persona, and whisks you away to get more drinks and then to hit the dance floor. the moment your foot reaches the tiled ground, a summer walker song starts, and all coherent thoughts leave your mind.

you keep one arm wrapped around jisung’s neck as you begin to sway your hips with the music, taking swigs of your drink every now and then. his is long forgotten in favor of gripping your waist like you’d run away any second. you have him wrapped around your finger, the way he’s fixated on you and your movements has your head spinning. but when you glance towards the general direction all of your friends were in, you accidentally make eye contact with none other than park sunghoon.

he’s glaring right at you, making no attempt to hide the distaste on his features while he watches you dance. you keep the eye contact when jisung leans into your neck, his nose grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

usually you’d fold then and there, crumbling in his hands and letting him take you home for the night. but there’s something about the darkness in sunghoon’s gaze that sends a shiver down your spine, not the person you were currently grinding into on the dance floor. it sends your mind into a frenzy.

your blissful ignorance to the amount of attraction you truly felt for him was causing more problems than solving them. here you were, a nice guy treating you like an absolute princess, but still thirsting after one of your best friends with not a single ounce of fucking shame. years of pent up frustration and insufferable pining bubble over, and you don’t stop yourself from what you’re about to do next.

you pull back from jisung, finally breaking the staring contest between you and sunghoon, and smile at him, pushing some hair out of his eyes. he gives you a look of utter confusion and you huff. “i’m sorry, but i’m feeling a little tired. i think the drinks are getting to me.”

“do you want me to drop you off at your place?” he asks, so sweetly it actually makes you feel bad about your true intentions. you shake your head ‘no’.

“it’s okay, you can stay here with your friends. i’ll just ask one of the boys,” you respond, patting his cheek. “one of the sober ones.”

“alright, if you insist. just be careful and text me later, yeah?” he gives you that award winning grin that made you weak at the knees just moments ago. this time you don’t give him a verbal response, too afraid of your voice betraying you.

you still don’t say anything as you grab your clutch from the table where your group was at, flickering your vision to sunghoon once before you walk out of the club. the air is cooler than this afternoon, serving as a nice contrast to your warm, sticky skin. your ears are still ringing from the blaring music and you’re pleasantly buzzed, but you feel great.

the sound inside the club travels outside for a second when the door opens and closes, signaling that someone had just walked out. you don’t want to risk the backwards glance in case it’s not who you’re hoping it is and you feel dumb. you opt to stare at the cars passing on the street, hugging yourself.

there’s the ghost of a touch on the small of your back and a broad chest pressed to your shoulders, causing you to jump slightly. “ditched that dude finally?”

you swallow thickly, his deep voice reverberating in your bones. “and if i did?”

sunghoon chuckles, his fingers dancing around the knot of your dress. “then i won’t have to feel like an asshole for what i’m about to do to you.”

you squeak as he starts to push you in the direction of the airbnb, your feet carrying you as fast as you can with your heels. the walk is silent except for the clicking against the concrete sidewalk, but it’s heavy with tension. half of you wants to say something, to ask what’s even happening. you don’t even realize he’s punching the numbers into the keypad and pulling you into the house until you’re pinned to the shut door, nose skimming yours.

sunghoon has a desperate grip around your wrists, breathing like he’d just ran a marathon. you stare up at him with wide eyes. you’re not entirely sure what you were hoping for when you executed this plan, but this wasn’t anywhere near the list of outcomes. in fact, you were positive that park sunghoon didn’t feel any sort of attraction to you.

“hoon,” you gasp, tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

he grins, his canines peeking through those lips of his that looked so soft. “you look so pretty tonight, n/n. can’t believe i get to have you all to myself.”

your head feels empty, like there’s nothing but cotton filling your skull where your brain should be. this was something out of a dream for you, something you’d only ever seen in your darkest fantasies. you wanted him to kiss you so badly it was beginning to ache. your head tilts to the side just a bit, your eyes alternating between his mouth and his own.

“need you,” you whisper, voice airy. “‘ve been waiting for this for so long.”

he connects your lips at that, a burning fever behind his actions as he does so. the dizziness doesn’t go away, instead amplifying. he releases your wrists in favor of grabbing at your thighs, his blunt nails digging into the plush skin. you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug at the silky strands, forcing a groan out of him. kissing sunghoon is sickening. it’s exactly how they describe it in books, the stomach churning and the goosebumps and all. this morning, you never would’ve thought you’d be here, but you’re completely satisfied with this turn of events.

“bedroom,” he breathes. “don’t want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

he doesn’t have to tell you twice, your heels discarded at the bottom of the stairs. the minute you’re in your shared room, his mouth is hot on yours again and you’re collapsing on to the bed. his hands are everywhere and there’s too many clothes between you. you slide your hands under his shirt, grazing your nails along his abdomen, smiling when it tenses under your touch. he gets the memo, removing his shirt and tossing it haphazardly behind him. you fumble with the button of his jeans and he laughs at how needy you are, solidifying just how real this moment actually is.

you notice that he’s already hard once his pants are gone and you palm his bulge as you lean back in for another kiss. he sighs into your mouth, reaching around your back to untie the knot on your dress. the straps fall instantaneously, the front of the fabric slipping down to reveal your bare chest. sunghoon’s lips move from yours to your jaw and along the column of your neck until he’s at your chest, looking up at you as he leaves open mouthed kisses all over your tits. you moan softly when the warmth of his mouth envelopes a sensitive nipple, slipping your dress off all the way so you’re left in nothing but your panties.

he steps back for a second to kick the article of clothing away, before caging your body with his. “i’ve been wanting to get you out of that dress all night. it pissed me off that you didn’t put it on for me, but he doesn’t get to see you all fucked out untouched, now does he?”

you shake your head, but that doesn’t satisfy him. his thumb finds your clit through the thin material of your underwear, rubbing tight circles into it to get a reaction from you. your lips part and your eyes squeeze shut, but it’s not enough for him. he grabs your chin a little forcefully, smushing your cheeks together like heeseung did earlier— however there was nothing wholesome about this moment.

“i asked you a fucking question.” sunghoon all but growls.

“n-no, hoon. only you,” you whimper, his mean demeanor turning you on even more. you’re embarrassed by the wet patch forming on the front of your panties and deep deep down you’re thanking lee heeseung for throwing the other pair out of your suitcase. (very very very deep down— you’d never give him the benefit of being right.)

“that’s my good girl,” he hooks his fingers into the waistband, glancing at you for confirmation. “are we really going through with this? you can back out now.”

your heart thumps disgustingly loud in your ears at how sincere he sounds and you pray to god that he can’t hear it. “sunghoon, i’m laying half naked in front of you right now— if you don’t fuck me—”

“alright alright… you got it,” he laughs that cute laugh of his, the one he reserves solely for you. the one that has crows feet forming at the corners of his eyes. it drives you crazier than anything else he’s done the entire night.

sunghoon slides your underwear down your legs with one hand, the other propping himself up to hover over you. you kick them off, biting your lip and hissing when he decides to run a finger up your slit. he curses as he watches how your arousal coats the digit. all you’ve done is kiss and you’re dripping.

“you’re soaked, baby,” he practically groans, pecking your jaw. “gonna ruin your pussy so you know who you belong to.”

you whine when he thrusts a finger in without warning, quickly adding a second and massaging your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. your head rolls back as moans and expletives spill from your mouth. sunghoon takes the opportunity to mark you as his, sucking and biting your neck and chest like he was a leech, ensuring bruises formed in his wake. he finds the sweet spot at your pulse point, curling his fingers at the same time he nips at it.

“f-fuck, right th-there, hoonie,” you mewl, instinctively spreading your legs wider.

at this rate, you don’t think you’ll last much longer.

you know he can tell too with the way he speeds up the pace of his fingers. you clench around them and he connects your lips once again, his tongue tangling with yours messily. it’s so sloppy and so aggressive, but it’s perfect. it’s so sunghoon.

he keeps working at you, kissing everywhere he can until he pushes the right buttons to make you fall apart in his hands. when he finally finds it— a little nibble to your earlobe— your back arches further into him, your moans uncontrollable and incomprehensible as your orgasm washes over you. the skill of his mouth and hands has you reeling from the experience knowing no one else could ever make you feel like this ever again.

once you’ve come down, he slowly pulls his fingers out, sucking them so he can taste you and all that you are. he groans before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. you sigh in content.

“if you cum like that just from my fingers, i can’t wait to see how you look with my cock,” he mutters into your mouth, evoking a whine out of you. “so gorgeous.”

sunghoon steps away to remove his underwear, revealing himself to you. you have to stop yourself from drooling, reaching out to stroke his length languidly. he hisses as he goes back in for another kiss, biting on your lower lip when your thumb swipes over the slit on his sensitive tip.

he drags you to the edge of the bed, pushing away your hands so he can guide himself to your entrance. “are you ready for me, baby?”

“mhm,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist to get him closer— if possible. “want you so bad, sunghoon.”

the sound of his name leaving your lips so filthily has the blood rushing from his brain to his dick even faster than before. he slips in easily, your arousal lubricating enough for him to bottom out almost completely. his balls slap against your ass when he does, his cock sheathed inside of you so far it’s like it’s poking your stomach.

his pace starts slow and consistent, his hips rocking into yours with timed thrusts that hit deep. your legs feel weak and your head is spinning, drunk off of his cock and how good it is. but it’s not satisfying you, you need more. you want more.

your heels dig into the dip of his lower back and you mewl, “faster, p-please.”

“anything for you, pretty girl.” he grunts, using one hand to grip your hip and the other to form a makeshift ponytail with your hair, tugging your head back so he can rest his forehead in the crook of your neck.

sunghoon angles his hips and pistons his cock into you quicker. each thrust is punctuated by his pelvis snapping into your own harshly and his fistful of your hair stinging your scalp. his hold on your waist is nearly bruising, but you don’t really care, too high from the pleasure he’s providing you. your moans raise in volume as you feel the band in your belly grow tighter.

your pussy clenches around him and he releases your hair in favor of rubbing tight circles into your clit. the stimulation of his cock driving in and out of you combined with his thumb on your most sensitive area has alarms blaring in your head as a warning for your second incoming orgasm. “i’m so so close, hoon, fuck— just like that,”

“c’mon baby, you can give it to me,” he coos, changing his angle again so he reaches that spongy spot in your cunt.

you swear you can see spots when it crashes onto you, your whole body spasming with the intensity of it. sunghoon prolongs your orgasm, still thrusting into you with a purpose. you know he’s closer to his edge too from how desperate he’s moving and the whines leaving his lips. you’re so sensitive it’s making you insane, but you allow him to keep abusing your pussy.

“where do you want me?” he asks breathily, his sweaty forehead sticking to your skin.

“inside,” you moan, your toes curling. “cum inside me, sunghoon,”

he just about loses it at that, fucking into you with everything he can manage and sinking his nails into the fat of your hips to hold you still. you’re overstimulated and your brain is foggy so you keep squirming around, involuntarily squeezing your walls around his length. it’s not too much later that he finally releases, painting your cunt with milky white ropes of cum.

he slumps forward once he’s given all he has to offer, his chest flat against yours while he attempts to regulate his breathing. the two of you lie there for a bit, recovering from what just happened. eventually he pulls out and disappears into the bathroom, only to return with a warm and damp washcloth seconds after. he hands it to you wordlessly and you awkwardly clean yourself up, wincing due to the acute sensitivity you were feeling. sunghoon sits beside you, naked and silent.

you think it’s funny how he was so confident not even ten minutes ago and now he’s acting like a shy teenager. you know you have to talk about the situation at hand and what it means for your relationship, but in this moment, the cloudiness of your head subsided, that fear of rejection has creeped back in. was it just a temporary lapse of judgment on his part? did he just feel attraction towards you because you dolled yourself up for once?

the insecurity rushes in like a tsunami wave and you want nothing more than to get out of here before you drown.

“i—”

“we—”

you both speak at the same time, cutting each other off before you can continue. he gestures for you to go first and you sigh, reaching for the t-shirt thrown over the bedpost from this morning. you slip it on, along with your discarded underwear, to hide your body, comparatively aware of how exposed you were. he follows suit, putting his underwear back on.

“i think i should sleep somewhere else tonight.” you say, your tone uneasy.

sunghoon’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “w-what? why?”

“it’s already awkward enough,” you avoid his eyes. “i don’t think sleeping in the same bed is gonna help.”

“i was just trying to put together the right words,” he explains, brows still furrowed. “i don’t wanna give you a half assed confession after we just had sex, y’know? you deserve something more intimate than that.”

you blink, thrown for a loop by his admission. well now you felt like an idiot.

“c-confession?” you stutter, resembling a cartoon character with your jaw on the ground.

“did you— did you think i was gonna treat this as a random hookup?” his lips form a frown, like he was offended by your assumption.

“um, yeah? i mean, you never really expressed any interest in me before tonight, sunghoon. you’ve only ever talked about other girls you’ve fucked around with. you can’t really blame me.” you play with the hem of the (his) t-shirt.

his hand finds its way under your chin, lifting it so you have to look at him. the glint in his eyes is soft and you will away the tears threatening to appear. “you really have no idea huh?”

“what are you talking about?” you sniffle.

“y/n, i’ve been in love with you for like five years. any time i’ve talked about another girl, it was to see whether or not you seemed bothered by it. did you actually think i felt nothing for you?” sunghoon snorts, wiping away a stray tear that rolls down your cheek.

“yeah,” you laugh, feeling a little silly for not knowing he liked you this entire time. “i guess i was blinded by my own emotions.”

“that’s why it made me mad that you were hitting it off so well with that jisung guy,” he holds one of your hands in his lap, caressing your knuckles with his thumb. “i kinda figured you felt the same, but i was starting to doubt it after that.”

“hoon, i was only doing that ‘cause i thought i had no chance with you,” you shake your head. “if you had told me sooner, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

“or if you told me sooner.” he adds with a shrug.

you lightly poke his chest with a playful eye roll. he smiles at you fondly and you think this is perfect. you weren’t expecting the night to go in this direction, but you definitely aren’t complaining. somehow you feel like heeseung is to thank, in an odd way. (you’d never let him know that though.)

“can i kiss you again? for real this time?” sunghoon asks, scooting a little closer to you on the bed.

you nod, leaning into him so you can connect your lips in a sweet kiss. it’s not full of hunger or desire, but it still has that same passion from earlier. it’s loving and it’s everything you’ve ever needed from a kiss with park sunghoon.

you don’t get to indulge in the moment any longer, though, a thud sounding outside your room and hushed voices filtering from under the door. you and sunghoon share a look.

“shut the fuck up, they’re gonna hear us!”

“you’re the one being loud, what are you saying?”

“jake shut your fucking mouth, don’t back talk me.”

“wait why are they quiet?”

“shhh!”

sunghoon scoffs before he opens the door, revealing your friends all gathered in front of it. jake and kai fall forward, ears first. they give you guilty smiles when they realize they’ve been caught, chuckling uncomfortably.

“beomgyu, you owe me five bucks.” heeseung says when he takes notice of the clothes strewn across the room.

nevermind. lee heeseung truly was the bane of your existence.

© yeonjunszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Fine is a Four-Letter Word (Chapter Four)

Summary: This is Part Twenty-Two of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz/Original Female Character, Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes, Assorted OC Couples

Warnings: Injury Recovery, Trauma Recovery, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Siblings, Family Feels, Team as Family, Road Trip, Kissing, Romance, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing, Eventual Happy Ending

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

A few hours earlier…

***

Chris

“Thanks for fitting me in, Doc,” Chris said, shifting on the couch as he took in the familiar space of Dr. Peters office. He hadn’t been in a few weeks, reducing their visits once he’d finally felt like he had his feet back under him since the Freddy incident.

But then…well.

He’d called yesterday to see if he could make an emergency appointment and they’d been good enough to get him in today. Just enough time between checking on Bex and stopping in at the hospital to make it work.

“It’s not a problem, Chris,” Dr. Peters said and sounded like he actually meant it. Chris liked that about the guy. He was genuine. Made it feel less like he was talking to a shrink.

“Why don’t you tell me what prompted your call.”

…maybe only a little bit less. Chris chuckled to himself before scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you got the broad strokes there,” he said, gesturing at the notes in Dr. Peters’ lap. “Everything that happened, it was—it was a lot. I’m having a hard time…and Cindy, you know, she’s been amazing, but she’s trying to deal with it all too and she’s pregnant and I can’t just keep dumping on her. Figured I might as well talk to you.”

Of course, that was when he clammed up, his brain stalling out on exactly how to explain what he was feeling. Why he was struggling.

If he could do that, he probably wouldn’t be here.

Dr. Peters waited him out until Chris managed to say, “I don’t know…how to handle this.”

A head tilt was all he got in response. Right, right. Say more. He knew that.

Chris groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s one thing when it’s me getting hurt or hell, even someone from the firehouse,” he said. “We know that comes with the territory. Even Jay—that was, you know, that was hard, but again, he’s a cop and he’s not—”

“He’s not what?” Dr. Peters asked quietly when Chris didn’t continue. “He’s not my baby sister,” Chris choked out. “Bex is—you-you remember the whole story, right? She’s…she’s pretty much my kid. I raised her. I look at her and I still see my little girl.” He swiped at his cheeks, shaking his head. “But she’s, uh, she’s a grown up now, technically, and she won’t—she’s not letting me help her. And I know I’ve got to let her make her own choices. I know that. I do. But she’s, ah, she’s struggling. I can see it and I’m spending every friggin’ minute worried about her, but I can’t make her come and stay with us so I can keep an eye on her even though I want to.”

He huffed out a deep sigh.

“I don’t want to make it worse,” Chris said, finally looking up at the doc. “But I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Have you communicated any of these fears to Bex?” Dr Peters asked and Chris snorted.

“Have I told her I’m afraid she’s not going to take care of herself because she’s got two hefty doses of stubborn in her DNA? No,” Chris said. “I have not. Not in so many words, anyway.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And isn’t that more…my own problem? Don’t you think? She’s the one who got hurt and has to deal with the trauma from that. I shouldn’t be adding my own fears on top of it all.”

Dr. Peters set his papers aside at that and levelled a look at Chris. “Do you remember what we talked about after your injury? With Cindy and her fears about you returning to work?”

Oh. Right.

Chris had forgotten about that actually. Cindy had been terrified about him going back, to both the firehouse and Molly’s. She’d kept quiet about it for longer than Chris liked to think about—still hated that she felt so alone in it and yeah, okay, he could see Dr. Peters’ point here.

“When something like this happens to a loved one,” Dr. Peters said, repeating his words from the past. “It creates its own measure of trauma through the fear and uncertainty that you experienced. Communicating your fears to Bex could not only help you to work through them, but might also provide her with an opportunity to open up, much like it did with you and Cindy.”

“So, you think I should just…”

“Talk about your fears with Bex.”

“Okay.” Chris sat back on the couch. “…any ideas on how I should go about that?”

“We have some time left.” Dr. Peters smiled at him. “Let’s talk it through.”

***

Now

***

Jay

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Abrams said, arms folded as he stared down at them in a way that almost had Jay shrinking back into his seat. “I’m only going to ask this question once. Why do I see Ms. Herrmann sitting in the ICU when she is supposed to be at home? Resting. Which was doctor’s orders, I believe.”

Jay shot a look at Mouse who was giving him that same ‘not it’ look from the living room which was even less helpful now than it was then.

“Okay, uh,” Jay began. “I can explain…”

“Oh, good,” Chris said, popping up out of freaking nowhere with that very distinct look on his face that Jay had been picturing since Bex tried to make a break for it and it was exactly as awful as he thought it would be. “Because, I gotta say, Jay, I would also love to hear how this happened.”

“First of all,” Jay said, stalling, trying to figure out where to start, maybe panicking a little bit. “It’s also Mouse’s fault.”

“Dude.”

Jay ignored the betrayed look on his face—there was no way Jay was taking crap for this all on his own. “She heard us talking with you about Will and Emery,” he said to Chris. “Mouse caught her trying to leave on her own so she could check on them. What were we supposed to do?”

“She was really upset,” Mouse added. “We did our best to make sure she ate something and rested a bit, but she wasn’t going to relax until she saw them.”

“You know how much she’s been struggling,” Jay began and Chris nodded with a sigh.

“No, no, I get it,” Chris said, deflating as he leaned against one of the couches. “I’m not mad, Jay, just—”

“Just disappointed?” Jay muttered, having a hard time meeting Chris’s eye.

“No, not—” A hand clamped down on his shoulder and Jay looked up to see Chris shaking his head. “Listen. It’s a tough time all around and everyone’s doing their best. I’m more concerned about the fact that Bex seems to be doing her best to put herself back in a hospital bed.”

“Ms. Herrmann’s healing will only be delayed by stress,” Dr. Abrams said. “As much as I’d rather see her at home, resting, if checking in on Dr. Halstead and Ms. Hughes gives her some peace of mind, I think we can allow it under controlled circumstances. Limited visits. The last thing we want is her pushing herself and prolonging her symptoms.”

“That’s going to be a fun conversation,” Jay said, already grimacing at the thought.

“I know you guys are taking point on this, but you’re not alone,” Chris said. “I think it’s going to take all of us to manage the Bex situation.”

“Manage the what now?”

***

Chris

Dr. Peters would not be impressed with how this chat was going so far.

Chris turned around to see Bex standing behind their little group, leaning heavily on Kira who was trying to help her down into a chair. Bex stood firm though as she glared at him.

“I’m managing myself just fine, Chris,” she said. “You don’t need to be having little meetings about me or whatever it is that’s happening here.” Bex waved a hand at them, her frown turning into a wince as the movement pulled at her side.

Yeah, she was totally fine.

“Sit down, Ms. Herrmann,” Dr. Abrams said, gesturing at the chair she was still stubbornly ignoring. He raised an eyebrow at her when she didn’t move. “That wasn’t a request.”

Bex huffed before shaking off the helping hands of Kira, Chris, Jay, and Mouse and carefully lowering herself into the chair. It was friggin’ painful to watch.

“I always thought you were the sensible one,” Dr. Abrams continued. “You seem determined to prove me wrong.” He managed to keep his usual dry tone, but Chris could see the pinch of concern around his eyes.

And the way his mouth flattened when Bex didn’t toss one of her usual comebacks at him. She only sighed and rubbed at her forehead as she slumped back in the chair.

Dr. Abrams exchanged a look with Chris, opening his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by his pager. He took a quick look at it and frowned. “I have to go,” he said, frown deepening as he watched Bex. Stepping forward, he crouched down beside her chair, startling her. “Bex—”

“Whoa, first name,” she muttered. “Serious.”

“Yes, it is,” he said as he fought back a little smile. “So, listen carefully. Dr. Fahir and I let you leave the hospital with the understanding that you were going to take care of yourself. I expected you to do better than this.”

Mouse made a noise at that and Dr. Abrams held up a hand, not breaking eye contact with Bex.

“People who get readmitted are clearly not well enough to come up with nicknames,” he said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Bex’s sullen look cracked a bit at that. “Stooping to bribery, Dr. Abrams?”

“Merely stating facts. Now stop making me repeat myself and get some rest.” He patted her knee as he stood up. “Gentlemen.” Then, with a nod, he was striding back down the hall.

That was…helpful? Maybe? Chris turned back to find Bex glaring up at him—or maybe not so helpful then.

“Well? Isn’t it your turn to lecture me?” Bex held herself stiffly in the chair, chin set as she stared somewhere around his shoulder. “Come on. You wanted to talk about the Bex situation.”

“I can’t help being concerned,” Chris said. “The docs told us to expect mood swings and impulsive behaviour, but—”

“It’s not unreasonable for me to want to check on Will and Emery,” Bex snapped.

“No, it’s not.” Chris took a beat and focused on maintaining calm tones. “But you trying to haul ass to the hospital all by yourself kinda was. You’re injured, Bex and there are limitations—”

“I’m handling it—”

“Can you guys give us a minute?” Chris asked Jay, Mouse, and Kira. “Go grab a coffee or something? Heck, grab one for me while you’re at it.” The three of them hesitated, looking between him and Bex. “Please?”

“I should get back to Emery anyway,” Kira said softly, giving Bex a gentle squeeze on her shoulder before heading back into the ICU room. Jay and Mouse stood, but made not move to leave yet.

“It’s fine,” Bex sighed. “Stop fussing.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Jay said, clasping a hand on Chris’s back while Mouse leaned down to kiss Bex on top of her head and murmur something in her ear that got a faint smile out of her. With a few final looks back, the two of them headed down the hall and out of sight.

Chris pulled one of the little tables over closer to Bex’s chair and sat down on it, facing her with his elbows on his knees. The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m handling it,” she finally muttered. Bex had that same mulish look on her face that she’d perfected at the age of three and Chris couldn’t help the bark of laughter it pulled out of him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, shaking his head. “Because I’m definitely not.”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

Staring down at his hands, Chris took a moment to gather his words. “When Trudy and Mouse showed up at the station like that,” he said slowly, not wanting to put this on Bex, but needing to talk about it with her. “I thought I was about to have the worst day of my life all over again.”

“Chris,” she whispered and he held up a hand, meeting her eyes.

“Let me get this out. Please.” Chris swiped a hand over his face and cleared his throat. “It was still one of the worst days of my life,” he said. “Seeing you hurt like that and knowing what you’d been through? That we’d almost—that you could’ve—” He shuffled forward to kneel beside her, old man knees be damned. “Losing you would have broken me, Bex. It would have broken all of us. And—and knowing how close we came? It’s been keeping me up at night. I’m trying really hard not to hover, but god, kid, I can’t stop worrying about you.”

Bex reached out with her unbroken arm and grabbed his hand in hers. Chris squeezed it gently for a moment, grounding himself.

“I know you’re processing things in your own way and you need space,” he said. “But please—please don’t shut us out. Let us help you. And let yourself heal. You need time and you need to rest, Bex. I just—please don’t fight me on this, okay? I need you to take this seriously and take care of yourself. I need you to be okay.”

“I’m trying,” Bex said, voice going thick. “I just—Will…and Emery—”

“Are not alone,” Chris said. “They have all of us looking out for them. Not just you, okay? So, trust us to do that. To help. I get that all of that is a lot to ask, but can you try? Will you? Please?”

***

Bex

When Bex had walked out into the hall and come across the little huddle between Chris, Jay, Mouse, and Dr. Abrams, a white-hot flare of anger had burned through her gut.

How dare they? Talking about her like that?

Discussing how to manage her?

Chalking up her feelings to concussion side effects?

She’d been two-seconds away from telling them all to fuck off and finding her own way to hobble home.

But then Chris had to go and pour his heart out and now she just felt awful. Physically. Emotionally. Pretty much on a cellular level.

The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain and look what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Bex managed to get out.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, sweetheart,” Chris said, groaning as he got to his feet. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself first.” He leaned over her to wrap her up in a gentle hug. Bex closed her eyes and let herself sink into it.

She hadn’t meant to worry him—hadn’t meant to worry anyone—but she’d been so focused on Will and Emery, worried about them, that she hadn’t thought about much else.

Now she knew though, how wrong that had been.

Of course, Chris was upset and worried. Just like Jay and Mouse and apparently a whole bunch of other people including Dr. Abrams.

And Bex was making it worse.

After everything they’d all been through, she was making it worse.

And why? What for?

It wasn’t like she’d been stabbed or shot. She was going to be fine in a couple of weeks.

Chris was right. Bex needed to suck it up and focus. Follow doctors’ orders perfectly and maybe she could shave a bit of time off of that couple weeks so she could be back in the game and help out properly. Will and Emery were going to need it during their much longer recovery times.

Heal up now. Help out sooner. That made sense.

Bex could do that.

“Hey,” Jay said quietly from somewhere behind her. “Everything okay here?”

“Yeah.” Chris straightened up with a little pat to Bex’s undamaged shoulder. “We’re all good. Oh, gimme that.” He reached out and grabbed a coffee from Jay’s outstretched hand with a little grin, immediately taking a gulp. “Jesus, that’s hot. Mm.” He took another quick sip. “Ah!”

“You do that every time. Why don’t you get iced coffee?” Bex laughed as she pushed herself up out of her chair. Mouse moved to her side, ready to help, but not actually jumping in to do so which she appreciated. Almost as much as the small vanilla frappuccino that he handed her after.

Chris grimaced through another sip. “Iced? And dilute my caffeine? No, ma’am.”

“Connor said Will’s awake if we want to stop by,” Jay said, waving his phone at her.

“How is that even a question?” Bex started to rush toward the elevator, ready to push to get to Will faster, before Chris’s words played back through her brain and she forced herself to slow down. Move carefully. She ignored the loaded look that passed between Chris and Jay, tried to tamp down on the flutter of panic building in her chest that said she had to rush—had to lay eyes on Will now to truly know he was okay, and took the arm that Mouse offered her. “Let’s go.”

One step in front of the other. Slow and steady.

She could make herself be okay.

For Chris.

For all of them.

***

Mouse

After stopping in at Emery’s room to say goodbye—mostly to Kira since Emery was already asleep again—the four of them headed down to Will’s room.

Mouse kept an eye on Bex the whole way. He tried to be subtle about it, but the only reason he probably got away with it was because Jay and Chris were doing the same thing. Bex was mostly focused on walking which was still fucking painful to watch and not even the thing that was worrying him the most.

She was quiet since her talk with Chris. Subdued almost.

What the hell had he said to her?

Neither of them seemed distressed and even Jay seemed fine. Watchful, but okay.

Maybe—maybe Mouse was reading into things. He’d been hyper-aware of Bex’s every move and tone and expression since he’d walked into her hospital room and he should probably start to stand down a bit.

She relaxed once they got into Will’s room and she had some time sitting beside him, holding his hand. Groggy as he was, Will managed to make her laugh a bit as well.

Jay pulled Connor aside while Will and Bex were distracted with each other. The guy looked wrecked. “How’s he really doing?” Jay asked. “And how are you, man?”

Connor sighed. “Will’s about as good as can be expected,” he said. “The bleed was relatively easy to fix and his fever is slowly going down. I don’t want to say we’re completely out of the woods yet, but it’s looking better and everyone’s keeping a close eye on him.”

“And how are you,” Chris asked again.

“I’m—” Connor let out a short laugh as he dragged a hand down his face. “I’m just grateful he’s still alive and focused on keeping him that way. Everything else is…background noise.”

“Well, I’m here for the afternoon,” Chris said. “So, you go get some food and a shower and a nap and I can keep an eye on the big guy.”

“Chris, I—”

“Nah, none of that.” Chris held up a hand with a crooked little smile. He nodded over at Bex and Will, lowering his voice. “I’m trying to get Bex to be better about accepting help from all of us so how about you lead by example, eh?”

Connor ducked his head, huffing out a little laugh. “Fair enough,” he said. “And, uh, thank you.”

“That’s what family’s for,” Chris said, patting him on the back.

Will started to fade again shortly after that so after another round of goodbyes, Mouse and Jay took Bex back to the apartment. One of the neighbours came out as soon as they arrived. Apparently, there’d been a few flower deliveries that they’d accepted on Bex’s behalf. Jay carried them in while Mouse helped Bex to the couch.

“Who are they from?” Bex asked, trying to peer around Kol who was already cuddling up beside her.

“Gimme a sec.” Jay started setting them out on the kitchen table, far out of the way of Kol’s enthusiastic tail wags. “This one if from everyone at the diner.” He showed off a colourful bouquet to Bex who smiled softly at it.

“Keep the cards,” she said. “I want to remember to thank everyone later.”

“Will do,” Jay said, sticking it up on the fridge where they’d been keeping the rest of them. “Okay, this one is from Beau.” He held up a vase full of sunflowers before holding up a smaller one full of red flowers. “And this one isn’t signed. It just says ‘Enjoy your gift.’, but there isn’t anything else with it. Think they mean the flowers? Kind of a weird way to put it.”

“Hunh.” Bex stared at the bouquet, eyebrows scrunching up in thought. “That flower looks familiar, but I can’t—ugh, I can’t remember.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mouse said, stroking back her hair. “It’ll come to you. In the meantime, we have pretty flowers.”

“There is that.” Bex’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and Mouse leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Why don’t you hang out here with Kol and we’ll get dinner ready,” he said. She nodded, sinking back into the cushions, and Mouse made his way into the kitchen where Jay was frowning at the bouquets. “Everything okay?”

“That last one is kind of weird, don’t you think?” Jay had the card in his hands still, flipping it over to check out the name of the florist.

“Some people get awkward with this kind of thing,” Mouse said, opening the fridge to see what they had to work with. “Don’t know what to say and either say too much or it comes out weird, like that.”

Jay hummed noncommittally and pocketed the card. “Alright,” he said, turning to Mouse and peering over his shoulder. “What are we making?”

Heating up a meal from Cindy was the answer to that question because she was a goddess who had sent Chris with a pile of filled Tupperware containers. Enough to last them until tomorrow night at least.

…they really needed to go shopping.

“I’ll hit the store tomorrow,” Jay said, echoing his thoughts. “Start a list, yeah?”

Between the two of them, they got dinner together and out to the living room for Bex. She ate at least half of it which was better than she’d done all week and took her pills without complaint.

Not a peep.

Just said something about how she was tired and was going to get ready for bed. Mouse turned to Jay after she’d wandered off to the bathroom.

“Do you—do you think she’s okay? I mean relatively speaking?” Mouse asked him. “Because she’s acting weird—weirder or weird in a different way, you know? What did Chris say to her?”

“I don’t really know,” Jay said, dragging a hand through his hair. “We didn’t have much time to talk, but he said he just asked her to talk all of this more seriously and to focus on herself more. Focus on resting and getting better.”

Technically, that seemed to be what she was doing now so that was good…

Mouse just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off with her, but it was hard to pinpoint what when everything was off right now.

Jay’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check the message. “Oh. Wow.” His eyebrows flew up as he scrolled through what appeared to be a whole pile of messages. “Bex! Check this out!” He bounded down the hallway, Mouse and Kol hot on his heels.

“Is someone hurt?” Bex called through the bathroom door.

“No, it’s good news,” Jay called back.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” The three of them leaned against the wall, straightening up again when Bex sighed loud enough for them to hear. “That means go back to the living room and don’t listen to me peeing, you weirdos.”

“Right. Gotcha.” A red-faced Jay led them back toward the living room and flopped back down on the couch.

Bex joined them a few minutes later, a hint of her usual spark as she shook her head at them. “What’s the good news?”

Jay held up his phone and showed them a long string of text messages and photos from Severide. “Sev and a bunch of others from 51 went and fixed up Emery’s place now that it’s been cleared as a crime scene. He says it was Otis’s idea—they wanted it to be all ready for when she’s allowed to come home.”

“Oh,” Bex said softly, eyes filling with tears as she took his phone and scrolled through the pictures of the many repairs the team had done. “That’s—oh, that’s—oh, my god, I love them so much.” She thrust the phone back into Jay’s hands. “Tell them. Tell them I love them and thank you and that we’re gonna make them so many cookies.”

Jay paused in his typing to raise an eyebrow at her. “We?”

“Chris said I need to accept help so blame him,” she sniffed. “And help me make cookies, please.”

“We will help you make cookies,” Jay said, grinning as he finished up his message to Severide.

“So many cookies,” Mouse agreed. He bit back a smile as Bex struggled to stifle a yawn. “Tomorrow though.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Bex said as she lost the fight against the yawn. “We have a good family.” She leaned her head against Jay’s shoulder with a sigh.

“The best.” Jay wrapped an arm around her for a gentle squeeze. He laughed when she yawned again. “Okay. Bedtime for you. Cookie time tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bex murmured. She let Mouse help her up with out a fight, leaning into him as they headed down the hall. “You gonna tuck me in, Mouse?” she stage-whispered at him.

“I was thinking about it,” he whispered back.

“Sing me a lullaby?”

“Uh, I thought the plan was to get you to sleep,” Mouse said, making a face. “Not, uh, to traumatize you further.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, crap,” Bex clutched at her side, groans mixed in with the giggles. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Shit—” Mouse could kick himself. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop,” Bex said with a little sigh, leaning against the doorframe to her room. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. It was funny. Funny’s good.” She leaned toward him for a kiss. “You’re good.” Another gentle kiss.

“Less kissing, more bedtime!” Jay hollered from the living room.

Bex started to roll her eyes and then stopped, straightening up. “Right,” she said. “Gotta follow doctor’s orders.” She nodded to herself as her smile dropped away.

“That reminds me,” Mouse said, herding her towards her bed. “Dr. Fahir called and she said that not only should you be tucked in, but also snuggled for at least five to ten minutes.”

“Oh, really?”

Mouse fought to keep a straight face as he saw the smile return to Bex’s. He nodded, kicking the door shut behind them. “At least.”

“Well, I am trying to be a better patient.” Bex settled onto her mattress and made grabby hands at him, pulling him to her. “Medicine, please.”

***

Jay

Jay looked over at Kol as a giggle drifted down the hall from Bex’s room.

“Let’s go clean up the kitchen,” he said and Kol was already off like a shot, settling on one of the kitchen chairs to watch Jay do the dishes.

It was actually good to hear Bex laughing like that. Mouse was right—she’d been weird today and clearly struggling for the last few days.

With good freaking reason too.

He knew it was going to take time for her to start to heal and process, but that giggle felt like a good start. It gave him hope that they could get there.

Hope he’d been struggling to find a few days ago.

When he’d been sitting there while Bex was laid out in the hospital, part of him had wondered if they’d ever be okay again. Even now, when he was still for too long, his mind kept going to dark places. Thinking about what could have happened. What they could have lost.

To think that Will could have died or Bex…

We have a good family, she’d said.

And they did. They really did.

Jay wondered if Bex realized what a large part she’d had to play in that. If she knew how their family would fall apart without her. How much they’d break…

He didn’t even want to think about it, but he did because that was what Jay did. Think about his family and the what ifs and how to prevent them.

Because he was going to do everything he could to make sure nothing like this ever happened to his family ever again. He was going to keep them safe.

Any way he could.

Jay put the last dish in the rack and dried off his hands, reaching for his phone.

***

Statesville – Maximum Security Unit

After midnight.

***

Ty

This was—this was fucking bullshit.

Ty pressed a hand against his stomach, watching helplessly as the blood leaked out around his fingers. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to stop it when he had half a dozen other matching punctures.

“Wait—hnggg.” He fell back against the wall, feet going out from under him, sending him sliding down to the ground. His vision was going blurry, but he could still make out the form of that guard, that fucking guard Mitchell, leaning over him. “Help me…”

“Son,” Mitchell said, lips twisting up in a smile. “You brought this on yourself. Should have left that girl alone.”

“Em?” This was because of her? Who fucking cared enough about fucking Emery to—

The crackling laughter of the guard interrupted his fuzzy thoughts. It echoed through the empty hallway, reminding Ty of how very alone he was right now.

“How many girls you been messing with?” Mitchell crouched down beside him and poked at him with the shiv. “No, you idiot. Does the name Bex mean anything to you? Because she sure means a lot to somebody.”

“Fuckin’ bastard cop,” Ty snarled, jerking back when Mitchell laughed again.

“Oh, you have no idea who you messed with, do you?” he said as he stood, taking out a cloth and wiping off the shiv before dropping it on the floor beside Ty.

Darkness crowded in along the edges of Ty’s vision as he slumped to the side, watching his blood slowly seep out into a growing puddle on the floor. “Wh-who…why…” His eyes slipped shut and the last thing he heard was Mitchell’s footsteps walking away, a phone beeping, and the faint sound of his voice.

“It’s done.”

Click here to read Chapter Five.

Click here to read Fine is a Four-Letter Word on ao3:

And here is the tag list (let me know if you wish to be added or removed):

@sorry-i-spaced, @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived, @thewannabewriter, @lexhalstead3

@foxes-and-cats, @sensitivemallysix, @emme-looou, @lookingfortherainbow85

[djsherriff-responses]

So... I know I've never watched Captain Laserhawk... but I have a weird parody series I made that not only has the characters be more like their game selves (in looks, personalities, and even their own independent stories), but also:

Eden is not America, but is instead the evil government that controls America

Dolph has little to no idea as to what's going on early in the story

Jade is his adopted sister (I am. so sorry)

Pey'j and Alex actually act like father figures to the group (again, I am so sorry)

Bullfrog is... still Bullfrog

Alex, instead of being a bad guy of some sorts or Dolph's... overage boyfriend (jesus christ...), is an agent working for this story's Supermaxx, S.P.I.R.I.T. (which is this secret rebel organization that works against Eden instead of being... whatever the heck it was in the original, soooo...), as a mentor for rookie members of the organization, the S.P.I.R.I.T. Farts (haha funny fart joke I know (/s)).

He even offers Dolph, Jade, and Pey'j if they'd like to join the Farts as well, and while Jade was the only one to not hesitate on joining, they basically all agreed because hey they could stand up against Eden much more easily this way, what's the worst that could happen amirite? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Rayman, instead of being some guy who swears a lot and gets fired and goes "pew pew!" at Eden, is actually a limbless guy who's real name is Ramon and who quit by himself for several reasons (mainly because he wanted to "be more intimate with the outside world" but also because he felt like the world was bigger than the already big studio and mansion he lived in and also his coworkers were pretty mean towards him due to his success, so he wants to find at least someone who'd be nicer to him). Of course, this leads to him being the comic relief/ironic punching bag of the group, but at least Bullfrog's a good friend to him, so he sticks around. Even if he's supposed to be "held hostage" by the Farts.

Oh and did I mention that Ramon has a weird, one-sided crush on Dolph? (Yeah, I still stand by the idea of Rayman and Bullfrog just being friends/having a more familial relationship.) (I do, however, am testing the waters on the idea of Ramon having this crush on Dolph and Dolph just being annoyed and/or just really weirded out by that)

And that's everything I can list off the top of my head for my parody of Captain Laserhawk.

Isn’t that essentially the same thing?

In fairness no one has any idea what’s going on in the actual show, though I’m assuming here Dolph is cranked up to 11 for comedy’s sake

Why be sorry? I think that Dolph and Jade having a sibling-like bond is a sweet idea

Again why apologise? It’s your au and I totally get wanting to keep Pey’J more faithful to his character from the original Beyond Good and Evil as well as being uncomfortable with certain elements, same goes for Alex

Of cause he is

I’m assuming that Sarah is the defo bad guy and Alex is the good guy leader? I recommend looking into the game source material of each of these characters and use the game lore to develop them further. For example , Alex has a brother and nephew in the original Crew game as well as various close friends who you could implement into your au

No head bombs? : (

….. I feel like you’ve missed Rayman’s character arc or over simplified it but there’s plenty of other posts which explain that Rayman in CLH isn’t just a kids character gone edgy , so I’ll spare you the essay

Awww that’s cute!

This feels less like a parody and more like a what if AU where CLH was made for a younger demographic, with a some of its social commentary watered down. It’s most notably how you erased Dolph’s relationship with Alex and made Alex a completely different person, when in canon the relationship between those two is a massive driving force of the show’s themes and plots (Rayman would not have gotten fired if it wasn’t for those two!)

I do understand why though, CLH is a fast paced show with mature and uncomfortable topics with very little room for any of it to breath so it can come across as shock factor on a first time view

If you want to keep Alex as a friendly ally to Dolph, don’t let me stop you. But I think you should at least watch the show first, and also you’d find the 2000s Teen Titans series to be a useful source of inspiration going forward with this au, especially the dynamic between Robin and Slade