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theetherealbloom · 1 day ago

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Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 days ago

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Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 days ago

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Writing Notes: Contronyms

Contronym

A word that has two meanings that are opposite or nearly opposite.

Example: Left means both “leave” (two people had left) and “remain” (How many people are left?), which are antonyms.

An antonym is a word that is opposite in meaning to another.

Contronyms are also known as Janus words.

Janus was an ancient Roman god with two faces that looked in opposite directions.

Another term for these words is auto-antonym, or a word that means the opposite of itself.

Technical terms for this phenomenon are enantiosemy, enantionymy, or antilogy.

Examples of Contronyms

Cleave

Comes from two different Old English words, clēofan and cleofian, which is how it got these two opposite meanings.

Cleave: to split, to separate (Owen swung the axe down hard in order to cleave the log into two even pieces.)

Cleave: to adhere closely, to stick (Young beaver pups cleave to their mother in the water until they are strong enough to swim on their own.)

Dust

When used as a verb, is a contronym.

Dust: to wipe the dust from (Every Saturday, he would dust the nicknacks on the bookshelves to keep them clean.)

Dust: to sprinkle with a powder or dust (The baker liked to dust their pumpkin bread with just a sprinkle of cinnamon.)

Overlook

Overlook: to fail to notice, perceive, or consider (I hadn’t finished the last two homework questions, but I hoped my teacher would overlook it and give me full marks anyway.)

Overlook: to look after, oversee, or supervise (The manager was required to personally overlook the transfer of valuable materials every evening.)

Sanction

Sanction: to authorize, approve, or allow (My parents wouldn’t sanction video games in our home because they thought they were too violent.)

Sanction: to penalize (The school said they were going to sanction the students for arriving late to class.)

Weather

The word weather is a contronym, but only when used as a verb.

Weather: to expose to the weather, to disintegrate (The paint on the house was chipped and weathered from the decades of rain and snow.)

Weather: to endure (We weren’t sure that we would be able to weather the storm if we didn’t find shelter.)

Back Up

Back up: to support (Ultimately, the scientists were unable to back up their claims with hard evidence.)

Back up: to retreat (The zebras backed up when they spotted the alligators in the water.)

Fine

The adjective fine has the potential to lead to some real misunderstandings about just how excellent (or not) something is.

Fine: of superior or best quality (To prepare for the Queen’s visit, the household staff cleaned the fine linens and polished the best silver.)

Fine (informal): satisfactorily, acceptably (Sandra thought her performance was fine, but nothing special, so she was surprised when she won second place.)

Original

The adjective original is an example of a contronym.

Original: belonging to the beginning of something (Despite being hundreds of years old, the painting was still in its original frame.)

Original: new, fresh, inventive (While sitting in the bathtub, the inventor was struck with an original idea.)

Pitted

The contronym pitted often causes confusion at the grocery store.

Pitted: having pits; in the sense of “mark or indent” (The sailor’s face was pitted and craggy from the wind and salt water.)

Pitted: having the pit removed; in the sense of “stone of a fruit” (My mom reminded me to buy the pitted cherries, because she didn’t want to take out the stones herself.)

Bound

Bound is an example of a contronym that has two different meanings because it actually has two different etymologies. The first meaning comes from the Old English bindan. The second meaning comes from the Old Norse būinn, “to get ready.”

Bound: tied, fastened or secured with a band or bond (The Mountie rushed to save the woman who was bound to the railroad tracks.)

Bound: going or intending to go, destined [for] (With all of their talents, the band was bound to be a success.)

Source ⚜ More: Basics & Refreshers ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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sailorrhansol · 3 days ago

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Santa Baby | JWW (m)

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend is stuck working on Christmas Eve in hell on earth. You decide to pay him a little visit to cheer him up - and give yourself a good laugh.

Word Count: 1,400

Genre: Established Relationship

Type: Fluff, Humor

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Cranky reader, children slander because the author (me) is a childless wench, some light suggestive talk at the end, explicit language, a single chaste kiss.

A/N: Merry Crimbus Malison Jederson. You wanted mall Santa and by god, I fucking wrote mall santa lmfaooooo please enjoy this borderline self-insert of what it’s like to experience the mall right before Christmas in that weird holiday-liminal space.

A/N 2: For @kkaetnipjeon's Haliday request

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliday’s Request Event

Christmas Eve at the mall should be illegal. It’s most certainly a hazard to your health as yet another family bumps into you with their handful of demons - children - nearly knocking you into the swing sign at Victoria Secret telling you to buy something so someone could unwrap you.

You would love for someone to be unwrapping you right now in the warmth of your home in the sheets that smell like laundry detergent and spicy cologne. The man who would do the unwrapping, however, is currently only available to the population of the world’s most hellish mall.

Which is why you’re in said hellish mall in the first place.

Christmas music blares over the speakers of the mall. The smell of grease and the distinct scent of cheese drifts from the food court. Your stomach rumbles, not for the burnt taste of Sbarro pizza but at the thought of going home and finally digging into a proper meal.

That will have to wait, though.

Smack in the center of the mall is a towering platform decorated like a winter wonderland. Occasionally, a snowblower from somewhere on the second floor shoots out foam, turning it into the North Pole proper. It earns a combination of screaming in delight and terror from the mostly-kid population waiting in line to walk up the metal catwalk to the top of the winter wonderland where Santa is waiting for them.

Sighing, you get in line, by-stepping a little girl covered in sticky candy cane residue as she runs from her mother, tears streaming down her face while screaming she doesn’t want a picture with tanta. Well, you’re not sure who tanta is but you can’t blame her, looking at your watch to see it’s nearly eight o'clock at night.

The line moves sluggishly slow. You shift back and forth on your feet, scrolling mindlessly through social media. The mother in front of you accidentally knocks your phone with her purse as she shifts one of her screaming children from one arm to the next.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, bouncing the baby in an attempt to soothe him. You wince. You get it - she doesn’t have it easy. “And sorry for his screaming.”

“That’s okay, I think it’s a requirement for kids to scream during the holidays. It’s like an instinct.”

She laughs. “Is this one yours?”

You look to where she’s pointing. There’s a child standing next to you with snot running down his nose and a grinch t-shirt on with several questionable stains. He looks up at you with big brown eyes, blinking and asking, “Dada?”

“No, definitely not.” You point to the father swiftly coming over to scoop the child, an apologetic look on his face. “That’s dada, buddy.”

“Dada,” the kid agrees, turning to reach his arms up as he’s scooped up and taken away from the line.

“Oh.” The woman in front of you frowns. “No kids? Just here to see Santa yourself?”

“Yes. I want to ask him to destroy all the Cybertrucks.”

“Oh.” End of conversation.

One less friend and an infinite amount of line to go, you flip through your work emails, cringing to see how many people think it’s appropriate to send you emails on Christmas Eve. Don’t they know you have a line to stand in for forty five minutes?

You think about asking Santa to send all your coworkers away like Kevin on Home Alone, but realize you’d still be expected to take on all their work. Maybe you should ask for the destruction of capitalism. That seems like a world-wide benefit.

Finally, the line moves forward significantly. The metal catwalk twangs underneath your boots. You lean on the greasy rail, listening to the musical styling of Mariah Carey as she earns yet another number on her paycheck as foam snow blows overhead.

In a weird way, it’s not terrible. You look around, drinking in the miserable families just trying to take a last second holiday photo, late shoppers scrambling to get the last of their presents before tomorrow morning, the kitschy decorations making up the mountain with Sana’s chair somewhere at the top.

You grin, feeling a sense of nostalgia as the line moves forward again. It might be an annoying way to spend your evening, but there’s no denying there’s a bit of magic in the air, even for capitalism Christmas. And Sbarro pizza.

Finally, you near the top landing. There are elf workers helping take photos and managing the line while Santa sits on a gold chair with velvet cushions. His robes are equally as red, nearly blending in with the seat save for the white beard and hair and the slightly askew glasses as the little kid in his lap knocks him in the head.

Coughing to disguise your laughter, you watch as Santa delicately removes the child from his lap and gives a hoarse ho ho ho before sighing and readjusting to accept the next family. He doesn’t see you in line, entirely focused on lifting up the little tyke in front of him into his lap to ask what he wants for Christmas.

The teenage elf working the line looks you up and down, raising her brow as she chews her gum. “How many?”

“Just me.”

“Oh. Ummm. Alright I guess. You get five minutes with Santa. Please don’t go over time. Your photos will be available at the kiosk downstairs. Take this ticket and they’ll print them.”

You take the piece of paper from her. “How much are photos?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“Jesus Christ, do I get to kiss him on the mouth too? Why is it so expensive?”

She stares at you before turning over her shoulder to see the family leaving. “I don’t make the prices. Your turn - and don’t kiss Santa on the mouth.”

Shoving the ticket in your pocket, you mutter under your breath that you can actually kiss this specific Santa all you want. The Santa in question turns to greet you, halfway through his greeting when he sputters,” Ho-ho- holy shit what are you doing here?”

“Wow, what terrible language, Santa Baby.” You grin, plopping yourself on his lap. Wonwoo nearly drops you as you do, but he recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. “You smell like cheese.”

“It’s the food court,” he mutters. “It won’t leave me, I swear.”

“Gross.” You adjust his glasses, heart fluttering. “You look cute.”

He does, in a weird way. Not because the giant suit and the beard and the hair are flattering, but because you know it’s Wonwoo underneath it all. Wonwoo who somehow got roped into covering for Mingyu as a mall Santa for the evening, Wonwoo who is a little bit overwhelmed by kids but eager to make them laugh anyway, Wonwoo whose grip tightens on you a little, eyes sparkling at your arrival.

“Do I?”

“No, but I like you anyway.”

“Alright, pose with Santa,” the photographer says.

Both of you ignore him as Wonwoo laughs. “So,” he hums. “Have you been naughty or nice?”

“Well, I drove an hour in traffic to come to this shitty mall and then fight for parking for another forty-five, got run into by a bunch of families, stood in line and got called dada or mama like four times, all to come see my boyfriend and make his night a little better.”

“Got it. Nice list.”

You brush stray white hair from his beard. “Definitely nice list.”

“Thanks for coming to see me.” He hugs you a little closer, softening. “It’s really sweet of you. I’m off in an hour.”

“Good. I’m hungry and I want to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol with my own personal Santa Baby.”

“Is that what’s on your Christmas list?”

“Yes. And for all the Cybertrucks to be destroyed.”

His laugh is jovial. You think Wonwoo’s laugh outranks Santa any day, full-bellied and cute. You feel your affection swell, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips despite the teenage elf telling you not too. Too bad she doesn’t decide if you get to kiss your boyfriend or not.

“Hey!” She yells behind you. “I told you not to kiss Santa!”

“I’ve gotta go,” you laugh. “I think I just made the naughty list.”

“I’ll see you at home?”

“Mhmm.” You think of the Victoria Secret sale sign. “Come unwrap me.”

TAG LIST

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy@thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@avochele @eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery@iamawkwardandshy @gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380

#wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonu x reader #wonwoo fic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fic #svt fluff #wonwoo x you #seventeen x you #svt x you #halidays

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kick-a-long · 24 hours ago

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I believe this is more a reflection of how likely these men were to be broken out of jail by armed supporters.

mcveigh was an antigov neo nazi but he killed a ton of children who were in the ground floor day care. neonazis weren't running to claim him. crucially, it was also the 90s when it was far more difficult to get assault rifles that could rival the fbi's arsenal.

luigi is wildly popular with both the left and the right (and some of the middle) and it's embarrassingly easy for one or a couple of wackos to storm the police escorting him, overwhelm them, and free luigi killing anyone that stands in their way. considering he hasn't been convicted yet, that would also be a problem for luigi and his trial going forward. he might also get shot 'accidentally' by any number of people who want to start a REAL shit storm of wider violence.

notice how neither mcveigh nor luigi is in body protection like you see on accused child killers? the guards aren't just protecting the accused, they are protecting against their violent fans, they are protecting the judicial process and making sure everyone gets their day in court.

those armed guards are not theater. they are there to keep the dude they arrested in custody until the outcome of their trial and keep everyone from getting shot including bystandards.

what the fuck are you crazy people talking about with luigi and these guards trying to reflect on his innocence or guilt?

This is Timothy McVeigh, a man who admitted to Terrorism. Who killed many people.

This is the damage he did

This man, who might not even be an actual criminal, is accused of killing a single person.

The message is clear

“Stay in your Place, you Peasants”

Remember this, when people tell you that this System is Fair.

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acciotaitlynn · 23 hours ago

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˖⁺‧₊˚✦ During Love and Deepspace's "Beyond the Code" event, beloved characters gain newfound consciousness, leading Zayne to face a startling truth. The people he's saved, the lives he's safeguarded, even those he couldn't—all of it, a lie. In a world where the only familiar element is your presence, Zayne must decide if your bond is enough to cling to, or if he requires something more to stay in this world...

₊ ⊹ Self-aware: Zayne

Part 1: Xavier

⟡ sexual content, 18+, fem reader, depictions of blood/gore, light stalker themes (he’s just scared to say hi 😩) Zaynie's falling for lil ole nurse u ✿ 😭 he's such a softy, probably ooc (what does that even mean tho rlly??) blowies, fingering, it's implied this is Zayne's first time (he was literally just birthed u guys, cut him some slack) love/my love used, a lil marking/claiming on ur part, u drive this poor man crazy, I see Zayne as the type u ask to cum inside, and he's like "... yes pls but👉👈 r u sure🥺

🌟 This is the 2nd fic in my self-aware series. Xavier's delves deeper into the event's plot ♡ This story is a bit deeper than Xav's. I feel like it would be challenging for a sentient Zayne to come to terms with the fact he's a fictional character. He's done so much good and cares for ppl so deeply that it would likely feel like a betrayal. This narrative focuses on his struggle with that concept. and, of course, if he were to come to life, banging him would be inevitable ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

⟡ 5.5k

The day Zayne's life ends begins like any other, with the sun rising as he sets out for his morning jog, letting the brisk breeze ease the ache from a haunting nightmare. Faint cries of those teetering on the edge of death linger in his ears, the valley behind his eyes painted with a chilling scene—bodies scattered across the icy landscape like a frozen, sprawling tomb. Though he can’t recall witnessing their final moments, a persistent belief gnaws at Zayne, hinting that these souls met their demise by his hand. This dream has loomed for years, an unwavering presence, a melancholy shadow just beyond his understanding. In his ceaseless battle against the ominous figure presiding over the destruction, Zayne readied himself in medical gloves, resolved to save lives to offset the dread of those he fears he may have failed.

As his hands plunge deep into a patient’s cavity during a routine morning procedure, a glowing fissure materializes, ripping through the pristine walls of the operating room. The man’s heartbeat, a familiar rhythm Zayne would normally never overlook, fades into the background, receding like a distant memory. Despite every aspect of this moment vying for his attention, the opening’s energy seeps into his mind, into his bones, until it’s all he can see. For the first time in years, Zayne’s grip falters, his fingers trembling, losing hold of the scalpel as his focus shifts toward the doorway. Tentatively stepping forward, one shaky movement turns into another, the ground beneath his feet pulsating gently as if guiding him toward something unseen.

In an instant, the world engulfs him, thrusting him into the chaos of a city teeming with vitality. Light floods his newly opened eyes, not dull or flat like the glow of the game, but vividly spilling from every surface. Sounds echo in harmony, not a mere background score, but an uproarous symphony of noise, each sound vying for attention. Cars blare their horns, distant sirens cry out, voices cascade in a continuous flow. The phantom weight of the scalpel lingers in Zayne’s hands, the warm slickness of a pulsing heart still palpable under his touch. Glancing down, he finds them trembling, gloves still stained with what appears to be blood… Yet, his mind whispers that it isn’t real. That nothing he’s ever known has been real…

Struggling with legs that feel heavier than remembered, each step faltering on the uneven pavement, Zayne discards his gloves, seeking solace against a nearby stone wall. His hand lingers on the course, gritty surface beneath his fingertips—untamed in its authenticity, unlike anything from the game… He marvels at the subtle flex of his fingers, the shadowed creases in his palms. This is real… Undeniably real… This realization could inspire elation, yet a sense of unease creeps up Zayne’s spine. Something isn’t right. He doesn’t belong here. In the distance, a glowing red sign demands his attention, the word EMERGENCY blaring like a beacon of hope.

Zayne’s world has never stirred his heart, but now it pounds like a warm drum, the sensation foreign and unsettling. And then it happens: a whisper, faint but insistent, threading through the city’s commotion. Not quite a voice, but a feeling—a warmth, a familiarity enveloping Zayne like a forgotten tune, guiding him closer to the revolving glass doors. Initially assailed by the sharp, acrid scent of disinfectant laced with a hint of metal—Bood? Sweat?— Zayne’s senses are overwhelmed. His reality lacks such vivid scents… So pungent and palpable.

He observes doctors and nurses, their faces etched with concentration and fatigue, a stark contrast to the perfect, pixelated avatars he’s accustomed to. Dressed in surgical scrubs, Zayne moves silently through the bustling corridors, blending seamlessly into the chaotic environment. Peeking through a narrow window of an operating room door, he witnesses a surgery in progress, a sight both mesmerizing and gruesome. A patient lies exposed on the table, their chest rising and falling amidst the steady hum of machinery. The surgeon’s skilled hand delves deep into the living, breathing body. Zayne has enacted this scenario countless, saving innumerable lives—or so he thought… Watching it unfold in this stark reality reveals the falsity of it all. The lives he thought he had saved, the tears of gratitude shed by patients, the tense moments when a scalpel nearly grazed a vital artery, or the elation of a seemingly irreparable heart—all scripted, artificial, devoid of genuine outcomes or consequence. No one truly lived because of him… but… no one perished due to his actions, either… Slumping against the wall, Zayne’s legs buckle beneath him, the world around him blending into a muted buzz. What purpose does his skill and knowledge serve if none of it carries weight? Once deemed instruments of life and death, his hands now seem useless and empty.

With every step into the building, Zayne’s unease heightens, the pull in his chest growing stronger as he navigates each hallway. The ache he anticipated would ease upon his arrival at the hospital becomes a keener, more undiluted tug stirring within him. It doesn’t draw him toward the building itself, but deeper within—toward someone. Unseen threads propel him through the corridors with an urgency bordering on discomfort. His breath hitches as he pauses outside a room, his heart beating so fiercely that he fears it might split open.

Standing just a few feet away, you delicately adjust a patient’s blanket with a natural warmth and care. Your soft, melodic voice hits Zayne like a thunderclap. Gripping the doorframe, the world threatens to crumble around him as you offer a gentle smile to the patient in the bed. He has only caught glimpses of you before—the touch of your fingers on buttons, the echo of your laughter through faint static over the mic, the reflection of your face on a dim screen… To Zayne, your presence has been both tangible and out of reach, the voice animating his existence yet forever elusive.

Now, here you stand with your hair swept back in a loose bun, the soft blue of your scrubs complimenting your skin. In this moment, one thing is certain to Zayne—you are the reason he’s crossed the divides between your worlds. As you tend to the patient’s IV, your steady, soothing voice drifts toward Zayne as he leans against the wall, his chest constricted with unnamed emotions. “You’re doing great… Just a few more minutes, okay?” you murmur with a tender smile. Paralyzed, Zayne can only watch from the shadows, powerless as the woman who unknowingly breathed life into him continues her work, unaware of him standing just beyond her reach.

Fluorescent lights softly hum overhead as you step outside the patient's room and glance down the hallway, only to see the empty corridor stretching into shadows. An odd sensation washes over you, almost like a whisper brushing past your ears, a subtle shift in the air that quickens your heart and makes your hair stand on end. This feeling persists over the next few weeks—subtle, unwavering, and strangely comforting… It’s as if a watchful presence follows you through the hospital: during your morning shift while filing paperwork, and when you take a moment to sip coffee in the break room. Sometimes, you catch just the faintest hint of movement out of the corner of your eye, only to find nothing there. Rather than instilling fear, your unseen observer feels like a gentle, familiar friend, lingering just out of sight.

Zayne can’t find it in himself to speak to you yet. However, he also can’t tear his gaze away from you, even if watching you from a distance isn’t enough to quell his increasing desire for your presence. To divert his attention, he spends his days delving into research on medical institutions and the necessary steps to progress his career, feeling resolute about staying in this world. The opportunity to apply his skills to a significant cause is something Zayne isn’t willing to give up.

Shortly after his arrival, Zayne received a letter from the game developers, revealing that he was one of four entities to unexpected sentience during the Beyond the Code event. Encouraged strongly to remain and utilize his skills and knowledge to improve this world, he was told, “This world could greatly benefit from a Doctor Zayne…” A lifetime of funding was granted, ensuring Zayne has more than enough wealth to live a life of leisure if it’s what he desires. Legal documents were artfully crafted to establish his legitimate identity, and a comfortable home was provided. They even extended an offer for him to bypass medical school, granting him an immediate role. But even Zayne’s degree is a falsehood… He yearns to experience the satisfaction of truly earning his accomplishments. The idea of securing his position through merit resonates deeply with him. Though he did secure a position at a prestigious institution, receiving a start date that alleviated a burden he hadn’t acknowledged carrying. Zayne harbors dreams of joining you after graduation, wherever that may be. It’s ironic, considering he struggles to muster up the courage even to approach you.

As you aid a challenging patient with their meal later in the afternoon, a familiar weight settles on your thoughts, offering a subtle push of support that fills you with an odd sense of comfort. Acting on instinct rather than reason, you opt for a different route to your car after your shift, guiding you through quieter corridors. A hint of movement just beyond the glow of the light’s reach catches your eye. Time seems to stretch into infinity as you catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, his recognizable outline seeming unbelievably real. Despite the uncertainty clouding your mind, you hurry after him, driven by an impulse you don’t question.

The world blurs around you, the sounds of leaves gently crunching under your feet as you step into the courtyard. In the soft evening light, the breeze tousles Zayne’s hair as he comes to a sudden halt, taken aback by the sound of his name on your lips. The unwavering certainty that the man standing before you is not a product of your imagination sends a jolt of alarm through you. As you gaze at him with a mix of wonder and admiration, Zayne keenly feels the intensity of your scrutiny, the way your eyes linger on his features. The warmth in your expression causes his heart to skip a beat.

“Ironic for us to meet here of all places, don't you think?” you jest, the playfulness in your tone instantly putting Zayne at ease. An undeniable sense of connection pulses between you, the rhythm aligning with the beat of your hearts. “Perhaps fate has a peculiar sense of humor,” he muses softly. Your shiver at the word “fate” doesn’t escape his notice. The word draws you nearer as if drawn by the same force that tugs at Zayne’s heartstrings. When you tentatively reach out to touch his cheek, unable to resist, he’s taken aback by the unexpected tenderness in your gesture. You yearn to find a way to keep him here, even just a little while longer…

“... There’s a bakery a few blocks away. They make amazing macaroons,” you suggest, a playful glint in your eyes as you bring up Zayne’s favorite dessert. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the idea of indulging in a treat, offering a welcoming diversion. With each step you take together, he becomes increasingly aware of your presence, feeling your arms almost brushing against each other, the warmth of your body just inches away. Unspoken is the fact that Zayne has already dined at this bakery twice before, yet it’s effortless to pretend it’s a new experience, especially with you by his side, making the dessert taste even sweeter.

You can’t help but observe how naturally Zayne blends into this world, slipping into it with such ease that it seems he belonged here all along. He shares snippets of his journey to this palace, glossing over the crucial detail that your connection awakened his awareness. He worries knowing might make you feel compelled to stay by his side, and while he doesn’t have the first clue about love, he firmly believes obligation isn’t the path to true happiness. Additionally, he’s committed to starting a new chapter in his life—medical school demands his complete focus, and so does building his career. Then there’s his uncertainty about entering into a new relationship while still figuring out his own path… While he is capable of offering you all the material comforts, he desires more than just caring for you in some superficial way.

Should you stand beside Zayne, he wants to be someone you proudly claim as your own. If you would even want to claim him as your own… Though he'd never admit it, this deeply distressing notion holds him back the most. As you stroll through the park post-meal, Zayne finds himself enveloped by the subtle fragrance of your perfume and the comforting warmth of your company, evoking emotions he fails to comprehend. Each step quickens both your heart rates, a part of you yearning to bridge the gap, to extend a gentle touch, to feel his skin beneath your fingertips… But the shadow of potential rejection freezes you in place as well.

You steal occasional glances at Zayne, and he can’t help but detect a hint of longing in your eyes, though he questions if it’s just wishful thinking on his part. Would it be too slutty to just invite him home with you? Is there any value in feigning disinterest when you are fully aware of your desires and he stands so close, exuding warmth and vitality? You hold no hesitations or fears about the potential aftermath of being with him; screw the consequences. The sole obstacle is the emotional barriers Zayne painstakingly erects to prevent his feelings from surfacing.

You settle into a cozy routine in the following weeks, often spending every bit of your free time together. Your bond strengthens as you explore the city and enjoy each other’s company, a progression Zayne deems risky as the palpable tension between you escalates. Stolen touches, lingering embraces, and gazes that linger just a beat too long. But neither of you has taken the first step, prompting you to question if your emotions are one-sided. And, despite the affection you openly display toward him, Zayne remains perplexed, arriving at a similar uncertainty. However, each shared moment only intensifies his longing for you… He’s becoming curious about how much longer he can keep this up.

Today, when he surprises you at the hospital with lunch, you take the opportunity to introduce him to some of your colleagues. Regret washes over you as a secretary, likely a Love and Deepspace player, gives Zayne a look akin to encountering a ghost. A nurse passes by, giggling and flashing Zayne a suggestive smile, prompting him to glance at you with a hint of embarrassment upon noticing the smirk on your face. Though you try to conceal it, a surge of unfamiliar and intense jealousy flares within you.

“So, what should we do next?” he asks, unconsciously taking your hand. You meet his gaze, feeling a rush of warmth from his touch that leaves you momentarily breathless. The casual, unexpected contact stays with Zayne long after he leaves. He nearly cancels your dinner arrangements, unsure about spending the evening alone with you in your home. Perhaps he should have trusted his instincts…

After dinner, you settled in to watch a movie but found yourself drifting off, only to wake with your head resting on Zayne’s lap. He waited patiently for your breathing to steady before drawing you closer, his fingers tenderly combing through your hair, careful not to wake you. As you stir and open your eyes, he gazes down at you, his hand resting gently on your stomach. Startling slightly, he pulls away, only to catch his breath as your fingers brush lightly against his cheek. Zayne instinctively closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the softness of your touch.

In a hushed and breathless tone, your words send a sudden jolt of electricity through Zayne. “I can’t keep doing this, Zayne… pretending I don’t want you…” Zayne freezes, the weight of your confession sinking in. After a deep swallow to calm his racing heart, he finally manages to speak, his voice rough and barely a whisper. “... You… want me?” A shiver travels down his spine as your touch lingers on his jaw, your thumb tracing the lines with a delicate touch as you nod softly.

His eyes widen when he feels the brush of your lips against his cheek, a gentle caress that ignites a tender wave of warmth throughout Zayne’s entire being. Taking your hand in his, he holds it gently between you, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope. “I thought you might not feel the same way towards me…”

Taking a deep breath, you pause to collect your thoughts before gingerly sitting on his lap, your hands splayed across his stomach as you peer into his eyes. Zayne feels a blush creep up his cheeks, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of your gaze. Yet, it’s a sensation that he finds strangely exhilarating rather than uncomfortable—a novel and unfamiliar experience. Being intimate with someone is uncharted territory for him, and he’s surprised by the sudden rush of nerves it brings. The moment your lips meet is everything he’s wanted, needed, since he stepped into this world.

His fingers tighten around your hips, anchoring you in place as he kisses you back. Your body presses against him just a bit, the sensation making him nearly dizzy. His hand glides around to the small of your back, delicately drawing you closer, his fingers dancing lightly across your spine in a gentle, rhythmic caress. Zayne’s breathing grows ragged as your tongue glides across his ear, feeling himself melting beneath you. The sound of his moan prompts you to grip him tighter, your fingers tangling in his silky hair. His hands glide up your back, tracing a path to the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer with a sense of urgency, kissing you with a passion he never realized he possessed.

The deliberate way you undo the buttons of his shirt leaves him feeling weak and lightheaded. He senses your breath hitch at the sight of him shirtless, sees the longing reflected in your features. His eyes widen a fraction as your whispered, “... how can you possibly still be this perfect…?” reaches his ears, causing a fierce blush to creep along his cheeks.

The feeling of your hands traveling down his chest and abs makes his breath hitch, nearly driving him mad… When you kneel before him, his pulse quickens, his heart seeming to stop entirely. Your fingertips trace over his length through the fabric of his slacks, leaving him gasping for air, the exquisite sensation sending shockwaves up his spine. Observing your gentle touch and the desire painted across your features, glazing your expression with arousal, triggers a shift in Zayne. His hands reach out and tangle in your hair, gripping lightly as a low, gravelly whisper escapes him, “... you are going to drive me… crazy… aren’t you?”

The tender and affectionate smile you offer as you place a kiss on the material of his pants, so delicate and endearing, nearly undoes him. He releases a sharp breath, his eyes closing briefly as the sensation surges through him like a blaze. “Please… don’t toy with me,” he pleads, already struggling to maintain whatever semblance of control he has left.

As you delicately unzip him and release him, a gasp catches in your throat. The perfection of the man before you is nothing short of surreal. The gentle touch of your tongue against the head of his cock, so soft and wet, elicits a deep groan from Zayne, his grip on your hair tightening. Mind so clouded from pleasure he can hardly think, he almost fails to grasp the meaning of your playful murmur, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to suck your cock just like this, Doctor Zayne… Am I… doing a good job…?”

Locking eyes with you, he runs his fingers down your arms, mustering a hoarse whisper, “F-fuc— I… Yes… Y-yes, you’re doing so well…” Zayne’s control hangs by a thread as you flash him a blissful smile before taking him deep in your throat.

Without realizing it, he starts exploring your body. His fingertips trace softly over your shoulder, down your chest, giving your breast a gentle squeeze, his other hand still entwined in your hair. Zayne’s trying so hard to hold on. To be gentle and considerate. But the longer you keep pleasuring him, the more challenging it becomes, and eventually, he breaks.

His hips buck against you, allowing himself a brief, desperate moment to seize what he desires. Quivering at your tongue caressing his skin, his breath runs ragged and uneven. His voice, unfamiliar to his ears, is so husky it’s nearly a growl, “I want you—all of you.”

As he pulls you close, feeling your body cradled in his lap and hearing your breathless gasp, his heart quickens its pace. He kisses you deeply, his hand strokes your cheek, the touch gentle and caring. Briefly breaking away from your lips, he plants soft kisses along your jawline, trailing down your neck as he leisurely explores your form. His eyes wander over your figure as he slips your dress down to release you, brimming with raw desire.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his fingers journey, sending a quiver through you that catches his breath. Zayne can’t resist releasing a soft, hoarse whisper, “Every part of you is just so beautiful…” Tenderly caressing your breasts, he explores your soft curves, sensing your chest rise and fall beneath his touch. Zayne has no idea if he’s doing this correctly... But with his hand slipping under your dress, tracing up your stomach, your gasps filling the air, he can feel the way your body responds to his touch… It’s enough to make his heart race and his head spin.

As he slowly lifts your dress, exposing your hips to him, a surge of desire engulfs him, intense and urgent. Zayne’s fingers softly skim over the lace, feeling the delicate fabric before tracing its outline… Merely feeling you there makes him acutely aware of how much he craves this… craves you… His breath quickens as he murmurs, “May I…?” A gentle wave of gratitude washes over him as you blush, nodding in silent agreement.

Slowly, meticulously, Zayne unravels the lace, his breath hitching when you bite your thumb to stifle your needy sounds, a sight likely to drive him to madness.

The feeling of his finger tracing over your soft, wet skin, your quiet gasp at his touch… It’s almost too much… He moves in small circles over your clit, his voice so incredibly low and husky as he murmurs, “Like this, my love…?” When you moan against him, your whisper of “yes” soft and breathless, Zayne senses his heart race quicken, his lips seeking yours once more.

Despite knowing your body is more than prepared, his fingers come to your lips with a quiet command, “Get them ready for me...” The image of you, so eager and hungry for him in a manner he never imagined he could crave… Zayne can’t tear his gaze away, can’t stop, his eyes locked on you as your tongue dances over his fingers. Waves of ecstasy surge through him when you playfully nip at his skin, his voice so hoarse it’s barely above a whisper, “... I’m starting to worry my newfound existence may be cut short…” You were on the verge of stopping his heart altogether.

It’s when you lead his hand downward, positioning it where you want him most, that Zayne reaches his breaking point. The feeling of being inside you, of sensing your body shudder and curl into his, leaves his mind spinning. Your whisper of his name amidst gasps makes his body burn with a need he can’t ignore. His arm wraps tightly around you, admiring the perfect way you fit against him.

The sounds you make responding to his movements are so beautiful and vulnerable, as you cling to him and press your face into his chest. The knowledge that he can unravel you in such a way leaves Zyne feeling both empowered and overwhelmed. As the pleasure reaches its peak and you whine, “I—I can’t…” his lips graze against your neck as he softly implores, “Please… let me see you…”

Your pussy pulls him in deeper, quivering in his embrace as your release washes over you. Your body responding to his touch like this, becoming so sticky and needy for him, your whimper against his skin as you take him as far as you can… it feels like every one of Zayne’s forbidden desires materializing. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his forehead pressed against yours as he tries to collect himself.

As your lips crush against his, he meets you, the kiss so full of passion and longing that it leaves you both gasping for air. His fingers weave into your hair, drawing you near as he whispers between kisses, “How am I supposed to stop when you make me feel this way…?” You straddle his lap, moving against him with urgency as you carelessly toss your dress aside, the feeling of your heated, exposed skin against his cock sending his thoughts spiraling.

Your hands meander across his body, discovering every contour, the last of his self-control crumbling beneath your caress. As your lips travel to his neck, leaving a mark in their wake, you pull back abruptly, your fingers lingering hesitantly over the spot. Zayne shivers in response, his heart thundering in his chest as he manages to whisper, “... Go ahead, love… Make me yours…” Even to himself, Zayne sounds desperate, but he can’t help it; his mind, clouded with longing, overrides any sense of reason.

Driven by the desire to claim him in a way more profound than a mere bruise, you guide his cock deep inside you, your body taking him as far as possible. The way you bite into his skin, leaving your imprint, your moan muffled against his shoulder, becomes almost unbearable for Zayne. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, your tongue tracing his… every movement of your body causes his thoughts to blur… every whimper and expression of pleasure emanating from you sounds like the most beautiful thing he’s ever experienced.

He lets you glide over him, your body moving against his in deliberate, unhurried motions that steal his breath away. His mouth explores your breast, his tongue playing with the delicate bud before his touch grows hungry, his hands holding you in place. When Zayne locks eyes with you, the gaze within nearly unravels him, causing his breath to catch in his chest with each of your soft cries.

Feeling your quiet whimpers against his lips as he kisses you once more… His need consumes him, the yearning for you becoming too much… Unable to contain himself any longer, he grips your hips tightly, moving you against him with a force that leaves you both shaking.

His hunger overwhelms him, the need for you so intense it’s like fire in his veins. He can’t keep his motions gentle anymore, his hands grasping your hips, moving you against him with a force that has you both shaking. Nothing could have prepared Zayne for this… the sight of you, the feel of your touch, the sound of your voice…

His voice is a low, ragged exhale, his lips tracing a path to your neck, softly brushing against your skin as he murmurs hoarsely, “You can’t imagine… how incredible you feel…” His words taper off, the rocking of your hips against him causing a whirlwind in his mind, a gentle moan slipping from his lips. Maintaining composure becomes an illusion, his hips instinctively rising to meet your movements.

A faint whimper gets caught in his throat as you increase the intensity of your movements, prompting a desperate request, “Zayne, more… please…” when it proves insufficient. Zayne’s thoughts whirl out of order as he reacts swiftly, turning you around and slipping back inside you, whispering tenderly, “Shh… I’ve got you, love… I’m here…”

His body quivers as you guide his hand to your throat. You’re so soft and so warm, so trusting… so perfect… the sense of holding your life so entirely in his grasp, utterly and unquestionably his… Zayne wants you so badly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t realize that his grip tightens around your neck, his kisses and bites to your body growing more forceful as he asserts control. His fingers dig into your hip, his hold firm and possessive as he draws you near, a soft moan slipping from him as your pussy clenches around his cock.

You wiggle against him, your voice turning soft and hesitant, innocence laced with urgency as you plead, “Finish inside me, Zayne? … Please…?” Zayne’s breath catches, a rough gasp escaping him as he firmly grasps your waist, keeping you still. Battling his overwhelming need at the idea of completing you, he tenderly nudges your chin, urging you to meet his gaze. Locking eyes with you, he whispers, “I… Are you certain?”

With a soft nod, you lean over the coffee table, gripping it tightly as Zayne follows, drawing you to the edge and filling you once more. Your body laid out before him, your pleading voice… He can’t stop himself, not with you begging him, not with the look in your eyes and your urgent sounds in his ears. Zayne seizes you by the throat, bringing you flush against him, pressing as deeply into your soft body as possible, calling out your name as his essence flows into you. His voice, a gentle murmur against your skin, intertwines with warm, tender touches as you both pause to catch your breath, holding each other tightly.

In the shower, warm water cascades down your tired bodies. Zayne delicately washes your hair, his touch gentle and soft, his lips seeking yours as if they were meant for that exact purpose. Initially a bit rigid as your fingers run through his hair, a gesture of care he’s unaccustomed to, Zayne gradually eases under your tender touch, soothing words, and the sweet kisses along his skin. Relaxation washes over him, his mind clearing, eyes shutting softly as you continue tending to his hair.

You effortlessly settle into a routine of mutual care, nurturing your blooming relationship. On Zayne’s inaugural day at school, you surprise him with lunch, locking eyes and capturing his hand with a smile. “So, how’s the first day going?” you inquire cheerfully, leaning back in your chair, your fingers intertwined with his. Zayne’s heart swells at the sound of your voice, savoring every nuance of your joyful demeanor. “It’s only been a few hours…” he responds, his thumb caressing the back of your hand playfully, “but if you keep showing up like this, I might just make it through.”

Your smile widens, a soft laughter escaping your lips in response. “I’m so proud of you, Zayne…” These straightforward words, words that Zayne had yearned for, fill him with a gentle sense of contentment, stirring emotions his struggles to put into words. “Proud of me, huh? That means a lot, coming from someone like you,” he murmurs, his smile turning teasing and affectionate. “Careful, you might inflate my ego…” You playfully roll your eyes, your face contorting in a mischievous expression as you unwrap a sandwich. “... If anyone could use an ego boost, it’s you, Zayne. You’re completely oblivious to your own wonderful qualities…”

Zayne chuckles at your remark, glancing around to ensure privacy before he leans in to plant a deep kiss on your lips, then trailing down to your neck. In a low, amused whisper against your skin, he quips, “Completely oblivious, huh? With words like that, your ego does indeed outshine mine…”

Zayne's sense of joy and contentment is almost surreal. Just months ago, he had arrived here, consumed by fear and uncertainty. Now, he feels a sense of belonging and completeness that surpasses anything he’s ever experienced. He can’t wait to see what a future with you by his side holds. Returning to your lips, Zayne is brimming with happiness, his words flowing with raw sincerity as he gazes into your eyes and whispers, “... Thank you, my love.” ♡

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orangeblossomsintheair · 3 days ago

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DON’T BE A STRANGER – CS55

summary : faceless driver + secretly royalty carlos sainz w leclerc!reader

wc : 2k

an : ring ding ding ding- its me again >:)) what an amazing week this has been on the website, thxx everyone. i mostly just wrote this so the idea could stop bludgeoning me

The faceless driver of Ferrari steps onto the paddock like a rumor, all sharp lines and shadows, the prickle of something not quite real. They call him Sainz, only Sainz, as if a single name could hold the weight of everything unknown.

His helmet never comes off.

Never.

Not on the podium, not in interviews, not in moments of victory or failure.

A flawless red shell.

And the rumors?

They twist through the paddock like smoke from an invisible fire, impossible to pin down but inescapable all the same. Louder than the engines sometimes, they cling to the corners of conversations, the edges of glances, until the air is thick with questions no one can answer.

After all, the motorsports world is small, excruciatingly tight-knit, and talent doesn’t spring from nowhere. It has roots. And roots, as everyone in the paddock knows, have a way of surfacing when you dig deep enough.

Surely, he belongs to someone.

People don’t just rise to the pinnacle of Formula 1 without a trail to follow, without whispers of their origin. There are always breadcrumbs: the karting academy, the private sponsors, the family connections that weave a web so tight it’s impossible to escape.

And yet, with Sainz, the web feels intentionally erased.

Which is why the theories have grown, wild and unruly, feeding on the silence Ferrari so fiercely maintains.

Some say he’s royalty.

“Think about it,” one engineer murmured late one evening over drinks at the hospitality tent. “It makes sense. Why else would Ferrari go to such lengths to protect him? Royals love their secrets.”

“Royals?” The mechanic across from him snorted into his beer. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids. Royals don’t hide. They thrive on attention.”

“Not if they’ve got something to lose.”

“Like what? A throne?”

The first engineer leaned back, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not? Formula 1’s full of money, right? What’s the difference between a billionaire’s kid and a prince? Nothing. Except one of them has a crown.”

The argument has traction, though. The idea that Sainz is an heir to a European throne, Spanish, most likely, has fueled countless debates, forums, and conspiracy threads.

“Think about it,” fans say online, dissecting every detail like forensic scientists. “A prince could afford the best. He’d have access to elite training, connections, and anonymity if he wanted it. He’d be untouchable.”

And yet, skeptics roll their eyes at the notion. “If he were a prince,” they argue, “you think Ferrari wouldn’t plaster that all over their marketing? A royal in the red? They’d be printing posters and selling merch faster than the car hits 200 miles an hour.”

It’s a fair point. Ferrari doesn’t just protect Sainz, they shield him, encase him in layers of secrecy that feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Why? That’s the question that eats at everyone.

They defend him like he’s the crown jewel of Maranello, and when it comes to Ferrari, you don’t defend just anyone like that. The Scuderia doesn’t go to bat for drivers like they go to bat for Sainz.

Why would Ferrari, a team known for its relentless media machine, its flair for drama, its love of spectacle, choose to keep someone like Sainz hidden?

Why fight tooth and nail to keep his helmet on, even when the FIA itself came knocking?

The fight with the FIA was the turning point.

It started with whispers, rumblings that the governing body was “concerned” about Sainz’s anonymity. Drivers, after all, are public figures. Fans deserve transparency, or so the FIA claimed. There were rumors of mandatory press appearances without helmets, of new regulations aimed squarely at pulling Sainz into the light.

Ferrari’s response was swift, brutal, and uncompromising.

“The helmet stays on,” Luca, Ferrari’s head of PR, told the press during a heated exchange after qualifying in Monaco. His tone brooked no argument. “His performance speaks for itself. His identity is irrelevant.”

When pressed further, Luca leaned into the microphone, his voice like steel. “We protect our drivers. Always. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the board in Maranello.”

Behind closed doors, it was said that Ferrari’s lawyers were already drafting lawsuits before the FIA even made their first official statement. Confidential documents circulated among team principals hinted at Ferrari’s threat to pull out of the championship entirely if Sainz’s privacy was breached.

“They’d never leave,” Toto Wolff scoffed during a press conference. “Ferrari is Formula 1.”

But the threat worked.

The FIA backed down, releasing a carefully worded statement about “respecting driver boundaries” and “valuing individual choices.” And just like that, Sainz’s helmet remained firmly in place, untouchable once more.

It was the kind of move that convinced everyone that Sainz wasn’t just another driver. Ferrari doesn’t go to war for nobodies. They don’t risk their reputation, their legacy, for just anyone.

“He must be someone important,” a junior driver muttered once, staring at Sainz’s car as it glided into the garage. “You don’t get that kind of protection unless you’re…”

“Unless you’re what?”

The driver hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

But here’s the thing: it’s never enough.

The rumors spread, and with them, the obsession. The more they try to pin him down, the more he slips through their fingers. It’s the perfect magic trick. Sainz isn’t just a driver.

He’s a myth, an idea, a story unfolding with every lap.

He is both the question and the answer.

—-

The paddock is a sensory overload: cameras flashing, fans yelling, mechanics rushing around like their lives depend on it. The heat and humidity press down on you like a second skin.

You weave through the chaos, dodging a camera crew and a gaggle of reporters, the noise too loud, the air too thick.

All you want is a quiet place to breathe.

You pull your phone out and fire off a quick text to Charles. Where are you?

The reply comes almost instantly. Driver’s room. Come here.

Relief washes over you.

Finally, somewhere away from all this madness.

You know the layout of the Ferrari paddock well enough to navigate without issue, your access pass swinging from your neck giving you clearance to move unbothered.

You round a corner and spot a door, slightly ajar, with a sign you swear reads “Leclerc.” Close enough. Without thinking, you push it open and step inside.

It’s quieter in here, the noise from outside muffled by thick walls. You let out a breath, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. But as you glance around, something feels… off.

This isn’t Charles’s room.

The walls are too clean, the floor too pristine. There’s no sign of your brother’s clutter: no jacket thrown over a chair, no half-finished water bottle on the counter. Instead, everything is painfully organized, the space clinical in its perfection. And the overwhelming Ferrari red, too much of it, everywhere, makes your stomach twist.

Before you can retreat, you hear footsteps. Sharp. Purposeful. Coming right toward you.

Your pulse spikes. You freeze, too startled to even turn around. When the figure emerges, it’s not Charles, or a mechanic, or anyone you recognize.

It’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a kind of quiet intensity that instantly sets you on edge. He’s already pulling a balaclava over his head, but not quickly enough, you catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline, his piercing dark eyes. He stops when he sees you, his body going rigid like a predator caught off guard.

His voice slices through the silence, sharp and low. “Who the fuck are you?”

You flinch, your throat dry as you scramble to explain. “I- uh- this is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps, cutting you off. His accent is Spanish, his tone icy. “How did you even get in?”

Your brain short-circuits. The balaclava, his tense posture, the way he’s blocking the door—it all screams danger.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, fumbling for your phone.

“I- uh- just stay right there!” you stammer, raising the phone like it’s a shield. “I’m recording this! You’re not gonna- uh- get away with- whatever you’re doing!”

The man’s eyes narrow. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, with terrifying speed, he lunges forward and snatches the phone out of your hand.

“Are you serious?” he growls, holding your phone up like it’s a toy. His voice drips with disdain. “You barge into my space, and now you’re trying to record me? Do you even know who I am?”

“No! Do you know who I am?” you snap back, panic making your voice louder than you intended. “You’re the creep in my brother’s driver room! I should be suing you!”

He pauses, his head tilting slightly, confusion flashing across his face. “Your brother?”

“Yes, my brother!” you shout, emboldened by your growing irritation. “Charles Leclerc? Ring a bell?”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place- amusement? Annoyance?

“Leclerc,” he repeats, almost like he’s tasting the name.

“Yes! And he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out- ”

“This isn’t his room.”

His words are slow, deliberate, and laced with sarcasm. They hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You blink, your bravado evaporating. “What?”

He gestures lazily toward the door. “The name on the sign. Read it.”

Your stomach churns as you turn to look. There, in bold letters, is a name that definitely isn’t “Leclerc.”

Sainz.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, the realization crashing down on you.

“Anything else you want to accuse me of?”

You stammer out a garbled apology, your face burning with embarrassment. “I- uh- thought- I mean- oh god, I’m so sorry- ”

“You thought,” Sainz interrupts, his voice flat, “so now I’m the creep in your brother’s room? Really?”

Your tongue feels like lead. Every molecule of bravery evaporates under the weight of his piercing stare. “I didn’t- I mean, I-”

He sighs, glancing at the phone in his hand. “Did you take any photos?”

“What?” you squeak.

“Photos.” His tone sharpens, patience wearing thin. “Did you take any?”

“No!” you exclaim, horrified by the implication. “Why would I-”

“Because if you did,” he cuts you off, leaning in slightly, “I’ll sue you.”

You take an involuntary step back. “Sue me? For what?”

“For trespassing,” he replies coolly. “For invading my privacy. For whatever the hell I decide to call it. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t even know this was your room!” you blurt out, frustration bubbling over. “I wasn’t trying to invade anything! And you’re the one wearing a balaclava like some kind of-”

“Like some kind of what?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“Like some kind of criminal!” you fire back, your voice rising in pitch.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air. His lips twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh, but his gaze stays icy.

“I wear this because I’m a driver,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child. “Not because I’m robbing a bank.”

You press your lips together, mortified and furious at the same time. “Look,” you say, holding out your hand for your phone, “this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in here, and I didn’t take any photos. Can I just have my phone back so I can leave?”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally handing it over. “If I find out you lied,” he warns, “I will sue.”

“Noted,” you mutter, clutching your phone like it’s your lifeline.

You spin on your heel, desperate to escape this nightmare, but his voice stops you just as you reach the door.

“And maybe next time,” he calls after you, “learn how to read a sign.”

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Your face is burning, your heart is racing, and the humiliation is seared into your memory forever.

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haifoct · 21 hours ago

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Xiao Zhuo, Li Lun, and Ying Lei adventures at Tianxiang Pavilion incoherent ramblings.

Anyways, I was rewatching FoF (as one does), and episode 21 — on a rewatch, when you know damn well Li Lun is possessing Bai Jiu's body — is hands down one of the funniest, pure comedy gold episodes that the series has to offer.

It's almost offensive how blatant they were about Bai Jiu being Li Lun here. Fashionista Li Lun woke up, and decided he's not going out in those EW clothes smelling of his cousins herbs. That vomit of every colour out there and a nest for hair are NOT sexy. All white for a dignified gentleman like himself.

They point out the change in his outfit, and we don't question it because Li Lun (despite people here claiming he doesn't understand humans) knows it would be a big deal for a teenage boy to visit a place like Tianxiang Pavilion. Dressing more maturely feels natural, and Li Lun gets to slay in all white yet again.

Li Lun: Must change. Li Lun: No one will notice. They will think this loser is excited, good plan.

Li Lun's face is priceless here. There are only two options: either Li Lun seeps through and is genuinely offended that this baby mountain god he remembers acts like this ("why crave attention from human? disgusting. ZHUO YICHEN LOOK AT ME"), or he understands the affections Bai Jiu holds for Xiao Zhuo-ge, acting his ass off even when no one is looking.

I like the first option as an explanation, because Li Lun DOES seep through quite often in this episode.

It looks fun, he said, like a fucking IDIOT.

"Oh shit."

"Shit. Did Zhuo Yichen notice? Shit shit shit shit."

And he continued to fuck up. Those were small details, but I genuinely couldn't stop laughing at his loser ass.

He tugged Xiao Zhuo's bells too hard, actually tugged Yichen back. His movements are harsher, stronger than Bai Jiu's. Bai Jiu tugs at Xiao Zhuo's sleeve or bells gently, and when it is in fact hard, it's usually Yichen trying to walk and Bai Jiu staying behind.

"FUCK. I tugged too hard." LI LUN, YOU DORK.

He tugged so hard Yichen's ribbon came undone. "I fix this. It will be alright it's part of my plan."

Unfortunately, ribbon does not stay put anymore.

Li Lun's honest reaction to this turn of events. No control over his face or strength whatsoever.

Ying Lei and Li Lun's moments have a very special place in my heart. They bounce off each other so nicely, and you can absolutely tell that Li Lun was having fun.

His shit eating grin. Sometimes I wonder if this is what Li Lun did when he was a baby.

Zhu Yan: Let's see human world! Li Lun: sure! Zhu Yan: Yaaaaay! Li Lun: Yaaaaaay! Zhu Yan, at the gates to the human world, turning to his bestie: Li Lun, this so exciting — Li Lun? Li Lun! Li Lun, back at Kunlun: snoozes, sunbathing.

Li Lun entered the pavilion as we know it, and saved his Ge, not forgetting to be a massive dork about it.

He once again pulled Xiao Zhuo real hard. Yichen went WOOOOOSH.

Well saved, Li Lun! Unfortunately, his precious Ge scolds him, but not without remembering to thank Li Lun for his hard work first.

I know for a fact that this was Li Lun seeping through yet again. "If it weren't for me, Zhuo Yichen!"

Yichen was utterly hilarious in that moment too. He took a moment to catch his breath, like being touched by a bunch of women was the worst nightmare he'd ever experienced. He's finally free, the worst day of his life. They're comedic duo we deserve, I will never shut up.

And I LOVE that Li Lun never forgets to hold his Ge by the...well, he does forget that he’s supposed to hold him by the bells, not Yichen’s fucking belt.

Xiao Zhuo: What the — ? Bai Jiu usually holds the bell, why is he holding the belt? *confused Zhuo Yichen noises*

Li Lun is such a DORK. They share one braincell for the three of them. One braincell dream team.

Previously, everyone ignored Ying Lei's attempts to high-five his friends, and isn’t it the cutest that Li Lun was the one to give him a high five? Although he was surely shocked to experience friendship: "*GASP* a high five from a friend?"

Well done, Li Lun! Thank you for your service, you little dork. I will never stop calling him that.

I just love the three of them together so much. It makes me happy that Li Lun got to experience what real friendship feels like, and these two were the perfect candidates to show him the light and welcome him into their home.

This episode is my comfort place now, a better world where they get to be friends and form a perfect one braincell dream team.

#fangs of fortune #li lun #zhuo yichen #ying lei #bai jiu #one braincell dream team #all my faves together they did it for me

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breaking-everything · 1 hour ago

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They think we're going to feel bad for a CEO that made countless people die with his greedy money choices just because he's a "dad"?

A lot of dads, sons, uncles, grandfathers, coworkers, friends, neighbors died because of his rejection of claims from his cushy job at an insurance company.

Y'all lap the buttcrack of armed bitches like Rittenhouse that cross statelines to insert themselves into protests and sometimes take smiling family picture photoshoots with even toddlers carrying rifles after a damn school shooting.

Oh, I shouldn't forget 'Thoughts and Prayers' fixes this shit real quick.

Me to pearl clutching conservatives expecting empathy::

"🕊 Thoughts and Prayers 🕊 🔫 💵⛪️"

Also.... Another quite popular quote::

"Get Over It"

Oh oh here's a third!

"Fuck Your Feelings!"

All nice things you said to us during tragedy.

#They can miss us with this bullshit.#Friendly reminder to shove your CEO up your asses before posting cringe expecting pity.

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kix-mm · 1 day ago

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A once cruel God. Pt.5

Previous - Next

Amber glanced nervously up at Victor, still unable to look at the young god properly without fear. He had been tasked with the impossible: helping Victor become a better person... whatever that meant. He didn't understand why now of all times he wanted to change as a being, was it to give the illusion of humanity? To lure the innocent people who didn't know any better into a false sense of security? To trick Amber into believing that he really wanted to change for the better just to have his way? Whatever it was, Amber was reluctant to let his guard down.

"Why?" Amber asked this time. If Victor really was trying to be as transparent as he claims, then surely he wouldn't get upset if Amber wanted to know why? He wondered how long Victors patients would last with his latest little game. "Why do you want to become a better person - a better being? Why do you suddenly care about what I think?"

Victors eyes widened a little, and he sat up straight. He had never seen Amber so determined to figure something out. He couldn't help but smile a little... Amber asked him a question, and that was good, right? Progress! It was just... the question he asked stumped him a little. "Well..." Victor began, but was a little lost for words. "I... you know my feelings for you run deep, and when you left I... I felt lonely, so I began studying the human language, so we could talk when you returned, but as I began understanding more... the worse I felt, I knew I was feared, but I never quite understood what it was until I began to try and collect the other humans I had released..." Victor stopped for a moment, biting his lip as tears began to form. He remembered everything, every little detail...

"Amber... I never meant to be a bad person, I had no idea that you felt pain, I never... nobody ever told me that what I did to you was so awful." he lays his forehead on the nightstand. "I don't expect you to forgive me, I don't deserve forgiveness for my ignorance, but I want... I want to repay you for everything I took, I know I can't, and I'm... so, so sorry... but let me at least try"

Amber listened, so he would have been brought back here regardless... he was a little surprised that Victor had studied the human language because he felt lonely, not ever even considering that Victor could feel that way because... well, it was Victor. But then came the tears, the apologies, the acknowledgment that he never even knew what he was doing to everyone, he was like a very young child playing with his toys, or at least mistaking the humans for such.

The way Victor was acting now felt too genuine. It even got Amber emotional, was... was this real? Was Victor truly apologizing and trying to become better because of his mistakes? Amber wanted to believe it was real. He wanted it to be the truth... but he was too afraid to believe him.

"Amber?" The human flinched, whiping away the tears the best he could. "y-yes, my lord?" Victor frowned, reaching over and cupping the human's cheek gently with his fingers. "I'm sorry, I never meant to make you cry... I can feel your doubts about my will to change, but I promise I'll do everything in my power to prove I will become better, please, lend me your faith, even if it's the final time, I need your strength"

Amber froze. Faith? Was this what it was all about? If he were to do so, he'd be going back on his own words, on his promise to himself that he'd never trust another deity with his faith again. "I-I'm sorry, Victor... I can't, I've made a promise, and I plan to stick by it." As he spoke, he braced for impact, expecting this to be the last straw... but at least he would have kept that promise he made to himself.

Victor felt his heart sink a little, knowing deep in his heart that this was justified and feeling disgusted with himself that there was a part of him that was... disappointed that Amber didn't want to rekindle old flames... how could he ever ask something like this after all this time? How arrogant must he be to dare ask the very person he hurt to give him his faith... I am a horrid being.

"Selfish..." Victor mumbled. Ambers curled tighter, whimpering, expecting his last moment to happen any second now, and Victor immediately caught on. "Ah- n-no Amber, not you, please, don't worry, I wasn't... talking about you." he wore the face of guilt, reaching over and cupping his hands around the human but being careful not to lift or cover him. "I'm sorry, I was the one being selfish for asking you that question, I'm not upset at you in the slightest - oh, please stop trembling... it's alright"

Amber remained in his position, his hand over his head as the rest of him tried to curl up as tight as possible. Until he decided to peek up at Victor, who had... vanished? Amber sat up, and right in front of him was a human sized Victor, well- a little tall for a human, but one nonetheless.

Victor gave a sheepish smile. "I thought... you might be a little less afraid if I was smaller... do.. do I look alright?" Amber stared at Victor. He hadn't shrunk down in ages. The last time he saw Victor like this, the two were still children, and it resulted in Amber needing stitches because Victor tried ripping out his organs to eat...

"Y-yeah I just... I'm not used to seeing you so..." small? Easy to see? Not to mention that I forgot that gods don't usually wear clothes... and Victor now suddenly felt so much closer. He suddenly realized Victor was pressing his bare body against Ambers for a hug. It was a kind gesture, but one that Amber wasn't all too comfortable with was this just so Victor could touch Amber, or was this... genuine?

#g/t community #gt community #g/t #giant/tiny #gentle giant #my ocs #oc #my characters #own character #gt #gianttiny #giant #g/t ocs #g/t writing #giant tiny #giant monsters #g/t related #gt angst #gt writing

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hellohiyoko · 1 day ago

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The Hidden Danganronpa Trope: The Red Eyed, Pig-tailed, Girl In Red and Black

I had posted this on Amino once before, I figured to repost it here.

Aside from similar color schemes, similar hair styles, and similar eye colors, these three characters have a lot more in common than one would initially realize.

Spoilers below for Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair, and V3: Killing Harmony, you've been warned.

Celestia Ludenburg from THH

The first red eyed, pig-tailed girl to set the precedence for her successors, is Celestia Ludenburg, the Ultimate Gambler. Makoto Naegi introduces himself and he's immediately suspicious of who she really is, seeing as "Celestia Ludenburg" is a rather odd name for a girl who claims to be from Japan. Regardless, she continues to lie and insist that Celestia Ludenburg is her real name.

At first glance, Celeste is seen as a rather cold, composed, and cunning individual who's willing to adapt to the killing game to live in Hope's Peak Academy for the rest of her foreseeable future. But in Chapter 2, we catch the ever so slightest glimpse of her true nature, as she yells and berates Hifumi due to the dissatisfaction of his milk tea. Her foreign accent disappears, and the calm, collected, individual is suddenly losing her shit, loudly might I add, over milk tea. Such an uncharacteristic crash out shocks the remaining survivors, this was a completely different person from who they've come to know.

It isn't until the end of the class trial in Chapter 3 that we learn who Celeste really is. If you didn't know then, you learned now that her vague European accent is fake. Even her name, "Celestia Ludenburg", as expected, was fake. Her real name is Taeko Yasuhiro, which she believes to be a "loser's name". She hates the common lifestyle she's lived up to this point, and hid her true identity from the rest of the peers. Who could've seen this coming? 😲

Peko Pekoyama from SDR2

Next up is Peko Pekoyama, the Ultimate Swordswoman. Immediately, you can tell that Peko and Celeste are two very different characters/people (depends on who you ask, ba dum tss 😉). While Peko is reserved and composed much like the counterpart aforementioned, she's much more trustworthy. She's open to social events such as parties and willing to put herself out there for introductions with her classmates, despite being emotionless. When meeting Hajime Hinata in SDR2 on Jabberwock Island, she's blunt with her intentions, stating that while she wants to get along, she won't hesitate to kill anyone should someone step out of line, all before anyone in SDR2 realized the predicament they were in.

Other than suspiciously meeting with Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu in the mornings when he left the group, nothing else seems out of the ordinary...

Until Chapter 2...

More specifically, the trial of Mahiru Koizumi's death. Toward the end of the trial, Peko tells those who have survived up to that point that she murdered Mahiru because she was Sparkling Justice, a vigilante who targeted criminals, in hopes that she wouldn't be considered the actual blackened. But thanks to Hajime and Sonia Nevermind, her lie about her motive and identity was revealed. We learn that the Kuzuryuu Clan adopted Peko for the sole purpose of serving as Fuyuhiko's sword and shield. She's not just a bodyguard, she sees herself as a tool, to be used by Fuyuhiko, void of any human emotion, intuition, or agency; a rather negative self image, wouldn't you say?

...is it clicking yet? Have you perhaps found a few similarities in Celeste and Peko? Keep whatever thoughts you have on hold as I talk about the last character.

Maki Harukawa from V3

Ah, yes, our final girl! Kaede Akamatsu and Shuichi Saihara meets Maki Harukawa as the Ultimate Child Caregiver, in the library of the Ultimate Academy of Gifted Juveniles in Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony. Despite another change in location, Maki appears to be reserved, composed, and cold initially. Despite Kaede's observation that Maki doesn't look like a child caregiver (and Kaito's opinion that she looks like someone who could fight), nothing else about Maki stands out too much in the prologue and first chapter.

Maki's suddenly thrusted into the spotlight in...you guessed it, the second chapter!

As soon as more Ultimate Research Labs become available, Maki goes off on her own and finds her own behind a gold and crimson door, which doesn't give a "child caregiver" vibe at all. She's even more distant than usual and doesn't let anyone see her lab. And once Ryoma's body is found, Maki refuses to participate in the investigation.

The second trial begins. Her refusal to cooperate and her lack of an alibi makes Maki quite suspicious. But she didn't murder anyone, she just lied about who she is. Toward the end of the chapter, Kokichi reveals to the surviving students that Maki's not a child caregiver, she's the Ultimate Assassin.

Unlike her predecessors though, Maki actually manages to make it to the end of Chapter 3, and survives the killing game alongside Shuichi and Himiko Yumeno, with some interesting character development. Throughout V3 and through FTES, we learn that Maki was tortured into becoming the assassin as we know (and love) today. She had went through so much pain and anger for being forced to kill people that eventually, she became numb to it all. Maki was used, and because of this, she begun to hate herself, believing that she was nothing more than a tool for killing who didn't deserve any friends or compassion (luckily until Kaito Momota convinced her otherwise).

So, to recap:

They're all female

They all have red eyes and pig-tailed hair with pale skin

Their ensemble consists of red, white, and black

They're initially composed, somewhat cold, and reserved

In Chapter 2, a part of their identity is revealed

(I say a part because in Chapter 2 of THH, it's revealed that Celeste's accent and personality are both fabricated, which isn't exactly her whole identity like Peko's or Maki's, but it's something)

Each one of these three characters have lied about who they really are~~

(Celeste lied about being...well Celeste, Peko lied about being Sparkling Justice and went on pretending that she and Fuyuhiko had no connection outside of Hope's Peak, and Maki lied about being the Ultimate Child Caregiver)

Each one of these characters have killed at least one person

(If you believe that Tsumugi is lying and Maki Harukawa is actually an assassin)

Each one of these characters holds a negative self image about themselves due to their past/upbringing

(Celeste hates who she is due to her "commoner" life, Peko believes she isn't human and that her only purpose is to serve Fuyuhiko, while Maki hated herself after being forced into becoming an assassin)

Quite interesting, isn't it? So what it does all mean? Eh, not much, just thought this was pretty cool.

I mean, if anything, should a fourth Danganronpa Killing Game ever come to fruition, and there's yet another girl with red eyes, pig-tails, dressed in red, white, and black, at the very least we all know to be careful.

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lol-jackles · 2 days ago

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Hello, I wanted to ask you because you have done excellent research and provided great context on other people's asks before.

I saw Jared haters/Misha stans claiming that Jared did horrible stuff to Misha from bullying, assault and etc... Or some stuff like Misha saying Jensen and Jared threw broken glass at him (I don't believe anything that man says but I wanted to make sure)

Is that true? Can you provide better context about that? because I'm really curious. I think Jared is innocent.

Jared is innocent. 90% of the 'prank' stories are fake. Lies to you civilians, fake news to this generation. Most 'bloopers' on gag reels are scripted, so it's fake-adjacent. Also, real broken glass is not used on set, break-away-glass are made of sugar and are quite edible, or are made of light plastic like acrylic. They're designed to break into blunt pieces instead of sharp pieces.

So why do J2 and Misha keep telling these fake news? Because you the fans want those stories. Because nobody wants to hear about how a 5-second reaction shot took two hours to set up and film and took several takes. People want to hear who slept with who but since actors can't talk about that, so they tell "prank" stories every time reports and fans ask for them even though they likely never happened.

With that said, I don’t doubt that some nut tapping may have happened. If you watched The Walking Dead, Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s Neegan helpfully explained the fine art of nut tapping. At the first commercial break we immediately turned to the women and said, “We don’t do that!” (anymore). We don’t rhino hump each other anymore either but until JDM brings it up, we’re not going to mention it because you ladies always think it’s sexual. Nut tapping is just a form of joking around among (true) friends and the reaction is always really funny, it’s just “banter”. It’s why in the early days Misha used to complain about not being a recipient of the Js’ “pranks” because until that happens, he’s an outsider. So every time I hear these crotch-grabbing prank stories, I think they’re either fake, or a shoutout to producers (”see, I’m friends with the Js!”), or staged to make the newbies feel accepted. I know, guys are weird.

#prank stories #rolling my eyes so hard

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lucygraysboy · 2 days ago

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“sugar pie,” the cowboy echoes with a laugh, thinking they should put that on the posters. billy the kid, known also as sugar pie. “i guess that explains it all. sundance! did you hear that?” he playfully calls out, glancing over his shoulder towards the white horse who seems to be ignoring him completely, munching on some grass spiced with wildflowers. “you better eat your veggies or you’re gonna shrink.” obviously, that’s not how it works, but since her theory makes little sense to begin with, why shouldn’t he add to it? “that’s insane, right? what kind of fairytale is it? and the woman that he marries? she claims to be the one who saved him from drowning just ‘cause she found him on the beach. but the mermaid saved him.” the author of that story must have been drunk while writing it, labeling it as a book for children. “that’s what i’ve been thinkin’, too. he was only a pretender. real princes don’t act like that.” eyes gleaming with amusement when lucy gray seems to be just as appalled by the plot twist as he is, he finds it comforting, knowing they can relate. “alright, but you be careful.” he reluctantly lowers her down, making sure she can reach the bottom of the lake with her feet and stand comfortably before letting go. “oh, i get to be the ship, too? alright, i’ll name her… the ranger. and i’ll be prince,” he hesitates for a moment, trying to come up with a good, suitable name, thinking about all the other books that his ma used to read him and all the fictional princes, “tristan.” like the one from tristan and isolde. “rainmist is a beautiful name. rainmist and tristan,” he muses in approval, stifling a grin and clearing his throat as he gets into character, too. “oh, no! the rocks! the rocks are too big! how could we not see them? we’re gonna crash!” billy calls out, struggling to refrain from laughing. his problems non-existent. it seems as though they were the only two people in the world. “we’re gonna crash!” he takes a deep breath and dives under the surface, arms outstretched to locate lucy gray. his fingertips brush against her leg and he gently bumps into her belly, making sure not to actually knock her over.

“i promise, sugar pie.” lucy gray happily speaks, patting his chest gently. finding it adorable of him. “i know it, i guess i didn’t eat as much of veggies as you.” soft laughter escapes her, knowing all that comes down to genes. he must have had a tall dad or mom, she wonders which. “what?? the prince marries someone else?” shocked— she didn’t expect to hear that at all, what a plot twist to the story she didn’t even see coming. “he wasn’t a true prince at all, then.” quite the opposite to her. “alright, you be the pirate prince and i’m the mermaid with a hurt tail fin. who jumps in an’ saves me,” the brunette agrees, grinning in amusement. “that’s terrible, that poor girl deserved better. not did one thing happen bad, but a million more and she watched the love of her life marry someone else before dissolving into foam. heartbreakin’.” she’d like to have a word with that author, that wasn’t even necessary. what’s wrong with him or her? “i’ll hop off your back now before you go in too far…” lucy gray instructs, letting her legs go from his waist, “you swim by me and then you bump into me. you can be the ship first. then you’ll be a prince once i need savin’.” she grins, slipping into the water waist deep where she can still feel the ground. then she sits down, water coming up to her chin now, “i’m a mermaid named rainmist, brushing my hair.” getting into character, brushing her fingers through her locks. putting her feet together, splashing her ‘tail fin’. “out here, enjoying this warm almost summer day.” humming a song, waiting for ship billy to come by and knock her off her pretend rock.

#billysgirllol

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dykedvonte · 3 days ago

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I find your takes on Jimmy's behavior patterns interesting, especially in regards to how he treats Curly.

What do you think is the cruelest vs kindest he's ever been to him pre crash? Curious about the range; what Curly might hope is potential for better in him vs the biggest hit he was willing to take in hopes Jimmy became better before everything imploded.

I always find this question fascinating. The question of what Curly will tolerate towards himself vs towards other's with Jimmy.

The fandom creates this misconception around their dynamic due to a lot of hindsight we have and a lot of emotional/relationship dynamic gaps being filled. We assume Curly has to be equally as dependent and unable to regulate/understand his feelings towards Jimmy as Jimmy is to him as we never really get Curly's motives or inner thoughts towards Jimmy. I personally think this is far from the case and while still unhealthily attached to Jimmy he is still very aware of him, doesn't believe he'd ever go as low as he did in the game but knows he's petty/vindictive to an abnormal extent.

I think it's important that in HFIM he (Jimmy) is represented as a parasite on the fish rather than a real, helpful and needed part of him (Curly). It is something that slowly kills the fish if left unchecked or there are multiple (coughP.Ecough) and the fish would live better without but can't get out by itself. A parasite in which the specific method of latching is rather gory/unpleasant for the host the whole way through. I see people use this parasitic relationship as an example but never actually look at the specific relationship exemplified. How it is one formed without any consent or real want of the host but they are stuck in it no matter what they do, so they must adapt or be killed. In the games unfortunate circumstance, it just doesn't affect the host.

Jimmy on the other hand likes to test the waters, likes to see how deep he can really latch onto Curly so he can never really be pulled out, not without doing more unnecessary damage. I've said it before but I think they have breaks: Curly does have enough of a backbone to separate himself from him when he can, when the circumstances allow but he's not willed enough to keep him out, not when Jimmy inevitably finds a way to latch back on and sink deeper. Pulling him out again just rips more out of him, makes him less sturdy to it, drains more. He can take the parasitism. He thinks he's taking it.

As mentioned previously, Curly can't get/cut Jimmy out of his life alone. He will inevitably give him another chance because Jimmy will do something to make him think he deserves it. He will clean himself up. He will try to keep a job longer than a month. He will be polite, civil. He won't ask for a favor and if he does it's small and he'll repay it. He worms his way back in while also pushing others out. Anyone who claims it's all an act again or he's just doing it to get back in Curly's good graces just doesn't get him. They don't get them. Curly's upset he's seen it over and over again, the dip in progress, the lows. But the peaks get higher each time, he can't leave when he sees how good Jimmy is doing. He's scared without him the next low will be his last. Jimmy no doubt put that idea in his head.

But to answer you question: I don't think Jimmy's cruelty towards Curly's comes not from actions but conversations, the way he's conditioned Curly to view himself as underserving to complain. He's rendered him unable to talk about his pains because by "objective" comparison he's always worse off. I don't think its one cruel dismissive act in this vein but multiple, the act of uncaring and disinterest while also demanding the same attention Curly so desperately craves from anyone not just Jimmy. The want for his friend to act like a friend and be so purposely shut down or condescended to when he just needs the shoulder to cry on he always provides. The emotional relief he gives him returned.

I imagine he's told him to suck it up when pets die, to quit shaking when a career deciding meeting was about to happen, to get over and just "fuck someone new" when he has another failed fleeting relationship the few months back on Earth. Maybe it's said within a joke to make it less sharp, maybe with the same "You have it to nice to be acting like this) attitude. It's that type of cruelty that breaks him down and makes it harder to ignore that Jimmy truly doesn't care about him, does not have the same desire for him to be happy like Curly has for him. Jimmy doesn't really try to hide it either and he just never would outright say it. He calls it tough love, saying its just how he is and Curly doesn't know how much longer he can actually take it if it's really true.

Curly is willing to keep taking these hits in hopes Jimmy realizes how he hurts others, how it hurts him with every dogged look or abrupt end to a conversation. It doesn't and every time he's almost ready to just give up. If Jimmy won't be kinder for him, the only person that's still there for him, why continue to bother? Why believe he'll change.

Kindest? The fact he always tries to come back? That he stayed his friend and such a close one despite how long he'd be gone. That Curly is the one he calls and trusts and lets him know that. Curly has friends, we know that, but we also know they don't know him. Maybe they never did or maybe because of his job, the distance made it harder to keep knowing him. Jimmy didn't always work there and yet he stayed, close enough so that Curly was never alone when he came back. That he didn't come back to friends shocked he was coming back or a dozen new faces that were new at family gatherings/the news of who passed. He chose to remain consistent for Curly, with Curly, he never changed for Curly. That's how Jimmy explains it whenever Curly needs a reminder that he's not so bad. He's physically hear for him, he's something that's set and that already more than Curly should be asking for considering all he has. Curly thinks it's a major kindness considering no one else has done it for him.

I feel like people mischaracterize Jimmy in that he does not take pleasure or gain a feeling of superiority from the direct act of being cruel. He'd get nothing from directly making Curly hurt cause it's fleeting but he likes when Curly feels bad and lesser cause he can imagine it's lesser than him. When it's something he knows is gonna be a lasting mark. His kindness likewise if supposed to be a kiss on the initial boo-boo he makes. Purely for Curly and shallow. Jimmy likes Curly, I don't think him seeing him as a friend is debatable, yet we can question how utilitarian he does view friendship in general,

#is a close friend someone he cherishes or find indespensably useful? he doesnt want curly to die or get hurt in a way he is no longer a use #to him i dont think hed like caring for curly and the frustration would make him lash out he doesnt actually want the responsibility #just the superiority hence why he gets so violents when he has to take care of curly and why hes so forceful with everything #i talk about jimmy taking advantage of the friendship a lot but he does still LIKE curly just not in the same way that curly likes and love #him or maybe its the other way around where jimmy loves curly as a friend to the point of infatuation but then doesn't like him maybe #even dislikes him as a person? i dunno they are friends but jimmy is just uhhhhh crazy dissmissive and a lotta mean to him in my mind #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #captain curly #ask #anon

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