#at the end of the day the writers made their decisions and we got what we got

[mhsdatgo]

Hotd writers choosing to adapt Mushroom's records out of everything they had in hand is the worst decision they could've ever come up with btw.

It's been stated time and time again that while F&B is purely built on records and gossip and morphed retelling of events out of bias and propaganda, Mushroom is the LEAST reliable of all the sources. He's a fool at Rhaenyra's court, his job is make people gasp and laugh, not retell historical events.

We're talking about the same guy who said that he had a penis large enough to match the size of his head, mind you. Also, he's obsessed with little girls giving BJs to Targaryen men somewhere in Flea Bottom. It's happened twice according to him.

The writers' reasoning for this choice is basically that F&B was written by Maesters and Septons, who were all greedy men, apart from being Green supporters. So anything they say is false, anything they say is written with sexist intent. Writer's intention was to do the exact opposite.

Then tell me, for the love of God, tell me, why is every woman apart from Rhaenyra, who is clearly whitewashed and I can go into heavy detail about that, basically shunned?

The Maesters claim Alicent left Viserys' body to rot and swell for days preparing and LEADING Rhaenyra's usurpation. She's the leader of the Greens, she and she alone. Not Otto. The Green Council answers only to her orders, they are loyal to HER.

I've seen people argue that since Alicent is what Maesters view as an "ideal" woman, then they would try anything to paint her in the best light possible. While I agree that this may be true, I don't think this is the case. In history books, even in real life, women are rarely painted as leaders or important figures.

For Queen Alicent to be written as THE face of the Greens, you know this mama wasn't playing around.

Now, how is this:

In ANY WAY, even comparable to THIS?:

At the end of ep.8 and quite literally the entirety of ep.9, Alicent is shown as a lost woman who doesn't even seem to know what she's doing, pushed by Viserys' last words about prophecy rather than SHEER DESIRE to get her hands dirty for her children's safety (which by the way will always be superior imo). The Green Council conspires behind her back, and on top of it all, she's yelled at by one of her own men and is made to take it like a beaten dog.

Moreover, we had Helaena's ROAST (yes it was a roast, my Queen inherited cunty lines from her cunty mother) against Aegon and her coronation, the latter being addressed as something quite wholesome, if you ask me. Alicent places her own crown upon her daughter's head and calls her "my Queen" after kissing her cheeks and kneeling. Afterwards, her and Alicent are literally written to be the only ones who could get through Aegon II's thick skull when he wanted to start the war right then and there as a result of Rhaenyra crowning herself on Dragonstone.

You hear me??? Aegon sat down and fucking listened to the two women in his life. Not the Council, them. These two were dogwalking him, the KING, on the daily, how is that sexist writing on the Maesters' part????

Yet these things are nowhere to be seen in Ryan Condal and Sara Hess' "progressive" show. We got beaten dog Alicent and Helaena being nothing but a walking spoiler machine other than yet another instrument to paint Aegon as the big bad wolf and usurper. Not a single scene of them counseling Aegon.

Baela and Rhaena have nearly no lines or scenes that don't show them in the presence of the Strongs. They are seemingly okay with anything Rhae throws their way because it's Rhae. The one and only scene about Baela openly speaking to her grandma about her wish to fight for Rhaenyra was deleted.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra is stripped of her rage and thirst for vengeance, and instead made to negotiate for peace while in the books she was the one pushing to go to war first.

Can you tell me, again, how the fanfiction that is Hotd supposed to prove that they want to be "progressive" in contrast to the Maesters' "sexist" work, when literally all they do is whitewash Rhaenyra and sideline any woman who isn't her?

[mistymisfit]

So long, Marianne IV

Summary: Reader is a spy working undercover in Gotham when she meets Jason Todd, who despite her better judgement she forms a very close friendship with. This story follows their escape from Arkham asylum, their fall out and the times they run into each other as they get older.

Warnings: mentions of sex (but nothing smutty happens), mentions of past torture and sa!!, also one mention of Jason pushing reader's hair back but that's all that's said, no texture or anything specified.

Word Count: 4,1K

a/n: told myself i'd stop posting this series on tumblr and keep it only on ao3 but whatever, i'm having writer's block so idc

Read on ao3

Masterlist - Mobile masterlist

Your first thought is "what are we even doing anymore?" It's great to have him back in your life, but what the fuck is going on? Ever since you worked things out with him after what happened in Gotham, you started to sneak and meet him in secret. First, it was random hotels until he bought a few safe houses in the city. You never went to the same place twice. The safe houses would always switch after a while, he'd sell them and replace them. Out of the current ones, there was one of them uptown, then the other was downtown, and the third one was near the harbors.

You've been doing this for months, secretly meeting him in the dead of night every once in a while, and it'd always end up the same way. You see him, you get overwhelmed with how much you missed him and cry, then he'd wipe your tears off, and you'd sleep with him and leave. Frankly, you were growing a bit tired of it. He wasn't honest to you most of the time, wouldn't even tell you what he did when he was not with you. It didn't matter how great he was, it was exhausting being pushed away this much.

The first time you met him like this you cried, telling him all about how sorry you were for yelling at him like that, for saying all those things to him and leaving so cruelly. And he'd say he was sorry about locking you up and that he was a jerk- you agreed on that. To be fair, you were both wrong; you put yourself in danger going to Gotham that day, but it didn't give him the right to behave like that.

"Let go of me!" You had screamed when he picked you up, carrying you over his shoulder. "I swear to God, Ja-"

He cuts you off with a grunt before you can say his name. You trashed and kicked, but it was no match against his strength. Using your powers was out of the question, freezing him would only make it harder to escape his grasp. In between you cursing and yelling at him, he managed to walk to the military car so he could throw you into the backseat.

"Is this your fucking plan?" You were yelling as he opened the door "Have you lost your mind? You are giving him exactly what he wanted!"

"Shut the fuck up," He whispered angrily, putting a gloved hand over your mouth and hovering over you as you laid on your back. You looked around to see his men on the front seats quickly averting their gaze from you two. Of course, it was all about questioning his authority in front of them, it was fragile like that. "I don't want you to get hurt, so they're going to take you somewhere safe"

You took his hand off your face before saying "And I thought you were making decisions for yourself. Can't you see you're still his puppet? Just stop-"

"Enough, you are leaving. Now" You watched as one of his hands searched something in his pockets, handcuffs. It almost made you want to roll your eyes.

"Ja- Wait, what are you- stop it" You kicked him, trying to get out of his grasp "you're a fucking idiot, you're so brainwashed you can't see you're playing right into his trap"

"Quit it"

"Quit it? Let go of me!" You shrieked as he managed to bound your wrists behind your back. Then the anger got to you and you lowered your voice before you could say the meaner things you could come up with "You never left Arkham, huh? Figured I forgot a part of you there, left your humanity behind"

"Yeah, I'm a real monster sweetheart" He scoffs, and even over the modulated voice, you can tell the hurt in his voice, how much your words were affecting him. It made you feel bad for a second until you remembered how he was treating you.

"Clearly, you're not the person I thought you were." That's the last thing you say to him before he knocks his helmet against your head, rendering you unconscious so you wouldn't escape and ruin his plans.

You woke up with a killer headache and no idea how long you've been out or where you were. What you do know is that you're laying down on a mattress on the floor, no longer handcuffed and with an ice pack on your forehead right were Jason hit you. As you gradually regained consciousness, you started to check your whereabouts before you could move again. The room was dark, had no windows, and looking at the walls, you realized you were at some old, run down abandoned place. Panic quickly washed over you as you checked the state of your clothing; nothing was wrong with it, and you left out a sigh of relief.

You could hear voices outside, not outside the door but a bit further away. Moving as silently as you could, you walked towards the voices, going down a set of stairs and hiding behind a pile of wooden boxes as you tuned into the conversation a few meters away from you. It seemed to be some sort of weapon exchange, as most of you could make out of what they were saying was about either guns or ammo. You could only see the backs of some of Jason's men and not who they were talking to, but you recognized that voice as soon as you heard it. You took a step back, unknowingly knocking over some things and not being able to react and freeze them on time due to the shock. You'd drawn their attention to you now; neither Jason's nor Harley's goons were as fast as her to react.

"You!" She exclaimed in that high-pitched voice of hers, your heart felt heavy in your chest as it felt tighter and tighter and harder to get the air in and out of your lungs. You could feel the acid traveling from your stomach to your mouth and had to swallow down the need to puke."All grownup, Arkham's little princess!"

She kept talking as she walked closer to you, you shook your head saying no, unable to get any word out of pure fear; it had been years since you had felt that helpless. "Ah, you always healed so fast, not a scar on your pretty face, besides you know...that" Her cold fingers traced the tiny scar on the apple of your right cheek before you weakly pushed her hand off.

Your fingers went to your cheekbone, covering over the area you healed all those years ago, Jason didn't know about it. He didn't need to know about the acid burn scar you would have on your face had it not been for your powers.

"You used to be my cutesy dress up doll!"She laughed, grabbing a strand of your hair and twirling it "Remember when you wore my outfits? You looked so adorable!"

Then you remembered you were no longer tied up or keeping a cover or that you haven't been Marianne for a while. So with any and all the strength you could find, you raised your fist and delivered a swift and highly trained blow to her face. The silence that followed was deafening; the militia men were well instructed and had orders not to let anything happen to you, so they were ready to stop the situation from escalating. Stopping Harley's company from getting involved. She spat out blood and smiled, her twisted smile made your stomach turn once more. But you were free, or at least freer, so you grabbed one of her ponytails and smashed her head to the concrete wall. No longer putting up with the torture she put you through.

"What's wrong?" She teased, laughing through it "Didn't cha' miss me too? Cause I sure did! How much fun was it when I nailed your hand to-"

You let go of her hair only to push her away, making her stumble a few steps from you "Shut up, shut the fuck up!"

Then it's her laugh, that wicked, overly exaggerated high laugh that made you launch yourself again at her to fight her before you're stopped, dragged back by someone. You look up to see his expressionless helmet. He's been here this whole time? Didn't matter as you immediately started wriggling, trying to get out of his hold.

"Heal her" He ordered you, you jerk your arm out of his hand and take a few steps back, almost tripping. What? You looked up at him with eyes brimmed with tears begging to be shed and scared at how much he reminded you of him at that moment. It was like you went straight back to your captors, forcing you to heal and slow down his disease.

"No." your voice came out so low and shaky that you almost cringed at yourself.

"Stop causing me so much trouble and fix her face"

"You will not speak to me like that"

"I'll speak however I want, now do as you're told" He grabbed your face harshly; he didn't like the look in your eyes at all, or the fact that he successfully scared you into doing something you didn't want to. A whine escaped your lips as he gripped your jaw tighter, and only eased up once your eyes lit up. He could already feel the guilt eating him up, but his mind was dead set on carrying on with his revenge.

"Harley get you and your people the fuck outta here" He orders, before giving his men the same command. To leave you two alone.

"Gladly," She scoffs, holding her no longer broken nose "it was good to see ya' again"

"You're working with her?" you recriminated, shoving him and getting out of his grip once she left

"She works for me."

"Don't you dare touch me," you stepped back, raising your arms defensively when he tried to reach out for you "you heard her, you know what she did-"

"I'm using her, it's part of a plan"

"Did this big plan of yours really need her?" You sighed, wiping the tears that fell down your face; again, you found yourself crying over the same thing. Something you thought you had pushed down years ago. His silence gave you all the answers you needed

"Fine, I'm leaving"

"Wait a-" His hand caught your wrist.

"Let go of me," You struggled out of his hold "I don't even know who the fuck you are anymore. Working with her, all of them, you really are just one of the people you used to chase"

He opened his mouth to say something, not that you would know under the mask, but stopped when you added one last thing before you left. "You're just like him, and killing Batman won't fix the shell of a man you are"

Jason regretted what he did, his revenge plan didn't seem as important when he broke down after being unable to kill Bruce. He had him, but he didn't manage to pull it off. He lamented it especially when he needed you so badly to tell him it'd be okay and he wasn't a failure but you wouldn't, and now he'd probably lost that comfort forever due to his own doing.

He thought very differently. From his point of view, he was coming to you whenever he needed a decent sleep. It seemed this was the only way he could get at least an hour of useful rest, he thought fucking you was a way of making you hate him less. Maybe if he made you feel good, then you'd let him get close. It was his very fucked up way of saying he was sorry. This was the routine until tonight when he showed up incredibly injured, talking about some black mask character-- whoever that was. He had broken a few ribs and his nose; his body was poorly stitched in multiple places, and you were sure he had more wounds than those he admitted. It was a miracle he managed to leave Gotham to see you. Despite his insistence on being okay and that he was not in pain, you got to healing him.

"You have-"He whispers, wiping the blood off your nose.

"Oh it happens sometimes," You brush it off, taking the tissue from him. "do you feel better?"

"Mhm, thanks" He nods, cupping the back of your head with his hand and pushing you into a kiss.

"Wait, you should rest" You sighed "I haven't healed you completely "

"I know-" He smirks, kissing you again.

"Jay, I don't want to" You put your hand on his chest, trying to get some distance.

He sighs getting away from you and sitting as far as he could on the couch. Even if he was pissing you off, you've grown to appreciate seeing him in casual clothes. Right now, he was wearing a (way too tight) black shirt, his cargo pants as well as his boots were also black. He'd lost the leather jacket the second he walked through the door of the safe house, the safe house he'd bought to be able to meet you. You knew that with Jason you had to take what you could get, so you cherished seeing him dress like a normal person for the actual weather and not being covered from head to toe. You sigh back, rolling your eyes, and crawling to his side.

"Can't we just talk?" You whisper, tracing circles on his chest and hoping he wouldn't just get up and leave.

"Talk? " He chuckles in disbelief "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything" You shrug, but a smile creeps up your lips when he turns to see you.

"How was your day at work?" He teases, knowing you wouldn't tell him about that.

"Ugh," You complain, but when you try to get away from him he is fast to grab you and pull you flush to his chest "Jason, is this all that you want from me?"

"What do you mean?" He lets go of you enough so you can put your arms on him to prop yourself up to look him in the eye.

"Sex, Jay" You sigh exasperated "Do you visit me just 'cause you want to get laid?"

He's taken aback by your question; you wanted more from him? Also, is that what you think of him? And on your side, you can't decipher his expression. Sometimes you miss being 16 and knowing exactly what went through his mind. He used to be so easy to read, now it's like he's purposely closing off any and all information he didn't want to give to you willingly. You had your suspicions that he'd come see you just because it was easier for him than letting some random girl see his scars, you even doubted he went out at all for the very same reason. You figured maybe it was easier to let his guard down with you since you had already seen the worst of him and been through the same. Maybe it was just convenient that he was still in touch with his high school sweetheart.

He shakes his head no, regretting giving you that impression. His cheeks blushed thinking he was to blame for it, remembering how he broke into your apartment that night. He intended to apologize, in between his new activity as Red Hood, he'd found the time to search for you in Bludhaven like he was originally meant to before you found him first. He stood on the roof of a building in front of yours for weeks before he actually tried to contact you, going over and over again if you'd even want to know anything from him. Eventually, he grew a pair, missing you far outweighed the shame he felt.

"Shit," You cursed when you saw him standing on your apartment "you can't be here"

He was disappointed by your reaction, yet he knew he should be grateful you weren't greeting him with a punch to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but you immediately signaled him to stop. You looked around for a pen and paper and wrote down: meet me at the Harborview plaza 3 streets down. I'll get a room and leave the window open for you.

He agreed with a silent nod and left through your window, he made his way to where you told him to meet you. Jason knew he was in no position to question you and ask why wouldn't you want him in your apartment. He clearly knew where you lived, so keeping that a secret wasn't an issue. He expected yelling, cursing; Jason knew you never held back any words when mad at him. While overthinking your skittish behavior, he finally sees you open the window on a seventh floor. Of course, you couldn't have made it easy and asked for a room on the first floor, but then again he was the one taking you to the top of Gotham's skyscrapers so you could marvel at the view when you were 16.

"You shouldn't have gone there, we don't know if they're listening" You explained as soon as he came in through the window.

"I-uh,sorry" He's had months to think about what to say to you, but now that you're in front of him he's at a loss for words. No speech he had prepared came to his aid. "I didn't think about that"

He reaches for his bike helmet, undoing the buckle under his chin so he could drop it and see you. Or mainly so you could see him, maybe it was selfish of him, but he wanted someone to see him, look him in the eye and not be scared of him. Jason wanted to know if he could still count on you for that.

"I'm so sorry," You started to sniff as soon as you saw his face, wiping the tears with the sleeves of your sweater "I never should've said those things to you"

"No, I'm sorry"He finally took a step closer to you, pulling you in for a hug "I'd never forgive me if I were you"

"I don't think you're like him at all, I'm sorry I told you that" Your cries turned into sobbing, and suddenly you couldn't hold back any emotion anymore as you set the waterfalls of your eyes free. It was like a dam broke when you saw him, and everything you've been pushing down was now out in the open and you couldn't control it. He let you cry into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back to comfort you. After a while, when the sobbing didn't seem to calm down, he guided you to sit on the bed. Wiping the tears from your face with his thumbs. Kneeling down in front of you, he told you to take deep breaths, helping you relax.

"Baby," he whispered, kissing your knee over the jeans you wore "I keep fucking everything up with you, can you forgive me?"

You nodded, still tearing up and opening up your arms, so he'd come up and hug you. He does so, pushing your back to the bed and laying on top of you in the process. You're about to say you're sorry again when he kisses you. He stops, giving you a second to tell him to fuck off and looking for a response in your eyes. Lucky for him, you understood his silent question and nodded as your fingers ran through the back of his hair, and he lowered himself once more to kiss you saying, "I'm sorry, I'll never do that again to you"

So with Jason finding himself sleeping and waking up with more energy, your little rendezvous started. He's only realizing now that he has been giving you a wrong impression all this time. He sighs before, in a rare flash of vulnerability, he tells you what he thinks.

"I've been trying to make it up to you," his eyes dart to the floor, he's got every right to still be embarrassed about kidnapping you and what he made you do "make you hate me less"

The closest he's been to opening up like this was that one time when he had you wrapped under his arms, your skin touching his, and the question slipped from his overworked mind through his lips: "Are you scared of me?" You shook your head no, pressing a kiss to his scarred chest as you drifted off asleep. "No, no I'm not. We're okay," you had mumbled in response.

"I don't hate you, Jay" Music to his ears, he even contemplates asking you to say it again

"But you cry every time we meet"

"I-" You don't want to admit he has a great point, besides now that you think about it, this is the first time you ever said no to him "I have my reasons, besides you cry too, does that mean you hate me?"

"No" He defends himself, damn it, he thought he was hiding it well "I could never hate you, I love you no what ifs"

You smiled sweetly; that was what you said to him once. Many many years ago, when he was still Robin, it felt you were both completely different people from that distant memory where you told him "I love no what ifs, Jay". He had laughed then, now you doubted he would ever be that joyful again.

"Come on, you used to tell me everything," You encourage him "tell me something, anything"

"Anything?" He pushes your hair back, and you nod eagerly "You don't look like a Marianne, or a Penny, or any of your other aliases"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow in fake disbelief, you never felt those names suited you anyways"Does my real name fit me better?"

"Yes," He whispers with his hand cupping your cheek. Even if your situation is not the best or what he'd hoped for when you first met, he's still glad to have you around. Sometimes, he remembers all the dreams and plans he had and holds back from scoffing when he recalls how he already made his world spin around you before you even kissed.

"You know," Now your hand caresses his scarred cheek "my offer still stands, I can try to get rid of your scar if you want to"

He blinks, not knowing how to take your words. Did it bother you? Did it make you like him less? He takes your hand off his face, and with that, he withdraws the hand in yours. Your expressions turns sadder, he can tell, so instead, he opts to deflect the conversation as he usually does.

"Can I ask you something?" He changes the subject, and you nod, allowing him to do so even if it's exhausting at this point "Would you ever want to get out?"

"Jay-" you sigh, knowing where this conversation is headed. You couldn't leave with him, no matter how badly you wanted to. "You know I can't"

"I asked if you wanted, not if you could" He insists, secretly hoping you give him the answer he expects. Give him a sign of how important he is to you, he'd drop his Red Hood persona in a second if you asked. He's learned his lesson after being the knight, and he's been trying to redeem himself by taking out the bad guys in Gotham instead of working with them.

"Of course I want to but-"

"We could find a way out, I-" he doubts but decides to push through "want more than this"

"Hm, you want me to be your real girlfriend?" you hum, your expression softening and your shoulders relaxing as you played with his hair, him leaning into your touch which he finally learned to enjoy. "You'll finally take me out on a real date?"

"Yes, everything," He closed his eyes, relaxing even more. His tone also weakened, becoming almost a pathetic whimper as he made promises to you "whatever you want"

"You'll be honest with me?" You question, your free hand going to the other side of his face, making him look at you.

"Yes, I promise" He replies, holding your gaze "We'll work something out"

"Okay, I'll get you as much information as I can." You nodded, maybe you could hold onto the hope that he'd put his brain and abilities to good use and he could find the way out that you couldn't. Maybe two heads can think better than one alone.

[hoodedboy79]

Hey. I just saw your post of the idea to write about Assassins Creed. It’s lovely to see someone who would write about the Assasins, like Bayek (he doesn’t get enough love). I don’t have anything particular in mind but I’d love to see some/or reactions of some kind of Bayek, Arno and/or any you feel comfortable with. Have a nice day :))

Being Best Friends With Them: Bayek, Arno & Jacob.

Just to start off with I'm sorry this took so long for me to do but I've got major writers block atm so these might be ass but I tried. Also Arno might be extra ooc cuz I only brought Unity a few days ago when it went on sale and haven't done more than the beginning yet so apologies in advance 😅

================

Bayek

• The most loyal, lifelong friend you're ever going to get right here.

• Even if you two don't see each other as often anymore after Bayek became a Medjay and started a family.

• Talking about him starting a family, you were one of the first people he told when he found out Aya was expecting.

• Invites you over regularly to eat dinner with him and his family, along with Hepzefa and Rabiah if they are free.

• He loves that his closest people get on so well.

• You accompanying him, Khemu and Chenzira on their hunting trips.

• As much as he wants to confide in you after Khemu's death and Aya's departure, he can't bring himself to. Not only because he doesn't want to speak about it when the wound is so fresh but he doesn't want to burden you with his feelings.

• So he doesn't say much to you before leaving to track down the Heron.

• When he eventually returns, and is in a slightly better headspace than before he left, he was happy to see you, and Hepzefa, waiting for him.

• You two have a lot to catch up on.

Arno

• Will silently judge every stupid decision you make, his face tells you exactly what he wants to say though to the point it doesn't feel as 'silent' anymore.

• He will help you clean up and or defend you from the consequences of said stupid decision though.

• The type to have clothes made for you, regardless of your social status.

• Depending on your personality, there's going to be a LOT of disagreements between you two due to Arno's stubbornness (and yours, potentially) but he's willing to come to a compromise with you after enough back and forth, he probably won't admit if he was wrong though.

• Arno never truly gets over Élise and has times where his grief rears it's head, sometimes he'll allow you to comfort him even if it's just by sitting in the same room in silence while you both get on with your own things or other times he'll avoid everyone completely and try to keep himself busy with random tasks till he feels ready to see people again.

• Would like to visit the theatre with you occasionally or just relax for once and have a discussion about art or the newest plays.

• Gossip duo 💅🏻

Jacob

• Sheer pandemonium.

• You two together brings the fear of God into people.

• Spending hours with him in the pub, whether it be indulging in drinking games, playing Whist (don't worry he won't drown you in the river if you beat him) or just chatting with the Rooks, Jacob will make sure you enjoy yourself and hopefully get you to stay just another hour (and buy another round).

• Tells Maxwell about you and eventually invites you to accompany them on one of their random outings.

• We all know how that eventually ends.

• Both of you teasing Evie about Henry. Jacob will definitely turn on you though if he finds out you are courting someone/being courted, it isn't just Evie he's willing to tease.

• He would find out as much as he could about the person that you're interested in, especially if their the one trying to court you. He's been betrayed by people close to him before and doesn't want you to go through the same thing if he can help it.

• He'll make almost everything a (friendly) competition with you; Who can climb this building faster? Who can kill the most Blighters in this random street fight? Who can escape the police quicker?, things like that. Evie will even sometimes join in, which usually ends with the twins bickering after she wins.

• You and Jacob really do share the same braincell at times fr.

==============

I haven't done any hc's in a hot minute and I can see why lol. Maybe I'll rewrite these one day or add to it I dunno.

[radioisntdead]

Nothing's new

Velvette x reader

Warnings: I don't know what this is, but the reader's heels are broken!

Song used

You never thought you'd end up in hell with your girlfriend, you never thought you'd be dragged along for the ride as she climbed the ranks, and you certainly didn't think that she'd leave you like this, stranded outside a club in the acidic rain, broken heels in hand, and phone nearly dead, after what you could only describe as the worst argument you'd ever had.

I wanna be touched, be loved

You should've seen this coming, there were signs, there were signs right? you had rose tinted glasses on? Or was there truly no warning? The two of you had spats before but nothing like this.

I wanna heal, be hugged

You walked down the hellish streets, looking at your relationship over and over again in your brain, painstakingly combing over them looking for anything you could've missed.

It's just the two of us, or that's what we swore

You and Velvette were together for....

honestly you lost track of how many years, you were together the day the two of you died in a texting and driving accident, the two of you died rather young, only in your twenties, and the two of you were together throughout your entire hellish stay.

You could still remember her hand holding yours as she dragged you though the pride ring, assuring you that it'd be alright as the two of you tried to figure out what to do now.

And if I've lost my charm, apologies due, no harm

And now she tossed you out like a toy that she didn't want it anymore.

You tried calling her, hoping that she'd answer, that maybe things could still be fixed, that maybe she'd regret her decision and come back for you.

That at the end of all this you'd be curled up together in bed, warm, dry and not at risk from whatever acidic rain does to you.

'Cause you've got a hold of my heart and I know it's worn

She doesn't pick up, no matter how many times the phone rings.

Deep down you know that everything has ran it's course, it's over.

So, won't you please spare me indignity?

You let out a bitter laugh as your phone turns off mid dial, the last thing you see from it is Velvette's contact picture.

And won't you please give me some decency?

The day started off like usual, Velvette's ungodly alarm went off, dragging you away from sleep like how a mother cat yoinks her kitten away, and untangled yourself from Velvette.

And won't you please call it if our time is through?

You made two cups of coffee for the two of you, [and left some for the other two Vees if they wanted a cup, you hoped Valentino burned himself.]

Paired with a breakfast that'd give the two of you energy throughout the day, the two of you talked about the days plans as you did your morning routines then separated for the work day.

'Cause I know that we fall apart when nothing's new

The two of you made plans that night to go check out a new club that opened up recently, and so you picked out your best outfit for the occasion along with your favorite heels, the exact ones that were now broken in your hand.

'Cause if we are near to through,

Nothing's new

Then when the two of you went to the damned thing your girlfriend was in awe because of the singer on the stage singing Bon Jovi songs, the performer even put their hand under her chin in a rather intimate style, and of course you got a little jealous.

I want to be close to you, but I don't know what to do

Honestly it was nothing new, she'd glance at other people, as would you.

It would lead to bickering, and the bickering would lead to unholy shenanigans that the writer of this fanfic does not want to go into detail on or when they got more hostile then the two of you liked, the two of you would separate for maybe a day or two, you had a separate apartment to go whenever these happened.

But this time, you guess it just hit a sore spot or maybe things had finally hit the limit.

Maybe it was inevitable that something like this would happen, maybe it was only a matter of time before this love of yours failed.

'Cause if we are near to through

You remember how everything started with Velvette, she was a fashion major and you were studying something else, the two of you met at some college party, you got her number and the two of you went on a couple of dates.

It may make it worse, and if I start to grieve

From movie theater date nights followed by a nice dinner to just simply joining the other two run errands, Oh how you missed those days when it was much simpler.

'Cause it feels you're 'bout to leave

You sighed as you got to the argument apartment, you slid the key into the door and opened it into the empty apartment, it was decent, much more dialed back then the room you shared in the vees tower, the walls were painted pale pink, white couches, and a matching pink rug covered the hard wood floor.

Forgive me, I'm not naïve, I've been here before

You made a beeline to the shower discarding your ruined clothes, and hopping straight into the warm shower, letting the water clean off the acidic rain.

So, won't you please spare me indignity?, and won't you please give me some decency?

Maybe it was for the better that it seemed the relationship was coming to an end, the two of you weren't good for each other, not anymore.

And won't you please call it if our time is through? 'Cause I know that we fall apart when nothing's new

You made up your mind up that once you charged up your phone, you'd officially end things with Velvette, hoping that maybe things would end smoothly.

Nothing's new, nothing's new, nothing's new

Unfortunately though, when you got out of that shower, Velvette was waiting for you, holding your dead phone in hand.

Nothing's new,

Like a child coming back for her toy.

nothing's new, Nothing's new, nothing's new,

Nothing's new, nothing's new, Nothing's new, nothing's new, Nothing's new, nothing's new

And that would be birth of a cycle of shitty behaviors from both parties, harsher fights that were publicized, messy break ups that left you swearing that that'd be the end, only to end up back in her bed two days later.

Nothing's new

Dark lipstick stains left on your skin and bleeding marks left on hers.

Please spare me indignity, and won't you please give me some decency?

With every time you came back to her you swore it'd be the last, but like any other addiction it was hard to stop, and eventually you would.

And won't you please call it if our time is through?

After getting ditched in the rain a couple times too many, and thrown aside for something more shiny and new.

'Cause I know that we fall apart when nothing's new

But for now you'd be by her side, drenched like a wet puppy dog, with your phone dead, heels broken and wrapped within her arms.

Nothing's new

GOOD EVENING FOLKS I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WROTE I was going to a thing then I got ideas that will be chopped up and given to other fics, editing will be my downfall.

Anywho thank you for tuning in! Goodnight folks!

[0daylighthours0]

(part 2) A Deep Dive into Milkvan and Byler's Development: If Milkvan's Destined Endgame, Why's it Written Like This???

The decision to confirm Will to be in love with MIKE is wild, and I'll tell you why.

When you add a third party to a t.v show relationship, if the first relationship isn't perfect, people gunna start rooting for the third party. Take Stancy for instance.

Throughout s2, we got the vibes that Jonathan held feelings for Nancy. This was clear. But Nancy was still with Steve. This means, in order for us not to sympathize more for Jonathan, Nancy and Steve gotta be ✧ tight ✧. I mean, their issues must be kept at a low, and at the end of the day it's gotta be clearer to us that Nancy does in fact love Steve. Welp, that wasn’t the case. Stancy's relationship ✧ struggled ✧, justifying intimate moments between Nancy and Jonathan - making us feel as if he'd be better for her after all. A smart writing choice, as Duffers intended Jancy as season 2's endgame pairing.

Now, I'd like to point out the foreshadowing of this development.

Come the wrapping up of s1, and it seemed Nancy had retreated back to Steve.

They'd clearly reconciled and - to an outsider - all would appear to be going smoothly. But us as the audience know that not to be the case.

One reason? Well, she'd just shared a suggesting moment with Jonathan.

So our minds weren't on Steve and this show of his with Nancy. Rather, we read into Nancy's slight discomfort, and wondered if perhaps she'd prefer being with Jonathan instead.

This was of course intentional. I'd like to briefly bring to attention the similarities in these moments to ones at the end of s3 - between Mike and Will, and then Mike and El.

Here a conclusion to milkvan's seasonal drama is made, them seemingly staying together, parting on good terms. Hm. And milkvan's moment is.. kinda like stancy's. They got back together because, well, El said she loves Mike. And Steve loves Nancy. And Mike loves El right? The way Nancy loved Steve- But just, coincidentally, we have byler's reconciliation too.

This came before the guy's makeup with El, because, why? This was quite the interesting decision mates. It means that whilst he spends that moment with his girlfriend, our minds are fresh off of Will. People might read into the way he's acting in contrast, just maybe, the way they did during stancy. And people did. That's a bit of a fumble on the writers' part, if you ask me. I know you're trying to let us know that Mike's now on good terms with both members, and his and El's goodbye needs to be the dramatic finishing of the season, but, man, did byler even have to make up at all here you guys? I mean this miscommunication of theirs lasts through to s4 (just like janc-). Why not sort their good terms out later or earlier on, so that we have more mindspace here to focus solely on milkvan, our main main? Or at least, why not just have Mike apologize to Will and be done with it? He could even apologize alongside Lucas, making the moment less personal. And Will could simply forgive him, give a dudely pat it out, and that's it. We wash our hands.

But nah. There's this electricity in the air. The swelling music, the prolonged looks, this doesn't.. seem like a simple make up. It's startlingly short, making us feel as if there have been things left unsaid. And that line,

".. Not possible."

It's so... implying. What do you mean? Why are you looking at eachother like that? What am I meant to get from this scene?

And it isn't a closing reconciliation either, they haven't properly ended their season's drama. I mean no one even apologized for the argument, we're just sort of left with this. Left with the hint of a story that might be further explored - their moment coming off more as anticipation for what's to come than a conclusion. Maybe just a bit like Jonathan and Nancy s1.

But so what? That does not have to mean anything romantic between them is to be told. After all, El just expressed to Mike that she loves him. This means that these sweethearts are practically fortold as endgame, right?

Alright I'll stop stalling.

Season 4.

So. Will is in love with Mike now. Huh. Well, I don't recommend this. As I said, you risk people rooting for Will beyond their hopes for Mike and El as a couple. If this is a plotline you desire, it has to be navigated with precision. So this means that milkvan must be on their A game. Struggle between them has got to be handled delicately. As we see in stancy, and as we saw in s3, just making up at the end of it all isn't good enough. You can risk this mistake once, but we must like these guys together throughout season 4, more than we sorrow for Will. Infact, Will's feelings must not be made too big of a deal. Mike and El are going to stay together, so we should feel a bit sorry for him, but not gather any hope that things will actually work out to his favour.

Like Dustin in s2. He sprouted small feelings for Max, and so did Lucas. Lumax were the endgame, so Dustin's feelings were craftly navigated and not made more important than Max and Lucas' bond. We don't really feel that Dustin is in love with Max, moreso that he likes her and has some moments of jealousy aimed at Lucas. Noone really wanted him with her more than they rooted for Lumax, though we did sympathize for him and feel bad for him regardless.

So yeah, this can easily be written out for Will too. If his story's purpose is meant for the exploration of a gay kid navigating a still homoph#bic time, then there's a lot that can be done without even having to spare much screen time between him and Mike. Focus on his fear of judgement from Jonathan moreso maybe, or have Argyle say something - it can be whatever, mention something homoph#bic, mention something not homoph#bic and give Will hope, whatever - which sets off a thought or idea for Will that prepares his arc for the season.

Back to Mike and El - so we want a 'scared to say "I love you"' subplot. That's good, that good. Fleshes out Mike, plays into El's fears. Shouldn't be too hard.

There's already a mild problem though. This plot is playing out twice at once. We have our boy Will hosting this same fear of rejection by Mike - at least that's how things have been shot. His dread is portrayed through his restraint and timidity in revealing his painting to Mike. Will's painting is basically his version of a confession - the guy too selfless, shy and afraid to express his love outright.

So playing out this storyline at the double is.. a choice. I mean, Mike telling El he loves her is a big deal for the milkvans, shouldn't this romance dominate as much screen time as possible in order to be fully pumped up without any sidetracks to other insignificant in comparison feelings? S3 was already quite clumsy, why not have Mike and El's activities soak in all viewers' engrossment without any departures? Maybe spend a bit of time demonstrating how likeable and wholesome they actually are together. Now that we have Will's affection ontop it all, what's important is that Mike and El's camera time spent matters. They can be angsty, they can withhold some misunderstandings, but they still have to be a good. couple.

Oh yeah, also, Mike should blatantly display feelings for El and El only - duh.

.

..

huh ?

huh ? ? ?

[kiiecarrera]

it's been a week and i guess it's finally my turn to talk about outer banks season 4 and That Plot. brought to you by me reading the article on netflix's website here, specifically this part:

"Once they talked about it with Pankow, Jonas Pate says that Rudy embraced the “powerful way to end” the character’s journey. The co-creator remembers a great line that Chip Esten (who plays Ward Cameron) shared: “You got to end well. Your character’s got to end well.” "

it is absolutely insane to me that they would bring up chip and try to use that as some kind of connection to validate their decision to kill jj. they're not comparable at all.

on one hand we have ward cameron who was a bad guy. we saw that he was corrupted by power and greed and it made him a terrible person for the first two and a half seasons. when he died, it made sense. he died saving sarah's life, choosing his daughter over the gold and redeeming himself to her because that was what was important to him. it gave him peace and closure and brought his story full circle. what else was there for him to do? go to prison for killing peterkin, since he had taken the fall or go into hiding with a new identity? neither of those are satisfying endings.

on the other hand we have jj maybank. he's a kid who has been abused his entire life, judged for the family he's from and struggled with his self worth. after season three and the timeskip (which imo was dumb because it left so much unseen/untalked about for all the characters that were important) we're lead to believe that he has grown past all of that. he's built a stable home for himself and been given a chance to actually be happy. all of that is completely destroyed in season four. instead of showing any growth at all, he actually goes backwards and we see him spend the last weeks (days? the timeline on this show makes no sense to me) of his life getting drunk, treating his friends like crap, being emotionally neglected by his friends (which is a whole other issue because every single character this season was out of character, imo) and just generally having a bad time only to snap out of it for seemingly no reason. then when he's back on the right path (again, for no reason or on screen development) he's killed pointlessly by one of his abusers. he didn't die protecting anyone and he didn't die doing anything reckless despite what the writers keep trying to say. he died for no reason and as a character he didn't deserve that.

and honestly, storywise it makes no sense either. what plot is this driving forward? they need to get revenge on a character we just met eight episodes ago and don't really know anything about? why was that needed? also why did they bother making jj a genrette if it wasn't going to be relevant to anything in the long run? why are we supposed to give a fuck what happens to goat island now? part one felt like a completely different show because it really felt like it was shaping up for jj to get an inheritance, to get out of luke's shadow and be able to figure out who he was as himself, not as his family name and clearly that didn't happen. i don't see where we can go from here in ten episodes that make any of this satisfying or give any of the characters (especially kiara) the ending that they deserve.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 9

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy starts to feel like a hostage but she comes to a decision.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Natasha and Jake were unwilling to let me spend a minute of my day alone. When they were at work, I was hanging out with Penny, and if they were being kept late at work or had something else to do, another member of the Daggers was glued to my side. Right now, I was sitting on Rooster and Jake’s couch, playing Call of Duty with Rooster.

“Get him, get him, get him!” Rooster shouted as I aimed up my shot,

“I got him!” The headshot announcement flashed across the top of the screen. “Hell yeah!” We fist bumped as the round ended,

“You’re pretty good at this, Daisy.” Rooster stood, stretching. We had spent the last hour playing round after round without moving and my back was starting to ache. “Want another beer?”

“Yes, please,” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, checking my phone. I had a missed call from Harvey and I swiped away the notification. I couldn’t talk to him before I made my decision on what I was going to do about Rudolph Lance or else I’d spill the beans and kick myself for it. “Actually, I think I’m going to go home.”

“No can do, Hangman and Phoenix will skin me alive if I let you leave before they get off.” I groaned, their love for me was undeniable, but the suffocating feeling was growing stronger with every hour that passed since the FBI knocked on my front door.

“I’m tired,” I complained, Rooster misunderstood me, pointing down the hallway.

“Second door on the left, take a nap.” The refusal was on the tip of my tongue but then it dawned on me that this would be the perfect moment to get some alone time. I feigned a yawn,

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks for babysitting me, Roo,” He laughed, cracking open another beer.

“Listen, I realize we’re practically kidnapping you every day against your will and you’re trying to be a good sport about it but maybe once this whole situation is over, we can hangout and not have it be a hostage situation.”

Now I was laughing, a reaction that had been rare over the last few days. Rooster was a pretty good guy, I could see why he was friends with two of the most important people in my life. He could handle a serious situation but he didn’t take himself seriously, and he was a man who could see a need and meet it without being asked.

“If it means anything, you’re my favorite kidnapper so far, Roo.” It was true, he hadn’t given me any sad, pleading expressions, and had been prepared with a family sized bag of M&Ms and a twenty-four pack of beer. “Don’t tell Bob, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Rooster laughed, “Now go, be alone for a few minutes.”

It was my first time in Jake’s room, I realized opening the door. He had been spending almost every night at my place instead and if he wasn’t in my bed, Natasha was. You get campus security called on you for a wellness check once in college and suddenly no one trusts you to be alone when things get hard. Ridiculous.

Jake’s room was neat and tidy, with green, plaid sheets on the bed, a cowboy hat on the dresser, and nothing on the walls. Men, I rolled my eyes at the lack of decorations. Maybe he’d let me buy a few things to hang up on the walls to make it a little more homey. I pushed out of my pajama pants and climbed into the right side of the bed out of habit, even though the left side had been my preferred side of the bed before meeting Jake, he had insisted on taking it because it was closer to the door.

The bed smelled like Jake’s cologne and it had me relaxing into the pillows, stretching out like a cat in the sun. I needed to figure out what I was going to do and the process of doing that had to start at the beginning. I pulled up the Wikipedia page on Rudolph Lance and read until I couldn’t see through the tears.

Rudolph Lance has admitted to ten murders and was convicted on January 13th 2002. His modus operandi (MO) was to stalk young couples, break into their homes, and torture them with a knife before ultimately shooting them in the head. While on trial, Lance pleaded guilty to the murders of ten people but did not provide details on his motive.

The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit released a statement during their search for the killer stating that they believed he was motivated by a sense of excitement surrounded by the torture itself, which is why he did not spend more time on the murder itself [citation needed].

I remembered every minute of that night. My therapist had said that some victims of trauma tend to either suppress memories or remember them vividly. I was sadly part of the second group. When Rudolph Lance broke into our house, Harvey had been upstairs, sound asleep with a Beethoven CD playing on loop, which had drowned out all of the noises our parents made that night.

I had been playing hide and seek with my dad and had chosen the closet of their bedroom, its slatted doors had given me a clear view of every cut and stab Lance had inflicted on my parents. He had focused on my mother, taking his time with each of the cuts to draw out the pain. I knew there was nothing I could do, I didn’t have a cell phone and Lance never left the room to give me a chance to escape and go for help. It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t save them.

The white carpet had been soaked red and when I ran to them, after hearing the front door shut, I found myself stained red. Our phone line had been cut, so I gathered Harvey in my arms, covered his eyes, and ran to our neighbors, banging on their door until Mr. Greene opened it with a shotgun in his hands.

The FBI questioning had been rough but the trial was even worse. The child advocate had done my hair in pigtails, which was a tad annoying as a twelve year old, and even though I could recall the entire event and clearly identify Rudolph Lance as my parent’s killer, the judge had decided that there was not enough physical evidence to move to a trial.

It had been the second worst day of my life. I was left with no answers and no resolution. Just a baby brother who didn’t understand that our parents weren’t coming back, a great uncle who didn’t know how to raise kids, and stories in my head begging to be put on paper.

If I agreed to speak with Lance, then I would get answers. The answers I had been chasing for over a decade and so would other families. He wanted to torture me, that’s what the FBI had said. I wasn’t naive enough to think that everything would go right and I would leave the prison with a smile on my face while a rainbow painted the sky. There was going to be a price to pay and whether I was willing to or not, I was the only one who could cash the check.

X

I was antsy to get back to Daisy. Maverick had been doing his best to accommodate the situation but he couldn’t just give me and Phoenix a month off of work to handle it. The squad had been a blessing, helping Phoenix and I watch over her. Phoenix hadn’t told us why she was so worried about Daisy being alone but I wasn’t complaining about being ordered not to leave Daisy’s side by her best friend.

“Hey, buddy.” Rooster greeted me, standing in the kitchen with a beer. I glanced around, not spotting Daisy anywhere but before I could panic, Rooster pointed down the hall. “She’s taking a nap but Hangman,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Daisy’s dying for some time alone.” My knee jerk reaction was that that was not going to happen. But it made sense. Daisy was a homebody who enjoyed being left alone and we had been watching over her like hawks.

“I’ll talk to her,” He passed me his beer and I took a sip before passing it back. “How was she today?”

“She was fine, she’s a pro at Call of Duty, and she tried to make a run for it.” I froze, “But before you have a heart attack, remember that she’s currently asleep in your bed.” Right. That was a good point.

“Can you figure out dinner while I talk to her?”

“I’ve got your back, man.”

The sight of Daisy curled up in my bed was enough to make my chest feel lighter than it had in days. Her pajama pants were abandoned in the middle of the floor, which I folded and put on the desk. It felt good to have her in my space but it didn’t feel right. My room was far too spartan for her, she didn’t belong there, but I wanted her to.

My belt buckle hitting the floor woke up and she stretched out in bed, making a growly noise that made me smile.

“Hey, babe,” Daisy smiled, patting the space in bed beside her. “How was work?” The moment was so domestic it made my heart burst with happiness.

“It was good, there’s talk we’re going to be getting another big mission in a few months.” She nodded, blinking sleepily at me. “I heard you had fun with Rooster, baby.” I slid into bed beside her, bringing her in for a kiss. Daisy responded, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Roo’s a good hostage taker,” She snuggled her face into my neck. Hostage. That word left a bitter taste in my mouth, is that how she saw herself?

“Are we suffocating you, baby?” Daisy sighed, kissing my collar bone.

“I know it’s with love,” Love.

“Lots of love,” I promised, my hand settling on her bare waist. “But if you need space and you promise me you’re not going to do whatever Phoenix is worried about, all you have to do is ask.”

“A few hours of alone time won’t kill me,” Daisy began playing with the hairs at the nape of my neck, pulling her head back so that she could look at me. “She’s worried I’m going to isolate myself and lock you all out.” I tightened my grip on her and she rolled her eyes at me, “I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”

“Rooster said you tried to run for it earlier,” Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“Maybe he’s not my favorite babysitter anymore.” I laughed, kissing her forehead. “But don’t worry. I’m not running from this or you,”

“Good.”

“I’m going to do it,” She whispered with a frown. “I’m going to talk to him.” Pride and terror filled me in equal measure. She was going to do a very brave thing, one that would wreak havoc on her emotions, but I would be there by her side. That’s what I had to focus on. She was going to be fine because me, Phoenix, and the rest of the squad were going to be by her side the whole time.

“I’ll go with you.” Daisy kissed me, nudging her knee between my legs. I slid my hand to her ass, relishing the feeling as she moaned into my mouth. The door burst open, sending us apart.

“Please have clothes on,” Rooster shouted, standing in the doorway with his hand over his eyes.

“Roo!”

“What the hell, man?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Daisy groaned, pulling the comforter over her head. Rooster, still covering his eyes, “Thought you’d want to know. How’s the alone time, Daisy?”

“Go away, Roo.” He grinned,

“Sounds like it’s going good.”

“Want me to kick his ass, baby?” I whispered through the blanket, kissing her head. Daisy laughed,

“Can we eat dinner in bed?”

“Whatever you want,”

“Can I join?”

“No!” We shouted together, Rooster laughing his way out of the room.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @cinderellasmissingshoes @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink

[naofaun]

i see people asking what morro's appeal to the fandom is, and after some thought, i think i realised what it is.

it's the tragedy of his entire story, from start to finish. the helplessness of it all, the grief, the longing, the parts of your past that haunt you forever (ghost pun not intended).

you look at morro and you don't see the big scary monster that the writers painted him as. you see a boy, a child, who spent his entire life pursuing one single goal that was just barely out of reach. you see a child who died for that goal suffocated in toxic fumes, who lost his home and family and safety for that goal.

we don't know why he was cursed. but as if he hadn't been through enough agony, as if the world hadn't broken this child enough, he wound up in a realm flooded with evil. his mind couldn't handle the trauma of what happened. as if he wasn't fixated enough, his desire became stronger.

he wanted nothing more than to prove himself.

you can see it in the way he talks and acts. he doesn't care about taking over. he doesn't care about the preeminent's goals. if anything, dying in that cave on that night made him all the more determined to prove himself worthy.

he had so much anger, so much terrible sadness in him that he didn't know what to do with it. he had to blame someone. the only person he could reasonably reflect his agony onto was sensei wu, the only man to ever help him.

he came back to ninjago years and years later. the person who got the green gi was no more than a little boy, who had never been trained like he was. who never spent years and years of his life pursuing this goal, dedicating everything to it. hell, he didn't even want it?

even his defeat was tragic. you can see him panicking, doing everything he can to escape destiny. destiny will always wrap its chains around him once more though, because he was finally dragged down to the depths. once more, he would fail his goal. once more, he would watch everything he dedicated himself to simply fade away before his very eyes.

he could have saved himself. he could have taken wu's hand, dragged himself onto that dragon and started a new life.

but he didn't want to. i love the “morro takes wu’s hand and redeems himself” aus as much as the next person, but he didn't want to. he made the active decision to shove the crystal in wu's hand and let death take him once more.

because in the end, he'd lost so much that living wasn't worth it anymore. his goal was never going to be achievable. he was never going to be truly happy. he never learned how to stop and appreciate life, how to love himself and reach his true sense of self like the rest of the ninja.

he died before he could reach his true potential, guys. that dragon was not his, it was lloyd’s. he died before he even got the chance.

unlike the ninjago villains both before and after him, morro has genuine emotion and life to his story. he's not bad for the sake of being bad. he's not just another enemy for lloyd garmadon to defeat. he's a kid who got in over his head, who wasted away trying to break free of his own fate. and he failed.

if anyone reading this has seen day of the departed, then you know morro came back only long enough to warn sensei wu of what was coming for him. the other villains immediately picked up their weapons and scurried off to cause mayhem for the sake of it, but morro was different. he changed. he let go of his grief and accepted his role in the world.

he helped the ninja despite his prior hatred for them (although i truly believe it was jealousy fueled by insecurity and grief, not hatred). sure, he taunted wu a little at first, but you could tell that it was nothing more than a little fun. he was a boy again, he was okay again. there was no reason for him to hurt anyone. he's moved on.

no one knows what happened to him in the departed realm, or why he healed and the other villains didn't. i don't think i want to know, though. it doesn't matter. all that matters is the fact that he's better now.

so, yes. unlike the other ninjago villains, morro’s story is so painfully and breathtakingly human. he has emotion and development that no other antagonist like him got to have. or at least, it certainly didn't feel as raw as his did.

[harrysmimi]

The Missing Co-writer

Synopsis: Harry doesn't feel to hide anymore

CW: Loads of fluff and sliver of a cute little drunkrry.

Series Masterlist | More of my work

Guess what?!

YN got an offer to write along with one of the most genius and know artist of her generation. Harry couldn't be more proud of his fiance!

Well, she took up on the offer just because how much she loved writing music with her Harry. He won Album of the year, for the album they both wrote together. Kinda. But there many songs he wrote with her which his fans love so much. That's what he wants, his fans to enjoy what he makes.

When Jeffery told YN about this offer she contemplated it like every life decision she has to make. Harry on the other hand was just so stubborn on getting her to agree on this because one, she loved to do it the first time around, two, she's got a fucking degree in music, and three, she get paid for it, which she so deserves. She didn't get paid it the first time around, well, she didn't wanted to.

She was there with him at the Grammy's, though she insisted on staying away from the cameras. Harry respected her decision to do so.

They had a great night afterwards at the after party. He introduced YN to all of his closest friends in the industry, the ones he knows would respect his privacy and not talk about this publicly.

But today, he missed her like hell!

He was at the Brit awards. Nominated for four of the categories. But his love was away to work on this new project she seemed so excited for.

He doesn't want to hold her back so, when he told her he was having a great time preparing for the award show... he lied. Whilst she wouldn't be able to make it back home in time, he doesn't want her to be lost and feel guilty for anything. He's sure she'll be watching him on the TV anyway. At the end, he gets to have her all to himself and celebrate all over again for achivement he got for the work they did together.

He asked Gemma to go with him, lile he did last time and she did agree. They were having a good time but he still missed his YN there. All three times he mentioned people who helped him write this album so special to his heart, he contemplated on mentioning her name. Not because he doesn't feel like he should or anything of the stupid reason, just because he wants to keep her protected so badly!

YN already got enough hate, even though people don't know her name, who she is, what she does, what she is like in person. No one deserves that.

Yes, he did kissed Lewis Capaldi drunkenly but he knows YN will be laughing more when they're reunited by in three days.

With a drink in his hand and his phone in the other, he made a treck to the bathroom. He wanted to call her and talk to her. He needed to.

One ring...

Two ring...

Three...

"Hello Hazza!" Her happy voice chirped through the call.

"Hi, baby." Harry smiled with his phone held upto his ear. He could hear the award show playing in the background from her side.

"I am so proud of you, Harry. Three put of four, and you got to kiss Lewis!" She gasped in pure joy. "Not gonna lie, Niall is going to be real mad at you and it did made a tiny bit jealous."

That earned a giggle from him, "I'm sorry about that. I miss you so much, I wish you were here with me baby." His voice wavered as his eyes got teary. "We did this together. For the first time, this is happening to me and couldn't be more proud of us. I wanted to call you up and say how much I love you. I fucking love you so much, YN. Without you this wouldn't have been possible. Thank you for being my muse and my rock throughout these years. I'm gonna need this till my heart stops pumping inside me chest. I know how right of s decision I made by asking you to marry me. I want you to know how I appreciate you for everything you do, even though I don't mention you tonight in any of my speeches. I just want to protect you."

"I know you do love me Harry," YN sighed on the other side. He was sure she's crying too by now, "I know you appreciate me, and you exactly know why. They say 'don't meet your heros', but I'm so fucking glad I did! I wish I was there with you too. You don't have to mention me any of your speeches to tell me how you about us. I'd have it just between you and I."

"I just don't want you to feel left out, my love. Because you're not." Harry sniffled. "Also, I don't want to hide anymore. I want to be able to hold you close and not worry about being photographed, and, and want to kiss you wherever we are. Want to brag about how amazing my love is! I truly do. But I want to protect you, you already get enough slack for choosing to stay by my side."

"I know but we can't control it, can we now?" He could hear her sniffle on the other side, "I want you to do what you want to. Not going to hold you back, we can get through anything and everything together, right?"

"Mhmm." He nodded to himself. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much!" She reciprocated, "now tell me the truth, you're crying because you're drunk right?"

"Hey!" He whined just to hear her soft giggles from the other side, "you're a meanie!"

"No, I'm not!" She teased him, "stay safe Hazza, I'll be home day after tomorrow."

"Mhmm, I'd stay longer and talk to you hut Jeffery is calling me now." He shared. "Maybe I'll skip the party later."

"No, I want you go. Please Harry?" She requested, "I don't want to skip on anything because pf me. You already don't go out when you're home."

"Okay." He sounded. "I love you!"

"I love you more." She chuckled. It was like almost the tenth time he's saying that to her.

"This is not a compitition but," he slurred, "I love you more!"

"Okay, you win."

"See it wasn't that hard to agree, was it?"

"Hmm, I think you would be in trouble as Jeffery is texting me to ask you to get off the call they're about to announce Album of The Year." She shared.

"Fuck! I should go." He sighed.

"Mhmm, I'll see you soon."

"See you baby, be safe okay?"

"You too, Harry." He could hear her smile through the phone, "and no, I wasn't going to admit, it's a fact I love you more. Bye!" And the call went dead before he could argue.

......................................................................

"And the winner is..." Stanley Tucci opened the envelope to announce the winner, "Harry Styles."

Harry was ecstatic. Hugging Gemma and fist bumping everyone on his way to the stage.

"There is literally no one I love more in this world than Stanley Tucci. Thank you very much!" Harry chuckled as he looked at his award and pauses for a moment, "umm... This uhh... This night has been really special to me and I will never forget. Thank you so much for the welcome home. I appreciate so much there is no place like home. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm so so proud to be an British Artist out there in the world, I'm so proud to be here tonight celebrating British Artists, British Music. Thank you, thank you, I'm going to hand it to Tom and Tyler. Thank you so much for this. I'm so grateful, thank you!"

Harry glanced at his friends who are also his co-writer on the album. But one of them was missing and it was bugging him so much. He took in a deep breath.

"I want to thank my missus, who, who uhh... has been a great support. She wrote this album with us too. I couldn't be more in love with or grateful to a person than I am to you. Thank you, thank you so much for being my muse and my rock through all these years. And... I love you!" He flashed a sheepish smile and blew a little kiss to the crowd before he walked down the stage.

......................................................................

"Harry you did not!" YN exclaimed the first thing after she entered through the door of their flat, dropping her bags on the floor.

"Yes I— owh!" He grabbed onto her tight as she launched on him with a bear hug. "Yes I did baby!"

"You won all four of them!" She celebrated, "I am so fucking happy for you," she placed a smoothering kiss on his mouth, "you deserve every bit of happiness and success out there. I'm so, so, so, so proud of you!"

"Thank you, darling." He chuckled at her excitement as he hugged her again, "I thought you were going to kill me for saying I love you to you on TV!" He pulled away to get another deserving kiss.

In her own words; he deserved every happiness in this world!

"I would be mad if you didn't." She rolled her eyes.

"Did you..." he sighed, "just rolled your eyes at me, baby?"

"Oh come on, I am so proud of you Harry!" She clung onto him like a Koala bear again.

No, she's just that short in front of him.

"I missed you!" He picked her up and waddled his way to the sofas so they can sit and talk.

"I missed you!" She reciprocated. "When did you get home after the after-party?"

"At five in the morning the next day." He smiled sheepishly as he sat both of them down, YN straddling gis lap.

"Look at you!" She playfully punched his arm. "No but seriously Harry, I do think you hold back to go out and have fun with your friends like you used to. You don't have to stay back just because I have the most boring personality ever!"

"Who said you have a boring personality?" He scoffed, "I'd rather stay home with you and teach Milo new trick, make some new recipe and make a disaster of out kitchen or just watch TV, or, wait for it... this one is my favourite: have sex." That earned a laugh from her, "Than go out and drink, torture my kidneys and have a hangover for next three days."

"Okay." She nodded.

"You did not install twitter on your phone again, right?" He asked.

"Nope." She assured him. Because she didn't.

"Good because ee don't even want to go there." He took in a breathe of relief. "We still need to plan more for our wedding though, don't we?"

"Mhmm!" She nodded. "You sure you want to go for The Savoy than your villa in Italy, or better Anne's backyard garden that she offered for us to use?"

"What's wrong with the hotel?"

"Haz, it's very expensive!"

"So is going to be the villa." Was his only argument.

"Well, no, you own it. And it's less expense. You can even make that money back, by putting it on for rent. For maybe a month or so, I'm sure." She suggested.

"What's wrong?" He could just read through her, "you know you can share it with me, baby. Is something bugging you.

"I don't know," she sighed, "I want to be an equal part on this. I'm saving up for when we get our new place. And everything adding up gets very expensive. On my side at least."

"Mm." He sounded and took his time to think.

Look, he does want to be a part this whole planning thing. The only thing he doesn't want disrupted is their wedding. The hotel provides more privacy, he can have his team sign and agreement with them. His mum's backyard garden and the Italian villa can be invaded. In fact his pictures were taken ages ago with a drown in his private property.

"We'll split it." He answered, "I don't want our special day be ruined by people invading our privacy. The villa isn't that... How do I put this? Safe enough for our privacy. I don't want to force you nor do I want to make you feel less. Just chip however much you can or we'll figure something else, yeah?"

"Hmm, I'll think about it." She nodded.

Milo jumped up on the sofa spooking his mother and making his dad laugh, meowing for attention. Harry has been a amazing cat dad since day one!

"Hello my love!" YN cooed and picked the little feline up. He started purring immediately.

"He's very fucking partial!" Harry gasped looking at the kitty. "He never comes upto me like this."

That just made YN laugh.

......................................................................

N O T E :

Pls lemme know how you liked this one.

And if you have any requests for THIS particular couple, I'm taking in requests.

......................................................................

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[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 16/? Word count: 3815 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 14. To Lead A Team

"Ugh," Matilde groaned when she got the sentence incorrect. Her eyes shot to the hearts in the top right corner of her phone; one heart left for six more exercises. She had days when the Duolingo lessons would go great, but there were more days when she was really struggling to pass one lesson. Italian was tough for her. She wanted to master it since she was one of the few people in the team who couldn't speak the language. Especially since she was the team principal. Plus, the main language to communicate in the team was Italian, so she really wanted to understand the language.

She sat in a meeting room, waiting for the team to arrive. They had a meeting about the upcoming race in Austria. If she was honest with herself, she didn't know what she could expect.

The ambience in the team had changed, once again. After Monaco, there was tension; team Charles and basically team Matilde for once. A few people agreed with Fernando Alonso during the post-race interview:

"But if your driver says that he is coming in, even when you tell him no, you still send the crew out just in case," Fernando said, defending Charles.

But most of the team, agreed with Max during the interview:

Max looked at him. "Yes, but if your team principal, not even your race engineer, but team principal, says not to pit and stay out multiple times, you stay out," he replied, defending Matilde. "If you still go in after being told no, what do you expect?"

It didn't help that Charles remained frustrated. The media picked it up during the following Grand Prix in Barcelona. Even though Matilde moved on and focussed on the next race, Charles kept showing that he felt hurt by the action. And not because it was a consequence of his own action, no, he still blamed Matilde for it. Charles showed it, and he sometimes even dared to spill a thought to the media and dodged and ignored questions about his team principal.

During the Spanish Grand Prix, Ferrari showed an almost perfect pace once again. Friday was a less perfect day, but it was the day to provide feedback and make the right adjustments. On Saturday, both the Ferrari drivers made it to Q3 during qualifying; Charles qualified as third and Carlos as second. Yet again, Max got pole.

On Sunday, during the race, Carlos had a perfect start and almost passed Max in turn one. Carlos gained time and kept following Max for a while before he passed Max and became the race leader. In the end, he won his home Grand Prix. Charles was pleased with Carlos' result, but he couldn't hide his jealousy. Charles finished third, which is a decent result, and he couldn't do more to get a better result. Despite the positive weekend, Charles threw a questioning quote in the media about Matilde and her leadership:

"Look," Charles said in the post-race interview, his frustration clear in his voice. "We had a clear opportunity to win in Monaco, and it was thrown away. I could get more out of this race, but I wasn't allowed to. I can't help but think that sometimes decisions from the top don't align with what's best for the team on the track."

Matilde had an interview herself after the race, praising the work of Carlos and of Charles; they both did everything they could do during the race and she was proud of them. She saw the fragment of Charles when she was back at the hotel and she couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had supported Charles throughout the ups and downs, and now he was publicly questioning her leadership. It stung, especially since she knew her decision in Monaco had been the correct one, and she knew the team couldn't do more for Charles during the race in Barcelona.

Back at the office, a few days after the race, the team began with fresh motivation, working on the set-up for the next Grand Prix: Canada. Everything went smoothly, the Grand Prix went well for Ferrari; P2 for Charles and P3 for Carlos. Everyone did their tasks during the weekend, but certainly not more.

It made Matilde think. Was she good enough to be a team principal? She had a driver who openly spoke about how he thinks about her, a part of the team was picking the drivers side and the board kept complaining about the way Matilde approaches things. Matilde took a deep breath, closed her Duolingo app, and prepared for the meeting that lay ahead.

The invited people of the meeting entered the room. The drivers, with their race engineers, entered the meeting as the last ones. Laurent Mekies, the race director, opened the meeting with a presentation about the team's progress, accomplishments and long-term goals. He discussed the data from their drivers' sim sessions and compared it with the data from other teams. Austria was coming up, an important race since it was a strong track for both Ferrari and Red Bull. During that Grand Prix, either could win.

Someone asked a question about the team's budget allocation, a critical issue that could determine the extent of their success. Mekies looked at Matilde, passing the question to her. She explained the rationale behind the budget distribution, the sources and expenses.

But Charles seized the opportunity to launch his attack. "With all due respect, Jørgensen," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've been wondering about this budget distribution. It seems to me that you're playing it safe, just like on the track. We need to take risks to win, not settle for mediocrity."

Matilde felt her heart skip a beat, she didn't expect this attack. And the way he called her out by her last name... Her lips parted and her eyebrows slightly raised, she was lost for words. "Charles, I appreciate your input, but we have a well thought-out strategy. It's based on careful analysis and ensures the team's long-term stability." She showed a smile. "I can send you the files, if you prefer to read it on paper."

He chuckled. "Stability? We don't need stability, we need victories. We need to be aggressive, go for it. We can't wait. If we wait, the opportunity has passed us."

"I agree, however, we cannot just go for it when the time isn't right," she shot back with fire. "Once again, I respect your passion for winning, but the decisions we made are not based on impulsiveness, they're grounded in data and experience. I trust the expertise of the team."

"Well," he said, leaning forward against the table as if he were about to deliver a killer blow. "It seems you're more of a manager than a leader. A real leader would listen to the voice of the driver who put his life on the line every race."

The room fell silent. The team exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how she would respond to Charles' provocation.

Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with steel. "A real leader knows when to trust the experts and when to rely on data, not just emotions. Our decisions are calculated for the team's success, which you are also part of, and not to satisfy one individual's ego."

"Why are you taking everything personally?"

"I would like further elaboration," Matilde replied, folding her hands together, straightening her back.

Charles raised his eyebrows and looked at Carlos, blinked and looked back at Matilde. He noticed how involved Carlos' family was during the Spanish Grand Prix and how Matilde reacted to it. As a result: she got invited to a dinner with the Sainz'. Charles saw the Instagram post, apparently it was a home cooked dinner - Charles knew if Carlos invited you over for a home cooked dinner, something was going on.

"Are you referring to the dinner I attended with the Sainz family? It was in recognition of the work during the Spanish Grand Prix and as a gesture of their appreciation due to their courteous nature," Matilde replied to his facial expression and collected some files that were laying in front of her, she liked to sort them and put them neatly back on a stack.

For once, Charles seemed caught off guard. People in the room shared glances; from satisfied to impressed. Charles' expression shifted from arrogance to frustration.

"If someone has to say anything, please do. I rather want to hear it now and prevent rumours, than afterwards when I can't change a thing. I value open communication within our team, but it must be done internally and constructively. We are in this together, not alone, and it is our goal to win together." Matilde shared a look with Charles, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her as if she were a target. Matilde didn't react to his look, but internally, she was tearing apart.

As the meeting continued, Matilde was focussed on her colleagues. She kept her cool, focussing on the facts and logic that underpinned her decisions. She also wrote some notes down for her therapist she was seeing after the meeting. She knew that being the leader of a F1 team came with immense pressure, and she had her ways of coping with it. One of those ways was speaking to a therapist to manage the stress and maintain her focus.

After the meeting came to an end, Matilde stayed in the meeting room. She booked it for some privacy, sitting in her fishbowl office was too confronting for herself and for others to see her talk to her therapist. The session was online, since her therapist lives in Denmark. She preferred to have a Danish therapist, it is easier than having a therapist in a country she didn't even speak the language of - and even though she was almost fluently in English, she still preferred to talk about herself in her mother language.

Matilde glanced at her watch, she still had ten minutes left. She decided to go to the cafeteria to grab some fruits and a snack. While she was at the cafeteria, she thought about the moment she knew she needed to see a therapist.

It actually started after Miami, after the incident, when she sat on the plane to Copenhagen with Kevin. After their conversation, Kevin messaged Lars, saying he was worried about Matilde's well-being, but that it was not up to him to say something about it. He thought it was more comfortable for Matilde to hear it from her brother than a fellow Dane who she knew, but who also happened to be friends with her brother. So when Matilde arrived at her mother's house to celebrate her mother's birthday, Lars took Matilde outside for a talk, since he also was concerned about her well-being.

"Mati, are you seeing a therapist?" Lars carefully mentioned.

They sat down on a bench next to the pond in the backyard of their mother's house.

"Why?" Matilde frowned.

He shrugged. "I think it would do you well to talk to someone," he said and looked at his younger sister; she was looking in front of her, clenching her jaw. "I have seen the tweets about the restaurant. And I know you well enough to know that you would have spent the evening with your team instead of Red Bull if there was nothing going on."

Tears filled her eyes and she sniffed. "I know," she whispered and she told him about what happened. "I'm on the waiting list, I'm working on it, but I can't make the procedure go any faster," she finished her story.

"Ferrari has therapists, right? Why are you on a waiting list at Ferrari? You are basically the most important person at Ferrari."

"I'm sure there are therapists at Ferrari, but I don't want a therapist at Ferrari, not within the team or someone who has connections to the team - even if it is externally. I called at the beginning of this season, Christian recommended it. I'm still not through it, as you see," she shrugged and dried her eyes.

Lars nodded and he hugged her. "Fair. But who did you call to still be on the waiting list after three months?"

"Alma."

"Alma? Alma, who helped us through the divorce of mum and dad?"

Matilde nodded into his chest. "I thought it would be familiar to call her. She helped us through the divorce, even though I am still convinced that the divorce did not have that much effect on us. Anyway, I want to talk about my troubles in Danish, not English or cracky Italian."

Lars nodded. "Understandable. And you know, the divorce had an effect on us, but we haven't noticed it. Alma helped us through it. Those people can see what it does to someone, and even when it does nothing." He grabbed his phone. "Is it for work or personal?"

"Work," she mumbled. "What are you doing?"

Her brother raised his phone to his ear and ignored the question. A polite smile came on his face. "Hello, this is Galileo, Matilde Jørgensen's assistant. Yes, hello."

Matilde straightened her face and she slapped him on his arm.

He pushed her away and raised his finger to silence her. "I'm calling to ask for an update on the waiting list." He listened. "Yes, I am fully aware that this is confidential, but it is urgent." He nodded. "I know, but we have to plan the sessions. Do you know who she is? She is the team principal of Scuderia Ferrari in Formula 1. I don't know if you know Ferrari, but it is a circus and she desperately needs someone to talk to because it's causing mental health problems." He was silent again. "Matilde instructed for work only, but it will be a better plan to do work and personal. Yes. I will give you to her. Thank you. Yes. Have a nice day." Lars gave his phone to his sister. "Make your appointments ASAP," he said.

And since Miami, she didn't see just one therapist, but two therapists; one for work and one for her personal state. Every three weeks she would see Alma to talk about her personal life, and every week she would see Otto to talk about her work. And she had to admit, she was glad her brother pushed through. She couldn't imagine how it would be if still didn't have someone to talk to. It was a sense of relief and she had the feeling she could continue her adventure more easily, the balance came back in her life.

Today she had to see Alma, and it was the perfect timing, almost like it was planned this way. After a visit at the cafeteria, Matilde came back with hot tea, an orange and a nut bar. She took a deep breath and entered the scheduled Teams call.

When Alma popped up on her screen, she felt a sense of comfort over her.

"God eftermiddag, Matilde," Alma greeted Matilde with a kind smile.

A smile came on Matilde's face. "Hej."

"Hvordan har du det?" Alma asked, curious to know how her client was doing.

Matilde leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her tea. "I'm fine," she replied and nodded. "It's been a busy week, a busy couple of weeks, actually."

"How do you feel about having a second session? What were your thoughts after the first session?"

"It's much needed," Matilde replied. "I feel like it helped, even though it was just the first time."

"Can you describe your feelings about it?"

Matilde looked away, she looked at the wall next to her. "A sense of relief, I think. Uhm..." She looked back at the laptop screen. "I'm aware of the job I have, but it also requires a lot of effort and energy, and it feels good to talk about it, to find ways to manage everything. Uhm... Also to explore my personal challenges, I guess."

The therapist wrote something down and nodded once again. "That is good to hear. From what I can remember from when you were younger, a young girl, you also had a sense of realism and soberness. I can hear it in your way of thinking now as well," she warmly smiled. "But how have you been feeling lately?"

They talked about Matilde's personal life, discussing her family, friends, other relationships, her emotions in work and the different emotions that had surfaced in the past three weeks. Alma listened and provided guidance and support, helping Matilde navigate her feelings and come to a deepening understanding of herself.

"I know you talk with Otto about your work," Alma began. "But what are your feelings towards your position now? Last time you mentioned you were still figuring out what your thoughts are on your position. What are your thoughts today?"

Matilde played with the red wristband and twirled it around her wrist. "There are days where I feel like I am on the top of my game," she mentioned, her voice wavering slightly as she struggled to find the right words. "But sometimes I'm thinking about quitting."

"Why?"

Tears welled up in Matilde's eyes, and she blinked them back, her emotions getting the better of her. Alma was a safe space, but Matilde was still at the office. She was afraid someone would walk in and see her cry, a sign of weakness. But in this moment of vulnerability, she felt a flood of pent-up emotions rushing to the surface. "I want to be the best team principal I can be to the team," she continued, her voice quivering with emotion.

"You say 'the' team, why not 'my' team?" Alma observed.

"It isn't my team, it doesn't feel like my team," Matilde whispered and looked away from the laptop. She sniffed. "I joined an existing team, I became part of the team, but it doesn't feel like my team." It was silent, Alma gave Matilde time to think. "I sometimes just wonder if I'm cut out for this role."

Alma nodded, her warm and understanding presence a source of comfort. "It's completely natural to have doubts and moments of vulnerability, Matilde. Your role is incredibly demanding, and it's okay to acknowledge the pressure you're under."

Matilde wiped away a tear that had escaped, her emotions now more visible than ever. "I just don't want to let anyone down," she confessed. "I don't know if I can do it. I feel like I am flogging a dead horse." She looked at Alma again. "Quite literally and figurally." Matilde dried her eyes. "I have to lead a team who didn't welcome me at first, I have people who work against me and I feel like they would rather have me fired yesterday than today. But I have a deal, it's also my contract, but I have a deal with myself: if it doesn't work by the end of the season, I will quit and just... I don't know, go away from F1."

Alma nodded once again. "Why do you want to do this? Why don't quit today?" she scanned Matilde's face. "I don't want you to quit, but what if you have the option to quit today without any problem. Why don't you quit?"

"Because I want to win."

"You can also win at your previous job you loved. Or you can win life by doing something you love to do. So why Ferrari?"

"I want to make them win, because I thought I could take the challenge. I've seen three people fail, if I can call it like that, and I was convinced I could do it," Matilde said. She snorted and shook her head. "I am such a clown for even trying to think about it."

"Let's start on the clown part, Matilde. You are not a clown for trying; you're courageous for pursuing your passion to a further level. But there is a part of you that wants it and knows that you can do it. Why do you think that? Why do you want to do this?"

Matilde took a deep, shuddering breath, her emotions still raw and exposed. The tears in her eyes kept flowing over her cheeks, she couldn't help it. "To show everyone that I can do it."

"Do what?"

Matilde looked down and the tears rolled over her cheeks. "This." She paused, her voice trembling with the weight of those expectations. "Leading a team, make it a winning team."

"Why?"

"Because I was told I wouldn't make it in life when I was younger." She blinked, making her vision clear.

"Like?"

"I wasn't smart, but I also wasn't dumb," she mumbled. "I didn't fit anywhere. And when I found something I liked, teacher's advised me to not even start with it." She wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "And when I finally did something I liked, something I found my passion in, I was told that I could not find or get a job in motorsport. And when I got a job in motorsport, I was told that I wouldn't succeed and that I wouldn't last longer than a year. And when I got this job, I was told that I would fail. A woman wasn't supposed to lead a Formula 1 team, especially a top team like Ferrari. I want to show everyone that I can lead Ferrari to a victory, to winning a world championship, that I can succeed in a world that has been dominated by men for so long. I believe in this team, I believe in Charles and Carlos-"

The door of the meeting room flew open. Charles stepped into the room, not expecting anyone. A light shock went through his body when he noticed someone sitting at the head of the table; his team principal was still sitting at the same spot as an hour ago. His face fell when he saw Matilde crying, quickly wiping away the tears and clearing her throat. "Oh, eh, sorry," he mumbled. His eyes scanned the table, where he found his pass. "I didn't know you were here. I forgot my pass," he said and pointed at his pass.

"You can grab it," Matilde neutrally said.

Charles hesitated momentarily, seemingly unsure whether he should get it or leave and pick it up later, since she was upset and he interrupted her. The atmosphere in the room felt tense and awkward. After a brief internal struggle, he decided to get his pass. He heard Matilde say something in an unfamiliar language to her laptop, Charles didn't recognise the language, but it had to be Danish. Someone talked back to her, she was in an online meeting or something. "Thanks," he mumbled, grabbing the pass from the table and making a swift exit from the room. The door closed behind him, and he walked back to the engineer's area.

"Found it?" Xavi asked, grabbing his stuff.

Charles nodded and showed his pass. "Ready to go."

Next chapter

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc

[hey-its-roseaurum]

Guilty until Proven Innocent-Part I

A/N: Hey everyone. Thank you for taking the time to look at this story. This is for a collaboration with @lainiespicewrites. She is an excellent writer and I figured it was my turn to stretch my writing muscles and put something out into the world. This is my first Henry Cavill fic, so please don't be too harsh. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: After recent murders in town, You (Olivia) decide to train with Edith in the art of self-defense. In the middle of training, you got a mysterious knock on the door. Sherlock walks in, looking for assistance with his latest case. He offers you to partake in a partnership to help him in his latest case? Do you take it?

Warnings: mentions of death

“You’re progressing nicely Olivia.”  Edith smiled from above me, her elbow pinning me to the floor mat.  There wasn’t a hint of sweat along her forehead.  She had taken me down in less than a minute. The worst part was I thought I was going to land a hit on her this time.

”I’m beginning to think that you’re just saying that to soothe my pride”. I rasped out.  She had eased her hold on me and stood up, extending a hand.

”Nonsense.  Look how far you’ve come since you first stepped in these doors.  Pretty soon you’ll be able to hold your ground with me.”  She exclaimed as I grabbed her hand and hoisted myself up.  My back had long since started throbbing.

For the past few weeks, I have been meeting Edith at her office to train and learn self-defense.  Ever since the first girl went missing and was later found dead in the street I hadn’t been able to sleep soundly.  There were constant, nagging thoughts that made me question if I was going to be the next victim.  It had only gotten worse when they found the next girl a week later in the middle of an alleyway that I frequently visited.  Her throat had been cut. 

In London, it was ill-advised for a woman, especially of noble birth, to consider something as trivial as self-defense.  Women are supposed to be soft, elegant, and passive. All of the trouble and responsibility in making decisions was for the men. 

 Being passive and soft didn’t save those girls from their cruel end.

And I wasn’t going to let myself become like them.  I refuse to be the next girl that falls victim to this.  So I went to my dear friend Enola at her detective agency and inquired about a solution to my predicament.  She sent me over to Edith and had me start training the next day.  I’ve been training every day since then.

I’m still not really good at it.

”Did you say the same thing when you were teaching Enola?”  I inquired as I dusted myself off.  Edith only shook her head.

”Not exactly.  Her response was more witty, thanks to her mother.”  Eudoria Holmes, the mother, the fire starter as people liked to call her.  I’ve seen her wanted poster splayed all across London.  But I didn’t see her as a criminal.  I saw her as the woman who saved my life six months ago.

That morning had been cold and bitter.  I remember feeling my fingers grow numb while I huddled against a mailbox.  Its red paint had chipped away at its base, leaving rust behind.

Which was ironic and poetic now that I think back on it.  And let me explain why.

It all started when my father had recently passed from a sickness that left my mother and me penniless.  With no man in the house and no money to our name, we were cast out of society.  My mother and I were thrown out and the estate that I called my home.   It was sold to another noble family in the south.

We lived off the street after that.  My mother, using what knowledge she had of needlework, had acquired a job as an assisted seamstress.  I was left to salvage whatever pity people gave me and half-rotten food from dumpsters.

Eventually, we were able to afford a small cottage on the outskirts of town.  It was small, run-down, and often had a damp smell to it.  Mother didn’t like to be there for a long period.  She claimed it was because she was so busy with her duties to the seamstress that she didn’t have time to spend there.  I think it was because she missed her life at the estate and living in this small broken cottage was too much for her to bear.

That morning six months ago I decided to go into town to fill my water bucket and get bread before it got too crowded.  When I got there, I sat down by the mailbox to wait for the bakery to open.  I was particularly annoyed when I saw a lot of people around this early in the morning.

I was watching a man get onto a carriage when something shifted from the corner of my eye.  It had been a man, or what I thought was a man walking towards me with a package in their hand.  When we made eye contact I didn’t think anything of it.  I just watched them and noted how stiff they walked. They placed the package in the slot of the mailbox.  Before I knew it, I was grabbed by the elbow, hoisted upright, and pulled away from the mailbox.  

That mailbox exploded, releasing a whirlwind of fliers into the air.

The two of us had run from the police.  I was forced to since they refused to let go of my hand.  We ran until this stranger knew that they weren't being followed.  

When things settled down, the man revealed that they were a woman in disguise.  She introduced herself as Eudoria Holmes and then proceeded to lecture me about being near explosives as if she were my own mother.  All I had wanted to do was bite back, to lecture her on how she shouldn’t be putting explosives where there were people.

Instead, I broke down, not from her lecturing but because of something I couldn’t quite place. All I knew was that I was waiting for a soggy piece of bread and nearly got blown up.

In the end, I told her everything.  I told her my past, my current situation, and why I was even in town in the first place.  One thing kind of led to another.  The next thing I knew I was sitting in Eudoria’s house with a cup of tea in my hand.

I stayed in that damp cottage less and less as time passed and more at Eudoria’s warm, often chaotic home.  That’s where I became friends with Enola, had briefly met her two brothers Sherlock and Mycroft, and felt somewhat happy.  

I don’t know why she pulled me away from that mailbox.  The one time I asked her she said she saw something in me, some sort of fire in my eye.  She didn’t want it to go out along with the mailbox.

I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t tell that to her.

“So what you’re trying to say is that I still have a long way to go,” I asked as my brain jumped back to the present.  I stepped away from the mat and made my way into her office.

”What I’m saying is you’re doing better than you think you are.  You just began learning.  Give yourself a little credit.”  Following me, she made her way to the table by the window.  A stack of teacups were messily stacked up to one side.  She grabbed two, placed them on saucers, and poured liquid into both.  

“I know.  I’m just…worried.  It’s been a week since the last victim was found and the police still haven’t found the suspect.”  I let out a sigh and sipped some of my tea.  I needed a moment to choose my words carefully.  “I just want to be…prepared.”

A heavy pause filled the air before either of us spoke.  

”Olivia…there’s more to that, isn’t there?” Edith’s words were soft and gentle.

“I mean I-“. My response was sharply cut short.

A knock pulled our attention away from our conversation and to the door.  A tall man entered from the training room and to Edith’s office.  I couldn’t place if he looked tall because of his size, or because of the giant top hat sitting snugly on top of his head.  Dark wavy strands of hair peaked through from under his hat. 

”Have you any sense what time it is?”  Edith interrogated, crossing her arms.  The man took off his hat, revealing thick brown locks.  His sculpted jawline and nose complimented the hair.  Blue, mesmerizing eyes glanced around, investigating.

But the feature that I recognized right away from him was his shoulders.  I knew those shoulders.

”Hello, Edith” His attention briefly shot to me “Olivia”  I curtly nodded, averting my eyes.

”Good evening Mr. Holmes.”  I responded softly.  “With what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Holmes.  Sherlock Holmes.  One of Enola’s older brothers. One of the greatest detectives I’ve ever seen.

”There’s no need for formalities Olivia.”  I felt something warm begin to grow on my cheeks at his response.  He’s only being polite Olivia.  We are only acquaintances because of Enola and Eudoria.  He doesn’t like you like that.

Or does he?  

I’m not sure.

Sherlock Holmes is a difficult man to understand.

“What are you here for Sherlock?”  Edith asked again, harsher this time.  Her tone quickly pulled me back to the present and away from my thoughts.  

Sherlock cleared his throat, his blue eyes revealing some sort of inner turmoil within himself.  It was an unusual amount of emotion that I was not used to seeing.  I expected it with Mycroft, he practically wore his emotions on his face at all times.  Sherlock never did.  He’s always been composed, and proper.  Before me now he still was, but a layer of some sort had been chipped away.

”I….need your help.”  He struggled to say the words like it was almost painful to him.  A moment of silence clung in the air.  

”Is it about Enola?   Did she get herself into trouble?”  There was a hint of concern in Edith’s voice when she begged the questions.  The only response he gave was a small shake of his head. I watched as realization flashed on her face. 

”There’s something about this case-“. 

”That deduction cannot solve?”  Edith finished his thought.  He slightly nodded, setting his hat down on her desk.  That was my cue. I softly placed my teacup down and made my way to the table by the window.  I began making some tea for Sherlock while listening to the conversation.

”I may need your…skills to get information from a place I cannot enter.”

“What kind of place?”  He listed off a name that I didn’t recognize.  Edith’s face slightly reddened.

”A showgirl theatre?! You cannot ask me such a thing Sherlock, no matter how close we are.”  My eyebrows raised as I grabbed a cup and saucer and poured some tea into the cup.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have another option.  A woman’s life is at stake.” His tone was calm, but there was something else there.

”But going into this with the possibility of getting murdered is not something I’m comfortable with.  Woman’s freedom and rights is one thing, going after a serial killer is a whole other matter entirely”

”Edith, I-“. I cut them off.

”I’ll do it.  I’ll go instead of you.”  In their arguing, I had made my way back to the two of them, Sherlock's tea in hand.  I had left mine behind.

”Olivia, do you know what kind of place that is, what situations you can get into.  You’re nowhere near ready to hold your ground”. What she said was like a punch to the gut.  

I knew I wasn’t ready, we had that same conversation not thirty minutes ago.  But I knew that if Edith went and something bad had happened to her Enola and Eudoria would be devastated.  I was different.  If I went and something happened to me, Edith would still be here training more girls like me.

”Who else is going to do it?  Enola?  She’s not expendable. I am.  And Edith, what about the other girls you train?” I took a breath, the stubbornness in me growing. “Besides, I know these streets better than anyone.  I’ve lived in them.  I know where to go in case I’m being followed.   And because of the way I look,”. I paused briefly looking down at myself, at my curvy, plump figure.  “No one would suspect me.  They would just see me as a showgirl trying to make ends meet.  I can blend in, go undercover, and get the information that he needs in order to catch this murderer.”

A heavy pause hung between the three of us.

I let what I said sink into the two of them.  I know that Edith is fighting with herself on whether she can let me go.  She believes that I am her responsibility, and I kind of was while Eudoria was undercover.  But since starting to learn to defend myself I told myself that I couldn’t sit and wait.  Sitting and worrying about who the next victim is going to drive me crazy.  If I can help and make a difference, then maybe the suspect will be caught before there’s more tragedy.  

”I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to her.”  Sherlock’s voice broke the silence and my inner thoughts.  “You have my word.”  His eyes met mine at his.  I felt something else there besides the promise.   Edith sighed,  rubbing her temples with both her index fingers.

“Okay, Sherlock.  Just…make sure she comes back in one piece.”   Edith finally concurred.  “You’re going to have to speak to your mother if you don’t.”

A smile tugged at my lips at the agreement.  I finally raised the cup of tea, offering it to him.    

”When do we start?”

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading. If you want to read @lainiespicewrites story about Paul Atreides from the Dune Sage, here is her link: https://www.tumblr.com/lainiespicewrites/747032352877903872/the-atreides-era?source=share

[kimsohn]

even if the world caves in,

pairing . chanhee x gn! reader (ft. vernon of seventeen) about . 13.5k words, fluff + angst, e2l fake-dating warnings . smoking, alcohol, cursing, suggestive (allusions to sex at the end), descriptive food mentions, y/n and chanhee are idiots chanhee lowkey doesn't deserve y/n, the plot kinda doesn't make sense but fuck it we ball ok, pls lmk if i missed things bc i probably did, also i wrote most of this at ungodly hours of the night and this is not proofread take this as your warning

synopsis . after your big break in cinema, the last thing on your mind is a relationship. unfortunately for you, the public has other plans, forcing you together with the journalist who's entire career is dedicated to your downfall. note . this is my submission for @deoboyznet's secret santa fic exchange! hihi @heemingyu i'm your secret santa!! (i'm so sorry this is like two days late and probably rushed forgive me) i went through like four different plots before settling on this one and writing it in one week 😭 i hope you enjoy!!! also thank you to @juyeonszn for staying up until 6am to beta for me what the fuck. ilysm. tagging . @invuwrld @gfksn @stealanity

Lately, the only thing that seems to greet you is the buzzing sound of your phone, incessant until silenced by your tired fingers.

You reach over as you stir awake, the action almost second nature to you as your hand catches ahold of the sleek object. You hit random buttons until your desired effect comes into play, answering the phone call and putting it on speaker, and you already know who it is before their voice even drifts through the microphone.

“Y/N! Get your ass up, you’re on the headlines.”

“Again?” you whine, rolling over in bed. “Is it good news or bad news this time?”

The man on the other end laughs, bitterly, and you push yourself off the bed in response. Your manager laughing, especially like that, is nothing amusing, and you rub your eyes as you try to get yourself awake.

“Oh, it’s bad, alright. Open your fucking phone, Y/N.”

You do exactly that, immediately thumbing over to Twitter and seeing your name trending. Afraid of which one of your many stupid decisions has made the headlines today, you press the hashtag, cringing at the first picture.

“Of course, they got pictures of me drunk,” you mutter, scrolling through the list. “Wasn’t this Juyeon’s private party, like months ago? How did these photos leak?”

“It doesn’t matter Y/N,” your manager sighs from the other side, and you feel a twinge of guilt for always putting him through this situation, “you’re an actor. Nothing in your life is private anymore, especially you pole dancing on top of the bar.”

Your facial muscles twitch as you come across the aforementioned picture, seeing yourself busting out dance moves on the marble. You have to hold back a laugh, seeing how something so ridiculously insignificant is dragging your name through the mud right now.

“But Vernon, you have to admit, the pictures are kinda hot.”

He grumbles on the other side before he cuts the call, and you fall into bed giggling, scrolling through other pictures. You have a cigarette in one hand and a tequila glass in the other, and that explains why you remember absolutely nothing about that day.

A text notification appears at the top of your screen, and you swipe down to see none other than Vernon who you were on call with five seconds ago. He’s sent you the link to an article followed by a message.

This is the article that leaked the video. Check out the name.

You click on the link, and your face falls at the name of the website. It falls even more when you see the name of the writer, and you press your fingers to your forehead. You immediately call Vernon again, watching the phone ring twice before he picks up.

“Can we fucking blacklist him, Vernon?” you seethe, gripping your phone tightly.

“I’m afraid not. He’s just a journalist, not a stalker.”

“He might as well be with the way he’s always up to date with my private information.”

You punch your pillow, watching your fist pathetically curl into the bedding. It doesn’t have its intended effect, only reminding you of how weak you are physically and mentally. You don’t get into scandals often, probably because you’re a rare, good person in the horrible field that is Hollywood, but whenever you do, you have one journalist to thank for it.

“I told you, nothing is private in your life anymore.”

Vernon goes off on a tangent about how you should’ve been more careful, how you shouldn’t have drunk your ass off, but you can’t find it within you to care. There was technically nothing wrong with what you did (except for maybe the indecency, but it’s a bar for fuck’s sake), but as a famous actor with a huge fanbase, you understand why your manager is angry. Dancing on top of a counter and smoking should not be the kind of precedent you set for your fans, especially the younger ones, and your actions have a lot more weight to them now that you’re in the public eye.

It’s just stupid because you’re a regular person. At the very least, you deserve to have some privacy regarding decisions you make, especially ones that are so insignificant. 

“Vernon,” you interrupt, “it’s okay. My movie is coming out later this week, so I think it’ll die down quickly.”

“I know, but you’re lucky that this was a trivial issue. If you get caught in something truly fucked up, another movie won’t be able to save you.”

“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

He hangs up, reminding you that you have a screening to attend later today and an interview. Your eyes drift back to the article again, reading the headline.

Hollywood’s favorite celebrity turned dancer.

You shut your eyes, breathing in and out so you don’t lose your composure. The universe is lucky you’re a rational, decent human being because if you weren’t, the writer who’s been practically harassing you would’ve been long eliminated by now.

Choi Chanhee, you read, familiar with the name. The infamous writer that’s always on your tail. It’s as if he dedicates his whole life to ruining you because he’s always the first to write things that make your crown slip. Almost all of your scandals, from particularly stupid ones at the beginning of your career to your most recent one, have been written by him. He’s practically obsessed with you at this point, and you don’t know what it is about you that ticks him off.

You toss your phone to the side, trudging over to the bathroom to get ready. Unlike Chanhee, you don’t have the time or patience to worry about trivial things like gossip pages. Choi Chanhee is just one, minor obstacle in your way. Just someone insignificant.

A long time ago, the flashing lights of cameras would’ve blinded you. Now, as a seasoned actor, you’re quite immune to the brightness that surrounds you when you walk the red carpet. You smile and pose, reveling in the cameras and the interviews that follow, asking for details about your current movie and the process behind the scenes.

You’ve just finished off an interview about the movie’s wardrobe when a black-haired man comes up to you. The lens of his thick glasses shines against the cameras in the background, and you have to look down to avoid the glare from the reflection.

You read his name tag and your face drops. You immediately look up, putting on a forced grin.

“Choi Chanhee. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He smiles, and the corners of his mouth curl as if he knows of your extensive distaste for him.

“It seems you know who I am already. Let’s get started with the interview then. First question: do you have anything to say regarding your latest scandal at the bar?”

You’re gritting through your teeth as you answer.

“No comment. Next question, please.”

“What are your opinions on the latest controversy surrounding Lee and Co., the production company behind your movie?”

He fires off a few questions, all as controversial as the last, and the only thing that keeps you from slapping him right there and then is your media training that Vernon had drilled into you while in the car.

“He will be there,” Vernon had said, fixing your watch, “don’t give him anything to work with. Just focus on promoting your movie.”

You’ve followed his advice for the solid ten minutes Chanhee has bombarded you, but even your patience is wearing thin. You’re tired of being asked about the same scandals repeatedly from different angles, and you have to admit that even if he’s doing an amazing job as a journalist, it’s not looking good for your conscience.

“Chanhee,” you interrupt, watching him pause in the middle of a question, “do you have any substantial questions about the movie, or are we done here?”

His face contorts as if he had just been thrown tomatoes at, and the devil in your brain beams from his expression. He flips through his notes, flicking through a couple of pages before landing on one that’s up to his liking.

“Okay, one last question then. Who was your favorite person to work with during this movie?”

You pause, mulling over the question. You watch as his eyes traverse his notes, and you wonder what trick he has up his sleeve. You guess that he will probably bring up something about the person who’s name you’ll recite, so you think carefully before answering.

“I don’t have one particular favorite. I love them all,” you answer honestly and safely, with no room for scrutiny.

He nods, shutting off the recorder before packing his bag and giving you a slight bow. The narcissist in your brain revels in how good he looks bowing down to you, but you pay your respects in return.

“Thank you for your time, Y/N.”

You watch as he saunters off, probably off to his crew, and you blink a few times before shifting your attention to the next reporter with an eager smile.

Hours later, you find yourself outside, exchanging the chaos inside for a fresh breath of air. Your director has indulged in an after-party, one you’re grateful for too, but after a couple of glasses of wine and many more hours of talking to fellow celebrities, you need a moment of solitude.

 The air outside is crisp and cool, and you find yourself wishing you’d brought your jacket out to accompany you. Your vision is slightly blurry and your stance is wobbly, but you find a bench nearby to take a seat at. You stare at the pond across from you for a while, throwing rocks into the water and watching how far they travel.

A cigarette accompanies you, and the puffs of air you release are visual representations of how relaxed you want to feel. You’ve just released a movie, and you should be thankful, but as an actor, your mind never rests due to the endless possibilities you can ponder over. Moments like these where you find yourself completely alone, with nothing to worry about, are rare, and you try to curb your mind from ruining the moment by overthinking.

However, your moment of peace is interrupted by a loud shutter behind you, and you quickly turn around, afraid of what the paparazzi would say if they caught you like this. A figure disappears around the corner, but as you hear the clacking of their footsteps, you know exactly who it must be.

“Chanhee, I know it’s you.”

Moments pass before he steps out from behind the wall, holding a camera in his hands. The object, in contrast to the suit he wears, is so uncoordinated that you burst into a fit of laughter, over-emotional from the wine you had earlier.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks cautiously, treading the waters.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer too! You’re an all-rounder for sure.”

“Look,” he whispers as if his guilt will excuse his actions, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Here, sit next to me.”

He takes a seat warily, as if you have a gun in your hands, but relaxes once he sees you dangling your feet. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be sitting next to you, heck, even interacting with you, but you don’t seem to really mind as you throw another rock into the water.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask, staring at him with glossy eyes. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

“Are you drunk?” he asks instead, realizing this isn’t the pristine condition he saw you in a couple of hours ago.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sniffle. “What did I do to make you absolutely despise me?”

Chanhee sighs, staring at the ripples in the pond. He picks up a rock, swinging it as far as he can before it settles to the bottom of the pool. It goes way farther than any of the rocks you’d thrown before, and you pout miserably as you cease your ministrations.

“It’s my job. I get paid for writing about your downfall.”

“But… you don’t have to be so mean about it.”

Chanhee recognizes that he won’t get anywhere with this argument because you’re drunk, so instead, he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders so you look at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Here, I won’t even post the pictures that I took today.”

He deletes the pictures from his camera, showing you after it’s done, and you surprise him by throwing your arms around him. You’re too far gone to realize the weight of your actions, but he isn’t, so he tries to gently pry them off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whisper after he’s done, slumping across the bench half-asleep, “thank you for being nice. For once.”

He blinks once, twice, before he exhales, turning around on his heel and disappearing into the darkness. Later, when Vernon picks you up from the bench, you tell him that a pretty fairy saved you from disaster. He won’t believe you, but you know it’s true in your heart.

You’re nursing your hangover when you decide to turn on the news. You settle into your comfortable couch, holding a bowl of hangover soup and trying not to succumb to the pain radiating throughout your forehead.

Not often do you watch the news, choosing to opt out because it’s usually annoying and gives you a headache, but Vernon’s somehow using two devices to watch his show on Netflix so you’re forced to resort to this. You think you might die if you don’t distract yourself from the migraine that’s been occupying your senses, so the news will have to suffice.

You flick through the channels, not interested in the politics or the weather, but your fingers pause when a bright pink headline catches your eye. It’s the gossip channel, and this is usually the channel you’re warned to stay far away from, but you can’t help but watch the video playing when the headline specifically features your name.

Y/N caught in a secret relationship, embracing a secret lover by the pond.

Your mood turns sour when the clip features events from last night, ones that are still fuzzy in your brain. You didn’t expect to be reliving this situation, but your heart all but drops when you realize the snippet features you and Chanhee in the frame, hugging each other as if you had indeed been lovers. The worst part is that Chanhee didn’t even reciprocate, but that isn’t featured in the headline, so it truly does look like you two have a thing for each other.

This time around, you call Vernon first instead of the usual.

“Y/N,” he whispers groggily as if you had woken him up, “what happened?”

“Please turn on the fucking news Vernon.”

You hear shuffling from the other side, a few minutes of rustling before you hear the blaring of the TV and a similar sound drifting through his microphone. You get a few minutes of pin-drop silence before all hell breaks loose.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he exclaims, and you hear his feet angrily pacing around. “Was this last night? I thought I told you to be more careful, to look out for your surroundings—”

“Vernon, it’s Chanhee.”

The only thing you hear from Vernon is his angered breaths, and it takes mere seconds before you burst into tears, fed up by this situation and the terrible migraine you still have. You just want to curl up into a ball and never step foot into the universe again, and your resolve only strengthens when the line goes dead. You can’t help the tears that come to bay, rippling through you like a shockwave that never seems to end.

Insistent knocking at your door a few moments later is the only thing that stops the tears from falling, and you quickly wipe them before opening the door. Vernon stands at the other side, his hands in his pockets and eyebags above his cheeks, but his gaze softens when he sees your puffy eyes and you hugging yourself.

He brings you into his embrace, your tears staining his hoodie, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. Vernon just caresses your back, knowing the only thing you need right now is a gesture of comfort, and you burrow into his chest further. Right here, in the middle of your entryway, Vernon provides you with the best version of reassurance he can offer: a simple, caring hug.

“I was drunk,” you mutter when you’ve calmed down, speaking through the sniffles that escape you, “and we were just talking. You know I get touchy when I’m tipsy.”

“I figured,” he says, unraveling himself from your embrace. “Does the press know it’s him?”

“No, but I expect they’ll find out soon enough.”

You follow him as he takes a seat on the couch, watching the headlines on the TV. The gossip channel has long moved on from your news, but you haven’t, and fear of what will happen to either you or Chanhee is killing you.

“We need to contact him before then,” he voices, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I think I know someone from his office.”

“Wait, why?” you ask, trying to peer over at his phone, watching him scroll through his contacts. “Wouldn’t it just be best to let the rumors die down?”

“If this was a celebrity, we could’ve done that. But Chanhee is a regular human being, and this could potentially destroy his career.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you murmur under your breath, watching Vernon deadpan.

“Look, I know you hate him, but he doesn’t deserve to be criticized for something he didn’t even do. Let’s just talk to him and see what he has to say, okay?”

You nod, falling back on the couch. The migraine still bothers you, and you rub your fingers across your forehead to massage it.

Five days ago, you would never have expected to be in this position. To you, Chanhee was just a name on a screen, a faceless figure haunting your dreams. How fitting is it that his very first encounter with you led to your worst nightmare?

You hear Vernon dial his contact, watching the phone ring several times before a line picks up. Vernon speaks gratefully, grabbing the pen and paper that you have lying around on your coffee table as he scribbles down some information.

“We have a meeting,” he says, showing you the piece of paper, “in five hours. Be ready by then.”

Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

The bright lights and white walls in the meeting room make it look like a prison cell, and the atmosphere does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. You’re tapping your foot anxiously, sitting in an unfamiliar space in an unfamiliar building, but Chanhee requested a meeting in his office building, and you have no other choice but to go with it.

You’d be lying if you said you were nonchalant about the whole atmosphere, but you try to keep yourself composed as you wait for him to enter. Vernon sits beside you, going through some papers in his briefcase that only a manager would know about, and his presence is the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

“Just let me do the talking, okay?” he’d said before entering, “The last thing we need is another argument on our hands.”

Even though the comment offended you, you honestly would be better off trusting his judgment. You and Chanhee don’t exactly have the best track record, and if either one of you says something even slightly off, the room would probably explode into insults. You honestly don’t even have the strength anyway to hold up a fight, so you slump into your chair, adjusting your jacket and reeling in your patience.

The doorknob twists and you and Vernon straighten your postures, trying to look presentable for your audience. Chanhee enters, followed by a blonde-haired who you’d assume to be his boss, and you rise so you can shake their hands. Chanhee ignores your attempt at waving a white flag, choosing to shake Vernon’s instead before sitting down at a seat, but his boss smiles and grabs your palm tightly in his.

“Hello, I’m Sangyeon. It’s nice to meet you.”

You exchange pleasantries as you sit down, and once you get over the initial awkwardness, you shut your mouth and wait for Vernon to speak up.

“So, I’m sure you guys have seen the news and are well aware of why we’re here.”

Sangyeon nods, urging him to continue.

“I understand what you might be feeling right now Chanhee,” Vernon follows, catching Chanhee’s gaze, “and we’re extremely sorry for the trouble that this has caused you. However, I have a proposition that might benefit both parties, if you are interested.”

Chanhee’s silence prompts Vernon’s explanation, and you lean in, curious about what he has to say too. Vernon had offhandedly mentioned that he had a deal to make, but you don’t have the slightest clue as to what he’s about to propose.

“I was thinking we play into the rumors. We can say Y/N and Chanhee met at a press conference and hit it off a couple of weeks ago. After we plan a few more appearances, we can stage a public breakup in a few weeks so that everything can go back to normal.”

You blanch, ready to refuse the idea, but Chanhee beats you to it.

“Why would I agree to a relationship with Y/N?”

“Hey,” you start, offended by his implications, “what’s wrong with dating me?”

Chanhee scoffs.

“Don’t even start, Y/N. This is all your fault after all. I didn’t know you liked me that much that you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

You’re seeing blood red, crazed at the malice behind his words.

“I was tipsy! And how was I supposed to know that someone was stalking us? If anything, it was your fault for deleting those pictures and being nice to me.”

The room erupts into chaos as you throw petty insults at each other, similar to a catfight. It takes Vernon holding you back physically to get you to calm down, but even after you’ve calmed down, you’re still staring daggers at him.

“Look, Chanhee, I understand this is not ideal for either of you given the nature of your jobs. But if you think about it, when the press finds out that it’s you in the picture, how will you be able to resume your writing? Who will take you seriously if you write hate articles about the very person that you were caught with?” Vernon asks, trying to reason with him.

Chanhee falls into silence, and he looks at his manager. His manager offers him a pitiful glance, knowing that Vernon is right.

“You don’t have to be lovey-dovey with each other,” Vernon continues, hoping to ease the terms. “You just have to appear in public for a couple of dates. We can use your old articles to prove that you guys have had romantic tension, so we’ll have background evidence too. When Y/N breaks your heart in a couple of weeks, you’ll have the perfect reason to continue writing hate articles.”

“It’s like enemies to lovers to… enemies, right?” Sangyeon asks, humming after Vernon nods, “I think it’s a good idea Chanhee. You’ll gain a lot more exposure after the whole thing is over too. If we continue going as it is, the press will ruin your career, and I’d have no other choice but to fire you. I think this is the best decision for your future and the company.”

Chanhee sighs, rubbing his temples. As much as you despise him, you can sympathize with the fact that he has a difficult decision looming over his head. The fate of his career rests in your hands, the person he’s dedicated a lifetime to ruining, and you can imagine just how insane his internal conflict might be.

“I’ll do it,” you voice, watching the room’s reactions carefully.

Chanhee’s eyes shoot up at you, clearly not expecting your admission.

“I would hate to be the reason you had to quit something you love. Besides, I’ve been in too many scandals recently anyway; I think a relationship could do my career some good.”

You don’t know if your attempt at a joke resonated with him, but his shoulders relax and he bores his eyes into you. His eyes are sharp and feline-like, but his brown pupils are almost the exact opposite, thoughtful and deep. He’s a little pretty, you realize, when he’s not trying to sabotage your entire career.

You’ve tried to stay level-headed after your argument earlier, as a gesture to Vernon, but you can’t contain your surprise when he nods a few minutes later.

“Okay, I’ll go with your plan. But I want four weeks, not five.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching over with an open palm before Vernon can even say anything.

This time around, Chanhee does reciprocate your gesture, shaking your hand firmly. The white flag flies freely over your heads, and you can only pray that these next four weeks will be over just as quickly as they started.

The news blows up fairly quickly after it’s published, even faster than any of the scandals you’ve been in. After the announcement your companies sent out confirming your relationship, you posted a picture of Chanhee to your Instagram story to show support from your side. Never have you garnered so many notifications in a single day, but you’re not complaining. You suppose your fans have also been waiting for you to get into a serious relationship, seeing that you’ve been single since your acting debut, so the update is received with a mostly positive reaction that you’re thankful for.

However, just the news and a picture alone aren’t going to cut it. Arguably, the hardest part of this whole ordeal is your interactions with Chanhee, making your relationship believable enough so your fans don’t think this is the PR stunt like it really is. Your first order of business is taking Chanhee along on a date tonight to a movie premiere, the first actual public appearance you two will be making.

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. The last time you saw Chanhee, it took Vernon’s presence to stop you from biting his head off. How will you even survive a whole event together, let alone act like a couple?

You tell Chanhee to show up a couple of hours earlier so you can plan out the details, unable to keep your nervousness at bay. You don’t know if Chanhee is as anxious as you, but Vernon always says it’s good to stick to a plan, so calling him over isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Actually, it might be a little bit bad.

“Wow,” you say, your throat suddenly parched from seeing his clothing, “you clean up nicely.”

Nice is the simplest you could describe his outfit. He’s wearing a black suit, indented polka dots scattered across the black cloth. Paired with a white shirt underneath and matching tie, along with those round glasses that are definitely growing on you, he looks just like another A-list celebrity in the crowd. Maybe even a model if you would care to admit it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, unbuttoning the jacket to strew it across your couch, “it’s kinda hot in here, no?”

You would agree, but your mind is currently occupied with how delicious he looks in just a simple white shirt and a tie. You have half a mind to tell him that he really should quit his job and become a model instead, but you settle for nodding instead.

“It’s probably because of all the facial stuff we did earlier,” your stylist Kevin says, walking over to place clips in your hair, “it’ll calm down in a little bit.”

Chanhee’s eyes widen when Kevin enters, his eyes staring at you in panic and moving over to Kevin before they travel back to you. You laugh, amused with how seriously he’s playing the part.

“He knows,” you reassure him, “most of my close staff know, so you don’t need to worry.”

Chanhee exhales in relief, his head drooping down into his arms. Kevin meets your gaze before quirking an eyebrow, and you shake your head, not wanting to indulge in his teasing.

“Okay,” Chanhee says after he’s calmed down, leaning into the couch, “what’s the plan?”

“Well, since this is our first time in public together, we can keep it simple,” you start, wincing when Kevin tugs on part of your hair a little too hard, “maybe holding hands, walking next to each other, maybe a hug if we’re up for it.”

Chanhee looks disgusted, and you honestly can’t even disagree with him. You’re not exactly happy about jumping straight into skin-to-skin contact with the guy you hate, but this is the bare minimum for a relationship and you intend to follow through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you sigh. “You do know that we’re going to have to kiss at some point, right? This is probably the tamest we’ll get.”

“Hey, don’t haunt the poor guy,” Kevin says, pulling out a makeup palette. “Just take it slow, okay? It’ll be a while before you get to that stage.”

You disappear into your bedroom to change after Kevin is done with your styling, and Chanhee visibly relaxes once you’re gone. It’s not like he wants to murder you with every fiber of his being, but something about you puts him on edge, and he can’t tell what it is.

“Are you still stressed about the kissing thing, dude?” Kevin asks while packing up his supplies. “Y/N’s just saying that to scare you, so don’t worry. Besides, after you see them in this outfit, you might change your mind.”

Kevin leaves with a wink, and Chanhee is left to scramble for its implications. You can’t possibly look good enough to kiss, right? He’s seen you countless times, and the only time his resolve ever-so-slightly wavered was when he saw you in person about a week ago. That was because you were drunk, though, of course. Not because he was facing you, flesh to flesh, for the first time in his life.

His overthinking ceases though when you step out of your bedroom, and he can’t stop Kevin’s words from floating through his brain.

You’re beauty personified, he thinks, from the tips of your curled hair to the bottom of your glass footwear. The silver-length outfit you adorn is something to die for, heck, you are someone to die for, and Chanhee can’t even breathe because he just imagined you standing next to him and the room is suddenly very, very hot.

“Ready to go?” you ask, adjusting a couple of rings on your fingers.

Chanhee dumbly nods, now realizing why literally everyone is in love with you, and he stands abruptly. He follows you to the front like a puppy dog before you turn around and start giggling. He doesn’t even register you speaking because suddenly, your giggles aren’t annoying and all of your sounds are like songbirds from heaven.

“You forgot your blazer, silly. Here, I’ll get it.”

While you turn back around, walking to the sofa, Chanhee slaps himself. Gently, of course, because he doesn’t want to ruin his face before the red carpet, but just enough to remind himself of his position in this whole scheme. You’re a celebrity, obviously you look good, and he can’t lose his morals just because you look stunning after being dolled up.

You’re a celebrity and he’s a journalist. A journalist who gets paid to antagonize you. Realistically speaking, even just meeting you should have him seeing red. He should not of all things, be pretending to date you, and he definitely should not be reconsidering his life decisions after spending two hours with you.

He just has to get through these four weeks. You’ll be out of sight, out of mind before he even knows it.

“When the cameras start flashing, just look forward. Don’t ever look at them straight in the eye, otherwise, you’ll feel dizzy.”

Chanhee grumbles as you continue rambling, but you can’t find it within you to stop. You’ve never had a public relationship like this, especially with someone who’s not a celebrity, so the desire for perfection is getting to you.

Any small thing could fuck this up and not only ruin Chanhee’s career but yours too. What would the public think if they found out you were lying about a relationship? Heck, you wouldn’t be able to trust your own self after that, let alone the public.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay. It’s just handholding and a hug, right?”

“Yeah, but we need to look like we’re in love,” you huff, your head drooping as you play with your fingers in your lap.

You feel a hand cup the side of your chin, bringing you up to Chanhee’s gaze.

“Look at me,” he starts, thumbing your cheek, “we’ll be fine. Just stare into my eyes like this, and no one will ever doubt us.”

You don’t get to tell him that you might be believing it too with the way you can’t stop gazing at the twinkle in his eyes and the fondness in how they crease. You’ve met many gorgeous celebrities in your life, but not once have you ever felt your heart beat so heavily until this moment.

“We’re here,” Vernon interrupts from the front seat, breaking your intense gaze, “get ready.”

The flashing blinds you as soon as the car door opens, but you’re immune to the glares at this point. Chanhee, however, is not, so your only focus is being by his side until you walk inside the venue. You exit first, waiting until he steps out beside you before interlacing your fingers together and offering him a chaste smile, hoping it’ll calm his nerves.

He grips your hand tighter as you walk, and you both ignore the press shouting from around you. The screams seem extra prevalent today due to his presence, and you hope he isn’t feeling bombarded by the chaos around him. You focus on Chanhee, watching as he stares back at you to ground himself. You walk quickly in unison with him, counting your steps and smiling for the camera as you finally step inside the entryway.

“Are you okay?” you ask after you’re situated, having a few minutes of peace before you’re off to star on the red carpet. “I know that must’ve been a lot.”

“It’s fine. It’s over now. It was chaotic, but it helped to just focus on you.”

A twinge of heat flutters across your cheeks, but you pay no attention to it.

“I’m glad. Don’t worry, we don’t have any more red carpets in our schedule.”

He unlaces his fingers from yours, something you’d completely forgotten about, but you don’t have time to mull over the loss of his warmth before Vernon pushes you to the red carpet to get ready for the pictures. You take deep breaths, reveling in the mere seconds you get before the flashing starts again and you are simply an object for the camera. You pose, striking a big grin for the camera and remembering your media training. This is what you do best, being a celebrity, and suddenly you find comfort in this familiarity after all the turmoil you’ve been through the past couple of days. No Chanhee, no relationship, no headlines, just you and the camera like always.

However, you can’t stop your eyes from wandering when you get a break, watching Chanhee converse with Vernon. You let your daydreams drift, wondering how he would look like posing next to you for the camera, how he would laugh and answer questions about your relationship so giddily, or even how he’d stare into your soul like earlier before, bearing his heart for the taking.

You know that he won’t even meet your gaze after the four weeks are over, but you let yourself indulge in your imagination anyway. You’ve been touch-starved for so long, so it’s only natural that you have these thoughts about affection, right?

You walk back to Chanhee after you’re done, joining him and Vernon as you travel the venue. The place looks spectacular, with intricate chandeliers and a whole buffet of delicacies, and you make it a point in your mind to compliment the mastermind behind this all, Juyeon, when you see him.

Vernon leads you guys over to the food, piling the spring rolls on his plate until you glare at him to stop. Chanhee restrains laughter behind a mouth full of cupcakes, but even you have to agree with Vernon’s eagerness when you take a bite of the macadamia cookies. You’re on your fourth one when Juyeon saunters over to you, his goofy grin ever-so-present on his face.

“Y/N! Long time no see, right? I haven’t talked to you since my party months ago.”

“It’s been too long. I love the venue, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

“Don’t talk to me about outdoing things. Look at you with your new boyfriend!”

You glance over at Chanhee, who’s busy trying to see how many spring rolls Vernon can fit in his mouth. You grimace, turning back to Juyeon. You know Vernon’s your manager, but sometimes it feels like you have to keep him on a leash instead of the other way around.

“Yeah it’s… a recent development, but I’m happy.”

“I’m surprised you got into a relationship in the first place. After you rejected me, I kinda thought you weren’t looking for love.”

Juyeon clutches his chest in fake agony, and you roll your eyes. Juyeon asked you out years ago when he was the director of your film, and he never fails to bring it up whenever he sees you. You still aren’t looking for love, of course, but your recent news is probably a shock to Juyeon and the many other people you’ve rejected over the years.

“I’m not incapable of love, Juyeon,” you sigh, looking back at Chanhee again, “I just needed to find the right person.”

The word love has never meant anything special to you, but when you look at Chanhee, you feel your heartstrings pull at your chest. Finally having a boyfriend, even if he’s fake, means you have the ability to love and be loved, and maybe you’ve been denying yourself happiness far too long for the wrong reasons.

As you wave Juyeon goodbye, sauntering over to Chanhee, you walk with a change in mindset. The situation you’re stuck in isn’t perfect, but you decide that it’s best to make the most out of it.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Suddenly, your whole world turns upside down, and you brace yourself as you fall backward, watching the twinkling of the chandeliers above you. You shut your eyes as a reflex, expecting the hardness of the wooden floor beneath you, but instead, you feel a strong hand supporting your back. You open your eyes to see Chanhee, but as his orbs bore into yours, all words tie on the tip of your tongue.

This close to him, you can see his faint eyeliner, the slight curve of his nose, and the barely visible mole on his top lips. It feels like the world is spinning still, but as Chanhee breathes, exhaling a soft puff of air, your gaze remains grounded only on him as he cradles you gently.

The sound of a camera startles you both, and Chanhee pulls you up, staring at Vernon. You smooth down your clothing, clearing your throat as you eye the culprit.

“What was that for?” you ask, throat slightly parched by what happened mere seconds ago.

“Whatever practice you guys did together before coming here definitely worked, because this picture definitely looks like you’re in love. I’m gonna leak it to a local magazine, so good job for today’s work.”

Your cheeks burn as he shows you the picture, and your gaze flits over to Chanhee. His expression is indiscernible, and you have the sudden urge to know exactly what’s running through his mind. Was he just as affected as you, or was this just a mere act of kindness?

The rational part of your brain hopes it’s the latter, but the heaviness of your heart might have different aspirations.

Your phone dings as you finish applying the last bits of your mascara, and you pad over to your couch, seeing Chanhee’s text message on the top of your screen.

Be there in five.

It’s been a week since Juyeon’s movie premiere, a week since your heart has practically gone haywire. You’re a celebrity, if anything, you’re the last person to be looking forward to a text, but you found yourself checking Chanhee’s chat every morning and being disappointed when nothing rolled in. Even when Vernon’s picture leaked and the internet blew up over your coupling, his message bar still remained dry and lifeless.

He didn’t have any reason to text you anyway, so you wonder why you always looked forward to one.

You were the one to reach out first, letting him know that you had a date scheduled for Saturday night according to Vernon’s schedule. A meeting once per week was mandatory, just to keep up the image, and today’s plan was a nice, fancy dinner at a restaurant.

Chanhee, like a true gentleman, offered to pick you up instantly after you’d sent him the message, and you let yourself feel elated for five seconds before you texted him the time and place. You don’t know why Chanhee reduces you to a middle school girl longing for her crush, but you suppose it’s just because you haven’t been on a proper date in so long.

You’re dressed in blue satin, a dress you’d had no real reason to wear until today, and you’ve tried your best to clean up without Kevin’s help. You send a quick picture to your stylist as you wait, asking for advice even though you know you always look good, but Kevin just sends you a string of heart emojis in return and tells you that you look perfect.

Three sharp knocks on the door indicate Chanhee’s presence, and you open the door. The words on your throat die down when you realize he’s wearing a similar blue satin to yours, and it only takes one flicker of your eyes to meet his for him to start laughing.

“Are you stalking me or something?” he teases, pulling out a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“What’s this for?” you ask, setting them on the vase inside.

“Vernon told me to. He said you always like getting flowers on a date.”

You haven’t been on a date in years, so you don’t know where Vernon got this information from, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The arrangement of peonies, lilies, and daffodils looks stunning on the countertop, and you post a quick picture to your Instagram story before heading out with Chanhee.

“Do you want the aux?” he asks when you’ve situated yourselves in his car.

The wind blows freely as he drives, the night sky twinkling through Chanhee’s open convertible. The rich red color of his Toyota Solara stands out against the deepness of the blackness around you two, but you can only focus on Chanhee’s side profile and the glittering earrings he’s wearing. Up until this point, you’ve only ever been in spaces you were familiar with. Seeing Chanhee in his own car is a completely different atmosphere for you, and you’re not sure how it makes you feel.

“I’m good. Play whatever you like,” you reply, truly interested to see what type of music he listens to.

Paris in the Rain drifts through the speakers, and you have to fight back a smile at the tune. Of course he would play this song on a night drive, judging by its mellow atmospheric feel, but you’re not mad about it.

“Why did you choose this restaurant?” he continues after the song settles, looking over at you when he pulls to a stop in front of a red light.

You have to recenter your thoughts to answer him, bringing your vision back from how ethereal he looks against the red tones of the stoplight.

“It’s been on my list for a while,” you admit honestly. “It’s also not super high scale, so someone will definitely notice us being there.”

Chanhee nods before quieting down as the red light fades into green. You’ve noticed that Chanhee tends to sit in silence when he’s with you, not interacting as much as he had with Vernon at the premiere. You wonder if he’s just naturally silent and hit it off with Vernon or maybe if he’s just hates you.

“Are you always this quiet?” you voice when he slows down due to traffic, not wanting him to feel alienated by the question.

“Ah, not really,” he says, scratching his head, “I just didn’t know if you were comfortable with me talking since we’re technically just coworkers.”

“Oh,” you voice, not expecting his admission.

You didn’t foresee him being so considerate of your feelings, enough to stop talking completely, and the thought warms your heart. Maybe he’s not such a bad person after all, you think, staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have admitted that,” he expresses. “I can go back to sitting in silence.”

“No!” you exclaim, and he looks over at you with slight alarm, “I mean, it’s fine. You talking is fine. You don’t need to restrict yourself from speaking just because we’re in a work setting. I don’t mind you talking.”

His shoulders relax as he steps on the gas, maneuvering through the gaps of the traffic that’s slowly clearing.

“That’s good,” he mutters, flicking on his blinker, “cause otherwise, this would’ve been a very awkward dinner date.”

You fight back a smile as he pulls up to the restaurant, and you don’t even have a chance to open your own door before he’s unlocking it for you. You thank him politely before walking inside, side by side with Chanhee. You follow the receptionist to your table once she gets your section cleared, and you’re offered complimentary chips and salsa as you wait for your food to arrive.

“You said this place was not ‘super high scale’?” Chanhee questions, looking around at the décor.

Okay, so maybe it is a little bit classy. The mediterranean themed restaurant has a cozy interior, and you’re currently sitting on wicker chairs by a huge glass window. The setting feels very exposed, as if you truly are sitting outside with the stars hanging over your heads. Subtle things about the place remind you that it’s elegant, such as the intricate menus and the tons of cutlery that sits next to you, but you hoped that it was something more comfortable for Chanhee to acclimate to.

“Why, is it too much?” you ask, picking up a chip.

“It’s not, but this is definitely fancy in my world.”

You smile, watching Chanhee be starstruck by his surroundings.

“Just because I’m famous now doesn’t mean I always was,” you start, “before I got my big break, my version of fancy was a dine-in restaurant.”

He laughs, relaxing a little.

“I didn’t know we were so similar. I just always assumed you were a nepo baby or something like that.”

“Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I’m privileged. I worked hard to get here, you know.”

Chanhee nods as your waiter brings out your food, and the two of you immediately dig in. The appealing smells make your stomach hungrier than usual, and it takes a good few minutes for you to settle your appetite before you start conversing with Chanhee.

Now that the awkwardness is gone and that you have a simple understanding of each other, talking with him is easy. Putting aside all the hatred that’s spewed up these past few months, you find out that Chanhee is actually an amiable person, someone you could’ve seen yourself being friends with if you two weren’t so different. He shares stories about growing up and his family in exchange for yours, and you have to clutch your stomach in laughter when he slips in a joke that matches your taste exactly.

Being with Chanhee is natural, so much that you wish you had met him under different circumstances. In addition to being a friendly person, he’s also a gentleman, from the way he slips his card under the menu without you noticing (you definitely scolded him for it later) and opens the car door whenever you get in and out. As he walks you up to your apartment, you thank him honestly for tonight, regretting that your time together is already over for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers suddenly when you’re outside your door. “I’ve written so much shit about you without being an honest judge of your character.”

“It’s okay, Chanhee. This is what you do for a living, I get it.”

“No, you deserve an apology. You’re an amazing actor and an even better human being. You didn’t deserve a single word I wrote about you.”

You’re not tipsy this time around, but you pull him into a hug anyway. This time, you actually mean it though, and you try to disregard the loss of warmth when he pulls away after a few moments.

“Thank you for tonight,” you murmur, stepping into your apartment. “See you next week.”

He smiles, and suddenly, the room is filled with sunshine.

“No, thank you. See you soon.”

You woke up the next morning with a text from Chanhee. The texts have not stopped coming in ever since you responded, as if you’ve opened the floodgates of interaction. You wish he’d texted you sooner, because even though he bombards you with everything in the world from funny memes to just crying about his day, you love returning the same energy.

Where are you rn, a text flies in, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

on set. wbu?

Driving to somewhere special!

oooh spill??

I’ll let you know after I get there

You frown, not so pleased with his secrecy. You hate secrets, and so does Chanhee, so why is he indulging in one right now?

You don’t have time to mull over it as your director calls you back over, ready to continue with the shot. Your costar Younghoon stands before you, smiling as his assistant fixes up his hair before clearing his throat.

“Ready for this scene? It’s a lot,” he comments, reading over the script one more time.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, watching for your director’s call.

The line starts rolling a few seconds later, and you immediately straighten your posture, preparing yourself for the scene.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what was so wrong about what I did?”

He laughs bitterly, pointing to the papers on the desk beside him.

“What was so wrong? You ruined my entire career!”

The papers fly around you as he wipes them off the desk in one sweep, and tears well up in your eyes once you look at his angry gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you plead, clutching onto his arm, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear—”

“You didn’t know?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement, “you’re the editor for the goddamn newspaper! Of course you fucking knew this was going to happen!”

He rips his wrist from your fingers, inching away from you.

“It’s my job to write the news, darling. You have to understand—” you cry, dropping to the ground.

The papers shift around you, and you watch your tears drip onto the headlines.

“We’re done,” he utters, one final phrase before he rips off his ring, throwing it by your feet. “Never speak to me again.”

“And cut!” your director shouts, “good work guys. Take 30.”

Younghoon helps you up from the ground, and you whisper gratitude before brushing off your ankles. The wooden floor was uncomfortable to kneel on, but you’re grateful that it was only for a short period of time.

“Y/N!” you hear from the other end of the room, and you peek over Younghoon’s broad shoulders to see a familiar figure waving.

“Chanhee?” you gasp, walking over to him once he register his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise?” he replies, giving you the bouqet of flowers he was holding. “I wanted to be a good boyfriend and surprise you on set.”

“Thank you,” you reply, grabbing the flowers from his hands before leaning in closer, “did Vernon put you up to this?”

“Um…” he starts, scratching the back of his head, “yeah, definitely. It’s the middle of the week, so why else would I be here?”

You roll your eyes, leaning back before you reach for his arm, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you, regardless. No one’s ever visited me on set before like this. Even Vernon.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I thought you would have a lot of people around you like that.”

“I have acquaintances, but they’re all busy too. The most someone’s ever done for me is send me a food truck, and that was from my own mother.”

“Well, I’ll be here from now on, then.”

You feel a pang in your chest, and Chanhee must notice the shift in the atmosphere too because he clears his throat. You both know that this arrangement is already halfway over, so why do Chanhee’s words feel so comfortable, as if you both were in a regular relationship from the very beginning?

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Y/N? Is this the boyfriend?” Younghoon interrupts, walking up from behind with an outstretched arm. “Hey, I’m Younghoon, the costar. Nice to meet you, man.”

Chanhee smiles, plastering a smile to cover his previous frown before taking Younghoon’s hand in his, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you too. Y/N’s been telling me about you, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Younghoon laughs, removing his hand from Chanhee’s grip.

“Yeah, it’s surreal working on this movie. It’s kinda funny how Chanhee’s a journalist because Y/N plays one in this movie too.”

Chanhee turns to you, surprised by this new piece of information. You’ve been pretty lowkey about the role, not wanting to tell anyone until the movie wrapped up filming, but Younghoon seems to trust Chanhee with the information because he’s your boyfriend.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

You nod in confirmation, grinning slightly.

“Yeah, we just finished up a heavy argument scene before you arrived. Wanna see the set?”

You and Younghoon parade Chanhee around, introducing him to other actors and cast on the set working diligently. Chanhee is in awe, starstruck by the unfamiliar environment and you can��t really blame him. The movie industry in and of itself is a dream, and witnessing it for the first time is probably exhilarating for him.

After your break wraps up, you lead Chanhee out, standing by the front of the garage. He still has stars in his eyes, and you have to nudge his shoulder twice before he pays attention to you.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to be a director once, so seeing this all is kind of a dream come true.”

Your eyes widen. Whatever you were expecting to come out of his mouth was not even close to what he just said, and you’re still processing his words when you voice your confusion.

“Yeah, that’s how I learned writing and photography. I used to write screenplays and direct them, but I never made it big like I wanted to. Luckily, Sangyeon took me in when I was struggling, and that’s the only reason I have a job today.”

Suddenly, you know nothing about Chanhee. If events had played out a little differently, Chanhee could be standing right in front of you, not as a fake boyfriend but as a director. You wouldn’t be from two separate worlds anymore, and the thought is killing you.

“Do you still direct?” you ask uncertainly, unsure of what to even say after his confession.

“Nah, not anymore. I help my friends out with short films sometimes, but that’s about it.”

“If you ever want to get back into directing, I can help you out.”

Chanhee looks like his breath has been stolen away, staring at you dumbly.

“I don’t know if I can give you a position directly, but I can definitely link you up with fellow directors of mine and see if there are any film festivals looking for submissions.”

“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely, “I don’t have an answer for you right now, but what you just said means the world to me.”

Chanhee does the unexpected, wrapping you in a hug this time around. It’s meaningful and tender, and he burrows himself into you as he clutches your shoulders tightly, never wanting to let go. The same shoulders that he once tried to pry your hands off are now encircling you, and you smile against his cheek.

“It’s no problem,” you voice honestly, pulling back to look at him. “I’m always here for you, just remember that.”

You told him the last date would be a little different, but seriously, Chanhee was not expecting a van.

You wave from the front seat, putting aside your phone as he scrambles into the front seat. Chanhee quirks an eyebrow at you, urging you to spill, and you take in a deep breath as you struggle to get the words out.

“So… um, you know how celebrity couples usually have pictures of them making out in their cars, right?”

Chanhee stares at you incredulously, and you grimace, biting your lip.

“I know it sounds bad, but it was Vernon’s idea, I promise! We just need to kiss a couple of times for the pictures, that’s it. It can’t be too bad, right?”

“Y/N,” Chanhee sighs, massaging his temples, “are you crazy? We haven’t even kissed once before this.”

“Well, now is a good time to start, right?” you ask sheepishly, “Look, Vernon paid some guys to photograph us, so they’ll be here any time now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Before he can even blink, you clamber over into his lap, resting your legs on either side of his and holding onto his shoulders. Chanhee gulps, too loudly for the silence that settles between you two, and he’s close enough to you that he can feel your heartbeat thumping wildly.

Good to know that you’re just as affected as him too.

You guide his arms around your waist, securing them tightly before looking back up at Chanhee. The last time he’s ever seen you this close is from when he saved you from falling, and somewhere in the depths of his heart, he admits to himself how much he actually missed it. The fluttering of your lashes, the indents of your mouth, and the sliver of your jawline are all something he wants to commit to memory, to burn into his mind before he loses you.

Chanhee would write a whole article just about your lips if he had to.

“Ready?” you ask, so close that he can feel your breath on his.

He nods, and before he can even lick his lips, you lean in, meeting him halfway with yours.

Chanhee feels like he’s in oblivion, completely succumbing to the darkness that you’ve slowly been feeding him with. You’re like poison, and as he slots his lips against yours, he can’t get enough. You’re killing him with the way you pull him in closer, imperceptibly close as if you two aren’t practically molded together already, and as Chanhee uses one of his arms to tilt your neck, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

You pull back, catching your breath and your chest heaving, but it takes Chanhee only one glance at your swollen lips before pulling you back in again. He’s addicted to the way your tongue swipes across his entrance, the way you shiver as he gently tugs your bottom lip between your lips, and the way you clutch onto his hair as the two of you exchange life through your kisses.

“Just a couple, baby?” he whispers, pecking down the side of your face, “I can give you a lot more than that.”

He tugs your sleeve down as you whine, tilting your head to give him better access to the area. He nips and sucks at your collarbone, biting hard enough to bruise in spots that you’ll probably scold him for later. He wants them to be deep enough, red enough that you won’t even be able to cover them so the whole world will know you’re his, and he knows it’s well worth it with the way you groan as he keeps going.

“I wish could stay like this forever,” you gasp, preening away when he nips behind your earlobe. “I never want to let you go. My boyfriend. Mine. Forever.”

He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your neck before he stops. You whimper, angry at him for pausing his ministrations, but as he processes your words, the hazy fog he was in moments prior fades away, and all that is left is the consequences of his actions.

“What’s wrong?” you ask when you realize he’s stopped completely.

Chanhee is shaking from underneath you, glassy-eyed, and his fingers tremble as he removes them from your body.

“Boyfriend,” he dumbly repeats, and you nod before realizing the mistake you made.

“Chanhee, I—”

“Get off me. Please.”

You stare at him incredulously, and when he doesn’t make any move to take back his words, you climb off him and into the seat next to you.

“This is all fake. Why do I keep forgetting that?”

He laughs bitterly, watching as your face morphs into a frown. How could he be so careless, to lose himself in you when this is all clearly just an act?

“Chanhee, I know this was planned, but the way I kissed you was definitely not fake.”

You sound hurt, and if he was in a better headspace, he would be calmer with his words, but the weight of what just happened is sinking down on him hard. Suddenly, he needs to leave, to never see you again and to not spend any more time in this stupid, suffocating van. He opens the door, climbing out before shutting it behind him firmly, breathing in heavily as he staggers away from the vehicle.

“Chanhee,” you cry, running up behind him and grabbing onto his wrist, “you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand!”

“I like you,” you whisper, and suddenly, his whole world shatters.

“Of course you like me,” he laughs, running a hand over his face. “Do you not realize that you have an insane amount of privilege to be saying that? I can’t even like you in return because my career hinges on hating you! Don’t you get it, Y/N?”

You’re full on sobbing now, observing as he wrenches your hand away from his. Your fingers fall limply to your side and all you can do is watch as he walks away, shaking his head.

“Don’t contact me. I never want to see you again. Fuck you, for real, for playing with my feelings.”

You can only stare as the love of your life walks away, leaving your universe in shambles.

Unfortunately, just because you encountered the worst breakup of your life does not mean the world stops moving.

You’re at another after party, one that you’d been looking forward to for months because it would finally mean you’d get to catch up with some of your old costars. However, after the chaos that had befallen you earlier this week, going to some stupid nightclub was the last thing on your mind.

Really, you’re only here because Vernon is sick and tired of you wallowing in your misery. He thinks that you’ll be getting a change of scenery by being here, but the only thing you’ve been getting is shots filled with the strongest alcohol the bar can offer. Your one goal is to successfully forget about the black-haired man that ruined your life, and your plan is effective until the bartender stops you from getting another round and tells you to get some fresh air.

You grumble as you stumble out of the bar, finding a home on the gray sidewalk in front of it. Your sequined outfit digs into your skin as you sit down, but in your drunken stupor, you can’t find it within yourself to care. You’re lucky enough that this is a nicer venue, because there’s no one around to bother you to find another spot. It’s just you and your thoughts, and you can’t tell if that’s more dangerous or not.

Your first order of business is to pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent contacts. You have half a mind to call Vernon, to curse him out from condemning you to the hell that is this place, but instead your finger hovers over a familiar contact.

You are so going to hate yourself when you wake up.

The line rings, once, twice, thrice, and just as you’re about to cut the call, a voice answers from the other side.

“Y/N, it’s three in the morning. I thought I told you not to contact me,” Chanhee whispers groggily.

“Well too bad! You’re the one that said all that shit to me and left, so how unfair is it that I don’t get my turn?”

The line goes silent before Chanhee scoffs, and you can hear the bedsheets rustle around him as he gets up.

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, giggling from how similar this is to when you first met him.

“Where are you right now?”

“Outside a nightclub,” you sing, holding your phone out behind you so he can hear the EDM music from inside a little better.

“Send me your location.”

“Nope! I don’t owe you anything, you piece of shit!”

“Y/N, wait—”

You cut the call, laughing as Chanhee’s name disappears on your screen. He calls again, neverendingly, but you never once pick up, feeling glee from how he’s the one chasing after you now.

You play Candy Crush on your phone until a car screeches beside you, and you scoff as you recognize the familiar red Toyota Solara pulls up beside you. You’ve sobered up by now, but you still hate him just as much.

“Hell no,” you whisper, getting up as Chanhee steps out. You try to run, but the highness of your shoes make it hard for you to run properly, and you stumble as attempt to escape.

“Y/N, look, I’m just going to drop you off at home, okay?”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to see Chanhee behind you with his hands stuffed in his hoodie. You note the eyebags on his face and his chapped lips before speaking to him with a softer tone, grateful that even if he despised you, he didn’t make an attempt to grab onto your wrist and coerce you into something you didn’t want.

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me?” you ask, folding your arms over one another.

“I asked Vernon for your location. If you go missing, he’ll know it was my fault.”

You grumble, staring at him angrily before walking towards his car. He opens the door for you, but you stick your tongue out at him and find a spot in the backseat instead.

The ride is silent, but you feel him watching you through the rearview mirror as he drives. Usually, you don’t mind his silence, but now the stillness is bleak and uncomfortable, just like his presence near you.

“Why did you call me?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to register it because of how intensely you’d been ignoring him.

“I wanted to cuss you out.”

“Okay, so cuss me out then.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“You know what your problem is, Chanhee? You’re self-centered. You think everything is about yourself, even down to our breakup. Who are you to even say things about my privilege when you know damn well how hard I worked to get here? Do you think I’m unaware how my feelings will affect your career? Hell, Chanhee, I literally told you I could help you find another job! I did so much for you to protect you, to support you, all for you to throw it away because you’re scared of the stupid future.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish. I love you for who you are. Even if we were destined to be opposites, I still found a way to fall in love with you. I was able to love you despite all that you have written about me in the past, so why can’t you love me for the person I am today?”

He pulls up to the front of your apartment, and you clamber out, not wanting to see his face anymore. The rain falls heavily as you step into the lobby, and Chanhee follows suit, shrugging the droplets off his jacket.

“Let me follow you up,” he asks.

You shake your head, but he trails you into the elevator anyway, watching as you press the button for your floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not in the mood, putting up a palm in front of him.

“Save it. I said what I needed to say. I might be drunk but my words are true. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say in return.”

Despite your words, you let him into your apartment anyway, throwing a towel at him so he can dry off. He pats his hair dry, wiping his glasses against the fabric, and suddenly you’re reminded of how devilishly handsome he is. You shake your thoughts off, chalking it down to good taste in men before wiping down your neck.

The thunder booms outside, startling you as your towel falls to the ground. When you pick it up, Chanhee stares at you, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Thanks for the towel. I better get going.”

He spins on his heel to leave as the storm crackles, and against your better judgement, you call out for him to stop.

“It’s storming outside. You can’t drive in this weather.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks, turning back around to meet your gaze.

“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Chanhee laughs, as if your idea is so atrocious he can’t even fathom it.

“You’re funny. I’ll just drive home, don’t worry.”

“Chanhee, I’m being serious. I don’t want you to die, for god’s sake.”

Maybe he registered the concern in your voice because he exhales, contemplating in his head if this is a good idea or not. The loud thunderclap outside has him reconsidering, and soon enough, he shakes his head in agreement.

“Alright, but you have to sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Chanhee, I’m not fucking arguing with you. You know what? We can both take the bed if it makes you happy. A pillow between us should work.”

Before Chanhee can even respond, you’re walking into the bedroom, flicking on the light. You grab your pajamas from the closet and change in your bathroom, slipping into the sheets quickly once you’re done. Chanhee follows suit, taking the right side of the bed and placing a pillow between you two for added measure.

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few moments of silence. “I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

“No need,” you grumble, shoving your face into the pillows, “just don’t roll over to my side, okay?”

He hums in agreement, and he watches as your eyes flutter shut.

“Good night, Y/N.”

You’re far too asleep to even respond.

You wake up to the sound of your head pounding in your ears. You grumble, shifting around before you open your eyes, expecting to see empty sheets, but instead you see a man with a very familiar face.

You as the events of last night rush back to you, and you hold yourself back from groaning as you recollect your thoughts. You should’ve just let him leave when he wanted to, but you didn’t, and now you have to deal with his beautiful bare face and his deep morning voice as if you haven’t fallen enough for him already.

You don’t register his eyes fluttering awake until he pokes your side. You shake, startled by his actions, and he tries to hold back a smile.

“Good morning. Sorry I overslept.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be nice enough to let you stay for breakfast though.”

“Wait,” he whispers, clutching onto your arm as you attempt to get out of the bed, “can I say something?”

You nod, and his arms falls back on the bed as he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You were right. I was selfish, and the words I said that day were extremely uncalled for. They were useless too, because if I had just expressed my feelings to you, we wouldn’t have needed to have this conversation now.”

You cock your head, confused at what he’s trying to imply. He takes in a deep breath, as if he’s preparing himself to say something.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when I think of you. I love you so much that I’m willing to quit my career just to be by your side. I was scared then of ending up on the streets like I did in the past, but I was stupid enough to not trust your words when you said you would help me. I didn’t even like that job anyway, so I was an idiot for trying to fight for something I would eventually end up leaving myself.”

“Chanhee, you’re not—”

“No, I am stupid. And selfish. And self-centered. But I am also just Choi Chanhee, the Choi Chanhee who is irrevocably and utterly in love with you, and even though I can imagine a future where I won’t be working for Sangyeon, I cannot imagine a future without you by my side. I know you deserve better, but I’m begging you to just give me one chance to rectify my mistakes. We can take it slow and not rush things like we did in our four weeks. We can go on silly restaurant dates and I’ll practice getting used to the lights at red carpets. I’ll visit you on set every day with flowers and I’ll rent out five billion vans for us to make out in. I’ll do all this and even more because you deserve it, and because I love you. Will you please let me have one chance to make this fake relationship into a real one?”

You’re kissing him before he can even respond, letting him press you against the bed. He kisses you like he’s been starved, inhaling you and memorizing every inch of your presence as if you’ll let go of him again. Like before, you’re not restricted by the millions of voices against you and Chanhee, and as he lets himself go, you follow suit, dragging him down under until you’re writhing against him, begging for more.

“I love you,” he whispers when he kisses down your collarbone, “I love you,” he whispers when your clothes join the ground, “I love you,” he whispers when you shake against his fingers and mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time, cradling you gently as he becomes one with you. “I’ll never let you go. Never again.”

As you lay against him, bare skin to bare skin, you trace the tips of his hair as you smile. You don’t know what the future holds for you two, but there’s one thing you’re certain of as you press another kiss to his mouth.

"I love you. Even if the world caves in, it’ll be you that I lie with. Endlessly, until my last dying breath.”

This time around, you take things slow, not restricted anymore any more by four weeks, four months, not even four years. You have the entirety of your lifetime to spend with him, and you intend on using every single bit of it.

First, however, you let him make it up to you. Just because you bared your soul to him, figuratively and literally, after his apology doesn't mean you've completely forgiven him.

Chanhee doesn't disappoint though, reminding you every single day why he deserved the second chance you gave him. Once upon a time, he called you privileged, and that's exactly what you are now for having such a sweet boyfriend. One that doesn't leave the vase on your countertop empty by gifting you fresh flowers, one that always opens the door for you when he takes you on apology dates, one that sits with you in silence when you want to and one that chatters just as much as you do when you can't shut your mouth.

He visits you on set when he can despite his busy schedule as an assistant director. Surprisingly, you played no part in this, just the source of his determination when he finally decided to give the movie industry a chance again and bagged a job with none other than your close friend Juyeon. He surprises you for late-night drives and lets you have the aux even without you asking for it. He accompanies you to movie premieres despite hating the cameras and if you ever get asked questions that you don't particularly like, he'll glare at the reporters until they shoo away.

And god, the kisses. If the world counted kisses as an apology, Chanhee would be the CEO. Every slot of his lips against yours is like an unwritten confession from him to you, and every purse of his lips is a ballad from the depths of his heart. He kisses you for trivial things, like when you finally get that one specific line right as you're practicing for a script or when he's pecking you against the makeup trailer walls as he wishes you a successful day at work. He kisses you in the earliest of mornings, murmuring sweetness with his tongue against your hot skin, and he kisses you in the depths of the night, trailing his fingers down as you gasp against his mouth and exchange breaths through each swipe of his tongue.

Even after you do end up accepting his apology, he doesn't stop showering you with the affection you deserve. On nights you're feeling particularly insecure, Chanhee beats himself up and vows to never make you feel those emotions again, waking up the next morning to prove exactly why you're worth it. He takes care of you gently, the gentlest lover you've ever seen. He's the personification of a comfortable morning, the desire to stay in bed despite all the things you have going on. You never want to leave, forgetting all reason and staying in his embrace forever.

You're by his side when his first cinema blows up, when his first screenplay wins an award, when he gets his first nomination for directing, and today when he's on stage with an Academy Award in his hand and a smile you'll remember for ages.

You watch the twinkling in his eyes when he thanks his cast and crew, holding onto his assistant director tightly as he expresses his gratitude. What takes your breath away, however, is when he turns to you in the audience and whispers a confession that you'll never forget in your lifetime.

"And lastly, thank you, you know who you are, for being the best I could ever imagine. I will never regret the moment by the pond where you hugged me, the one that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. If anything, you deserve this award more than me. I love you, my Y/N."

You smile as the audience erupts in cheers, but as his assistant director hugs him on stage, his eyes only bore into yours.

"I love you too," you mouth back, watching as he grins when he recognizes your words.

"Forever and always."

[hamletshoeratio]

you say i can like a characters and acknowledge their flaws. Okey, did you acknowledge Kate and anthonies flaws???

What's y'all's obsession with Kate and Anthony? Genuinely asking here because some of the anons I've gotten have been saying absolutely vile things about Kate and Simone Ashley, which I refuse to post or give the time of day.

But anyways, I have been critical of Anthony before, particularly of how he handled the "love triangle" in season 2. I also hated his treatment of Sienna in season 1. I can acknowledge that his and Sienna's relationship was an important arc for his character, how ever much I hated his treatment of her. She deserved better. Additionally, a certain section of the fandom has to check their misogyny because the language used to talk about her is absolutely vile - and beyond hypocritical when compared to how the same people talk about Anthony.

Kate was mishandled by the writers. Full stop. The changes from the book were most detrimental to her and Edwina. I think Simone did amazing with what she was given, but they took out so much of Kate's development from the book. Most of my gripes with show!Kate are just frustration with writing decisions.

A lot of the writing decisions in general are just tone deaf. There's been a lot of rightful criticism on how the show has handled its bipoc representation. How Ruby Barker was treated in real life by netflix and the producers was disgusting. The way they've treated both her and her character has been vile. I hope to god her story in the show does not end the way it did in the books because that would be beyond horrific. If you're going to tell stories involving mental health issues, do so respectfully and responsibly. Otherwise, don't do it at all, because you're just doing more harm than good. Additionally, we've only had two minor queer characters for a show that prides itself on its representation. And those characters only appear in season 1. I'm not counting Brimsley because he only got proper characterization and arc in QC, and we have literally no clue where Reynolds is in the present timeline. And, while I enjoyed QC on the whole, the romanticization of Queen Victoria's birth as some sort of win for feminism took me out of the fantasy every single time. I'm not expecting the show to be historically accurate at all, the costuming confirmed to me that it wasn't trying to be back in season 1 and thats ok because its fantasy, but my god the way they include elements of real life history is beyond tone deaf.

Penelope herself was also mishandled by the writers. By making lady whistledown a far more active force in the show, they did not take into consideration what that would mean for her as a character. In the books, the Bridgertons react to the LW reveal like "oh OK, ride on Pen!" because LW hasn't been as destructive a force as she's been in the show. In the show, it makes no sense for them to react like that given what's been written about them and the impact that its had. LW, in the books, was far less harmful. By giving it a more active role in the story, they've unwittingly made her an antagonist because of the harm she's caused. Harm, I may add, that she's been mostly apathetic to. Show!Penelope needs a redemption arc, but she's probably not going to get one.

[beyondbinaries]

I'm posting this a bit early in case the 12th isn't a good mental health day. And I'm sorry if the random tag is annoying or if this post takes up too much space on dash.

On Oct 12 2016, I made a coincedental decision that has changed my life as a whole. A choice that has led me to so much pain but also so many happy memories and irreplcable friends. I made my pfp on Quotev a Genis Sage picture and somehow ended up involved in a Symphonia rp group 💕.

I had loved Genis as a character since I was a child watching my sister play at my Nanny's (my cousin would always delete her save before we even reached triet) and when we got a copy of the game when I was around 11/12 I had him on my team for the most part. It was my fascination with half elves and the mysterious Kharlan War Era that led to the creation of Mana, Oracle, Lee, 3rd, and Sunny. But those were all just childish writing in a notebook I hid from the world. Im sure lil me would die on the spot to hear that they are charas so many people know. I always knew that I loved to write but it was for charas like Sherlotta who were niche and not from a series as big as Tales so I never wrote Genis. Well until that day, I was too awkward to tell them I wasnt an rp blog and fully committed to it.

And look where that has led me. Here to you all. This journey may have been long and filled with things I'd never wish on anyone but I'm happy. So many of you have encouraged me and been there for me. I love and appreciate you all. Under the cut imma try to have things for a lot of you all word wise as gratitude. But thank you all so much, there are no amount of words or tangible sentences to express how much you all mean to me. And a happy birthday to my Genis interp who I wish i still wrote

@pyonpyonpyon ; Yuki youve been around since I started on here and damn time sure does fly. Thank you for always sticking around and plotting some of the most insane relations w/ me (Moe and Yuuri family) and dealing with tye silly kyubey meming I did back in 2017 (its been that long)

@mermaus ; sobs you know how much i lov and appreciate you but I will reiterate here... Lena you have stood by me for so much, have made my day so many times, etc. You are one of the most talented people on this website and in general? You are funny, kind, brave, strong, amazing. Im forever thankful to have met you and to be in your life. I am so eagerly awaiting the day we can meet and I can hug you irl.

@strebcr ; Pineapple !!! I am so so glad to have reconected with you! You are truly an amazing person and i am forever blessed to be considered your friend.

@in-sum ; Puyo !! Sobs I am so glad we were able to reconnect again, you are an amazing friend and you are always there for me. Youve stood in my corner when I was going through some of my worst times and I am forever grateful. You are talented and kindhearted and you stand up for what you believe is right.

@malusrecord / @constellationcrowned ; Kala!!!!!! It goes without saying how amazing of a writer and person you are. You bring so much life to your characters and it truly shows. I always find myself reading and rereading your posts when I am active on dash. You deserve all the good things in the world. And thank you so much for being my fren, I will always enjoy our dms and learning more about series i never thought I'd enjoy.

@ervaurem ; Shai!! I appreciate ypu so heckin much, you are such a kind and thoughtful person. I adore your presence on my dash and i adore the bonds between our characters. You've been there for me for such a long time now and I cant ever thank you enough..

@ofstarsandskies , @mathcs , @altosk , @cataclysmus , @talesofourworlds , and @broadswordandpistol ; a big catch all for all the wonderful people I met during festitales, despite how rough i am forever thankful for the oppurtunity I was given to force others into my point and click dm style of adventure. I have so much I cam say to each n every one of you 🥺

@solivcgant ; Mochi Mochi!! I am so sorry for the crimes Mana has committed against food and Eiji's mental health (eggbear eggs painge). I enjoy your presence and dog memes so much. You are so cool amd amazing aaa.

@twinklesofhope ; Ringo!! You are so talented and seeing you around makes me so happy.

@canidgrit / @nickitsden ; Fox!!! Hi we don't write together often but you are such a joy to see on my dash.

@biisutoarm ; Red!!! Hewwo hewwo, i love your Elfman so much he is such a treat and seeing him on dash always brightens my day. You are such a talented writer !

@osovereign ; Rinni! Hi hello, you are such an amazing and wonderful person. I have a lot of fun dming and writing with you. Its so nice to write with you again (I found a draft from like Jan 2017 on an old blog for you and i had to stop and stare at it lol--). I appreciate you so much and I hope to keep expanding Kratos' collection of poor Mana art.

@ednaeflowers ; Jenny!! Hi!! I know we aren't all that close or anything but you are such a delight to see on my dash. The Eizen and Edna thread we have is near and dear to my heart. I also really appreciate Mana and Edna's little friendship thing. I just really love your Edna interp 🥺, you are so talented and I appreciate you.

And to anyone else who read this far down, I love and appreciate you so much. Even if we don't speak or really write together. I genuinely believe each and every person I follow are talented individuals.

[remylebeaugambit]

Hey! Love your blog. I’ve come away from comics lately and most of fandom simply because of how bad the writing is and how unhinged fans are towards things they don’t like/accept, particularly in the Romy fandom.

I used to really like them but I totally agree with some of the stuff you’ve previously stated on writers, mostly on Gambit. I stopped reading anything Rogue & Gambit because it was so disheartening to see that after their marriage Rogue still treated Remy like he’s her purse or something. A lot of Rogue fans blast him for the early days when he was still married to his first wife and the lying or whatever but never acknowledge that they weren’t even really an item, Rogue was constantly pushing Remy away, mixed signals, left him to die in Antarctica even though that wasn’t her decision to make and not once was she ever called out for it. Gambit is always going to be morally grey, he’s a good guy but he’s a criminal, it’s all he’s ever known, it’s his life and Rogue has never accepted that side of him, never put in any effort with his family or friends or home. She talks down on him and about him a lot, humiliates him in various stages of their relationship then calls him her best friend but never actually put any effort into their friendship even when he was trying so hard, it always felt like there wasn’t a genuine friendship, they were just super horny for each other and the sexual tension is gone now they’ve done all that and it hasn’t got better so what’s left to continue. How many times has he said he’d leave her alone if that’s what she really wanted, has stood aside and let her be herself with other people even when it hurt him. How many times has he tried to move on and she’s dragged him back because she gets jealous and makes him feel guilt for trying to move on when it’s her telling him she doesn’t want him or “needs space” or “doesn’t trust him” but berates him for having feelings about her kissing Deadpool etc when she’s constantly pushing him away over her “not able to touch.” Didn’t stop her from touching other people or treating other men better than Gambit when he’s supposed to be someone she loves. It’s a reoccurring event in their dynamic and I’m kind of glad people are seeing it and not really enjoying the ship anymore. The way I see it and probably a lot of other Gambit fans do, is Rogue simply doesn’t want him to be with anyone else but she also doesn’t want him either, it’s like the idea of him being happy elsewhere is so irrational to her she has to keep him around, he’s very much a bitterly in a jar and she’s suffocating him. He worships her and she loves that. She doesn’t particularly care about him, just what he gives her. It’s a very one sided relationship and had they not got married I think people wouldn’t be as fired up over it. Really can we blame the writing when she’s constantly written that way? Can’t we just accept Rogue is messy and won’t ever really know how she feels about Gambit. Does she love him or just love his love for her?

It’s sad to see what he’s been reduced to. It’s sad to see Rogue made out to be the victim when actually, throughout comic history, Gambit is the victim and yes, he’s a victim of her too. She gaslights him, manipulates him and guilts him constantly. He’s just there to be her cheerleader and it’s not consistent with his personality. Remy knows when to end things, he did it with his first wife when it wasn’t working for him even though that was his first true love and someone he would always love no matter what, they’d always be intertwined. Having him with someone who is constantly hot and cold with him, who never defends him to her friends or mothers who have done terrible and disgusting things to him isn’t it. That’s not love, that’s using him for her own needs. Gambit should just be a solo character again and back with his OG friends in team ups like Storm, Bishop, Jubilee, X-23. People who are his people, not just people who put up with him because he’s Rogue’s husband. He has a family who yes, are messy but they love him. He has friends who’ve been pushed aside so his entire life and personality revolves around Rogue. He’s a joke really. We saw that on Krakoa and I stopped reading then. It was sickening. So much has happened between Rogue and Remy that I could never ship Romy again. Just thinking about it is gross. And Rogue fans need to sit back and take a good look through comics again. Rogue’s treated Gambit terribly from the beginning. Remy was a mess, traumatised, flaked in and out of being a hero/criminal but he’s had growth. He should be shown some respect for all he’s done for the X-men and Rogue more than anyone.

People keep blaming crappy writing when actually, her character has been very consistent in how terrible she is to Gambit. That’s not bad writing, that’s just how her character was written to begin with. Even if it changes now (which it won’t) the damage is done. Antarctica, Mystique, Magneto, Avengers all of that tally’s up against Rogue. Remy grew up and became a better man, for his friends, for himself and for Rogue. Rogue has never once changed. Has never once been genuinely sorry for how she’s treated him and other characters, (I won’t ever let folks forget how she treated Dazzler, Rogue is not a girls girl my friends). Rogue and Gambit is a cycle of what ifs and never will be’s. It’s been drawn out for too long and Romy fans think they have some kind of claim to Gambit only for Rogue. They’ve never really been friends, it’s “mentioned” but never shown. They only ever have drama and it’s 99% Rogue’s doing most of the time. Gambit’s character has been squeezed to death for Rogue, stuffed into a box he’ll never belong in for her. All she cares about is how she looks as a hero, which in itself makes her a crappy hero. Remy is selfless, Rogue does everything for a reason. That’s okay, she’s allowed to be a messy character, she was raised by the messiest woman in Marvel comics, it’s only natural she shares qualities with Mystique. Rogue would be a more interesting character if she was allowed to be messy, at least she’d have a personality other than loud, bossy, the always right hard done by wife. Gambit is always made out to be the problem-criminal who’s never going to be any good… let’s all think back on how Rogue was first introduced. A villain. A villain raised by a villain. I see one problem and it isn’t Gambit.

He’s not perfect, nobody wants him to be. But he’s a good man with a rough history who continued to have a good heart anyways no matter how badly he’s treated. He has a few loyal friends, one big ass messy family and three beautiful cats. He’s more than the bumbling husband. He was NEVER a bumbling husband. Romy fans are entitled to their ship, everyone is but it’s consumed fandom and his character in comics. It’s not good for him and by now it’s never going to change. He deserves better than that. There are loads of characters he has great potential with who will never see the light of day because of how popular Rogue is. Gambit married Rogue (out of the blue because that whole comic made no sense at all) and suddenly he’s her obedient pet who can’t think for himself, can’t go anywhere without her, can’t have interests or friends or even see his own family because of her like, what? And that’s a loving healthy relationship? Are we all on the same planet? Would this dynamic be hyped up if it was the other way around? Would Gambit exist at all if he behaved towards Rogue how she does to him? The scales are very unbalanced. I don’t see why Romy can’t be a side story like Rogueneto or Roguepool or Roguestorm. Why does it devour Gambit’s character but not Rogue’s?

This is no hate at you, by the way… I’m just rambling and I’ve seen you’re pretty open to discussions on the good and bad of both characters. I’ve made this out to be very against Rogue but actually it’s just Romy, beyond that she’s okay, I don’t mind her at all. She has good and bad qualities which is human, that’s great but the Romy ship is sinking for me. I haven’t come across many blogs who are open to discussing Rogue in a more negative light, that’s the only reason I’ve babbled for so long, sorry about that. It’s sort of been giving me brainrot! I hope this doesn’t come off as offensive to you. I’m very ship and let ship, I personally just think Romy has blown up and is casting a storm cloud over other characters who don’t get a look in anymore and other ships get shot down by Romy fans so much that it’s just a very negative space to be in especially if you aren’t as fond of Rogue as you are Remy. He was my favourite character, I always saw him in a sort of kindred light, if that makes sense? All the trauma he suffered through his life and he still hasn’t caught a break makes me really sad, particularly when Rogue/Romy shippers shut any critical views down with “He’s married, he’s happy.” Because he clearly isn’t. No one would be in that situation. Obviously he’s fictional and they aren’t real but Marvel comics has always been about showcasing real life problems and truama. Remy had a few near escapes from Rogue but he kept being dragged back, I don’t think that’s fair. Rogue has whole lives and love interests beyond Remy yet Remy is there for Rogue and nothing else. It’s very disheartening as a Gambit fan.

Sorry for the long ass word vomit.

First of all, I’m glad you like the blog 😉 Second, I tend to be concise, so I’ll try to keep it brief.  

I mostly agree with you what you said, but you know why I will keep blaming the writers? As Gambit fans, we are pissed off at how he is written as Rogue’s husband, but if that wasn’t the case, what would the chances of him being written well be? I say low because that’s his history, unfortunately. Rogue is the issue right now (and has been on many other occasions) because everything revolves around her and she is written as super selfish and she is shown neither respecting her husband nor standing up to him. However, Gambit has mostly been treated as a disposable character, a small player, an inconvenience. He hasn’t been respected outside their relationship either. There are exceptions, obviously, but he’s the most shitted popular character on the X-Men roster. The relationship is a huge part of the problem, but it’s not the only problem. Back in the 90’s, he used to be as popular as freaking Wolverine and Marvel made a point to unreasonably destroy that popularity. Then, those fucking movies with unrecognizable characters and Wolverine as a protagonist contributed to that; comics mirrored the movies, even though it should be the other way round. There was no Romy in the movies, and still, it took Gambit almost two decades to debut on the big screen, and it sucked because he had almost no screen time and the script sucked, the writing sucked. Again, we can blame the incompetent writers for that, not his nonexistent relationship with Rogue in that universe. Even Tatum’s Gambit hasn’t been unanimous among fans. 

As I’ve stated before, most Romy fans are actually Rogue fans in love with the idea of her hot boyfriend. I know I pissed a lot of them with that statement, but that’s what they show. Romy fans are in love with a fact that they are married, but what good is it when Gambit’s devoid of all his personality? When everything is about Rogue? That’s my problem with it. I am bitter that we’ve been deprived of seeing Gambit interact with other characters and having other relationships, romantic or not, and now he’s married. All the while Rogue is the self-insert hot girl, and even though I haven’t been interested in her character for so long that I don’t know half of what happened to her while she was on other books, it maddens me.

No, if this were the other way around, people would go nuts over it. It’s a double standard. Most members on Gambit Guild are pretty much against the relationship and the people here on Tumblr hate us there for that and calls us sexist. Many Rogue/Romy don’t see they’re the ones being sexist when they defend Rogue’s behavior towards her husband or simply pretend there’s no problem.

In short, to be honest with you, I often feel inconsistent. I’ve been critical of their relationship for most of the time, but at the same time I cling to the idea of them, that magic that child me saw in them. So I believe the potential. If there weren’t any, they wouldn’t be such a popular ship. But then again, the comics hardly ever showed us that potential. I must be stuck on fanfiction mode.    

[bluelolblue]

Wine Red

Wicktober prompt day 6 - Vampirism | event organizer @wickblr

Summary: With rising tensions between vampires and hunters, Santino can't risk going to town to eat. He resorts to drinking animal blood and suffers the consequences. John, the prodigy hunter and his secret lover, is the only one that can help him. Doing this, John also realizes a new thing about himself and it lead to a far more deeper meaning for both of them.

Rating: Explicit, smut, hurt/comfort

Relationship: Santino D'Antonio/John Wick

Note: There we go, vampire Santino is real YAY! It took a while due to writers block and irl situations and I thought it wouldn't be done this month but I pushed through, now it's here and it was worth it :]. I decided to gift this fic to @thewhumpcaretaker because I know you like vampires, we talked about vampire Santino before and since the beginning of this fic, I thought it could be perfect for you. Of course hurt/comfort for you ehehe this one is a little different ;), but fun fact: this was supposed to be only hurt/comfort... BUT Santino took control over the fic and it turned into also smut. Also, title "Wine Red" inspired by that song by The Hush Sound, I thought it could fit this fic ^ ^. I hope you'll like it >:]

☆ SPECIAL THANKS TO @mrssimply ☆ you helped me a lot with everything (like always ehehe), and this fic wouldn't be nearly as good if it weren't for you, thank you so much!! <3

So, yes! Enjoy these two silly freaks 💙🖤

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Snippet

Santino was hungry, and hunger meant he needed to hunt. Surrounded by the large forest surrounding his estate, he could hunt game freely... If not for the fact he was one of the vampires that couldn't stand animal blood. Not that it didn't taste fine, but it made him violently sick and yet, he found himself trying once again, because the alternative was going to the city to find a willing or unsuspecting soul to drink from. But with the escalating conflict between vampires and monster hunters, the risk was bigger, maybe just too big right now. Especially since Santino was having an affair with a hunter, and not just any of them but the very best. Their golden child, their most perfect soldier, John Wick.

On the grounds near his mansion, he quickly found deer tracks, and it didn't take him long to find the majestic animal. He hated killing them, they were beautiful, fragile, sensitive, the royal animals of the woods. Yet he was out here, killing one of them for his own sake, even if that would only bring him a very fleeting satiation. But hunger and desperation were stronger this time.

He sank his teeth into its neck, feeling the warm blood spilling over his tongue. It was always comforting, no matter whose blood it was, even if he always disliked the feeling of fur against his lips.

The energy he got from the blood was enough to keep him up for an hour before he started feeling the side effects. The awful headache, like a migraine stabbing through his head. But what was worse was the nausea and stomach pain. It was awful, he ended up being violently sick, every strain shot a wave of pain through his whole body, making him whimper each time. He was a mess, knelt in front of the toilet, panting when he got a chance to try and catch his breath.

Santino cursed under his breath, regretting his decision. He tried to breathe through the nausea to stop feeling light headed. It felt worse when he closed his eyes, even for a moment, it was like the whole room was spinning, making him more vigilant. He was not sure how long he spent there, considering how awful he felt, it felt like an hour. Panic rushed through his body, making him shake slightly even as he tried to hold back his noises.

After some time, he felt well enough to stand up and wash his face in hopes that it would help him calm down. Maybe he drank too much blood this time. He took a few steps back, wanting to get to his bed but got too dizzy. He stopped and sank down, leaned against the wall, all he could do now was sit and wait for the side effects to go away.

He was thinking about John, how it has been weeks since he had seen him. The situation between hunters and vampires got worse and they had trouble meeting, even if it was in secret.

Santino leaned his head against the counter and feared he would pass out, he felt even more drained than before taking the blood. He shut his eyes closed and tried to rest like that. The pain was unbearable.

There was a faint noise in the background, he wasn't sure what it was since he was falling into unconsciousness. He was worried it was a hunter, but he could barely open his eyes, his vision blurry. He still detected a familiar figure walking towards him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” It was John, the only hunter Santino loved and cared for. “Your door wasn't locked and I saw you through the window.” He was already checking for any injuries on Santino's body, taking a hold of his hand for support.

Read the rest on ao3