#broken rage interview

[khany82]

Venice Film festival ended strong with 3 Takeshi Kitano autographs as seen on Venice TV xD Thank you Kitano Sensei 🙏 

#takeshikitano #meetingfans giving #signature #autographs at #venicefilmfestival #brokenrage #北野武 #ビートたけし #battleroyal #hanabi #zatoichi #japanesemovies #asiancinema #venezia #italy #venice #tiff #meetingcelebrities #veneziadaily #sonatine #takeshiscastle #violentcop #gits #ghostintheshell

[genderqueerpositivity]

I absolutely cannot wait for this election cycle to be over because genuinely what the fuck. I keep drawing parallels to the 2016 election because there are just so many similarities, but what I haven't said much about yet are the ways in which things are worse.

Having the majority of people I know or randomly encounter be Trump supporting Republicans is absolutely wild now, because sometimes they will just drop the most unhinged comments you could possibly imagine into casual conversation as if they're simply commenting that the grass is green or the weather is nice today, and every time it gives me this bizarre sensation like I am somehow the one living in a different plane of reality.

The Democrats are intentionally bringing undocumented people into the country and giving them drivers licenses so they can vote in the upcoming November election, and unless Donald Trump wins and is allowed to carry out his mass deportation plan the United States will never again have a Republican Christian president.

Joe Biden has been using the US military to release chemicals into the atmosphere for the past four years which have the ability to affect the weather in order to trick the American public into believing that climate change is real.

The attack on Donald Trump at his rally was rally a plot enacted by The Deep State, a secret group of powerful liberals who are running the country behind the scenes, and they don't want Trump to win in November because he is too powerful for them to control.

Joe Biden was replaced by a secret identical body double when he allegedly had Covid several weeks ago, and the double is the one who really dropped out of the election, gives all of his speeches, and does all of his interviews now for him.

Those are just the ones I heard last week.

And the reactions I get when contradicting these wild takes range from rage to mocking to a bizarre persecution complex. In 2016 and even in 2020 I was able to have a lot of productive conversations with many people who disagreed with me greatly on major issues, and that is largely not happening this time. If I dare to disagree, they turn to anger, attack me personally, or cry immediately that I'm denying their right to free speech. When bringing up my actual lived experiences with certain issues, I've been dismissed immediately as emotional and brainwashed. There is no room for discourse or discussion anymore, it has broken down.

I know that we've been going out of our way to call them weird, but we're not really talking about fringe weirdo conspiracy theorists anymore, we're talking about your neighbors and my coworkers and your aunt and the guy behind me in line at Aldi. These people are everywhere, they're 100% serious about believing in this shit, and they're voting Republican in November come hell or high water, truth be goddamed.

You know, the lives of millions and millions of women, LGBTQ+ people, undocumented people, and other marginalized peoples are at stake in this election but it feels increasingly like reality is at stake too.

"Alternative facts" sounded outrageous seven years ago...now they've made it a way of life. Unless we can correct course, and rapidly, it isn't going to get better.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 7

Jazz had been against the Teen Villain Alliance. 

As proud as she felt for Danny creating a safe place for meta teens to go, it… it was still villainy. These were still kids, broken, strong, powerful kids, and the fact that so many of them fall into lives of crime was a tragedy. So the fact that Danny was explicitly allowing and even teaching these children to commit crimes… Words had been said. Loud, angry words that shook the walls with their rage.

Words that their parents didn’t hear all the way in the basement. As always too busy with their work to pay attention to their children–

Well. At the very least she made her feelings known. 

Armed with her best psychology textbooks and two years of Stanford classes, Jazz prepared for her greatest challenge yet: infiltrating a criminal organization. Run by her baby brother. 

It hadn’t been easy. After their argument, Danny had been keen to keep her away from his “project.” And Jazz couldn’t just suddenly pretend to be onboard with crime. Despite his low self-esteem, Danny was smart and definitely would figure out that she was faking. With Danny gray-rocking her and the mental health of all the children he could help at stake, Jazz did something drastic, something no one would ever expect of her and something that would horrify Danny. 

She transferred to Amity Park Community College and moved back home. 

Stanford hadn’t understood. Her new friends didn’t understand. Danny, spitting mad and accusing her of spying on him, didn’t understand. But with her less strenuous classes, and extra income from online counseling sessions, Jazz was able to track down their meeting places and help set up the Teen Villain Alliance. 

It had taken a long time to convince Danny that she wasn’t going to turn them in to the Justice League. That was her fault; she’d reacted viscerally to Danny’s pitch for the TVA and broken his trust. For someone already as untrusting as Danny, the fact that she even had it was the result of years of being there for him instead of their parents. 

Now, she was older. She’d gone back to Stanford after the TVA took off and started making a profit and gotten her degree. She spent days in the Ghost Zone looking after the kids that ran through the halls of her brother’s haunt. She held regular individual and group therapy session and was in charge of a whole slew of children who didn’t want to commit crimes–there weren’t many, but kids often took long breaks in between missions and she chose to count them among her number. 

It wasn’t an ideal life, nor was it one she could have prepared for, but it was hers. 

Returning to her warm and inviting office in Phantom’s Haunt, Jazz checked her itinerary. She had an interview with a new teacher: Red Hood, set to teach riflery. She checked his file; there hadn’t been many interactions between the Alliance and the rogue, but most of them were neutral, and his open desire to protect children made him a shoo in for the position. Damian had brought him to her attention when discussing potential allies with Danny, and Danny had handed the list off to her without a second thought. 

Her office, designed to look like the old-timey library of her dreams, lit up red as the clock struck 3 (in the afternoon, she wasn’t a heathen) and the automatic summoning circle flared to life. A rush of light spun around the interior of the circle, spinning and flickering until it fell back down, revealing… a normal man holding groceries. He promptly dropped them and pulled a gun on her, pointing it at Jazz’s head as he demanded to know where he was.

Jazz frowned. She suppose it made sense that Red Hood wouldn’t be in uniform 24/7, but she’d hoped to catch him while ‘on the clock.’ Oh well. “You’re in my office, Mr. Red Hood. Please don’t try to shoot me; the ecto-barrier will hold, and I’d rather not replace the carpet again.”

“The fuck are you talking about!?” Red Hood barked. He didn’t lower his weapon. Jazz made a note of it on her chart. “Who are you? How did you kidnap me!?”

“I’m Jasmine, human resources director of the Teen Villain Alliance. I’ve summoned you for an interview today.”

He looked out of his depth. Jazz could understand; most of the human instructors she hired  were (and one had been enraged by the idea that a villain organization had a human resources department). “Summoned? I’m not a fucking demon! What the hell are you even interviewing me for?”

“Field teacher on projectile weapons and pyrotechnics, Mr. Al Ghul. We need more teachers who can take the kids out to the human world, and–”

“What did you just call me?” Now he looked disturbed. 

“Mr. Al Ghul? Your name?” Jazz checked her documentation again. Jason Al Ghul was listed at the top under Name. “Your younger brother, Damian Al Ghul has recently joined our organization and recommended you… Are you not the Red Hood?” She reached under her desk where she kept an ectogun charged. 

The man tucked away his gun and held up his hands, eyes locked where Jazz’s hand held her pistol. “...Yeah, that’s me. So this is where Damian ran off to?” Jazz relaxed and let go of the ectogun. Red Hood tried to walk out of the summoning circle, only to bounce off an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but I’ve had interviewees try to attack me before. It’s safer to keep you in the circle until an agreement has been reached.” Jazz turned to her interview questions. “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions for me? I’m sure this has been very confusing for you.”

“Yeah. What does a villain organization need teachers for anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought all of your kids were already villains.”

“Most are, but most teens… well, they end up caught quickly unless an older villain teaches them. And those villains aren’t exactly someone we’d trust not to hurt them in a training environment. Our school–”

“You have a school? Why the fuck do you have a school!?”

She sighed. “Mr. Al Ghul. If you label a child a villain and give them no way to prove otherwise, no way to grow or change, what do you think they’ll become?”

“Lady, you’re literally trying to recruit me to teach kids to shoot people. Don’t you fucking try to convince me you’re trying to help them.”

“I learned to shoot when I was 4, long before anyone called me a villain.” Admittingly, she wasn’t, and still wasn’t, a good shot, but he didn’t need to know that. “Most of our students didn’t wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to be a villain.’ They were labeled that way by society, their families, even the heroes they tried to stand up to. Here, at least, they have a place to belong.”

“Where they’re committing crimes on Phantom’s orders!”

“Less than 10% of the Alliance actively commits crimes at any given moment.” Red Hood paused. “Of those, we only take volunteers, and only those who are physically and mentally capable end up in the field. Most of the teens just live here, go to school here, recover here. It’s a safe place.”

“...Kids shouldn’t be committing crimes.”

“Kids also shouldn’t be stopping them.” His fist clenched. “Labels like 'villain' and 'hero' are meaningless when you’re dealing with teenagers who’ve already been written off by society. The TVA isn’t about teaching kids to rob banks or take over the world. It’s about giving them a place where they can survive—and maybe even thrive—without being hunted or killed for the circumstances they were born into.”

“And you’re putting ‘em in school.” He huffed a laugh. “You really think algebra and english class are gonna help them? Fix them? Put ‘em back together after the heroes shat all over ‘em?”

She shook her head. “It’s not about fixing them. It’s about giving them a second chance, and, for many? The first safe home they’ve ever had. Now–” She straightened her papers. “If you’ll content to an interview, we can get started. But if you’ve already decided to reject our job offer…”

He studied her with his narrowed green eyes and scoffed. He sounded just like Damian. “Ask your questions,” he spat. “Get ‘em over with quick, I got perishables over here.”

Jazz smiled, fangs peeking out past her lower lip.

[rbbtruther]

I came into this fandom a very broken human being. I was twenty-four, had just come out and ended an engagement, and had no fucking clue who I was.

I never saw this fandom coming— the people who changed me, the people I hurt, the lessons I learned, the ways I grew. The truth is, one of the reasons I sidelined myself in this fandom is because I didn’t like the person I had become, and my actions had caused hurt that I needed to take accountability for. So I left. And I did work. And I am SUCH a different person at 34 than I was at 24. But I got that chance. And Liam didn’t. All of the nights spent awake until the early hours of the morning, shitposting and memeing and headcanoning. All of the press junkets, interviews, talk show appearances, performances, releases, charity events. All of the fan initiatives. Project No Control. Rainbow Direction. All of the laughter, some of the best friends I have ever known.

Liam had a part in that. A big part. I remember once, some fandom friends telling me that if I was anyone, I was Liam. I never quite knew how to feel about that. He was a child who was paraded, stripped down, abused, overworked, but he also became someone who was enabled, inflated, unaccountable. And I know what all of that feels like. He never got the chance to grow up, and that’s what fills me with rage the most. Coming from someone who DID get that chance, who has a life beyond her wildest dreams now. Why not him.

I keep thinking about how purely sparkling 2015 was, how giddy and bright-eyed we all were. I’m so sad. I’m so, so sad. I’m so angry, there are so many people I want to torch and pitchfork and roast over a spit. I have no idea how I’m going to ask my boss to work from home tomorrow and how to explain it other than to tell her I don’t feel well.

We have experienced lost. Jay. Fizz. Robin. Others. But I don’t think anything could have ever prepared any of us for this. It was all of our worst unexpressed fears. I just… I love you all. So very much. And I am so, so sorry. May we all remember that We Are 1D Family. We will see each other through this.

If you or someone you love is struggling, please know that I stand here as someone who will happily meet you where you’re at with grace and compassion, and absolutely zero judgement. I think we all need to feel this together, and we all need places to talk. I’m here for that, so happily— because it’s what we do. For family.

[themultifanshipper]

The crash was horrible. You scared yourself and everyone else when your car hit the wall with a sickening crunch. But the person you scared the most was Sebastian.

Warnings: Smut, oral, squirting, plot is similar to my other Seb fic (it was based on the same prompt) but this one is more angsty and fluffy and the vibes are completely opposite lmao, but the smut is also disgusting, barely edited tbh

His car had minimal damage, so he was just going to carry on, but the glare of flames in his mirrors was enough for him to panic and stop the car to go and help get you out of the flaming wreck, despite Christian shouting at him to continue over the radio. He just couldn’t leave you, never mind what he portrayed to the cameras, you meant too much to him and he would never have forgiven himself if he’d been that selfish.

But by the time he got there you were already out of the car, being helped across the gravel by a marshal. As he approached, you threw your helmet at him and screamed.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? PULLING A MOVE LIKE THAT YOU COULD HAVE GOT US KILLED! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE MICHAEL SCHUMACHER OR SOMETHING YOU B-"

You jumped on each other at the same time, scratching and punching at each other like children, and the marshal was forced to call for reinforcements to get you separated.

Later, during post-race interviews (you'd both been banned from the press conference) you were asked what happened and you got incredibly wound up again just talking about how careless and dangerous Seb’s move was.

Your press officer moved you off quickly to avoid any further incidents, but unfortunately for her Seb arrived at that moment, and you noticed that he looked rather pale, but that didn’t stop him from going straight to the interviewer you were just talking to.

“So, Seb, tell me about the incident, and what do you think of your rivalry with, uhh-” She glanced over to where you were standing only a few feet away, waiting.

Seb looked at you before answering. “She’s a promising talent, and no doubt she is beautiful, but she shouldn’t be in formula one.”

Before you could jump on him and cause another scene, you were dragged away to your post-race debrief before being sent back to the hotel.

Unbelievable! You crashed because of him, ruining both your races. And he had the audacity to say you didn’t belong in formula one? What a fucking joke! To say he was out of line would be an understatement, but of course, if you complained you would just be labelled as emotional, or immature, or god forbid, on your period. That’s one you had gotten once during an interview and the man swiftly ended up with a broken nose, which of course didn’t help your image, but it felt good none the less. What didn’t feel good was how little Seb had seemed to care about what happened. He could have killed you, he could have killed himself.

Hours later, you were still seething with rage when you heard a knock at the door.

The last person you expected to see when you opened it was Seb.

“I have nothing to say to you” You tried to slam the door in his face but he blocked it with his foot, making him wince.

“I know, but I just want you to know that I wasn’t playing for the cameras when I ran to get you on the track, I was worried I had caused you-“

“Oh give me a break! You crashed and saw an opportunity to look like the bigger person and come recue the damsel in distress but guess what? I didn’t NEED you Seb!”

“No, I didn’t crash! Christian told me to keep going but I stopped the car for you!”

You frowned at him, gears turning in your mind. “You stopped the car? Why the hell would you do that?”

He sighed frustratedly “Because I panicked! I saw fire and I was worried about you!”

“Oooh you were worried about me!” You parroted in the meanest tone you could muster, ignoring the beating of your heart at his words “You were worried about me because I don’t belong in this tough manly sport of yours is that it?”

He paused at your words, seemingly hurt at the implications behind them.

“You shouldn’t be in formula one, I stand by that. But not because you’re a woman, or a bad driver. It’s because I don’t want you in formula one. I don’t want you to be in that kind of danger, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you on my watch!”

Tears prickled your eyes as you took a step back from him. “So I should just give it all up huh? I should give up my dream just because you’re scared of hurting me?  What the fuck is wrong with you? I chose this! I chose motorsports for the adrenaline! The competition! The passion! What I didn’t sign up for was you crashing into me every chance you get because you can’t handle being beaten by a girl!”

Tears were properly streaming down your face by now, and you went to push Seb out of your room, but he caught your arms and pinned you against the door instead.

“Let me go Seb! Get out!”

No! You’re misunderstanding me and I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say! I care about you because despite you being a constant bitch around me, I’ve seen your real personality! And as much as you hate me, I just can’t bring myself to hate you! I didn’t want to save you to look like a hero, I wanted to save you because the thought of losing you was just-” he got choked up and you could see tears forming in his eyes as they stared intently into yours. “It… I-”  He took a deep breath “It would have been too painful.”

You gulped. “Seb, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I love you, and I’ve loved you since-“

You surged forward and kissed him.

He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in closer.

You honestly couldn’t say how long the two of you made out in the dark corner of your room for, but after a while you both ran out of oxygen and had to separate, breathing hard. His hands slid down to your thighs, picking you up easily and carrying you swiftly to the bed.

It became a competition to see who could get their clothes off faster, and you laughed at each other as you struggled to get your race suits off.

Once you were both naked, he climbed over you and started the long expedition over your curves and dips, kissing and marking every expanse of skin he came across. You writhed and squirmed at the attention, needing him to just get on with it. When he finally got up to your mouth, he was hard and you could feel his dick poking at your thigh.

“Please Seb, I need you to fuck me now” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to get him closer, but he refused, instead sitting backwards and kneeling between your legs to get a look at you.

“Calm down Schatz, I need to prepare you first, I don’t want to hurt you” he said soothingly, running his hands up and down your thighs before stopping just shy of your folds, using his thumbs to spread you open for him.

“God you are so wet for me” he groaned and dipped a thumb inside before bringing it to his mouth, sucking your juices off and groaning even louder. “And you taste so good, baby, fuck!”

He dipped a finger in gently, then two and pumped them a few times, making you mewl, before pulling them out and sucking them clean.

“I’m obsessed” he panted “I’m sorry baby, I need to taste more.” And with that he dove down and devoured you like a man starved, running his tongue over your lips and clit with gusto. His fingers soon joined and he hit that spot immediately, over and over. You quickly felt an orgasm building in your loins as your thighs tightened around his head and you fingers tugged on his hair.

“Seb, I’m so close baby!”

“I know” he growled and doubled down on his efforts, making you writhe in pleasure as the pressure building in your stomach became too much as he assaulted your clit with his talented mouth.

Your orgasm hit you so hard you couldn’t even get a breath in to make any noise as you came all over his face and chest.

He sat up over you and you saw that his hair was drenched, plastered to his forehead as drops of your cum slid down his nose and landed on your body.

He was grinning like a maniac, ecstatic at having made you come so hard you squirted on him.

“That’s never happened before!” you panted but he just smashed his lips to yours and grabbed your face, spreading wetness all over you both as his chest lay over yours.

It was disgusting.

But so, so incredibly hot.

“Fuck me now, please Seb?”

“Okay Schatz, your wish is my command” and with no further ado, he rubbed his tip through your folds a few times before sinking into you all the way to the hilt.

He was so thick it was hard to breathe as the stretch knocked the breath from your lungs, and you clung on to him for dear life.

It didn’t take either of you long to come, and you did so almost simultaneously, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s air, wrapped around each other as tight as possible.

You being incapable of walking just yet, he carried you to the shower and helped you wash, giggling as the sensation of his hands scrubbing over your skin made you ticklish.

It’s only when you got out of the shower and looked in the mirror that you noticed the marks he had left from his earlier ministrations. Small bruises littered your legs, hips, stomach, chest and neck.

“Dammit Sebastian! It’s summer and you’ve turned me into a dalmatian!” You shrieked, but he just laughed and smacked your ass on his way back to the bedroom.

“I’m serious! I can’t go out in public like this!”

He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “Now everyone can stop flirting with you”

You tuned around in his arms “Awww, is my Sebby jealous?” You cooed.

He huffed “I am not jealous, but I am yours” he smiled, leaning down and kissing you.

He finally had you after years of loving you, and he was going to savour every second of it.

Of course the first person you saw the next morning was Jenson freaking Button.

He took one look at you, in shorts and a tank top, dozens of hickeys on display, then at Seb who had just appeared behind you in the lobby, connected the dots immediately and shrieked in laughter, attracting the attention of the few other drivers who had come down early for breakfast.

You were never living this down.

[incarnadin3]

Obey Me! Quotes from an incorrect quote generator pt.2

Mammon: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Lucifer: Language, Mammon. Belphegor: Yeah watch your fucking language. Asmodeous: OKAY WHO TAUGHT BELPHEGOR THE FUCK WORD? Satan: 'The fuck word'. MC: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time Satan: Oh my god they censored it Belphegor: Say fuck, MC. Satan: Do it, MC. Say fuck.

Lucifer: MC... How do I begin to explain MC? Satan: MC is flawless. Asmodeous: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000. Belphegor: I hear they do car commercials... in Japan. Mammon: One time they punched me in the face... it was awesome.

MC: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat* Mammon: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents MC: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you Satan: Actually I did the math, Mammon would have $225, not $0.15. Mammon: Fam I’m right here.... Asmodeous: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :) MC: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please? Asmodeous: Sorry I only have a dollar MC: :( Satan: Hey I just realized my brother is right, Mammon would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent Asmodeous: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice Satan: You can buy anything you want with $22,500 Belphegor: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice Satan: Apply juice to what MC: Directly to the forehead Mammon: Great chat everyone

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Lucifer: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Beelzebub: ...I did. I broke it. Lucifer: No. No you didn't. Satan? Satan: Don't look at me. Look at Asmodeous. Asmodeous: What?! I didn't break it. Satan: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Asmodeous: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Satan: Suspicious. Asmodeous: No, it's not! Belphegor: If it matters, probably not, but MC was the last one to use it. MC: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Belphegor: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? MC: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Belphegor! Beelzebub: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Lucifer. Lucifer: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Belphegor: Lucifer... Satan's been awfully quiet. Satan: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Lucifer, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Lucifer: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Lucifer: Lucifer: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Belphegor: Rules are made to be broken. Lucifer: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Satan: Uh, piñatas. Asmodeous: Glow sticks. Mammon: Karate boards. MC: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Belphegor: Rules. Lucifer:

Mammon: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something? Lucifer: Nope, absolutely not. Satan: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through. Asmodeous: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life. Belphegor: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you. MC: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome. Beelzebub: I'd be there for you! :D

Lucifer, driving MC and Mammon: So how was your day? Mammon: We almost got surprise adopted! Lucifer: What? MC: We almost got kidnapped. Lucifer: Oh, okay. Lucifer: * slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?!

[bitchinbarzal]

thirteen | Mat Barzal

summary: the little green monster comes out when you’re wearing another jersey.

-

You and Mat had an argument about Mat’s newfound friendship with the new islanders presenter.

You’d seen them after one of his games, they were no longer filming their interview and instead were just talking.

Admittedly, you felt a pang of jealousy watching the scene unfold before you but then it all came to a head when you returned home and mentioned it to him.

He blew up, accusing you of thinking he was cheating, that you didn’t trust him. Essentially just blaming you for this whole argument.

You didn’t retaliate, opting to get your side out another way. Because when he goes low, you go lower.

So when the rangers found themselves at UBS arena, you were wearing blue.

“He’s gonna kill you” Sydney laughed as she found you at the bar, looking at your jersey before catching the name and number on the back.

“Oh my god! He’s gonna really kill you!”

You laugh and do a twirl for her “Like?”

“What did he do?”

You giggled and explained the situation to her “Oh my god, what a dick! Also she has totally been making the eyes at Matt this week too I get where you’re coming from”

“Right?!” You say, holding onto her arm as you both laugh about the situation.

In the suite, Alexis found you and looked at your jersey with wide eyes “Oh he fucked up!”

“Very!” Syd adds from her seat in the front and you smile at her playfully before turning to Alexis

“Me and Mat had a fight and I’m giving him a taste of his own medicine”

“Oh girl don’t explain! I’m on your side!”

The game is rough, as per usual when these two teams meet during the season.

Mat’s never one to get involved in the fighting, typically just sitting and looking pretty which you liked because it meant you were never worried about him.

That was until the period break, Mat was pulled for yet another interview by her. In which she showed him a fab picture of you in your rangers jersey

“So Mat, we hear your girlfriend is repping the Rangers tonight or better yet repping another number thirteen?!”

He looks confused until she shows him the image, his eyes immediately filling with anger.

There you were standing at the bar, in his arena wearing your ex boyfriends jersey. The name Lafrenière where Barzal usually sits.

“Uh… I didn’t know” he laughs it off but anyone who knows him can see his mind running a million miles a minute.

As soon as the interview is done he’s having to go back out, no time to text you and tell you to take it off.

Instead he goes out on the ice like a raging bull.

You watch from your spot in the box as the puck drops and Mat heads strait for Alexis on the ice, taking him straight to the floor.

You gasp as they hit the ground and begin fighting.

It doesn’t last long, Mat being sent to the box straight after. You see his face on the jumbotron, his nose is bent the wrong way and there’s blood rolling down his cheek.

You don’t say anything else, simply curling into yourself and thinking about what you’d caused. It was meant to be harmless, just a way to get back at mat for what he’d said but now his nose was broken, you felt horrible and you’re sure Alexis was out for the rest of the game.

Mat always had a jealous streak in him, from day one. You met at an event where you were Alexis’ date, Mathew introduced himself to you and immediately fell.

He waited months, scrolling through your socials for the day you’d be single and when he finally heard you had broken up he grasped the opportunity but that didn’t stop the comments and his own insecurities getting to him about your relationship.

By the end of the game you’re not celebrating like the rest of the girls, you silently made your way down to wait for Mat.

When he comes out of the locker room sporting a wrapped nose you wince. He looks at your jersey and growls

“Take it off for fuck sake”

“I don’t have anything on underneath” you mumble, the sleeves now crumbled up into your palms as you clutch them anxiously.

He doesn’t respond just walking to the car, you begin walking behind him. There was no congratulations kiss, no conversation as you sat in the car silently as he drove back to your apartment in Manhattan.

Traffic was bad which didn’t help Mat’s mood.

You tried to turn on the radio but he muted it immediately.

It wasn’t until you got to sunnyside when Mat said

“I would never hurt you like this”

You turn to him, his eyes still on the road

“Mat I’m sorry… I was annoyed about the whole-“

“I told you there was nothing happening between us! You were the one convinced I was doing something”

“I know that! And I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine!”you shouted, angry he wasn’t listening.

“Giving me a taste of my own medicine? y/n he was your fiancé… do you think I don’t feel bad about that? That you were actually so in love with him you wanted to marry him at one point!”

You sunk into the seat of the Range Rover and mumbled “Yeah well now I see it was a stupid idea”

Arriving at your apartment, Mat waited for you to get out and you asked “Are you coming in?”

“I’m going back to Long Island. I think maybe we were a mistake”

Your heart dropped in your chest and you leaned back into the car “Mat I’m sorry ok! It was stupid and I’m so sorry-“

“I’ve told you how he makes me feel y/n and you threw it in my face, in public infront of everyone to see and you embarrassed me. I don’t think I want to go through life constantly worried about everything and feeling insecure”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks “Mat please… I’m so sorry baby it’s only you, I’ll take it off, I’ll stop with the games just please-“

“I love you, but I’ve got to protect myself first” he says, starting the car again and waiting for you to step away before he drives off back home.

Leaving you standing there watching the Range Rover leave, your heart going with it.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Cozy Secrets || Bucky Barnes

Character: Spy!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: Y/N discovers her seemingly perfect roommate, Bucky, is a spy.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

In the heart of the bustling city, Y/N  found herself looking for the perfect roommate. Her previous housemate had bid adieu after getting engaged, leaving Y/N in the lurch to find a suitable replacement.

After countless interviews, Y/N finally stumbled upon what seemed to be the answer to her roommate's quest – Bucky, a sports photographer with a penchant for cleanliness and a propensity for quiet nights.

His nocturnal work hours meshed well with Y/N's daytime routine, and his willingness to contribute to the apartment's upkeep made him the ideal housemate.

The first three months of their living arrangement went smoothly. He was always punctual with rent, impeccably tidy, and even willing to take on household chores without complaint – he was the roommate Y/N had always dreamed of.

However, something twisted happened one day when she returned home later than usual.

As she swung open the door, ready to unwind in her sanctuary, her eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

Her once-immaculate living space was now a chaotic mess, and right in the middle of the turmoil were two men engaged in a heated scuffle, with Bucky caught in the crossfire.

"Excuse me, what the heck is this?" Y/N exclaimed, her initial shock transforming into a mix of rage and confusion. The three combatants froze, turning their attention to Y/N.

The two men, realizing they were caught in the act, exchanged nervous glances but didn't utter a word. Bucky seized the opportunity for a strategic move in the split second of confusion.

With a swift motion, he expertly maneuvered between the brawlers and shut them down with a series of impeccably executed moves, leaving them in a stunned heap on the floor.

"Bucky, what in the world is happening here?" Y/N demanded, her eyes darting between the mess and her roommate, who was now defensive.

Bucky, seeing the need for a more honest approach, took a deep breath and decided to come clean. "Y/N, there's something you should know. I'm not just a sports photographer. I'm actually a spy."

Y/N stared at him, her initial anger giving way to sheer disbelief. "A spy? Are you serious, Bucky? Is this some sort of elaborate prank?"

Bucky shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I'm dead serious. I chose this apartment because it provides the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on a target across the building. Those guys you just saw? They were after the same target, and things got a bit out of hand."

Y/N blinked, processing this unexpected revelation. "Wait, so you're telling me that all this time, while I thought you were just a neat freak sports photographer, you've been living a double life as a spy?"

Looking genuinely remorseful, Bucky began, "Y/N, I'm really sorry about the mess. This wasn't supposed to happen, and I didn't mean to put you in this situation. It was a mistake, and I take full responsibility."

Y/N, arms still crossed, nodded. "Apologies won't fix my now-ruined living room, Bucky. This is unacceptable. I thought I finally found the perfect roommate, not a spy who turns my place into a battlefield."

Bucky, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded solemnly. "I understand, Y/N. My agency will cover the expenses for the repairs and replacements. I'll make sure everything is back to normal. You have my word."

True to his word, Bucky coordinated with his agency, ensuring a team was dispatched to clean up the aftermath of the brawl. Broken items were replaced with new ones, and the apartment was restored to its former glory.

A few days later, as Y/N surveyed the now spotless living room, Bucky approached her tentatively. "I hope this makes up for the mess, Y/N. I really didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Y/N, now feeling a bit more forgiving, sighed. "Fine, Bucky. You've cleaned up your mess, literally. But I still need time to get over the fact that my roommate is a spy who uses my apartment for covert operations."

Bucky hesitated, "Y/N, I hope you don't want me to move out. I really like it here."

As Y/N contemplated whether she should ask Bucky to find a new place, her phone buzzed with a notification about her upcoming high school reunion. The idea of attending filled her with dread.

"Ugh, a high school reunion," she muttered to herself.

Bucky, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. "Problem with the reunion?"

Y/N grimaced. "I despise those events.” She doesn’t want to meet the popular girl from her school who constantly bullies her. But this time, she wants to show off. She got an excellent job nice apartment. But there’s one she doesn’t have. 

A boyfriend. 

Y/N looked Bucky from head to toe and mumbled, “What if..." But this idea was insane; she shook her head. 

Bucky looked curious. "What if what?"

“Nothing.”

Bucky, understanding the high school dynamics, chuckled. "Ah, trying to one-up the mean girls from the past. So you need someone to accompany you? I'm in.”

Y/N fell silent for a moment, a realization slowly dawning on her. "You knew about my personal life?"

Bucky rubbed his head, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. He didn't deny it, saying, "Well, I'm a spy, and my agency does background checks on everyone."

Her hands now covering her face, Y/N sighed, "Oh no...."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. "What do you think? With my spy skills, I bet I could impress everyone at the reunion. In exchange, please don't kick me out. Pleasee...."

Y/N grumbled, her frustration apparent. "Fine."

Bucky grinned, a mix of relief and amusement in his eyes. "Thanks Y/N. I swear you won’t regret this."

As they navigated the quirks of their unique living situation, little did they know that more surprises and adventures awaited them in the days ahead.

Chp 1, Chp 2 , Chp 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

[f1girliefics]

Too Far

Mick Schumacher x Reader

Summary: When dating him causes rage in some fans, they forget where the line is.

When the news of Mick and you dating came out, you expected the rumours, you were ready for the hate and the comments.

What you weren’t ready for is the crazy fans who decided to harass you in public.

It started off with small things.

When you went shopping, things were missing from your cart. Then people started to push you. You thought it was by mistake but then you realized, it was all a game to them.

Videos on TikTok started to go around, it was almost like a challenge to them.

Who could push you more?

Mick mentioned to you that it wasn’t okay and you didn’t have to deal with the harassment, but you brushed it off.

“Don’t worry, it will die down after a while. You know how people are, they will move on to the next thing.”

He knew you were right. 

But then, it got out of hand. So much so that you fell and got injured.

The video went viral before you could even get some help.

You were rushed to a hospital with a broken ankle and twisted wrist.

Your boyfriend called you, furious. 

“This has to stop!” he texted. “I’m on my way, almost there.” came another text, then. “I’m so sorry that this happened. I love you!” 

Before you could text back, the door opened and he came in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he saw the cast on your leg and the wrap on your arm.

“I’m good. The idiots pushed me on a slippery floor and as I fell my leg got stuck under the shelf and I fell on my wrist. How I can press charges?”

“I saw the video, Lando sent it to me. It’s going viral and the public opinion is with you. Everyone’s saying how that is just taking it too far and how they should be ashamed. Someone even found out the name of the girls and even after they took off the video, someone reported them.” he let out a long sigh. “I was so worried about you. I’m glad you are safe.”

“I agree, this has gone too far. Light pushing I can handle but breaking my leg… too much. Thank you.” you smiled at him and pulled him in for a short kiss before the doctor came and let you leave.

You arrived home and ate something while Mick was on his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a post. I need to set the boundaries and I can’t just let this one go.”

“I understand and agree… just be… kinda nice.” you said as he nodded and continued typing.

‘My Dear Fans,

I’m sure many of you are aware of what happened today. I kept silent out of respect for my girlfriend, but I can no longer do so. 

She got seriously hurt today and I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen before.

I do appreciate all my fans but I think we all can agree that this is seriously not okay.

I decided to take a break from social media and spend my time with my girlfriend as now she will need someone to help her with tasks.

I hope we all can learn from this.’

You gave Mick a nod and he posted it.

He spent the entire day helping you with anything. He ordered food and even offered to help you eat.

“My other hand is just fine!”

“But I want to help.” he argued and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He wanted you to smile and laugh to forget everything that happened.

But later that night, while he was sleeping, your mind began to wonder.

All your insecurities and fears came to the surface. 

You knew you shouldn’t blame yourself. But you were angry that you let things get out of hand and it got to this point.

You were used to the interviewers, the inappropriate questions, and people shouting at you.

But this was a new low.

You were just happy to have Mick by your side.

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[its-avalon-08]

tell me why you're here (dc14)

anon you're a star! istg such good requests, thanks alot for reading <3

pairing - David Coulthard x ferrari!driver!reader

The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes and the thrumming tension of a championship fight. 2001, Monza. You, the undisputed Scuderia Ferrari Queen, and David Coulthard, your McLaren nemesis, stood on opposite sides of the grid, a simmering rivalry stretching back years reflected in your steely gazes.

There was something undeniable between you two, a spark that ignited on the racetrack and flickered in the post-race interviews, veiled in thinly veiled barbs and stolen glances. But the truth was, unspoken fears kept you both tethered to your teams. The scarlet of Ferrari was your armor, the prancing horse your symbol of unwavering loyalty. McLaren, for David, was a second family, and Mika Hakkinen, his teammate, a brother-in-arms. To break ranks, to chase something more, felt like a betrayal.

The lights flicked out, the grid a blur of red and silver as you surged forward. Every lap was a dance on a knife's edge, pushing the limits of the car and yourself. You battled wheel-to-wheel with David, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in your helmet. Then, disaster struck. Bottas, the Williams driver, misjudged a turn, clipping your rear wing. The world tilted on its axis as your Ferrari went airborne, a sickening weightlessness before a bone-jarring impact with the barriers.

The cockpit filled with dust and the acrid tang of burning rubber. Your head throbbed, vision blurry. Disoriented, you fumbled with the release lever, the silence deafening after the symphony of the engine. You stumbled out, shaken but miraculously unharmed. The red car, however, lay broken and unmoving, a testament to the violence of the crash.

David, having witnessed the horror unfold in his mirrors, felt a primal jolt of fear course through him. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a raw, visceral terror that left his palms slick with sweat. But he clenched his jaw, a silent apology lodged in his throat. McLaren needed this win, and Mika was hot on his heels. He couldn't afford to falter.

Fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a terror that left his palms slick with sweat.

He couldn't take his eyes off the dust cloud engulfing the spot where your car had disappeared. The championship fight with Michael was a distant thought, the roar of the crowd a dull thrum in his ears. His voice, when he finally spoke, was tight, a mask of professionalism barely containing the tremor of worry.

"Get me a status check on the red two," he barked into his radio, his gaze fixed on the dissipating smoke. "Accident at Lesmo. Looks bad."

"Copy that, David," his race engineer, Dave Masten, replied, his voice laced with concern. They both knew the dangers lurking on the high-speed corners of Monza.

David pressed his foot down further, the car a blur as he pushed for every last millisecond. He knew he couldn't afford to lose focus, not with Mika hot on his heels. But every corner, every bump, sent a fresh jolt of unease through him. Images of your crumpled car, of you… he pushed them down, burying them deep. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. Yet, with every passing lap, the worry gnawed at him, a relentless current beneath the surface.

"Any word on Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice clipped, betraying none of the turmoil within.

"Medical team's on the scene," Dave responded promptly. "We'll get you an update as soon as we have one."

David grunted, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He couldn't let this distract him. He had a race to win, for McLaren, for Mika, for himself. But a silent vow echoed in the confines of his helmet. He would see you, Y/N. He would get to you, somehow, the moment this damn race was over.

The race raged on, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in David's ears. He drove on autopilot, the image of your crumpled car seared into his mind. Finally, the checkered flag. A hollow victory, a McLaren 1-2. Relief washed over him, tinged with a gnawing worry.

As he climbed out of the car, the first person his eyes met was Michael, a grim expression etched on his face. "Y/N," he started, his voice tight, "they're taking her to the medical center."

David's heart lurched. All thoughts of the win, the championship, faded into insignificance. He didn't care about points or podiums. All he wanted was to be by your side, to see you safe. But duty, that ever-present burden, held him back. He could only nod curtly, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air, a promise he hoped he wouldn't break.

The post-race celebrations were a blur of forced smiles and hollow champagne toasts. David felt like a fraud, the gleaming trophy a cold reminder of a victory that felt hollow. He couldn't shake the image of your car, a mangled sculpture of red against the asphalt. The medical center visit had been a whirlwind – you were shaken, sore, but thankfully unharmed. Relief had washed over him, a tidal wave that left him weak at the knees.

But the relief was laced with a bitter aftertaste. He hadn't been able to see you. Team protocols, the swarming media, a suffocating sense of duty – all conspired to keep him at bay. Back at the McLaren motorhome, the silence was deafening. He showered, the hot water failing to wash away the lingering dread. Just then, a knock on the door startled him. It was Mika, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Mind if I intrude, mate?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

David sighed, gesturing for him to come in. "Fire away, Mika."

"Look," Mika began, his usual playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness, "I know what just happened out there scared the living daylights out of you."

David flinched. He hadn't spoken a word about his terror, yet Mika saw right through him.

"Don't worry, DC," Mika chuckled, "your secret's safe with me. But seriously, mate," he continued, his voice softening, "you looked like a ghost out there. You haven't been yourself since that crash."

David stared down at his hands, guilt twisting in his gut. "I just… I couldn't believe it. One minute she's pushing me hard, the next…" he trailed off, unable to voice the terrifying image that haunted him.

Mika placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of surprising tenderness from the usually stoic Finn. "You care about her, don't you?"

David met Mika's gaze, his own filled with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. "It's complicated, Mika. We're rivals."

Mika scoffed. "Rivals who can't seem to keep their eyes off each other. Come on, DC, we both know this dance you two have been doing is getting old. You think I haven't noticed the sparks flying whenever you're around her?"

David opened his mouth to protest, but Mika cut him off. "Look," he said, his voice firm, "life's too damn short for these games. You almost lost her today. Don't waste another minute wondering what could have been."

Mika's words hung in the air, a challenge and a dare. David looked into his teammate's eyes, seeing not just a competitor but a friend who understood. Maybe Mika was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding, to stop letting fear dictate his actions. He wouldn't let another day pass without knowing the truth, without letting you know how he truly felt.

A resolute expression settled on David's face. "Thanks, Mika," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "You're right. It's time."

The sterile white of the medical center walls had been a blur as the doctor droned on about rest and recovery. Back in the familiar confines of your driver's room at the Ferrari garage, however, the events of the day crashed down on you like a tidal wave. The mangled wreckage of your car, the searing pain that had mercifully subsided, the chilling realization of how close you'd come to...well, anything but a podium finish. You curled up on the small cot, exhaustion warring with a nagging anxiety. A soft knock at the door startled you.

Wiping the tears that had sprung to your eyes, you called out, your voice hoarse. "Yeah, come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sight that made your breath hitch. It was David, clad in his now-unfamiliar McLaren overalls, his face etched with a worry you wouldn't have believed possible just a few hours ago. Before you could even process his unexpected appearance, he was striding across the room, his expression uncharacteristically intense.

The next thing you knew, you were enveloped in a warm embrace. His arms, surprisingly strong, held you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. It was a gesture so foreign to the typically stoic David that you froze, unsure how to react. He'd never been one for displays of affection, not even in the fleeting, celebratory moments of a podium finish.

"David?" you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes holding a depth you'd never seen before. Concern, something akin to fear, flickered in their depths. "I heard you were back," he said, his voice rough. "I... I just needed to see you, to make sure you were alright."

You blinked, your mind racing. This wasn't the David you knew, the one cloaked in professional rivalry. This was a man stripped bare, his emotions laid raw on the surface. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a counterpoint to the lingering chill of fear.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice finding its strength. "Just a bit banged up." You reached out, hesitantly placing your hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through you, a familiar spark you'd long suppressed.

A wry smile tugged at your lips, the memory of countless post-race interviews flashing before your eyes. "You don't exactly strike me as the huggy type, DC," you teased, the playful jab a way to mask the fluttering in your stomach.

David's jaw clenched for a brief moment, a flicker of his usual competitive spirit igniting. But then, his grip on you tightened, surprising you with its intensity. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice husky, "accidents have a way of changing things." He buried his face in your hair, the familiar scent of Ferrari leather and adrenaline a strange comfort. "Don't push me away, Y/N. Not now." The words were a plea, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the composed facade he usually maintained. You felt a lump form in your throat. This wasn't just about the crash, you realized with a jolt. This was about something deeper, something unspoken that had simmered beneath the surface of your rivalry for far too long.

You let out a shaky breath, the playful facade crumbling under the weight of his unexpected vulnerability. "David," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "why are you really here?"

He held you tighter for a moment, his silence a thrumming tension in the air. Then, slowly, he pulled back, his blue eyes searching yours. "Because," he began, his voice low and husky, "the thought of you… of almost losing you… it scared the hell out of me."

Your heart hammered in your chest. This wasn't just about concern for a fellow competitor. This was something more, something you'd only dreamt of.

"Scared?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wry smile touched his lips, laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "Scared enough to break all the damn rules," he admitted, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Scared enough to realize that this stupid rivalry… it doesn't matter anymore. Not compared to you."

The dam inside you broke. All the unspoken feelings, the stolen glances across the podium, the simmering tension that had fueled your every race – it all came flooding out. "David," you breathed, your voice trembling, "I thought… I thought you never felt the same."

He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. "Always," he confessed, his voice a mere thread. "Always, but the timing… the teams… it never felt right."

A tear escaped your eye, tracing a warm path down your cheek. David leaned in, brushing it away with his thumb, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

David cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. He confessed, his voice a low rumble. "This whole time, this stupid rivalry… it was a shield. I was afraid to admit how I felt, afraid of what it would mean for our teams, for everything."

A bittersweet smile touched your lips. The fear you'd harbored for years, the fear of rejection, mirrored his own. "David," you said, your voice catching slightly, "I… I felt it too. The spark, the tension… I thought it was just competition."

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "It was always more, Y/N," he murmured, sending shivers down your spine. Then, his lips found yours in a hesitant kiss, a tentative exploration that quickly deepened with newfound urgency. The taste of adrenaline and relief mingled with something sweeter, a taste that promised a future neither of you dared to dream of.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. A soft laugh escaped his lips, tinged with disbelief. "Who knew a near-death experience would lead to this?" he whispered, peppering your face with gentle kisses, each one a silent apology, a promise.

The first kiss landed on your temple, a whisper-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second brushed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling. Then, a third, softer still, grazed the corner of your lips, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, your voice barely a whisper. "David," you breathed, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the firm line of his jaw.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against your chest. "Don't tempt me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His lips danced across your jaw, trailing a line of fire down your neck before finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips as he lingered there, sending delicious shivers radiating through you.

His kisses were a whirlwind, a mix of apology and exploration. Each one whispered a story – the fear he'd felt watching you crash, the relief of seeing you safe, the yearning he'd kept buried for so long. You surrendered to the feeling, letting out a soft sigh as your arms tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

The world outside your small driver's room faded away, replaced by the intoxicating rhythm of your heartbeats and the warmth of his touch. In that moment, there were no rivalries, no teams, no championships. There was only you and David, two souls bound by a love that had finally found its voice.

The tender scene unfolding in the driver's room was a stark contrast to the usual post-race chaos. A few doors down the hallway, Michael Schumacher and Corinna were winding down after a celebratory dinner with the rest of the Ferrari team. Michael, still buzzing from his podium finish, was regaling Corinna with an anecdote about a pit stop mishap. But his voice trailed off as his gaze drifted towards the window overlooking the driver's area.

"What's wrong, Schatz?" Corinna asked, following his line of sight.

A sly grin spread across Michael's face. "Looks like Mika owes me a hefty sum," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Corinna's eyes widened as she saw David, his McLaren helmet abandoned on a nearby chair, holding Y/N in a tight embrace. Her normally stoic teammate was peppering her face with kisses, a sight so unexpected it brought a smile to Corinna's lips.

"Aww, they're so happy," she murmured, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Michael chuckled again. "Remember that bet we made before the season started? Fifty bucks says those two wouldn't confess their feelings by Monaco."

Corinna rolled her eyes playfully. "Fifty bucks? You know you just wanted an excuse to see them squirm."

Michael shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little. But hey, at least they finally stopped dancing around each other."

Corinna couldn't help but agree. As she watched the tender scene unfold, a warmth bloomed in her chest. The rivalry between Ferrari and McLaren was fierce, but beneath the surface, there was a certain camaraderie, a respect for the talent and dedication of their competitors. And seeing Y/N and David find happiness, even amidst the high-octane world of Formula One, brought a smile to her face.

"Looks like Mika needs to pony up," Michael declared, reaching for his wallet with a triumphant grin.

Corinna swatted his hand away playfully. "Don't be a sore winner, Michael. Just be happy for them."

Michael feigned a hurt expression. "Fine, fine," he conceded, pulling her into a hug. "But you have to admit, this is a lot more interesting than that story about your dodgy pit stop crew."

Corinna laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway, a counterpoint to the soft murmur of confessions and the gentle rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync.

[yuurei20]

Interview with Twisted Wonderland Music Composer Ozawa Takumi from the Soundtrack:

Q: How were the individual tracks for the Overblot battles created? (pt1)

Ozawa: "There are no base phrases or sounds that are shared throughout every theme; instead, entirely different tracks were created based on each individual character. I took the unique anger and sadness each character must have felt according to how it was that they were driven to overbold, and expanded upon it."

‘Showdown in Heartslabyul’ (Disc2-10) was where Riddle, always so suppressed, explodes with the regret of everything that he was denied as a child. Rather than an eerie aura there is a rhythm sharply carving out its own way to portray his anger and sadness.

Leona's ‘Showdown in Savanaclaw’ (Disc2-17) was based on a lion running through the savanna. After creating the first version I also submitted another with more melancholy, as I felt the initial incarnation was possibly too bold and did not properly convey the depths of Leona's frustration and sorrow.

But the first version was highly praised and ultimately selected for the game. Leona's overblot is characterized more by anger than it is by sadness.

It inspires imagery of Leona charging valiantly ahead, despite his rage, which makes me feel that the initial version was indeed the right choice.

Azul's ‘Showdown in Octavinelle’ (Disc 2-21) has a jazziness that is reminiscent of the dorm's theme.

To represent writhing octopus tentacles I used arpeggios (broken chords played one note at a time) on the piano and I was surprised to later learn that arpeggios were also used to represent the sea in the original ‘The Little Mermaid.'"

[brodygold]

New Year, New Me

A Mixture of Fact and Fiction

The rain poured relentlessly, soaking through my thin jacket as I trudged along the edge of the bridge. My breath fogged in the cold air, mingling with the silent tears streaming down my face. I had stopped wiping them away hours ago—it didn’t matter. The rain was doing a fine job of disguising my brokenness.

What a year...

In January, I’d lost my job. A position I thought was secure, a career I’d dedicated years to, gone in a single meeting where words like "downsizing" and "unprecedented times" were thrown around. The severance package was cold comfort, especially as the months stretched on and my savings drained away.

By spring, I had sent out dozens upon dozens of resumes. I’d tailored each one meticulously, written cover letters that begged for a chance, and scoured job boards for hours. And yet, nothing. Not one callback, not one single interview all year.

By summer, the walls felt like they were closing in. I’d started snapping at my friends, not because of anything they did, but because the pressure inside me needed an outlet. It came to a head at a birthday party in July. The meltdown wasn’t dramatic—no shouting or flipping tables—but my words cut deep. I left our group chats in an impulsive decision. I tried to reach out again the next day but was essentially told to get lost, that groups aren't a buffet where you pick and choose to join or leave on a whim.

By fall, I was completely isolated. My small apartment felt like a prison, the silence oppressive. I tried to focus on the little things—cleaning, cooking, exercising—but even those became Herculean tasks.

And now, here I was, on New Year’s Eve, wandering through the city like a depressed ghost. The city lights shimmered through the downpour, blurred and distorted. A metaphor for my life, I thought bitterly. Everything I’d once seen so clearly was now a warped mess.

I hadn’t come to the bridge with any specific intentions. I wasn’t planning to jump, at least not at first. But there was something comforting about standing at the edge, staring down at the rushing water below. It made it so tempting to just let go...

“Hey, wait!”

A hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me backward with surprising strength. I stumbled, nearly losing my footing, and turned to face a man standing in the rain. He was tall, with piercing hazel eyes and a warm, genuinely concerned expression that cut through the gloom like a ray of sunlight. His golden soccer jersey gleamed even in the downpour, almost glowing against the darkness.

“You shouldn’t be walking so close to the edge,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

I blinked at him, stunned. “Mind your own business. It's not like anyone would care either way.”

“I would,” he interrupted gently, "and it’s a bad place to be, especially on a night like this.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He wasn’t just saying words; he understood. Somehow, this stranger saw the storm raging inside me.

“I’m Brody,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated, then shook it. “Michael.”

“Michael,” Brody repeated, as if testing how it felt. “I’ve got a place where you can stay tonight. Dry, warm, and safe.”

“I don’t have any money,” I mumbled, shame creeping into my voice.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not offering you a hotel room. I’m offering you something better. A chance to be part of something bigger. The Golden Army—a team where everyone belongs. We’ve got a place for you, too.”

I stared at him, trying to process his words. A team? A group of strangers who just…take people in like lost puppies? It sounded too good to be true.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Brody said, as if sensing my hesitation. “Come to the stadium tonight. Just get out of the rain and rest. That’s all I’m asking.”

There was something about the way he looked at me—gentle but unwavering. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me like that, with genuine care.

The weight of the rain and my exhaustion finally tipped the scales. I nodded. “Okay.”

The stadium was unlike anything I’d expected—grand, but somehow inviting. Brody led me through a side entrance, past rows of gleaming trophies and framed jerseys. The air inside was warm, carrying a faint scent of grass and leather.

“Here we are,” Brody said, pushing open a door to a locker room. It was pristine, yet it had a lived-in feel. Rows of lockers stood neatly, each labeled with a name and number. A pile of golden jerseys sat on a bench, their fabric shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

He handed me a towel and gestured toward a small cot tucked in a corner. “It’s not much, but it’s dry. Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I hesitated, feeling like an intruder, but the exhaustion was too much to fight. I collapsed onto the cot, too tired to even pull off my shoes. As my eyes closed, I felt a strange warmth spread through me, like the first rays of sunlight after a long, cold night.

That warmth grew as I slept, spreading from my core to every inch of my body. It wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it felt like I was being wrapped in sunlight despite the darkness of the room.

It began in my chest, a soft tingling that soon turned into a gentle pressure. My muscles, once soft and underused, stretched and thickened as if they were waking from a long slumber. My shoulders broadened, my arms filled out, and my hands, which had always seemed frail, grew stronger, their grip firm and sure.

The transformation worked its way downward, my torso flattening and hardening as if carved from stone. I could feel my posture straightening, my spine aligning perfectly, and my chest expanding with each breath, deeper and steadier than before.

My legs, which had carried me through countless city streets in defeat, now pulsed with energy. The muscles in my thighs and calves grew firm and powerful, as though they were made for running, for sprinting across a field with purpose.

A warmth enveloped my skin, chasing away the paleness of months spent indoors. A healthy tan spread over me, as if I had spent weeks under the sun. Even my face felt different—stronger, more defined, though I couldn’t yet see it.

My clothes shifted along with me. The soaked, threadbare jacket and shirt I had fallen asleep in melted away, replaced by something smoother, more substantial. When the fabric settled, I could feel the cool, silky touch of a golden soccer jersey against my skin. It fit perfect, snug but comfortable, as though it had been tailored just for me. The number 10 was emblazoned on the back, bold and unmistakable.

As the transformation neared its end, a sense of vitality surged through me. My exhaustion, my aches, my despair—all of it was gone, replaced by a strength I had never known.

When I woke, I felt…different. My first thought was how deeply and peacefully I had slept, something I hadn’t experienced in months. My second thought was that I felt light—not just physically, but emotionally.

I sat up slowly, blinking in sleep. I hadn't slept for more than a few hours at most, if the darkness outside was any indication, but I felt invigorated.

My arms caught my attention first. They were toned and muscular, the veins faintly visible beneath the tan skin.

“What…?”

I stood, and my reflection in a nearby mirror stopped me cold. A man I barely recognized stared back. His hair was dark and thick, his jawline strong, his shoulders broad. He was wearing a gleaming golden soccer jersey, the number 10 shining proudly.

I ran my hands over my face, my arms, my torso. It was all real. I was real.

“You look good in gold.”

I turned to see Brody leaning casually against the doorway, his easy smile lighting up the room.

“What…what happened to me?” I stammered.

“You’re part of the team now,” Brody said simply. “The Golden Army isn’t just a team, Michael. It’s a family. A place where everyone has a role, a purpose.”

I felt a lump in my throat and struggled to speak. “Why me? I’m just…a mess.”

Brody walked over, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve all been messes, Michael. That’s why the Golden Army exists—to help each other. You’re not alone anymore.”

As the clock struck midnight, the stadium erupted in cheers. The team had gathered on the field to celebrate the new year, and they pulled me into the circle without hesitation.

“To new beginnings!” Richard shouted, raising a water bottle like a toast.

“To new beginnings!” we all echoed, laughter and joy filling the air.

“Happy New Year,” Brody said softly.

Without thinking, he leaned closer, and so did I. Lips brushed, a warmth that lingered. My world was golden.

The past year had been rough, but with a new group of bros by my side, my future seemed bright for the first time.

[justheretolurk003]

A long post on why Daniel is more fascinating than Armand (according to Louis)

Got you. In fact I’m a bit torn on whether or not Daniel is that different from other people that he is extremely fascinating. I think he has a risqué attitude that a lot of the people at the bar share: that willingness and unapologetic desire to live life and enjoy pleasure at maximum. A bit like Lestat’s answer in S1, when Louis asks him why vampires are on Earth, and Lestat answers he himself put Louis on earth for the purpose of pleasure and do whatever they want.

But I don’t think a resemblance to Lestat is the whole reason Louis didn’t kill Daniel that night. While being broken down by Armand, Daniel admits that he is good at getting people to open up, a trait that is more uncommon but not so much. Still, I think Louis picks up on that, even at the bar when Daniel says he is good at looking for people in the cracks. That sparks Louis’ interest. A way Daniel shows he is good at listening is the way he does not judge Louis when he shows him his own coffin —instead he just asks how it works. When Louis shows him his fangs, Daniel is scared af at first, then asks him to show his fangs again later on. This creates an environment of comfort Louis uses to rage against Lestat and mourn for Claudia. Their interview is not an interview based on accuracy, it is an “emotional upchuck” which can only be had in an environment where there is some level of trust, comfort and a non-judgmental attitude. In 1973 Daniel is not so much an interviewer, but a therapist.

And still I don’t think that is the whole reason Daniel was not killed by Louis that night cause Daniel is also unapologetically himself. Unapologetically horny, unapologetically weird, unapologetically chill, unapologetically idiotic, cringey and with no sense of danger when he offers to become Louis’ companion. I think this trait along with the previously touched upon ones are the reason Jacob calls Daniel “cool”. Daniel is cool in the sense he is unpretending. A dude that is chill, observant, with an angle and you can have fun with.

And still, these are not incredibly fascinating traits that few people possess. In fact, I know plenty of people who share these traits and embody them even more than Daniel. On top of that, at that point in his life, Daniel hasn’t lived a fascinating life. He said it himself: just a shitty kid from Modesto. In fact, Armand has lived a ten times more fascinating life than Daniel (argue with me in the comments if you disagree, bitch) and Daniel is right when he says Armand is more fascinating cause for fucks sake, he can actually read minds! But again, the comfort they offer to Louis is radically different. And that is why Louis prefers the night he spent with Daniel than the decades alongside Armand. On one hand we have Daniel’s non judgmental, unassuming gaze compared to the snobbishness and high horse attitude of Armand. We have Daniel letting Louis be messy and vengeful and emotional, and Armand who is composed and impenetrable and we’ll-adjusted, the whole time.

And yes, I think Armand looks down on Louis because Armand is giving a performance of how to be a well put together, good adjusted person. Armand looks down on Louis for picking up men at bars, he looks down on him for being a mess and opening up to Daniel, you can say he looks down on him for committing suicide (though this coexist with the hurt and betrayal Armand feels at seeing his efforts, cause yes, Armand sees it as efforts, be thrown away by Louis).

Whoever Armand is with, he tries to appeal to his partner and create an environment in which nothing is out of order, nothing is evocative, in which everything is to their liking. In this case, the environment is plain because the goal is that there is not a single thing that triggers Louis. Armand justifies this by saying he does it for Louis’ sanity and comfort. And the epitome of this place is Dubai.

Louis is cut off from society, in a place where everything is tailored to him to never upset him or trigger him. And I genuinely think this is the way Armand knows how to pay for what he did in Paris and show his love for Louis. This blandness and willingness to appeal to the desires of the other (“Is it gremlin or good nurse tonight?”) is how Armand expresses love. And it is tragic that is how he does it. Because what is sex work if not appealing to the desires of other people? What is a slave if not someone who is forced to appeal and is exploited to the greed of other people? What is a master if not a person you have to satisfy in every of their wishes? Armand caters to desire. That is how the dozens of people that exploited him taught him how to relate to them, especially Marius. The only way Armand could love Marius was by serving him, cause that was the only way Marius made himself available.

The power of Louis and Armand’s roles as maître and Arun is that Armand performs as a slave when he is the master and Louis performs as the master when he is the slave. Armand is recreating his dynamic with Marius, it is just that this time Armand has the power to be the master. Instead of outright being one, he is covert.

As a side note, I don’t think Armand is taunting Lestat when he contacts him to talk to Louis. I think he has that call with him out of the goodness of his heart — perhaps, to show Louis how good he himself is— but mostly because the role Armand forces himself to play is so suffocating, so unfair, so fucked up, that when Lestat says I love you Armand can’t deal with the pain of having to repeat that back to Louis. He just can’t. It is a genuine vulnerable moment of Armand. Ideally, it would be a wake up call for him to stop playing this role, but the events in Paris have him stuck playing that part.

It is intentional that they show us Armand letting Lestat come and destroy the coven, because he is letting Daniel do the same thing: come destroy Dubai, come destroy the catering to desire, come destroy the constant acts of service. And I hope this time is for good. I hope Armand and Louis are free from this dynamic that eats away at them. The space Armand holds for Louis to process his emotions hurts both Armand and Louis. Armand, hurt by always having to work relentlessly and never sit down with the truth according to Assad, which I argue is a lifestyle he inherited from his past as a slave. Louis, hurt by not having a non-judgmental space to cope, process and grieve as a victim of abuse, perpetuator of abuse, and the betrayal he committed against Claudia.

The reason Daniel comes across as fascinating to Louis is because Louis was begging for a listening ear, for somebody to care about his story, and Daniel has good the traits to listen to Louis and met him at the right time.

Sadly, centuries of trauma prevent Armand from being who Daniel is.

(Also didn’t Claudia say to Madeleine that there was something broken in her and Madeleine told her sometimes people go boom and then fine and then boom? To me, Louis in the 70’s embodies this so much).

Gif by @unicornspwnall

[my-coven-is-claudia]

the way daniel starts off as only a symbol to louis. a symbol of the resilience of his and armand’s companionship. a symbol of his long lost humanity that he so desperately desires. a symbol of being understood. daniel asks louis why him and louis responds with because you were there. they both enter that apartment in 70s san francisco searching for something to satiate their desires: daniel with a drug-addled mind looking to satisfy his addiction and louis eager for someone to release his pent-up rage at. it’s surface level. impersonal. but they both come out of this hellish experience with each other’s faces burned into their minds, both trailing after an echo of one another for the rest of their lives. louis’s final words of comfort to daniel following him and urging him through life, remembering every word and memorialising it in his memoir. louis tracking daniel’s life and career, watching him age and live a life that he can never have. a life that mirrors his own. two broken marriages and daughters that are estranged from him. they set out to complete an interview cut short by boyish immaturity and childishness. but they’re still two confused men talking in a room, so what’s really changed

[goodwhump-temp]

Dexter Morgan Whump | Dexter

1x01 Checked by trauma team 1x02 Sprayed with blood 1x03 "Grieving",scared by alligator, slips, car robbed, (Flashback; manhandled) 1x04 Headache, annoyed, drops glass tube 1x06 Nervous, (Nightmare; cheek sliced), wakes up sweating 1x07 Angry outburst 1x08 Therapy, leaves in a panic 1x09 "Grieving", (Flashback; ER scene, serious bleeding, internal injury) 1x10 Remembers trauma x2, collapse x3, panic attack x3, shaking 1x11 Trauma revealed, angry 1x12 Drugged unconscious, held, restrained, manhandled, knee'd to the face, crying, heartbroken

2x01 Shaking, scared 2x02 Ambushed, hiding, trauma flashbacks, hallucinates brother 2x03 Group therapy 2x04 Worried 2x05 Upset, angry 2x06 Overthinking, angry at Doakes, upset 2x07 Tackled, knocked down, punched x3, bleeding 2x08 Ambushed, arm sliced, bleeding 2x09 Caught, held at gunpoint, shot in the leg (graze 🙄), manhandled 2x10 Bleeding, pain, wound reopens, angry 2x11 Trapped in burning apartment, coughing, passes out, ambulance

3x01 Manhandled, tooth knocked out 3x05 Worried 3x09 Very angry outburst 3x10 Kidnapped 3x11 "Kidnapped", restrained, "shocked (35:25)" 3x12 Home broken in to, followed, held at gunpoint, knocked out/kidnapped by The Skinner, restrained, crying, hand broken, hand bleeding

4x01 Sleep deprived, momentary confusion, caught sleeping in car, exhausted, car crash 4x02 Ambulance, neck brace, concussion, forgets password 4x04 Held at gunpoint, house broken in to, kicked, emotional clarity 4x05 Brotherly worry 4x06 Cuts his finger, bleeding, pinned, choked, couples therapy 4x07 Heartbroken 4x08 Guilt, cuts finger (minimal), 'emotional' 4x09 Tense, manhandled, angry 4x11 Territorial (32:00) 4x12 Briefly imprisoned, upset, heartbroken

5x01 In shock, heartbroken, collapse (47:50), emotional scream 5x02 Angry outburst in interview, very sad 5x03 Emotional relief, shot with tranq dart, ambulance 5x04 Knocked down, arm sliced 5x05 PTSD 5x07 Choked 5x08 "Recovery" 5x09 Protective father mode 5x11 Tazed unconscious, abducted, restrained 5x12 Car crashed, bloody forehead, held at gunpoint x2, 'caught', heartbroken, emotional outburst, upset

6x01 "Stabbed", pricks his own blood (fist bump), tackled 6x03 Held at gunpoint, car crashed (minor) 6x04 Scared for son 6x06 Angry/worried, loses a friend, sad, heartbroken, angry outburst 6x07 Brotherly passenger returns, rebellious mr slut, robbed, held at gunpoint 6x09 Blood dumped on him (31:00) 6x10 Betrayed 6x11 Exposed to poison, lightheaded, nose bleeding, pain, bleeding worsens, overtaken, hand stabbed, passes out, restrained 6x12 Stranded in the ocean, thirst/starving (mild), son taken, worried, caught

7x01 Paranoid, 'scared', confrontation 7x02 Slapped (09:00), angry about stalker 7x03 Murder daydream x2, angry outburst, frustrated x10 7x04 Thrown x2, knocked unconscious, hunted, bleeding 7x08 Shot at 7x09 Worried 7x11 Worried, elbowed 7x12 Arrested, held at gunpoint

8x01 Angry outburst/road rage, paranoid, overstimulated by Harrison, shoved, brief worry 8x02 Childhood lore 8x04 Car crashed/betrayed, head bleeding, drowning, unconscious 8x05 Therapy, angry 8x06 Drugged, passes out 8x07 Jumped, beaten/manhandled (41:45) 8x10 Heartbroken 8x11 Heartbroken, "bait" 8x12 Worried, heartbroken, stabbed, angry, crying, "dies"

[umanari]

yan! sunday x reader - long walk home

summary: this isn't a one-shot, more of a scenario. reader here is sunday's spouse and is dealing with everything after what happened in the end of penacony.

c/w: sunday is stated to be controlling, manipulation, the whole yandere shebang. also using that one theory that sunday might become a stellaron hunter, but it's mostly implied here. feel free to tell me what tags are needed, because i am horrible with tags.

Sunday is missing. He had been missing ever since the Astral Express crew had beaten him.

You react to this with indifference, mostly. Of course, you put on a show in public- because you have to. Robin finds comfort in you, over some idea of shared grief- you wonder, once, where she had gotten the impression. But you wave it away. Robin cries into your shoulder, and you know better than to hurt her when she's down.

Everything remains the same. Sunday had not been the greatest love of your life- which he had always lamented. You were his love- so, in truth, you move on fairly quickly. But you don't seek anyone new- because there is no point, and the cameras watch your every move. So you settle. You stay in that suffocating mansion of his, and act like a grieving spouse. This role does not suit you, but you can just about make anything work for you nowadays.

Sunday hadn't been a terrible husband. Controlling, yes, possessive, too- but he was not particularly unkind. He loved you. As much love as the man can give, in any case. You had once come to the conclusion that he did love you, yes- but it was out of some desire of control. You had loved him once, perhaps. That love had been out of fear, though, you amend. Terrified. But you had grown used to him.

The new status quo for you is relatively simple. You attend interviews, and you lament- tearfully, of course- on what the wrongs your husband had committed. You say you miss him. It is not true, but you must make it seem that way.

This is your life. You prefer it, if for the calm silence broken up by the occasional interview or phone call.

And then Sunday appears again, and everything is thrown into disarray.

----

"Why are you back," you state. It is not a question. You do not look at him with any sort of affection. In fact, you seem close to rolling your eyes.

Sunday sighs. "I am allowed to visit my partner."

"Aren't you in jail," you respond instead, "well," you pause. "Supposed to be, in any case?"

Sunday waves you off. He does this normally, and you have grown used to it. When he does not respond, you take it as a yes.

"I was," he finally states. "But I have been.. shown an different path. One free from both Ena and Xipe."

"What does that have to do with me," you counter. You inch away from him. He looks different. You finally notice the little imperfections about his outfit, and wonder briefly why he hasn't gone into a rage about it yet.

Sunday does not notice your gaze. Rather, he does notice- but he pays it no heed.

"I would like for you to come with me."

You pause. You purse your lips.

"No," you reply. "No. Wouldn't it be best for you to shed any remnants of your old identity, if you really did escape from jail or whatnot?"

"You make sense," Sunday states. "I have always liked that about you. You are logical- but kind."

He walks closer. You slink away. His halo flutters, and you realize something. He will do this regardless. He has always done what he wants, regardless. He loves you, therefore, he needs to control you.

He is finally close enough to touch you. And your barrier cracks, and you shiver and you want to cry. You hate this man, you bitterly think, you hate him. He takes and he gives and in recompense for everything, you were his little stress toy.

"Come now," he croons out, fixing a strand of your hair, "we shall leave Penacony together. While the perfect dream did not work out, we will always have each other."

In a way, it is romantic. In another universe, perhaps. But here you shiver. You recoil. He only grabs you tighter, and it is here- it is here, when you finally do cry for something.