#but is that the point? probably precisely

[liaflowrr]

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — caleb and you have been dating your whole lives, and you know each other like the back of your hand. you know everything about each other— except, the fact that you two are dating.

pairings: caleb x mc / caleb x reader

cw: pure fluff, oblivious reader, suggestive/hinted, lovesick caleb, possesive caleb, jealous caleb, caleb himself at this point. second person pov, female reader

first post ever… like + reblogs are so helpful ! if there are any mistakes.. heh just ignore😅

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Having a man like Caleb in your life is truly incomprehensible, it’s hard to describe how much he means to you in such words that don’t fully grasp how amazing he is.

Waking up to texts from him, voice messages, and sometimes voicemails, those are the things keeping you going everyday. He is the reason you keep going everyday. Starting your morning hearing his voice is how you want to start every morning for the rest of your life, even better if you could wake up next to him, smelling him, seeing his true self all for you and you only to keep.

That’s why it’s hard to even imagine wanting anyone else with Caleb around, especially since he knows you better than anyone else. Caleb is just perfect, beyond perfect even, you can’t even begin to express how grateful you are for him. Caleb’s also super sexy, like his face, his body.. his…

A flick to your forehead knocks you out of your daydreaming.

“Helllooo Pipsqueak? How could you daydream with me right here? Could I be boring you?” Caleb’s voice fades in with a charming smile, his eyes showing slight concern, yet overall his face has a teasing look.

“Wh-I’m not bored! I just got side tracked, you said something that reminded me of something else—but what were you saying?” You quip, feeling your cheeks get hot in embarrassment for letting your mind wander into such provocative thoughts right in front of him. You give him a playful nudge with your foot, kicking into his ribs to distract him from your face, knowing he’d notice.

You’re currently at his place, laying on the couch with your feet in his lap as he rubs your ankles, occasionally trailing further up to your knee and underneath. You’re wearing an old oversized t-shirt (probably his) with no shorts on underneath, while he wears a grey tank top with black boxers. (You pretend to not glance occasionally. Wearing underwear around him is normal, but when he does it, it makes you feel all warm in your stomach.) You come over every other week, switching between your place and his whether or not you’re too tired to travel to Skyhaven and vice versa. (Even though you know Caleb has mentioned you moving in with him or buying a place together.) Caleb pulls you closer, practically pulling you onto his lap, holding you up with his right arm that leans on the couch. His left arm lays on top of your legs, his hand splays over your stomach, and his thumb rubs your belly.

“I was asking you what the plan was for tomorrow, but I guess a certain hunter got sidetracked. What was it I did that made you..distracted?” Caleb tilts his head and rests it on his arm, looking at you with his gorgeous deep eyes and a smirk on his face, as if he knows what you were thinking. Which he probably knew, he’s like a super-freak-mind-reader, and knows everything, probably read your face and watched every single detail with such precise detail.

Ignoring his question and letting out a huff, “I want to go down by that restaurant we used to go to with Granny, by the fountain? There’s going to be a street event and I want to see all the pop up food places and eat.” Just the thought of all the potential food has you salivating, but it’s nothing better than Caleb’s home cooking. You shuffle to get comfortable in his hold, placing your hand on top of his and lying your head against his arm.

His touch makes your insides warm, and you can’t help but feel so excited yet relaxed to have his hands on you and just be so close to him. You want to be as close as possible, like a newborn baby when they do skin-to-skin contact with their mother. You smile, looking up at him, admiring his face, his beautiful smile. His eyes never leave yours, tracing your features as you gaze upon him. Nothing else matters when you’re with him, except Caleb.

Caleb hums, thinking for a second to process what you’re saying, before he smiles. “Of course, that sounds like a great idea. I’ll make sure we prepare before to feast on all the food. I hope we can try some new things, too.” He shifts a little, his ears turning a slight red at your stare, almost feeling a bit embarrassed at how deep you were gazing at him. You don’t notice the effect you have on him, or the fact that from an outside view you appear as a loving couple.

Gosh, always killing the vibe. ‘I have got to control myself!’ You scream internally.

You stand up and brush your hair behind your ears in embarrassment, clearing your throat and trying to ignore how cold your skin is now with the loss of his warmth. You avoid eye contact and start to head to his bedroom.

“It’s getting late, we should head to bed. I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’m starting to get tired. I want it to be tomorrow already.” You don’t even make it three steps before you hear Caleb trailing behind you.

“Well what’s the big rush? Don’t leave me behind, you know you cant sleep without me. Let’s brush our teeth at the same time so that we can get in bed together.” Caleb says, quickly catching up and getting ahead of you, turning his bathroom light on and handing you your toothbrush while he gets the toothpaste.

You blush at the mention of sleeping together, it being such an occurring thing yet still not used to the fact that you sleep with him. It’s not like back then, when you were younger and had sleepovers, it’s different now, because you want to be able to kiss him and hold him without possibly ruining your friendship. You wish you were more than friends. You wish this meant more to him.

“I can sleep totally fine, it’s you that needs me!” You mutter, brushing your teeth. You feel him poke your sides occasionally, and you bump him with your hip in retaliation, before focusing and brushing again. When you’re done, you turn off the lights and get under the covers with him, immediately being pulled by a large hand on your hip and into a warm bare chest. Wait, didn’t he have a shirt on?

“When did you take your shirt off weirdo? Get your man boobs out of my face.” You yelp, as your face burns a deep red. Your words say the opposite, because inside you love being face-to-face with his glorious chest, it’s the next best thing to his glossy bread rolls—abs.

“I took it off because I wake up hot, you warm me up during the night. I might as well sleep naked, you’re like a human furnace.” Caleb tuts, and you turn even more red at the thought of him naked next to you, but you just shove at his chest and squawk in embarrassment. You turn over and face away from him, closing your eyes and going to sleep. Caleb tuts, and you feel him rest his head on top of yours, pressing a kiss on your head before pressing his body against the curve of yours. Caleb takes a deep breath, smelling your hair and the shampoo you two share, before smiling to himself and closing his eyes. He tightens his hold around you, and your heartbeats sync. Eventually you relax, his soft gentle breathing lulling you. You fall asleep within minutes.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Twenty minutes before the street festival, you spend your time in his bathroom getting ready. You’ve already prepared a simple yet cute outfit to wear when you go out. You’re wearing your favorite earrings and your favorite shoes, along with a touch of eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. You also stole borrowed Caleb’s jacket, which you wear unzipped. You smile at yourself in the mirror, excited to see what Caleb would think of you.

You invited Tara to come along, and she mentioned bringing a date with her so she wouldn’t feel like she was third-wheeling, but you insisted that you and Caleb weren’t even dating so she’ll be fine, but you missed the way Caleb froze while he was buttoning up his shirt. He pretended like he wasn’t eavesdropping, but you didn’t care either way, he’s always wanted to know everything that was going on in your life, insisting that it was important because you are important. Whenever he said that it always made you look away, flustered by his words.

“You’re not a third wheel! Caleb and I are basically besties, it’s not gonna be awkward, plus, you know I would never treat you like a third wheel, if anything Caleb is!” Tara laughs at your joke. “Haha, totally, how dare he steal my girlfriend?! But it’s okay, I wanna invite him, he’s really cute and he said he’d bring his friend so it’ll be a bigger group and he won’t be as shy. Personally, I wish he wouldn’t because his friends kinda weird… But you didn’t hear it from me. I gotta go though, I think he just pulled up! See you soon!” Tara hangs up after you say goodbye, and you look up from your phone and see Caleb adjusting his bracelet you gave him on his wrist. Caleb looks you up and down, chuckling when he recognizes his jacket before he brushes away a stray hair in your face.

“You ready, honey? You know, some wanderers might have already eaten all the food by now, we gotta hurry up before it’s all gone.” You roll your eyes and let out a small laugh as Caleb wraps an arm around your waist, the two of you walking out of his room and heading out the door.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

When you arrive and turn the corner, your eyes sparkle from all the lights and food on the street, the smells of sweet and savory snacks hitting you. “Caleb, look! They have your favorite! We should go get it!” You cheer, pointing at the vendor across from you. Caleb nods, and he grabs your hand and walks towards the stand with you.

Tara calls out your name when you pay for the treat, and you turn and see two guys standing next to her. Her nervous yet happy smile makes you smile to help calm her nerves.

“Hey Tara, it’s so good to see you, how are you? Who are they?”

“I’m good! Let me introduce you, Y/n, Caleb, this is Teo and his friend Finn!” Teo waves and smiles, greeting you and Caleb, while Finn nods his head, staring straight at you and purposefully ignoring Caleb.

Calebs eye twitches, before plastering a smile on his face to pretend he doesn’t want to slap the shit out of this dudes face for blatantly ogling you. The hell does this guy think he is? Is it not obvious that you two are dating? You’re wearing Caleb’s clothes, you have Caleb’s scent on you, and Calebs holding your hand. What else is there to say? Caleb lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

You smile and nod at the two, oblivious to the way Caleb grips your hand tighter and stands closer to you. You turn to look at the place. “Isn’t this awesome?! I love how pretty it looks at night! I totally didn’t expect this many people and food, but I’m not complaining! Tara, what should we go eat next? I’m soo hungry, I didn’t eat anything for lunch to prepare for this!”

“Ah, I’m so down to get some tanghulu! You remember that video I sent you? I heard they have a stand where you can choose the fruits you want! And then we definitely have to get some haw flakes, I am craving some so badly! What do you think, Teo?”

“Oh definitely! I eat so many in one sitting! Caleb, do you like them?” Teo’s nervous look disappears at the mention of candy, and he has a huge grin on his face as we make our way to the next place. Finn walks behind Teo and Tara, glancing at me before looking at Caleb.

Caleb shakes his head, “No, I wasn’t a huge fan, I’m more of a sour candy fan, pips always made me eat the sourest candy from the bag whenever they got anything, so I grew to enjoy it.” Caleb looks at me and smiles, nudging me with his shoulder and unlocking our hands to place his hand on the back of my waist. You giggle to yourself, remembering the first time you made him try something super sour.

“I really like guava candy, Caleb had to hide the bag to stop me from eating it.” You add, as Tara giggles. Finn huffs, putting his hands in his pocket. “I was a fan too, ain’t that a coincidence? We should try and find some later and share.” Finn speaks for the first time, and immediately you glance at Tara in agreement to her past statement. Sending a half smile, “Totally, but I think I’ll get sick if I eat too much candy. Let’s find something else to all enjoy.” You all arrive at the stand, immediately you and Tara rush to pick your favorite fruits from the selection, and you squeal in excitement when it’s handed back to you.

“Oh my goodness this is so good!” You’re the first to take a bite and you moan from the taste, a big smile forming on your face. Caleb whips his head when he catches Finn nudging Teo’s shoulder, whispering something only the two can hear. Caleb grits his teeth, before he wraps an arm around your shoulder and takes a bite out of your tanghulu.

“Caleb!”

“Mm—, you’re right, baby, this is delicious, I should’ve gotten one, but yours is better.” Caleb says, licking his lips as he finishes his bite, glaring at Finn. Finn rolls his eyes.

You blush at how close Caleb has gotten, before you take another bite of your fruit and lean into Caleb. Tara sends you a knowing look before you roll your eyes and turn your body (including Calebs since he refuses to let go) and look for food.

“These snacks are nice but I’m wanting some real food, let’s go look for some! And since I just got a huge bonus.. foods on me!” You exclaim, as you and Tara cheer in celebration over your little bonus.

“Pretty and you pay for the first date? Man, you’re basically my dream girl.” Finn jokes, walking next to you and giving you a creepy grin. You deadpan at Tara, before turning back to say some snarky comment to him in response. You’re cut off by Caleb as he switches places with you and shoulder checks Finn.

“Who said this was a date? You’re just a double third wheel, y’know? Pipsqueak isn’t interested in men like you.” Caleb practically growls, his hold on you tightening, as if he’s worried you’re gonna disappear if he’s not actively holding you.

“Dang Caleb! Let’s calm down, okay? I don’t want us to fight. I think we’re all just suuper hungry, look, let’s get some food from there and find a place to sit down inside.” Tara says, rubbing the back of her neck and sharing a nervous glance with Teo. Teo nods and mouths “sorry”. The group walks towards a small restaurant and looks at the menu on the screen to order.

“Y/n! We totally have to try their smoothies, they have all kinds of flavors! I’m going to get the dragonfruit and mango, that sounds soo good.”

“Oh my gosh they have a pineapple smoothie! And an apple?! Oh my gosh, what is a pink unicorn?!”

“Scratch that, we have to get the unicorn smoothie!”

“I thought you guys wanted food, we’re just talking about smoothies now. Honey, I’ll order the food and drinks and cover you for the cost of the food. You can pay for everyone’s smoothies, okay?” Caleb chuckles and moves to the front to order food, Teo following along to order something for him and Finn. You start to protest, but Tara cuts you off by pointing at a the best table by the window to sit down and wait.

Finn stays behind with you and Tara as you sit a the table by the window. Finn sits in front of you while Tara sits next to him, an empty chair next to her for Teo.

Eventually Caleb and Teo come back with the food and drinks and hand them out to everyone.

“Tara, let’s try these smoothies at the same time!”

“Okay! Teo, share with me?” Tara asks, her cheeks turning pink as she looks at Teo. Teo blushes and nods in agreement, unwrapping two straws for them.

Caleb grabs unwraps two straws as well, pushing them into your smoothie. Caleb opens his mouth to ask to share with you, before—

“Y/n, let’s share too, yeah?” Finn cuts him off, catching Caleb off guard as his eyes dart over to him.

“Uh, sorry I don’t like sharing my drinks or my food with just anyone..” You respond, before Caleb can say anything.

Finn’s eyebrow perks up, “Caleb ate your tanghulu earlier.”

“Well—“

“Because I’m her boyfriend, clueless. Isn’t it obvious? I’m not just anyone. Back off before I do something I won’t regret.”

Silence falls over the table, before Finn abruptly gets up and curses to himself, muttering something to Teo about texting him later, and storms off. You blink, your face turning red at Caleb’s words. You whip your head and look at him.

“Caleb?! Why’d you say that! I’m so sorry Teo, I didn’t mean to offend him—“

“It’s alright.. I told him that you weren’t going to be interested but I guess he changed his mind. He said he wasn’t gonna really follow us around when I first brought it up. I’m really sorry, I only keep him around because I owe him one.” Teo apologizes, and he offers to pay for the food to express his guilt, before Tara insists it’s fine.

“Teo and I will go make sure he doesn’t do something dumb, I’m sorry Y/n, enjoy the rest of your night!” Tara adds, the two get up and ask for their food to go and leave together, off to find Finn. You and Caleb sit in silence, your thoughts running wild.

‘That guy was so weird, but what the hell was Caleb saying? He really keeps getting my hopes up whenever he protects me from guys like Finn, but he seemed like he meant it this time.’

“Caleb.. did you really mean what you said? Or were you just trying to get Finn to leave me alone? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s just..”

“Y/n, what are you talking about? Of course I meant what I said, I mean, I am your boyfriend, why would I not—“

Your facial expression explains to Caleb what the situation is. Realization dawns on him, and he pouts.

“Y/n, y’know I’ve considered you my girlfriend for years now, right..?”

You blink, your face turning red.

“Clearly not! Caleb— wh- what do you even mean?! You’ve never even asked!”

What side of the bed did Caleb wake up on?! G-Girlfriend?! Years?!

“I didn’t think I needed to! We’ve kissed and slept in the same bed so many times! You know you’re the only one I treat like this!”

You stutter at his words, realization hitting you. Yeah.. there’s no defending that, but still—

“We’ve acted like that since we were kids, of course I’m just going to assume that was just how our relationship was!”

“Is that why you told Tara we weren’t dating? I thought you were joking!”

You groan, and a frown etches onto your face. How stupid could Caleb be? You thought maybe he had a girlfriend in the academy or something, or at least a fling once or twice in his life, considering how many times he was confessed to in high school on Valentine’s day. Why didn’t you realize this sooner? Where were any of the signs?! Why didn’t he say anything sooner?!

After a couple minutes of silence, Caleb breaks it. He huffs, pulling you into his arms and resting his forehead against yours.

“Y/n, I’m sorry I assumed. I’ll ask properly now. Can I be your boyfriend?”

You look up into his eyes, a nervous expression on his face as his cheeks are flushed, and he has a small pout on his lips as he asks. You sigh, smiling.

“Yes, even if you’re kind of dumb, you can be my boyfriend, Caleb.” You tease, the pout disappearing immediately from Caleb’s face as he grins, pressing a soft kiss on your nose. Caleb squeezes you and rubs your head, making you whine in annoyance.

“You’re so cute Pips! Man, I just wanna eat you right—“

—“Order for Caleb?”

You push Caleb off in embarrassment, turning your head to see the waiter standing at your table and holding a tray of your soups. Caleb whines at you ignoring his affection, before thanking the server and taking your food from her hands. Caleb sets the tray down and makes sure to scoop out the vegetables you don’t like in the soup. You sigh in happiness, your stomach reminding you of how hungry you are, and you give Caleb a napkin and spoon to try the broth.

“Caleb, let’s try these together, okay? As boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Caleb grins, pressing another quick kiss to your cheek, as the two of you share your delicious meal.

[blogquantumreality]

The trope in question that Tumblrites like to dump on is the assertion without proof that all humans in all stressful disaster/apocalypse situations will immediately revert to "let the Devil take the hindmost" and kickstart The Purge.

The reality is more complicated and can be tested.

One of the favorite places Libertarians love to point to is Somalia.

Why? Because after 1991, when government effectively broke down for around ten to fifteen years. the old clan-affiliated forms of local governance sprouted back up and people continued to transact, do business, and in general do the things in societies that are needed to keep things on an even keel - all without the GoVeRnMeNt MoNoPOly oF FOrCe.

That isn't to say that Somalia prior to the re-establishment of higher governing authority was a paradise and any Libertarian making that claim is purposely leaving out a lot to try and score ideological brownie points.

And it is precisely because of the partial breakdown of social order in post-Barre Somalia and how it played out, that I believe both claims can be true:

Not everybody goes full Mad Max at the collapse of effective coordinating authority and informal social and cultural supports that came with that authority.

The stressors of social collapse can drive situations where otherwise rational people will do things they ordinarily would not do, especially if they are deficient in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.

For example, suppose you wished to sleep and you saw an abandoned house. In ordinarily stable social and political situations, a person would probably not break into the house to sleep.

However, under much worse circumstances, someone probably would. After having had sleep, they probably wouldn't regularly go breaking into houses.

Nuance! Is! A Thing!

"I would never-"

You would if you were tired enough. You would if you were hungry enough. You would if your mind and body had been worn down enough, through pain or disease or toil or violent struggle. You might if you were put on the wrong medicine, or you got the wrong kind of head injury, or you were forced to choose between someone else and yourself. You might if your livelihood was staked on it, or all your hopes and dreams. You might if you didn't know what else to do, if it's what you were taught or if nobody taught you anything else.

I have not been worn down in most of these ways. I have lived a remarkably privileged life. But I have been worn down in some ways. And they were enough to teach me that in the wrong circumstances, any of us can become someone we don't want to be. It's worth keeping that in mind.

[puffin-smoke]

I rewatched that one Reductive audio and I got to the bit where he said that Quinn said he might want to turn Darlin. And I just keep wondering how that conversation might of gone, how it even got brought up in the first place.

I can sorta imagine them sitting together on the fire escape of Darlin's apartment. Darlin's legs are dangling off the edge, and Quinn is perched up on the guardrail. The sky was nearly wholly black, a few stars peaking out from behind clouds. It was a quiet night. They leant backwards, let out a long breath, and watched the condensation drift up into the air. Neither of them were talking. They'd just gotten back from helping Quinn feed- this time it had been some campers Darlin had found in the woods nearby. They always felt brittle after that, after the adrenaline worn off. The silence helped mask that feeling.

"I want to turn you."

Quinn said it out of nowhere, and to the empty air. Not a question, just a statement. Darlin's neck snapped up to look at him, their brow furrowing. "What?"

Now he actually looked down at them, rolling his eyes. "You heard me."

"Huh." They didn't really know what else to say. They just sat there, looking up towards him, studying his face, stark against the night sky. Looking for a sign that this was just another one of his jokes, something they could force a laugh at and then move on. He looked at them expectantly.

"Well?" He prompted.

"Well what?" They turned away, leaning against the metal railing in front of them and trying to ignore how his eyes bored into them.

He scoffed, drumming a perfectly manicured hand on the railing his sat on. His voice was lilting, condescending, like he was talking to a child. A part of Darlin, a part they normally chose to ignore, bristled. "Oh, don't be obtuse, Precious- what do you think? About me turning you?"

Darlin watched Quinn's shadow fall over them as they struggled for an answer, cast by the flickering light of their apartment. They forced a shrug, a short, curt answer. "Probably couldn't go on pack runs if you did."

The vampire sighed dramatically. "You could still run, Precious."

It wasn't that simple and he knew it. He knew that in the way he dragged out each syllable of that godforsaken petname, and the way he scolded them like they were a child insisting there was a monster under their bed. They were about to tell them that, a part of them wanting to put the hand they'd clenched around the railing in front of them to good use. But then he sat down beside them and that part of themself shut its damn mouth.

He'd swung himself down from his impromptu seat above them, nearly landing on top of them, and placed a hand firmly on top of Darlin's. He pushed himself into Darlin, invading their space and forcing them to glance over and meet his eyes. His breath stank. He flashed them a winning smile, his fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"You'd actually be better at it. Faster, stronger. There'd be no stopping, no worrying, no trying to not get hurt." He rattled each reason off succinctly, with precision and, Darlin realised with a small horror, with practice. He quipped under his breath. "And we both know how hard that last one is for you."

Darlin shoved their shoulder into his. Hard. They grumbled out something small, too tired to put force behind anything but the push. "Shut up."

His hand tightened over Darlin's, his voice almost musical. "You know I'm right. Or was that little incident tonight a fluke?"

They yanked their hand out from under Quinn's, almost like it had burnt them. Their voice was a hiss, only somewhat audible over the sounds of the city below them. "That was- I didn't know they were there. They got the jump on me."

Quinn threw his head back, the sound of his laughter filling the nighttime air. Making Darlin's ears ring. "You're proving my point, you do realise that, right?"

Darlin felt tired in that moment, staring at their feet hanging off the edge, listening to his voice drip like sewage in their ears. There was blood on their sneakers. They'd just noticed it, they weren't sure if it was from earlier or a different night altogether. They just wanted Quinn to shut up so they could stop thinking. Tone hoarse and as hushed as the midnight wind, their voice droned out a response. "Can you just leave it?"

"You've thought about it before."

That made Darlin look up. That made them flinch as they met his eyes, hungry and knowing. He inclined his head slightly forward, baring his teeth. The silver in his eyes sparkling for a brief moment.

There was laughter in his voice as he watched Darlin recoil. "There we go! Oh, come on, darling, there's no shame in it."

Something inside of them begged them to run. Another part of them longed to punch him square in the fucking nose. Darlin ignored both of those sides of them, in favour of that careful, spiteful, apathy they'd practiced over the years. They unclenched their jaw, loosened their fingers, untensed their shoulders. It was deliberate and forced and hopefully convincing. Hopefully would make him believe in the fact that this conversation wasn't going to get him anywhere. That they hadn't thought about it everytime they got knocked down a little too hard. That they hadn't wondered what it would be like as they clutched their side, bloodied and bruised from another failure. That they had never thought about it in the middle of the night, as they stared at ceiling and tried to not think about how sudden Gabe's death had been.

But maybe they weren't as good an actor as they thought they were. Or maybe there was still a glimmer of that in their eyes. Or maybe, more likely, Quinn just didn't give a shit either way.

They tore their eyes away from his, and stared back out into the night. They felt him lean against them, practically purring. "Oh please, don't be like that. It would be so perfect, you know that."

With that he grabbed their hand, fully taking it off of the rail this time and clasping it in his hands with both a reverence and a vice grip. There was blood underneath his finger nails. They could barely see it in the low light, but they could smell it. It was all they could smell. The same blood that was on their shoe.

He cradled their hand, thumbnail tracing a line across their skin, a mimicry of gentleness. "You and me, nights like this. This- this freedom. Forever."

His voice was so soft, they could almost forget about how he'd sounded earlier. That sharp, keening edge to his voice as he chased down the campers. The crunch that had cut through the cricketsong and distant cars when his teeth sank into that human's throat. The slightly too loud thud as their body hit the ground, and the way he'd delighted when he caught sight of the human's friend running away.

He sounded like someone they didn't know. They almost didn't suck on a sharp breath as the last word left his mouth. Forever. Their eyes snagged on the blood underneath his fingernails. His forever was the hunt they'd just been on. It was running through a forest, chasing humans down like cattle, adrenaline coursing through him and a constant smile on his lips. Forever was fun, forever was free.

But Darlin's forever was something different. It was this lull after the hunt. It was sitting on a fire escape, or a rooftop, or wherever they found themself, and licking their wounds. Watching a sleeping city and trying to ignore Quinn, trying to ignore everything they'd just done. How they felt once the adrenaline wore off; small and brittle and dirty. It meant more blood splattered across their shoes and never having even a vague clue as to where it came from.

But they didn't want to say all that. So they just shrugged and tore their eyes away from his hands and looked off into the night. And just repeated what theyd said earlier, firmer this time. "Probably couldn't go on pack runs if you did."

They watched Quinn's nostrils flare, and he dropped their hands. His movements were tense as he pushed himself up from his seat and back onto his perch on the guardrail, eyes unblinking and glaring at the horizon. They didn't miss the way his jaw twitched, or how his hands had turned into fists. A silence fell over the two, heavy and thick and choking.

He let out a deliberate huff. "Not like you go running with them now anyway."

Darlin stayed staring up at him for a few more seconds, waiting for him to say something. Something they could rebutt, maybe with something clever, maybe with a simple middle finger. But he just kept staring ahead.

They swallowed, the words washing over them. Their voice was smaller than they wanted it to be. "… I'm gonna head inside."

He gave a quick hum. "Mhm."

So they used the railing to pull themself to their feet, and with one last look at Quinn, ducked underneath the window and went inside. The image of his eyes, not even a shred of acknowledgement behind them, unmoving in their mind. They kicked off their shoes and fell onto their couch, which shook and creaked under their weight. They slouched over as that heavy silence dissipated into the sound of their lights buzzing overhead and muffled conversation of their neighbours. It was almost calming.

But then they saw the blood on their shoes. And then it didn't help at all.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Lads guys with you in Ikea

Inspired by my very own trip to that place

Zayne

- Pre-Ikea Prep: He'd have meticuously organized list, possibly even a scaled-down floor plan he subtly memorized online to optimize your route.

- In the showroom: Zayne moves through the store with calm purpose. He's practical, checking the stability of furniture, anlyzing the materials, and considering the longevity. He'll quietly point out good deals or practical solutions you might miss.

- With you: He's incredibly attentive. "Are you getting tired? We can sit for a bit." He'll gently guide you through crowds, always keeping a hand on your lower back or shoulder. If you fall in love with a display, he'll immediately check its availability and dimensioning for you.

- The food court: Insists on proper meal. You're definitely getting the meatballs and lingonberry jam. He'll make sure you have enough water and perhaps a coffee for himself. He might share a subtle, knowing smile with you as he observes other overwhelmed couples.

- Assembly: This is where Dr. Zayne shines. His steady hands, patience, and ability to follow complex diagrams are unmatched. He'll lay out all the pieces, sort the screws, and work with surgical precision. He might let you do the easy parts, but he'll take lead on anything tricky.

"Efficiently done. Now, let's ensure your comfort is just as prioritized."

Rafayel

- Pre IKEA prep: "List? Nah, where's the fun in that? We'll just see what calls to us!" He's all about the experience, not the strict plan.

- In the showroom: This is his playground. He's trying out every couch {"Is this nap approved?"), pretending to hide in wardrobes, and teasing you by sitting on display toilets. He's probably terrible at navigating the maze and will happily get lost with you, finding it great excuse to hold your hand or pull you into a quiet corner for a quick kiss.

- With you: He's constantly making you laugh. "Look, a mini version of you!" (Holding a rat plushie). He'll encourage all your impulse buys. He might dissapear for a moment and then pop out from behind a bookshelf making you jump.

- The food court: He's trying a bit of everything and probably stealing your meatballs. He'll convince you to get a dessert you didn't plan on, then insist on sharing it. He'll lean across the table, whispering silly observations about other shoppers.

- A chaotic but suprisingly effective process. He'll skip ahead on instructions, use the wrong tool, then laughs it off. He's suprisingly good with his hands, but it's more intuition than instruction following. He'll definitely blame the extra screw on the manufacturer.

"Well...that was exhausting. How about we test the new couch cutie? You get the popcorn, I choose the movie."

Xavier

- Pre IKEA prep: He'd prefer a detailed mission brief, but the chaos of IKEA is a new kind of battlefield. He'd agree to go because you wanted to, but he's already bracing himself.

- In the showroom: He's overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people and choices, but he won't show it much. He walks with steady protective presence beside you, subtly shielding you from the crush of the crowd and making sure no one bumps into you. Eventually, he falls asleep on one of the couches or beds, you leave him there because it's easier to get things done.

- With you: He's quietly supportive. If you loook at something twice, he'll ask, "Do you like it? We can get it." He's not one for small talk with sales associates but will get straight to the point if you have a question. He'll offer his arm and hand in crowded areas, a firm, reassuring anchor.

- The food court: He'll make sure you're seated somewhere relatively quiet, away from main flow of the traffic. He might watch other families with quiet intensity, wondering about human domesticity.

- Assembly: He approaches it like a tactical exercise. He reads every single instruction, analyzes the diagrams and sorts pieces by shape. He might get frustrated if a piece doesn't fit or the diagram is too vague, grumbling the whole time, but he won't quit until it's done.

- Aftermath: A deep sigh of relief once the flat pack is conquered. He'll then insist on ordering takeout because you're too tired to cook after that.

(After successfully assembling a tricky piece) "It serves it's purpose. Are you happy?"

Sylus

- Pre-IKEA prep: He has no previous experiences with places like these, everything in his base was carpenter-made and ordered. The only thing he knows is that it's a furniture store. He's thoroughly unprepared what awaits him there.

- In the showroom: He's not looking at the furniture as much as he's studying the people. He observes the flow of people, the interactions of couples, the children screaming in play areas. He'll touch all the materials and analyzes the composition of the arrangements.

- With you: He's utterly fascinated by your reactions. He'll ask you to explain why a particular lamp sparks joy, or why you need exactly that type of cushion. He might subtly use his powers to glide through the crowds or locate a specific item you need without seeming to try. He might also accidentaly levitate an Allen key for a moment if he's thinking too hard.

- The food court: Nothing for his gourmet palate, but if you want to stuff your mouth full of meatballs then he'll buy you all of them. He buys you princess cake and smirks at your deadpan look you give him.

"You have a knack for turning a simple room into a cozy haven. Maybe I'll let you redecorate my base. Don't get so excited, I said maybe."

[miaaaxxz]

Unfinished Business | OP81

previous part

summary—In the aftermath of Silverstone, tensions simmer just beneath the surface. A late-night call turns into a turning point, forcing them to confront what they’ve been avoiding and what they might be risking if they don’t act soon.

pairing—oscar piastri x alpine strategist!reader

word count—1.6K

The morning light was too bright.

It sliced through the half-closed hotel curtains and spilled across the tangled sheets, harsh and cold. The kind of light that made reality unavoidable.

She woke first, but didn’t move.

Oscar was still beside her, face half-buried in the pillow, arm thrown loosely over the edge of the mattress like his body had given up sometime around 4AM. His back rose and fell slowly, steady breaths betraying a calm he probably didn’t feel.

She stared at the ceiling.

Last night felt like war. Like they’d both picked up every piece of anger and guilt they’d been swallowing for weeks and thrown it at each other until they couldn’t breathe and then tried to forget it through skin and desperation and hands that shook even as they gripped harder.

It hadn’t fixed anything.

If anything, it had made everything messier.

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him, and reached for the discarded shirt on the floor. Her fingers brushed the empty glass on the nightstand a loud clink in the stillness.

Oscar stirred.

She froze.

He blinked, slow and unfocused at first, then tensed the moment his eyes found her.

The atmosphere shifted instantly sharp, electric, wrong.

Neither of them spoke.

She stood and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door just a little too softly. Not slamming it. But almost. The mirror reflected someone she barely recognized. Tired. Hollow-eyed. Skin blotchy from restless sleep and too much thinking.

When she came out five minutes later, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the floor.

Like he was waiting for a verdict.

She didn’t give him one.

Instead, she grabbed her phone, tossed it onto the nightstand, and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

Oscar looked up. Tired eyes, unreadable expression.

“Morning,” he said, voice dry.

She just nodded.

They stood like that for a beat too long. The weight of everything unsaid stretched between them like glass , see-through, but ready to shatter if anyone breathed wrong.

Oscar exhaled. “You okay?”

She let out a soft scoff. Not mean. Just… bitter.

“Define ‘okay.’”

He didn’t answer.

Because they both knew she wasn’t.

Neither of them were.

It had been too much the race, the penalty, the strategy fallout, the rumors. And then the fight. And then the way they’d clawed at each other like it was the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

And now?

Now there was this silence. Raw. Unfiltered. Like two people standing in the middle of a battlefield after the smoke cleared, not sure what was left standing.

“I’m leaving today,” she said finally, cutting through the tension with clipped precision.

Oscar nodded once. “Same. Flight in five hours.”

“Monaco?”

“For now.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You?”

"Home. Probably."

She shifted her gaze to the floor. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but his shoulders had drawn in again, not like someone resting. Like someone bracing.

After a long pause, he spoke again. “I don’t think I can figure this out on my own.”

Her eyes lifted. Slowly.

He didn’t meet them. “Whatever this is all of it it’s bigger than just bad timing or bad luck. I keep turning it over and over, but nothing sticks. Nothing makes sense long enough to hold.”

She exhaled, sharp. “You think I’ve had better luck? I’ve been doing the same thing in my head every night, hoping something will click. It doesn’t.”

This time, their eyes did meet. Neither looked away.

He stood, slow, but steady. “We need to stop pretending we can handle this separately.”

“No more vague updates. No more half-truths. If we want to get ahead of this, we need to be on the same page.Fully.”

She didn’t agree right away. She let the moment stretch just long enough for him to feel it. Then finally, she said, quiet but firm:

“Fine. Call me when you land.”

જ⁀➴

Four Days Later 23:17 PM

The call rang twice before he picked up.

No greeting. Just a faint inhale and the familiar sound of movement fabric rustling, a chair creaking. He was there, like always. And she was too, curled on the kitchen floor with her back against a cabinet, knees pulled to her chest, phone pressed between her shoulder and cheek.

Oscar didn’t bother with a greeting. “I think I freaked my manager out.”

That made her sit up. “What? Why?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, flat:

“My shirt rode up a bit during briefing. He saw the nail scratches on my back.”

She blinked. “No.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“What… what did he say?”

“Nothing,” Oscar replied. “But he looked horrified. Like I’d been attacked by a wild animal. Or involved in some kind of… unlicensed ritual.”

She let out a soft wheeze, pressing her palm over her face.

“Oh my God.”

Oscar sounded completely deadpan. “He blinked at me. Once. Slowly. Then handed me a bottle of water and said ‘rest up.’ Like I’d come back from war.”

She couldn’t help it a laugh escaped, short and sharp and borderline unhinged.

“That’s not funny,” she said, still laughing.

“It kind of is.”

“No, it’s terrible.You think anyone else noticed?”

“The scratches?”

“No. Us.”

“If they didn’t before, they will now. Everything’s louder lately. Even silence feels suspicious.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the point. Not to catch us doing something wrong, but to make everyone think we are.”

Oscar leans back against the headboard, phone still pressed to his ear. He doesn't respond right away.

“Found anything?” he asked. His voice was tired. Not sleepy, just worn out. Like two days of picking at the same frayed thread had finally started unraveling him too.

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But it’s… fragmented.”

“Aren’t we all?”

It had started two nights after Silverstone.

A text, short and reluctant:

If we don’t talk, we’ll go insane.

Then another:

Midnight. My time. That work for you?

And now, it was routine. A cold, quiet routine. Like checking the perimeter after a storm seeing what’s still standing, what’s salvageable. They didn’t talk about what had happened. Not the night in the hotel, not the silence the next morning, not even the fact that they'd both left without saying goodbye.

Just the problem. The leak. The audio. The sim file. The silence that now buzzed with threat from every angle of the paddock.

“I was looking through Alpine’s internal comm logs,” she started, running a thumb over the edge of her mug, untouched tea gone cold. “There’s no record of me saying that line. Not even in the encrypted folders.”

Oscar made a low sound. Thoughtful. “But we both remember you saying it. Austria. Post-race. You were pissed.”

“I was right,” she muttered. Then, quieter: “But yeah.”

“So someone recorded it externally.”

“Or... someone had access to McLaren’s archive and pulled it from another source. A test run? A private debrief?”

Oscar was quiet for a beat.

“You think it’s internal?”

She didn’t answer.

That was the thing they both wanted to believe it was external. That this was sabotage, some coordinated attempt to ruin reputations and compromise strategy data between teams. But the deeper they dug, the more it looked like rot from within. Someone who knew enough. Who had access.

“I checked my sim logs from the last month,” he said after a pause. “Nothing out of the ordinary until Silverstone week. Then...boom. One corrupted file. Inserted thirty-six hours before that run. Timestamp doesn’t match the session.”

“That’s not a bug,” she said flatly.

“No. It’s not.”

There was a long silence then , not empty, but thick with shared dread. The kind of pause where you both know something’s wrong but neither of you want to be the one to say it aloud.

She finally broke it.

“My access credentials were changed the week before. Temporarily.”

“What?”

“I didn’t notice. Matthieu probably thought it was standard IT procedure. But someone elevated my permissions. Then reverted them three days later.”

“Jesus.” Oscar exhaled. “So whoever did this wanted it to look like you had access to things you normally don’t.”

“Yeah.”

“To make it look like you leaked it.”

The words landed heavy between them. She didn’t even flinch. Not anymore.

“Okay. So we’ve been focusing on the cough, the sim file, the leak as separate things. But what if they’re not? What if it’s not just bad luck someone recorded us twice? What if that person is the same?”

That silenced her for a moment.

“You think someone’s following us?”

“Or watching. Listening.”

Beat.

“Someone who knows when we’re together. Someone who knows where to plant things. I mean your voice ended up in my sim run, in a McLaren file, after you got pulled from pit wall. That’s not an accident.”

She didn’t argue. She’d been circling the same thought.

“You think it’s someone from Alpine?”

Oscar hesitated. “I don’t want it to be. But someone has access to your audio. And someone else or the same must’ve had access to our location, or our comms.”

“So you’re saying it’s… internal.”

“I’m saying it’s not random. That’s what keeps hitting me.”

A pause.

“I keep thinking back to that morning in Silverstone. I said we’d stop hiding. That we’d work together.”

He echoed her words, and for a second, her throat tightened.

She shifted, pulling the blanket up like it could shield her from the pressure in her chest.

“Okay,” she murmured. “So what do we do?”

“We think like them.”

“Like whoever’s behind this?”

“Yeah. We ask: if I wanted to sabotage a strategist and a driver without getting caught, how would I do it?”

“I’d pick moments when they’re isolated. Or vulnerable. Or emotional.”

Her voice dropped.

“Oscar.”

“Hm?”

“I think they want us to turn on each other.”

It landed heavy between them.

Because it was true. Because it was working.

“I almost did,” he admitted. “That night in your hotel room? I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. Part of me thought what if it was her? What if she used me and walked out?”

That stung. Even now. But she didn’t flinch.

“And I thought you’d deny it all. Play victim. Pretend you didn’t hear that cough or know what it meant.”

“I didn’t want to doubt you,” he said. “But everything around us is built to make us do exactly that.”

“Paranoia is the point.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴

It was 1:47 AM.

Another call. Another night of circling theories like sharks the same facts rehashed, the same timelines replayed. She was pacing barefoot across the cold floor of her Airbnb kitchen, sipping chamomile tea like it could untangle her brain.

“We’ve been doing this for two weeks. Same questions, same possibilities. Nothing moves.”

“I can’t keep doing this.”

There was no greeting, no hesitation. Just his voice in her ear, low and rough, like it had been boiling in his chest for hours and finally cracked.

“We’ve had the same fucking conversation five times this week. What if it was X? What if it was Y? What if this team did that, what if the other leaked that file. I’m tired.”

She didn’t respond right away. She’d been sitting in bed, phone pressed to her ear, trying to will herself to sleep. Now, her spine was straight. Alert.

“Oscar—”

“No. I’m serious. We’re stuck in a loop. Replaying theories like it’s gonna magically give us a new answer. And in the meantime, I’m getting paranoid as hell, you’re one step away from being blacklisted, and someone is still ten moves ahead.”

He exhaled sharply. “I can’t live in rewind anymore.”

Silence.

She sat up straighter, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. “Then what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

His voice cracked on the last word not loud, not dramatic. Just frayed. Honest.

“I feel like I’m being moved around like a fucking pawn. I’m either the golden boy or the problem. My own team looks at me like I’ve got something to confess. "

There was a long pause before she spoke.

“I have something to tell you.”

Her voice was too careful. Too rehearsed. The kind of tone that made his stomach knot instinctively.

Oscar shifted the phone tighter to his ear. “What is it?”

She inhaled slowly. “McLaren made me an offer.”

Silence.

Not the kind that asks for more. The kind that falls like glass shattering across the floor.

“They—” he cut himself off. Tried again. “When?”

“Yesterday. Officially.”

She swallowed. “Andrea himself reached out.”

Oscar laughed. Once. A sharp exhale that didn’t hold even a trace of humor.

“Right. Of course he did.”

She winced. “I didn’t say yes.”

“But you didn’t say no either.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

The air between them turned electric, charged with something hot and volatile and clawing. For a second, she thought he might hang up.

But he didn’t.

“You realize how insane that sounds?” His voice was lower now. Strained. “You’re in the middle of a scandal. Your reputation’s on fire. And McLaren , my team , wants to hire you?”

“I know.”

“So what, is it charity? Damage control? Or are they trying to keep you on a shorter leash?”

She didn’t answer. Because she didn’t know either. That was the worst part.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “You’re toxic right now. No team touches someone that radioactive unless…”

His voice trailed off, like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

She whispered it for him.

“Unless they already know something we don’t.”

A/N: Should she take the job? 🤔

@luvs4haechan @emneedshelp @thepassionatereader @paaarrriiiii @formula1fordisaster @vinylphwoar @virtualperfectioncat @sltwins @lost-library-of-violets @18racecar81 @fairyjinn @siennaluvshcky

[evil-fact-checker]

This excerpt is a textbook example of conspiratorial propaganda, designed to reframe legitimate humanitarian concern as cynical self-interest, and to delegitimize institutions critical of Israeli policy by suggesting they’re driven by financial corruption rather than principle.

Let’s unpack a few rhetorical strategies and ideological moves this piece makes:

🧠 1. Character Assassination by Association

“Check the tailored suit. Clock the luxury car.”

This is classic ad hominem. Rather than addressing the claim about Palestinian infant mortality, it attacks Tom Fletcher's appearance and status, suggesting that being well-dressed somehow invalidates his humanitarian credibility. This also appeals to class resentment, implying that elites are manipulating public emotion for personal gain.

💸 2. Reframing Aid as a Corrupt Industry

“UN/UNRWA Palestinian aid industry... tens of thousands of cushy careers.”

This flips the narrative: instead of viewing aid as a response to suffering, it recasts it as a self-perpetuating grift, a “money machine” kept alive by prolonging the conflict. The goal here is to erode public sympathy for Palestinian civilians by making aid appear not altruistic, but parasitic.

🧠 3. Deflection from Military Violence

By focusing entirely on supposed corruption within international organizations, the piece distracts from the actual content of the claim—the mass death of children. There’s no attempt to refute the statistic, only to discredit the messenger and the system around him.

🔍 4. Weaponized Anti-Establishment Sentiment

“Nothing now can be believed which is seen in a newspaper…”

The Jefferson quote is invoked to bolster distrust in all media and official narratives, appealing to a kind of anti-elite populism. This makes it harder for people to discern real investigative journalism from propaganda, because all sources are painted as corrupted.

🧩 5. Conspiracy Framing

“Think bigger.”

This line invites the reader to feel like they’re part of a special class of people who see through the deception. It's the QAnon strategy, the InfoWars strategy, the “you’re awake, everyone else is a sheep” strategy. It provides the emotional thrill of insight without evidence.

🎯 Summary of Tactics:

Delegitimize international institutions

Undermine sympathy for Palestinian civilians

Frame humanitarian actors as corrupt elites

Distract from war crimes by pointing fingers at aid workers

Appeal to populist suspicion of media and bureaucracy

Offer no evidence—only insinuation and moral framing

Mr Fletcher said: "At the point when I made those comments, we were desperately trying to get that aid in.

"We were being told we couldn't get it in, and we knew that we'd probably have a couple of days, a window to get as much aid in as possible, and that was being denied, and we were desperate to get that in. And so yes, we've got to be utterly precise with our language, and we've clarified that."

Asked about his claim – repudiated by Israel - that thousands of lorries were waiting on the border to enter Gaza, Mr Fletcher repeated that he especially needed to be "careful and really precise".

He agreed there was a risk of being seen to hype the situation, but he added: "I'm not going to stop speaking up for the need to save these lives in Gaza, to save as many survivors as possible. That's my job, and I've got to do it better, and I will do it."

Source

[spoonfulofmilo]

Hi, could you please do a Lance stroll stroll x male ballet dancer  I think it could be cute and also make the drivers go and see the performance

yes yes yessssss!

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

lance stroll x male!ballet dancer!reader

Lance Stroll wasn’t sure why the hell he was here.

“Team bonding,” Mike had said casually, as if that explained everything. But that didn’t make the sticky heat of the London Royal Opera House any less suffocating, or explain why he was sitting rigidly in his seat, eyes half-lidded, watching the curtain rise on a ballet rehearsal.

Beside him, Fernando muttered under his breath, quiet observations about the grace of ballerinas, the precision of their posture, the way they seemed to float rather than walk. Lance slouched further, sinking into the role of the disinterested rich kid perfectly. Probably looked the part too: expensive watch glinting under the soft stage lights, sharp suit tailored to a fault, expression carefully blank.

Adrian, on the other hand, was buzzing with enthusiasm, whispering excitedly about a contemporary retelling of Giselle. Lance didn’t know the original well enough to care. To him, it all sounded like some distant foreign language. The only thing he knew for sure was that tonight was going to drag on forever.

The lights dimmed further, wrapping the audience in thick shadows. A quiet voice over the speakers announced this was the final dress rehearsal. Everything should run smoothly, but minor hiccups might still occur.

Behind him, the familiar hum of mechanics softened into whispers about tutus, pointed toes, and pliés. Lance barely registered the words. His mind wandered.

And then, you stepped onto the stage.

—

You weren’t even nervous anymore.

Well, that was a lie. The nerves still danced under your skin, a relentless buzz like a second heartbeat you couldn’t silence. Half the audience was stuffed toys, stand-ins for the press and producers, yes, but behind those lifeless faces sat very real people. People who were rich. People who were fast. People who lived in a world where everything moved at breakneck speed.

You didn’t understand why a Formula 1 team had pulled strings to be here. Maybe it was a PR stunt, or maybe they were just bored with their usual fast cars and louder crowds. Either way, you were about to perform in front of some of the fastest men on the planet… wearing nothing but tights and a leotard.

Backstage, you pressed your palms together, fingertips trembling slightly as the music swelled in the wings. When your cue came, you stepped forward with deliberate grace.

This wasn’t just dancing. This was storytelling. Every movement a word, every pose a sentence. Tonight, the stage belonged to you.

—

Lance knew nothing about ballet.

He could recite tire degradation charts in his sleep, point out every apex at Silverstone blindfolded, explain DRS zones with textbook precision. But this? This was different. This was magic.

You moved with a control and fluidity Lance had never seen before. Weightless but grounded, your body sliced through the silence of the opera house like a blade through velvet. Your arms spoke of yearning; your legs hinted at restraint, barely holding back some internal storm. Every motion was intentional, every breath measured. This was more than technique, it was raw emotion laid bare.

Lance leaned forward without realizing it, his usual nonchalance dissolving into something more intense. Fernando nudged him, a sly, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But Lance barely noticed.

You weren’t just dancing. You were breaking hearts. His, most of all.

---

After the curtain call, the adrenaline had just begun to fade.

You were halfway out of your costume, peeling off layers of tulle and sweat, when someone tapped your shoulder. You turned instinctively, expecting one of the crew with notes or a request for an encore bow.

But it wasn’t crew.

It was him.

Lance Stroll stood in the narrow backstage corridor, somehow managing to look both wildly out of place and unfairly perfect. The overhead lights caught in the tousled waves of his hair, his tailored suit fitting like it had been sculpted onto him. He looked like a GQ spread come to life, only less rehearsed, more real. And for the first time tonight, his cocky, effortless calm seemed to falter.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless, like he’d jogged to find you. “You were… incredible.”

You blinked at him. “Thanks.” A pause. Then, with a faint smirk, “Didn’t think a racecar driver would be into ballet.”

“Didn’t think I would be either,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes steady and warm. “But you changed my mind about that. About a lot of things, probably.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. So you extended a hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he said, a grin pulling at his mouth, boyish and almost shy, like he wasn’t used to saying things that mattered. “Would it be weird if I asked for a ballet lesson?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Ballet lesson? Or date?”

He gave a small shrug, that signature confidence sliding back into place like second nature. “Why not both?”

You laughed, unable to help it. “Fair warning, I’m harder to keep up with than a pack of Ferraris.”

Lance’s grin widened. “Good. I like fast things.”

---

It started with one show.

Then another. And another.

Soon, it became a pattern, Lance, slipping into the back of the theater like he wasn’t internationally recognizable, hoodie pulled up, cap tugged low, sunglasses worn indoors like that was subtle. It never worked. You saw him every time.

He’d sit quietly, blending into the shadows, but his gaze never left the stage.

After your third performance, you walked out the stage door to find him waiting, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just sat through two hours of pas de deux and pointework.

In his hand, a single yellow daffodil.

“They were out of roses,” he said, holding it out, a small sheepish smile curling on his lips. “But this felt like your energy.”

You stared at the flower, surprised. Bright. Bold. Unexpected.

And then you smiled. “You’re really turning into a ballet guy, huh?”

He shook his head, slow and certain. “No. I’m a you guy.”

From then on, it was like he couldn’t stay away.

He started asking questions. Not the kind people ask to make small talk, but real ones. He wanted to understand. What was the difference between an arabesque and an attitude? Why did certain pieces make your jaw clench in rehearsal? What hurt more, blisters or rejection?

He showed up at practices with smoothies when you didn’t even ask, learned your friends’ names, and made them laugh. He sat through performances even when his flight was at dawn and his team was already texting him to hurry.

“I’d rather be here,” he always said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t everything.

And you believed him. Every single time.

---

It was a tucked-away restaurant in the Old Port, candlelit, quiet, the kind of place that made the outside world feel miles away. Stone walls, low music, golden flickers of flame dancing in wine glasses.

You arrived straight from rehearsal, hair still damp from a quick shower, shoulders aching from too many lifts and too little rest. Lance stood as you approached, eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your skin.

“No pirouettes tonight,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly along your back as he guided you to your seat. “Just pistachio panna cotta.”

You let out a tired laugh, sinking into the chair. “You’re trying to seduce me with dessert.”

“Is it working?” he asked, grinning over the flickering candlelight.

“Maybe,” you said, trying not to smile too wide.

The dinner was perfect in the way things are when no one’s trying too hard, beetroot carpaccio, seared salmon, cauliflower steak crisped at the edges just the way you liked. Lance offered bites from his plate without hesitation. You fed him chimichurri and watched as his eyes closed dramatically, savoring every second like it was the first real meal he’d ever had.

“You’re such a drama queen,” you said, laughing.

“Hey, if I’m going to fall in love with you, I should at least make it memorable.”

Your fork paused midair, heartbeat catching, but before you could respond, he moved on, casual, light. But his eyes... they lingered.

Later, with the panna cotta between you, soft, sweet, melting slowly on silver spoons, he leaned in, voice quieter now.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that first night,” he said. No theatrics. Just truth.

You looked at him, the city outside the window blurred into golden streaks, and smiled. “So... what do we do next?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Wherever you want to go,” he said. “Stage. Track. Moon. Doesn’t matter.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the world was wide open.

---

“I got Albrecht in Giselle!” you gasped into the phone, breathless and glowing with disbelief.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, a confused, tentative, “Okay… explain?”

You laughed, still winded. “Albrecht is the nobleman who falls in love with Giselle but lies to her. She dies of heartbreak. It’s a story about guilt, love, forgiveness… and ghosts.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “So... you haunt your ex?”

You grinned. “Basically.”

—

Opening night arrived like a held breath. Backstage hummed with nerves and hairspray, sequins catching the warm glow of vanity lights, pointe shoes lined up like soldiers awaiting battle. Costumes rustled. Dancers whispered superstitions. Every heart beat just a little too fast.

You were adjusting the collar of your coat in the mirror, nobleman mode activated, when the room shifted.

Lance walked in.

And with him… half the grid.

Charles. Lando. Daniel. Max.

All in suits, all a little awkward under the soft theatre lights. But they were there. For you.

Lance stepped closer, voice low, eyes steady. “You’re really doing this.”

You nodded, suddenly breathless for a whole different reason. “Let’s hope I don’t fall on my face.”

“You won’t,” he said, with quiet certainty. 

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say something clever, or brave, or poetic. But then the call came: places.

The lights dimmed. The curtain rose.

And you danced like your soul depended on it.

---

The applause was thunderous, waves of sound crashing over the stage as the curtain dropped for the final time. You bowed, chest heaving, drenched in sweat and euphoria, heart racing like you’d just run a Grand Prix barefoot.

Backstage was chaos, hugs, laughter, mascara smudges, someone crying softly from joy in the wings.

And then you saw him.

Lance stood waiting just past the curtain line, bouquet in hand, white lilies, fresh and elegant, somehow both understated and impossible to ignore.

“You were unbelievable,” he said, voice thick with pride. His eyes swept over you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You took the flowers, smiling despite the ache in your feet and the adrenaline still buzzing in your bones. 

—

The afterparty shimmered.

Crystal chandeliers dangled above velvet-draped tables covered in towers of smoked salmon blinis, stuffed mushroom caps, pastel macarons, and champagne that never stopped flowing. You floated through it all, hand-in-hand with Lance, still half in costume, still high on stage-light magic.

At one point, Lance threw an arm around your shoulders and introduced you with that signature grin. “This is Albrecht himself. Absolute ballet legend.”

Charles raised his champagne glass. “So you make people cry for a living. Respect.”

You laughed, cheeks flushed, a little dazed by how surreal it all felt, your world and his, colliding like it was always meant to.

—

Later, the noise faded behind you. You found a quiet corner away from the crowd, the kind of space where only whispers fit. Lance handed you a glass of champagne, his fingers brushing yours with more intent than chance.

You took a sip, then looked at him over the rim. “I was thinking about you the whole time,” you said, voice low. “Like… I had to be perfect because you were watching.”

He tilted his head, soft and certain. “I’ll always be watching.”

Your throat tightened in the best way. You reached for his hand, and he let you hold it like it was sacred.

“One day,” you said, “I’ll teach you the Wilis’ dance.”

He smirked. “That’s the ghost thing, right? Haunting your ex?”

“Exactly.”

You both laughed, quiet, breathless, conspiratorial.

And somehow, without saying it, you knew: this was only the beginning.

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @camelliaflow3r, @koalapastries, @toodeepintofandoms

[lostinhistory]

Heritage News of the Week

Discoveries!

Archaeologists recently revealed that they uncovered a 3,500-year old city in Peru that was probably a market hub, and that once connected Pacific coast communities with those in the Andes and Amazon.

Ancient Egyptian rock art discovered near Aswan may be from the dawn of the first dynasty

An ancient Egyptian rock engraving may have been carved at the dawn of the first dynasty, up to 5,100 years ago, a new study suggests.

5,500-year-old ‘Polish pyramids’ discovered by archaeologists in western Poland

Archaeologists in western Poland have uncovered two massive prehistoric structures dubbed the “Poland pyramids,” offering a remarkable glimpse into one of Europe’s earliest agricultural societies.

(they're megalithic tombs)

Extraordinary 'sacrificial ass' found with severed head from Bronze Age Israel

The nearly 5,000-year-old remains of a "sacrificial ass" and three other donkeys from a faraway land have been discovered under a Bronze Age house in Israel.

Czech discovery reveals one of the largest Celtic settlements in Central Europe

Over 13,000 artifacts, including gold coins and Baltic amber, discovered in one of Central Europe’s largest Celtic settlements.

1,600-year-old tomb of Maya city's first ruler unearthed in Belize

Archaeologists in Belize have unearthed the tomb of the first ruler of the ancient Maya city of Caracol, which was a major center in the Maya Lowlands during the sixth and seventh centuries.

Hidden gods of Kurul Castle: Dionysus and Pan figurines capture spotlight as dig resumes

Excavations are set to resume next week at the ancient Kurul Castle in Ordu, the first scientifically excavated archaeological site in Türkiye’s Eastern Black Sea region.

Rare form of leprosy infected people in Americas before European arrival, 4,000-year-old bones suggest

Roughly 4,000-year-old bones from Chile contain genetic evidence of leprosy, suggesting that a rare form of the bacteria that causes the disease may have been circulating in the Americas and long before the Europeans arrived.

27,000-tear-old Gravettian female figurine head discovered at Amiens-Renancourt, northern France

Recent archaeological excavations at the Amiens-Renancourt 1 site in northern France have unveiled an extraordinary Gravettian-era female figurine head, dating back approximately 27,000 years.

Severed bow of US warship blown off by Japanese torpedo finally found in South Pacific

The bow section of the U.S. warship USS New Orleans, which was blown off by a Japanese torpedo in 1942, has been located near the island of Guadalcanal in the South Pacific Ocean.

Prehistoric masterpiece discovered in northern Sweden: white quartzite arrowhead

A bifacially crafted arrowhead made of white quartzite has become the most remarkable discovery at an archaeological excavation in northern Sweden.

That is a nice projectile point

Crime scene forensics help recreate hillfort siege

A team of archaeologists has created the most precise reconstruction yet of a Roman siege on a British hillfort by using crime scene forensics. As well as archaeological mapping from four excavations and several geophysics surveys, the reconstruction experts also used forensic ballistics to determine the sequence of events.

Archaeologists found a 5th-century church inscribed with a message to early Christians

Archaeologists found numerous ornate mosaics among fifth-century ruins in a historic Turkish city.

Scotland’s giant Neolithic timber hall discovered—built 1,000 years before Stonehenge

Archaeologists uncover one of the largest Neolithic timber halls in Scotland, revealing a long-lost site of prehistoric gatherings, rituals, and Bronze Age wealth.

Unique weights shaped like Greek letters unearthed

Archaeologists from Turkey’s Ministry of Culture and Tourism and Mersin University discovered a complete balance scale and five iron weights that appear to be shaped like the Greek letters, beta, gamma, sigma, psi, and omega.

Museums

The Bayeux Tapestry is returning to the UK more than 900 years after its creation, the Department for Culture, Media and Sport has confirmed. The 70m-long masterpiece, which tells the story of the Norman conquest of England in 1066, will be loaned in a historic agreement to be signed between the French and British governments.

‘Momentous occasion’: how Bayeux Museum finally said yes to tapestry loan

Said to be too fragile to move in 2018, tests including a dress rehearsal, and a renovation have led to a change of heart

Is it time to reconsider the artistic value of ice age artifacts?

A radical new exhibition makes the case for recasting prehistoric archaeological treasures as artworks in their own right.

Paris museum faces lawsuit over attempt to ‘erase the existence of Tibet’

The Musée Guimet, a Paris museum known for its rich collection of Asian art, is facing a lawsuit from several groups who accused the institution of trying to “erase the existence of Tibet.”

Confederate heritage group sues over Stone Mountain exhibition

A Confederate heritage group has filed a lawsuit against Georgia’s Stone Mountain Park, arguing that a new exhibition examining the site’s connections to slavery, segregation, and white supremacy violates state law.

Penn Museum workers vote to authorize strike

On the heels of a historic municipal work stoppage that left Philadelphia’s streets drowning in mounting garbage piles, unionized staff at the Penn Museum are inching toward a strike to obtain higher wages from the University of Pennsylvania.

Spain’s Museum of Censored Art shutters “indefinitely” after labor protests

Barcelona’s Museu de l’Art Prohibit, which houses a collection of more than 200 artworks that have been censored or otherwise targeted for their content, has shuttered to the public for the foreseeable future following months-long labor protests.

'Private palace of art' marks 100 years as museum

An artist's home - that also starred in the video for Spandau Ballet's 1983 hit Gold - is celebrating 100 years as a public museum.

Food Museum awarded £1.4m for redevelopment

A proposal to invest almost £1.4m in redeveloping and improving a museum has been approved by a council.

What were federal agents doing at a Puerto Rican museum in Chicago?

The museum described the surprise visit as a “targeted” attempt to intimidate staff and patrons ahead of a lineup of Latine cultural celebrations.

Why ‘devastating’ climate control rules for museum collections need a rethink

Researchers and conservators have found one-size-fits-all standards to be both ineffective and inefficient—and now they're looking for better ways to preserve works

UAE to open massive museum in December that ‘reflects historical trajectory of the country’

A new mega museum is slated to open in the United Arab Emirates on Abu Dhabi’s Saadiyat Island in December this year.

Repatriation

A trove of historic documents that were stolen from the Netherlands’ National Archives in The Hague has been recovered by an art detective. The 25 items, which include documents listed on UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register, were discovered in an attic then sent to Arthur Brand, who worked closely with Dutch police to verify and return them. The archives did not know they had been taken.

Liz Truss and hard-right group accused of scaremongering over Parthenon marbles

The former prime minister Liz Truss and a hard-right lobby group have been accused of stoking culture wars after reportedly writing a letter claiming they would take legal action over alleged “covert” plans to return the Parthenon marbles to Greece.

Heritage at risk

New Mexico lawmakers and tribal leaders are calling for the protection of Chaco Canyon, an Indigenous archaeological and historical site in the state, as Republicans attempt to repeal federal land protections surrounding the area.

Smithsonian Institution exhibition under review by the White House

Fox News reported that the White House has raised concerns about “Entertainment Nation,” a permanent display on view since 2022 that sheds light on the entertainment industry’s impact on American pop culture through a selection of theater, music, sports, movie, and television memorabilia from the last 150 years.

They are objecting to *reads article* discussions on the cultural meaning of Mickey Mouse and Selena

Eight countries back Australia’s push to add WA rock art to World Heritage list hours before crunch meeting

The Australian government has secured the backing of at least eight members of the 21-country World Heritage committee as it lobbies to quell concerns about the impacts of industrial emissions on Indigenous rock art at Murujuga and have the Western Australia site inscribed on the World Heritage list.

Is this the end for Easter Island's moai statues?

Easter Island's famous moai statues are crumbling into the sea, forcing locals to face urgent decisions about how best to protect their heritage.

Syria, Ukraine and Gaza among countries to receive heritage funds from Aliph

ALIPH, the Geneva-based cultural heritage protection agency, has announced more than $16m in its latest funding round, with support going to Syria, Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, as well as a dedicated focus on the effects of climate change on cultural heritage, primarily in Africa.

Odds and ends

“Angli et Franci” – these Latin words embroidered on the Bayeux tapestry may be the first time those cartoon rivals, the English and the French, were named together. But in one of the shifts from triumph to horror that make this epic work of art still gripping almost a millennium after it was made, the full sentence reads: “Here at the same time the English and French [or Angles and Franks] fell in battle”. Below the black lettering, horses and chainmailed riders are thrown about and upside down in a bloody tangle. In the lower margin lie corpses and a severed head.

AI challenge to find lost Amazonian civilizations draws critics

“Now, for the first time in history, anyone can conduct archaeological research.” So reads the pitch for a community science project sponsored by artificial intelligence giant OpenAI encouraging the public to use AI tools to scrutinize existing data from the Amazon rainforest for traces of lost ancient cities. The OpenAI to Z Challenge has mobilized tech-savvy researchers worldwide, but has also faced criticism from archaeologists, Indigenous communities, and tech ethicists who argue it ignores important research norms, including consultation with the more than 300 Indigenous groups who live in the rainforest. Last week, the Brazilian government demanded OpenAI address the concerns.

How the Roman Empire saw the world through art

Global Baroque surveys the triumphant internationalism of a new age of vast and rapid interchanges of art and culture, with Rome at its center.

What if every artwork you’ve ever seen is a fake?

I was shocked to learn just how many pieces of art sold around the world are forgeries. But should finding out something is a cheap dupe really make us enjoy it less?

The diplomacy of art: Bayeux tapestry loan shows cultural gifts still matter

History is full of examples of artworks being used to express things diplomats would be forbidden to say

Inside Italy's secret mosaic school

Hidden in a quiet Italian town is one of the world's most unique art schools – and a rewarding destination for curious travellers.

The Guardian view on metal detecting: hobbyists as well as experts can play a part in unearthing the past

Detectorists and archaeologists sometimes clash, but the recent find of two Roman swords was the thrilling result of collaboration

Bethany Mandel discovers science In science museums, history In history museums, is outraged

This week, Mandel published an editorial on Fox asking “Why are major museums pushing climate change instead of celebrating the spirit of America?” and describing her horror when she went to the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History only to discover that instead of celebrating America, they kept going on about science.

I do not know who this woman is, but she sounds exhausting and deserves to be mocked.

A Denver dino museum makes a find deep under own parking lot. Like ‘a hole in one from the moon.’

A Denver museum known for its dinosaur displays has made a fossil bone discovery closer to home than anyone ever expected, under its own parking lot.

Pterosaur died with belly full of plants—a fossil first

New discovery confirms the long-debated hypothesis that the ancient winged reptiles ate plants

[pebblethief]

got my first 2 rows of quilt done! (of 11)

[boredzum-671]

The last one I had watched was an anime XD

The Bad Batch X Demon slayer

I was doing a rewatch on it to prepare for the infinity castle movie and along with my emotions for when some characters die cause I know there will be a lot. (Spoilers for anyone who never watched it before Srry!)

The Bad Batch in demon slayer would be very interesting and challenging for TBB to survive due to the demons. But if they were demon slayers, they would be in the higher rank than Tanjiro and the others.

This really took two days to make this….

For the breathing types, I have a lot in mind, heh

Hunter

For Hunter, he would be a wind-breathing being, he gives off those vibes due to his enhanced senses. Like Sanemi, he is fast like the wind and can predict every move that comes at him. But also having flexibility, having a mix of Mitsuri and Sanemi for the perfect combo moves.

The Nichirin sword would be the regular katana, green in significance, as Hunter is one with the wild; after all, we do see him inspecting stuff between tbb episodes.

Tech

Lightning breath. 100%. Every time Tech uses his breathing technique, he takes notes on each hit that is effective and less effective in improving his sword mastery. He would use his breathing sometimes to give energy to his inventions whenever he was not on a mission.

For his sword, it would be the same as Shinobu’s sword, (Srry for calling him weak T_T) he probably can't handle a regular sword like the rest, even for Wrecker’s weapon. And for the color, yellow. Tech does have a sharp focus for missions, and is precise with each one.

Wrecker

Wrecker would probably be Earth-breathing, his brute strength can probably take on about 2-8 demons! I can imagine him having a solo battle with about 3 regular demons with his fist and weapon. But also damaging his clothes a lot, having to get new ones or tailoring them.

For his weapon, it would probably be a katana, but temporarily. After breaking it accidentally with his hands. Imagine the sword-smiths getting shock at the damage wrecker had done to the weapon. Chopped edges and the handle smashed up. So I think his weapon would be the same as Gyomei, and for the color significance, gray would mean compassion and duty. And we all know Wrecker has a strong compassion! Or maybe Tengan’s weapon… I’ll leave the images below.

Crosshair

Crosshair would have mist-breathing, being unpredictable with each move in the demons eyes. Confusing each of them to hit a blow. It is similar to wind-breathing, though, having wind based style. Crosshair would be in fluid motion with his body, managing to hit at the right points of the demon. And for his free time, he would be sparing with Hunter or the others, and maybe even taking omega out for a snack or lunch, but also secretly using hunters money.

His the katana is the regular, and for the meaning of the color of his katana, white means a calm and detached personality, and we all know cross is closed off to everyone, but he cares for them in his own way even if he doesn’t show it.

Echo

He would use water breathing, I have a feeling that he would get that from Rex, trained to do water breathing. He would have the same story, getting blown up, but also in a very different situation. (Sorry if I mentioned that T_T)

The color blue, means the user has a calm and resilient nature. I don’t really have a lot for echo and you probably get the point it’s the same weapon.

Omega

Flower breathing could be one of them, or maybe insect breathing. It’s really hard to tell which one she’s best with, but it’s your choice!

For her weapon, it’s like Tech’s. She’s a little weak to have a natural weapon, but sometimes she can handle holding it. And for the color, it’s up to you reader!

Images of the weapons (couldn’t find a good one of Gyomei)

Leave a thought?

Star Wars: the Bad Batch has a crossover episode with the last TV show/movie you watched…

How’s that gonna go?

We want ALL the details 😏

NPT: @lifblogs @leapingbadger @pandorademos @snitchcrimsonwrites @boredzum-671 @arlothia @locitapurplepink @dizzy-9906 @jordosprout @mae-lou-ron @dangraccoon @maybe-some-words @99aceace @bonaxie @toutorii @callme-naomi @artdoc-draws @royallykt @wife-to-ct9904 @alectr0na @nightingale-7890 @totallywizard07 @tealmist55 and anyone else who wants to play!

[elsmaster]

The funniest things Gamer Bros™️ have said to me about Dragon Age 2 are that it's a bad game because you never get to feel powerful, and that it's the worst game in the franchise, and also (when I was cosplaying Anders) he doesn't remember Anders from the game.

[chiropteracupola]

Martín Macuilmazatl, a young gentleman of the Ciudad de México.

[orcelito]

I've been working on Finally finishing Naruto Shippuden (after being a Naruto fan for nearly 15 years), & I just finished episode 420. And I have some THOUGHTS about the "Naruto is the reincarnation of Ashura" thing. This started as just me rambling for my normal liveblog posting, but I had a LOT of thoughts about this actually, so I am presenting them to u all Now.

So. Naruto meeting the Sage of Six Paths! Cool!!! I'm finally learning about Naruto being the reincarnation of Ashura, which... honestly is not a choice that I like very much. Narratively speaking, I mean. The Point of Naruto's journey was that he was the underdog, the bottom of his class, the orphan that everyone hated and made fun of. Through hard work and perseverance, he managed to drag himself from being a complete social outcast to someone generally really loved and respected. That's compelling!!! It means a lot!!!

But then the show is like. "Oh...actually, he's the son of the fourth hokage. And Also, he's the reincarnation of the son of the literal creator of ninshuu aka the precursor of modern ninjutsu." I mind him being Minato's son less as a narrative choice (for reasons I will get into shortly), but making him Ashura's reincarnation?? I've got Several things that bug me about that.

So First, for him being Minato's son. It's not like that's ever Actually given him any sort of status (since most people don't know), & Minato was also kind of just a random guy?? Just incredibly skilled, enough so to become the 4th hokage. And then there's also Kushina, descended from a very successful and very Feared clan that ended up almost entirely killed bc of that fear. Naruto being an Uzumaki means great power, huge chakra reserves (not even including the extra chakra he gets from Kurama), & some innate skills (that Naruto mostly didn't inherit, but one can play pretend sometimes). BUT ALSO, they were almost entirely killed off. He's a survivor of his clan's genocide that happened well before he was even born, and he doesn't even REALIZE it yet. So even though being Minato's son means he's the son of a very influential person, it doesn't give him the same leverage as being a Senju or Uchiha would. And the clan he Does belong to bc of Kushina does not give him status either, bc they're almost all fuckin Dead. And we know that Minato is a Namikaze, but as for what that actually *means*.... it's basically nonexistent. There is no mention of a Namikaze clan. Minato was just a prodigy in his own right.

SO.... All that is to say that while appending Naruto's orphan story with a "well, Actually, his parents were very powerful and well respected" does discount it a little bit, it's still not Especially unique in terms of what other people in their world may experience (there are other descendants of current and/or former kage + Many other powerful clans running around) OR in the benefits that it gives him (essentially nothing, outside of his physical strength and the inheritance of Kurama himself)(which inheriting Kurama did grant him access to IMMENSE power, but it also was the source of So Much of his suffering growing up, so I think it balances out).

The "reincarnation of Ashura, son of the Sage of Six Paths" thing tho... that one really kinda does. At that point, Naruto is no longer just the orphaned son of two respected shinobi & the current jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi (something special, but not entirely original, given that there are Other jinchuuriki who are descendants of powerful shinobi). He is now something that NO ONE ELSE ALIVE can be. It is saying that He, above Everyone Else, is special in this way. Outside of Sasuke lol, but I'll touch on that in a moment.

It just feels kinda cheap. It's cool I guess, but at this point it feels like we've completely lost the Plucky Orphan who works hard to overcome his circumstances plot. It's saying that he was Always one of a kind, he was Always destined to become Someone Special (or that he was, in fact, special the whole time). It removes the importance of his hard work in the equation. It makes it so that this is no longer something he earned for himself, but rather something that was a Given, since he is, of course, Ashura's reincarnation.

Cheap. It's cheap. And I don't like it.

Then we get into Sasuke being the reincarnation of Indra. Which I haven't gotten to that yet in the show, but I know from seeing it around. I do enjoy the sun and moon aesthetic between Naruto and Sasuke (so SO much, in fact), but. Making Sasuke the reincarnation of the Other son of the Sage of Six Paths is... frustrating? In several ways. There is of course the fact that Naruto and Sasuke have such extremely gay vibes (and Always Have), so making them the reincarnations of brothers so late in the story feels like an insult to anyone who reads their relationship in that way. Which to be fair, we do see Naruto mention at a few points that he thinks of Sasuke like a brother, but it's only a few points + feels like a kind of narrative cop-out. Sasuke himself said he doesn't think of Naruto in that way (though that could also be his self-denial speaking & it could change. Haven't gotten that far yet.), & I think there are much better choices for Naruto's "brother" figure (primarily Iruka, but people like Killer Bee and any of the other konoha 12 would be fitting too). Personally, it feels like Naruto was trying to put a name to his very strong feelings for Sasuke, & since he doesn't realize being gay is an option (since Kishimoto is clearly homophobic & made this ninja society to reflect that), he settled on Brother. But Sasuke is like "what the fuck? No, my only brother is Itachi." Instead, Sasuke has called Naruto his best friend. Which also doesn't fully encompass their relationship, but it's still closer than Brother.

So here we are, Kishimoto saying around 555 episodes into the plot (only 80 more to go) that they're actually the reincarnations of brothers. And not just any brothers. THE sons of the Sage of Six Paths. Incredibly influential, incredibly powerful, two sides of the same coin and very historically significant figures. Sasuke always had the "descended from an elite, yet disgraced clan" thing going for him, so in my opinion it doesn't hold the same kind of insult to his story that it does for Naruto. But it still feels like an insult to THEIR story.

Naruto and Sasuke were just two orphan boys. Their moms were best friends, but they didn't know that. They died when they were too young. But Naruto and Sasuke still gravitated towards one another. Understood each other like no one else. And got on each other's nerves like no one else. But that irritation stemmed from their genuine admiration of each other. They wanted to be able to beat each other. They became Rivals. And it was on their own terms. No one else pushed them together. Outside of them ending up on the same team, their entire relationship was fueled by their recognition of one another, Jealousy of one another, and the simple enjoyment of being around one another. They were the ones to decide the importance of their relationship. Sasuke recognizing Naruto as his closest friend & thus thinking he was the one he had to cut off to achieve power, and Naruto recognizing Sasuke as his first peer that acknowledged him, a precious bond he finally made, and thus someone he had to cling to FIERCELY. That was all them.

But here we are. They're a reincarnated set. The sun and the moon, but Officially. One could say soulmates in a way, in a non-romantic kind of context (considering the first iteration was a pair of brothers). While this is cool from a story standpoint, it really takes some significance away from their relationship to me. It makes it less of something they chose for themselves and more of a given. Pretty much just like Naruto being Ashura's reincarnation cheapens his own story, it cheapens their relationship too.

I dont want a story about two boys who were destined to be important to each other!!!! I want a story about two orphans who just happened to become important to one another thru a series of coincidences and personal choices. In that way, their relationship gains greater gravity bc it's born from their own hearts Alone. It's Naruto moving mountains for the sake of this boy he loves, and it's Sasuke finally coming back around bc of the force of Naruto's dedication. It means so much more than the implication that they were always meant to be a pair. So I really don't like this narrative choice.

[nohymn]

i was refreshing on the wonweek and sunday exchanges and this one still tickles me because so much is said.

i already surmised before this that sunday wasn't someone who took well to being "pitied" in his eyes [something to do with his pride, as well as his rhetoric with the weak and the strong and how he factors himself into this; that's something i can write a rambling post about another day], but having it confirmed was delightful. there's something there with his strain for condescension in contrast that i can't place.

and of course there's the elephant in the room of how he responds better to criticism and critique than he would someone genuinely showing him sympathy. punishment and disappointment will make him move, but smothering him won't. if he's met with condemnation, he can ruminate but do something about it, because he's given something to work with, and it goes against his perfectionism, which is a struggle in of itself; but there's not really much he can do with someone feeling sorry for him, and it makes him feel small and weak when there's this constant urge to fix something. it isn't conductive.

[firelise]

i just also want to commend 4 minutes for not just having amazing cinematography and acting and writing, but probably the best showing and not telling of any QL i've seen. this is all i've wanted for so long just give me the puzzle pieces and trust me to put them together please. its so simple and well done.

[redlyriumidol]

I'll be real I have very little intention of playing veilguard atp haha. I'll probably watch someone play through it on youtube and maybe pick it up eventually when it's cheaper. I have been watching a few random bits though, specifically Dorian and Isabela's appearances. The ache in my heart hearing the voice of my beloved Isabela but also girl... the writing.... the dialogue..... I know I need to properly judge for myself at some point in order to be objective, and I'm sure some parts/characters are better than others. I'm sure there are good things about the game don't get me wrong.

But I just have a feeling it would be a pretty big letdown, as someone who has always really really admired and been heavily influenced by the quality of the character writing in dragon age. I almost prefer... not to know, you know? Like if I never play it dragon age can still be good in my mind haha