#comic relief host

[mizgnomer]

David Tennant - Hosting Comic Relief in fantastic suits since 2009

Hosting Years: 2009, 2019, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024

[ingravinoveritas]

David talking about Michael on the Chris Evans Breakfast Show this morning. Love that sweet smile...

|| Bonus: Whatever the fuck he is doing with his tongue here...

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《 Chapter 4: First Snow. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Rhys punches Bucky. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). Adouble update what?? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

You found yourself at the exclusive charity gala hosted by none other than The Emporium NYC—the brand your family had poured decades of effort into, now under your guidance as the new CEO. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting an elegant glow on the crowd below. You were dressed to the nines, a sleek gown that turned a few heads as you made your way through the event, mingling with business elites and socialites alike.

But tonight, even with all the excitement and the well-wishes in your honor, the event felt hollow. Rhys hadn’t even bothered to follow up after your argument; instead, he’d left you to attend alone, citing “deadlines” without even the courtesy of a call.

You brushed off the nagging disappointment as best as you could, forcing yourself into the motions—smiling politely, engaging in small talk, and pretending to care about which investments were “in” this year. Just as you debated sneaking out for some air and possibly texting Lincoln to bring the car around, a familiar face caught your eye.

There was Bucky, standing awkwardly near a table of canapés, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was wearing a suit, but somehow, it seemed like he hadn’t entirely agreed to it. Apparently, he’d been convinced by Sam to come along to “loosen up” and “put himself out there,” which sounded suspiciously like Sam’s code for “torture Bucky with forced socializing.”

The sight of him, uncomfortably tugging at his collar, made you smile.

Before you even had a chance to greet him, he glanced up, catching sight of you, and did a double-take. He looked you up and down, clearly not expecting you to look… immaculate.

“Well, if it isn’t the king of resting grump face,” you teased, giving him a once-over. “Who roped you into this?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “A friend. Said it’d be ‘good for me.’” He leaned closer, mock whispering, “I feel like I’m at a wedding where I don’t know the bride or the groom.”

He then raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling back on you. “What about you? Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You gave a small, tired smile. 

“I’m the guest of honor, actually,” you explained. “The company wanted to make a big deal about me taking over, so here I am. Networking, keeping up appearances, and all that. Not exactly my favorite way to spend the evening.”

“What? Alone?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

You sighed, “Well… wasn’t supposed to be, but here I am. Just me and all this sparkling conversation.”

“Sounds like a blast.” He paused, glancing toward the crowded room and then back to you. “How about a little detour?”

Without waiting for you to answer, he gave a subtle nod toward the balcony doors. You hesitated only a second before following him, slipping away from the noisy crowd. The cool evening air was a welcome relief as you stepped onto the balcony, leaving the gala’s glittering scene behind.

As you leaned against the balcony railing, enjoying the cool air, fireworks suddenly burst across the sky in a loud, over-the-top display. Bucky raised an eyebrow, staring at the colorful explosions with a perfectly flat expression.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “I guess this is their way of saying, ‘Thanks for enduring the world’s most boring gala.’”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Bucky shot you a look. 

“The appetizers are the size of my thumb, everyone’s pretending to care about whose yacht is biggest, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard the phrase, ‘Ah, you’re the guy with the metal arm, right?’” He paused, smirking. “No, wait—I stand corrected. It’s definitely that bad.”

You laughed, nearly doubling over. “Fine, fine. Maybe it’s a little unbearable.”

“A little?” Bucky raised his arms in mock disbelief. “I’d rather be chased by an actual bear.”

Before you could respond, a camera flash caught both of your attention. You looked over just in time to see a photographer inching closer, recognizing Bucky and readying his camera.

“Oh, no,” Bucky muttered, eyes widening. Without a second thought, he ducked behind you, hiding like a kid trying to avoid a parent-teacher conference.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, snickering. “You’re seriously hiding behind me?”

Bucky’s voice came from just over your shoulder, desperate but deadpan. 

“Do you know how ridiculous it is having pictures out there of me just… standing around, doing nothing? People already think I spend my free time brooding in a dark cave or plotting world domination. This’ll just confirm it.”

The photographer was undeterred, trying to get a clear angle. You decided to make it worse for him. Plastering on a winning smile, you called out scrunching your nose, “I’m sorry, but he’s very shy. You’ll need an appointment.”

Bucky, catching on, slouched further behind you, groaning dramatically. “Yes, I’m a fragile introvert,” he declared, though it sounded more sarcastic. “All this socializing is emotionally taxing.”

The photographer gave you both a look of pure exasperation, muttered something like, “Celebrities,” and finally left, muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Bucky straightened up, looking both annoyed and relieved. 

“Oh yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled as you doubled over, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

Through your giggles, you gasped, “Honestly, who knew you were camera-shy?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, shooting you a half-hearted glare. “I’m not camera-shy. I just don’t need photos of me doing… absolutely nothing.”

You were about to fire back with another teasing remark when a voice called from the doorway. 

“Hey Boss?” Lincoln said, looking around the balcony, finally spotting you and pausing after catching you with Bucky. 

You groaned, rolling your eyes, the interruption pulling you back to reality. 

“Duty calls,” you sighed, turning back to Bucky with a reluctant smile.

He smirked, folding his arms as he watched you with a glint in his eye. “Guess I’ll just have to survive the party on my own.”

“Well,” you teased, backing toward the door, “try to avoid any other photographers. I don’t think I can save you twice.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a small step forward. 

“I’ll manage. But hey,” he said, holding your gaze for a beat longer, “maybe I’ll catch you around again… if you’re not too busy saving other poor souls.”

A giddy warmth bloomed in your chest as you tried to keep your expression casual. 

“Maybe,” you replied, giving him a small, playful wave as you stepped back into the light of the ballroom.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder one last time. Bucky was still there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave with that unreadable but somehow endearing look. And as you slipped back into the crowd, you couldn’t fight the small, stupid grin that tugged at your lips.

You caught Lincoln’s expression—one part curiosity, two parts astonishment, and maybe even a hint of betrayal. He quickly fell into step beside you, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper-shout.

“What the—? You know him?” Lincoln’s eyes widened as he tried to process what he’d just seen. “Is that why you asked me about him last week?”

You pressed your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Calm down, Lincoln,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

“Oh, I’m calm,” he replied, though his eyes sparkled with barely restrained excitement. “Just… maybe feeling a little betrayed you didn’t tell me sooner. . . So can I have an autograph?”

× × × ×

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Preliminary Surveillance – The Emporium NYC Gala

Summary:

Attended charity gala hosted by The Emporium NYC, commemorating Ms. Y/LN’s recent promotion to CEO. Initial impressions align with prior assessments—She upholds a strong public image, maintaining composure and control over social interactions. Notably absent was her brother, who is assumed to play a significant role in the family business. Financial connections between The Emporium and Hydra remain unconfirmed at this stage.

Primary Observations:

Maintained close proximity to Ms. Y/LN during the event without raising suspicion. Her interactions suggest minimal awareness of potential financial inconsistencies within The Emporium. Detected a slight tension in her demeanor, potentially unrelated to business—indicating she may be open to informal connection or support.

Detailed Notes:

She was notably present without partner Rhys De Armande’s, who was expected as her support. Possible internal strain within close relationships could provide leverage if needed.

During casual conversation, Ms. Y/LN displayed no defensive behavior or signs of suspicion, indicating low likelihood of awareness about The Emporium’s alleged Hydra-linked transactions.

Absence of her brother raises questions regarding his involvement; additional background assessment on his role is advised.

Next Steps:

1. Gather intel on Ms. Y/LN’s brother and his level of involvement in company affairs.

2. Establish a means of recurring contact with Ms. Y/LN, potentially leveraging existing rapport to gain closer access to The Emporium’s internal affairs.

3. Monitor Rhys De Armande’s for any connections or knowledge that could corroborate Hydra involvement.

Conclusion:

Further investigation is required to confirm any connections to Hydra funding or activities. Ms. Y/LN appears unconnected to questionable financial activities, though developing a closer association could aid in discerning the nature of her family’s business ties. Recommend extending this cover to build familiarity with Ms. Y/LN and establish grounds for continued observation.

End Report

——

After finishing his report, Bucky leaned back, glancing over the words he’d typed. His gaze drifted to the section where he’d noted your apparent innocence in the financial dealings, the way you seemed oblivious to the possible Hydra ties. He read through it again, feeling a faint tug of something uncomfortably close to hesitation. The report had started to sound less like a surveillance file and more like a defense of you, highlighting reasons why you couldn’t be involved.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mind flickering back to your laughter on the balcony, the way you’d leaned against the railing, unguarded and vibrant against the glittering cityscape. This was just a mission, he reminded himself. And yet, the thought of digging deeper, of edging closer to unravel the truth about you and your family, left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a sigh, Bucky closed the laptop. Getting close to you wasn’t just part of the assignment now—it felt like he was being drawn in against his own judgment. And for a man who’d always trusted his instincts, that was proving harder to shake than he’d expected.

× × × ×

The next morning, you were seated at your desk, a stack of files and emails demanding your attention. You were barely halfway through your coffee when the door to your office swung open without so much as a knock. Rhys strode in, his jaw clenched and his expression hard as he slapped a stack of photos down on your desk.

“What’s this?” he demanded, his tone icy.

You blinked, glancing down at the photos in front of you. Each one showed you on the balcony last night with Bucky—leaning against the railing, laughing, and standing close enough to him that it could easily be misinterpreted. The photographer had clearly captured every moment, especially the one where Bucky ducked behind you, making it look almost… intimate.

You took a steadying breath, not breaking eye contact as you replied, “It’s exactly what it looks like. I was at the gala, taking a break on the balcony, and happened to run into a friend.”

Rhys let out a disbelieving scoff. 

“A ‘friend’? This guy—Bucky Barnes?” He gestured to the photos, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you even know who he is? Since when do you two get so close?”

You felt a flare of frustration but kept your tone calm. “Since we ran into each other last night, Rhys. We were just talking. That's it.”

“You’re representing the company, Y/N. This isn’t the image we’re trying to project.” He folded his arms, staring down at you with a hard, unyielding expression. 

“Oh, I see.” You arched an eyebrow, finally letting a hint of your irritation slip. “So, the issue here isn’t that I was talking to someone—it’s that I was talking to him?”

Rhys clenched his jaw, looking ready to argue further but instead settling on a quieter, pointed tone. 

“We have an image to uphold. People are going to start talking if you’re seen getting cozy with some guy on a balcony—better yet an ex-assassin.”

“If people want to talk, they’ll talk, no matter what I do, Rhys. And for the record, there was nothing ‘cozy’ about it.” You held his gaze, unflinching.

Rhys leaned forward, his tone soft but cold. “Just… watch yourself. You wouldn’t want any misunderstandings to get in the way of your responsibilities, would you?”

He straightened, his expression still severe as he waited for your response. You met his gaze, forcing a small, composed smile. 

“Yeah—okay. Noted.” You nonchalantly shrugged, “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

After a tense beat, Rhys finally nodded, his face tight as he turned and strode out of your office, leaving the stack of photos on your desk as a bitter reminder. You took a steadying breath, staring down at the images for a moment before sliding them aside, determination hardening your expression.

As you refocused on your work, a faint memory of Bucky’s amused smile from last night flickered in your mind, lingering as you shook off the chill of Rhys’s visit.

× × × × 

You weren’t quite sure why you’d agreed to come to this high tea in the first place. Sitting here, surrounded by ornate teacups and delicate pastries, you wondered if some part of you had wanted to give this gathering one last chance—or maybe Sarah had just been very persuasive. Either way, here you were, sipping tea with college “friends” whose fathers all happened to be powerful men with influence. Chloe’s father owned a chain of luxury resorts, Cindy’s was a prominent investor, and Louzy’s family practically monopolized a certain high-end fashion brand. They had all grown up in the world of prestige, learning to wield influence with a perfectly manicured smile.

Across from you, Chloe extended her hand with a satisfied smile, the enormous diamond ring on her finger glinting in the afternoon light. 

“So,” she cooed, with an air of superiority, “Andy finally proposed. Practically begged me to say yes.” She laughed lightly, flicking her hair. “It’s been, what, a year and a half? I’d say he made a smart choice, wouldn’t you?”

Cindy gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh, Chloe! It’s stunning. I can’t believe he went with such a massive diamond!”

Louzy added, “That ring is literally to die for. I mean, anyone with a ring that size has to be super special, right?”

Chloe smirked, then turned her gaze to you, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed judgment. 

“But, Y/N, you’ve been with Rhys for… how long now?” She clicked her tongue, feigning surprise. “Still no ring, huh?”

You took a sip of your tea, forcing yourself to remain calm. “It’s been a few years, yes.”

“Oh, a few years?” Chloe repeated, her tone laced with condescension. “I mean, not to sound rude, but… you’d think he’d be, you know, a little more committed by now.” 

She gave you a sickly sweet smile. “Especially since you’ve been attending a lot of events solo.”

Sarah shifted beside you, clearly annoyed, her fingers tightening around her teacup. You caught her eye, giving her a small, reassuring smile.

“I think Rhys and I are just… taking things at our own pace,” you replied, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Some people prefer to build a relationship on something deeper than a timeline.”

Chloe’s smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, of course. I mean, whatever works, right?” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Though, personally, I think it’s nice to have that… security.”

Cindy nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Who doesn’t want a big, sparkly ring to show everyone how loved they are?”

Louzy, who had been listening intently, suddenly perked up, her gaze sliding to Sarah. She tilted her head, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Sarah, I love that top! Is it one of the things you borrowed from Y/N’s wardrobe?”

A smug smile crept across Louzy’s face, clearly reveling in the veiled insult.

Before Sarah could respond, you placed your teacup down with a deliberate calmness, fixing Louzy with an unwavering gaze. 

“Actually,” you said coolly, “Sarah works for the Daily Bugle. And she has fantastic taste—though I wouldn’t expect you to recognize it.”

Louzy blinked, momentarily thrown off. Cindy looked at her in confusion, then at Sarah. “The Daily Bugle? Isn’t that… a real newspaper?”

Sarah shot you a grateful look, her confidence restored. “Yes, Cindy, it’s a real newspaper,” she replied with a touch of humor.

Sensing the shift, Chloe lifted her hand to admire her ring again, determined to reclaim the spotlight. 

“Well, anyway, let’s not get sidetracked,” she sighed, as if tolerating the attention on anyone else had been exhausting. “I just think it’s wonderful to finally have everything in place.”

You forced a polite smile, leaning into your chair. “Yes, Chloe. It really is… wonderful,” you replied, voice smooth but tinged with sarcasm.

As the tea dragged on, Chloe and Louzy tossed subtle jabs your way, but you countered with steady calm. Every now and then, Sarah would shoot you a grin, and by the end of the afternoon, you felt a quiet satisfaction settle over you.

You stepped out of the tea place with Sarah, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Remind me again why we went in there and willingly subjected ourselves to that?”

Sarah chuckled, glancing back at the elegant yet pretentious building. “Well, I always wanted to try that tea place… you know, just once.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your Chanel tweed jacket and skirt as if regretting dressing up for this crowd. 

“Sarah, why didn’t you just tell me? We can go here anytime without needing to endure Chloe’s… antics.”

Sarah chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I didn’t want to impose.”

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see Lincoln’s name flashing on the screen. 

“One sec,” you said, answering the call. “Lincoln? What’s up?”

“Hey, Boss,” he replied, his tone urgent. “We’ve got an issue with the Emporium accounts—a discrepancy that needs your immediate approval to resolve. And, well, the board’s asking for an answer ASAP.”

You frowned, glancing at Sarah apologetically. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You hung up, turning to Sarah with a reluctant sigh. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to work. Raincheck on that shopping trip?”

Sarah nodded, waving her hand. “Of course! Go do your CEO thing,” she teased with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that raincheck, though.”

You laughed, giving her a quick hug before stepping toward the curb, lifting a hand to hail a cab. As one pulled up, you glanced back at Sarah with a quick grin. “Promise, next time it’s just us—and zero frenemies.”

With a parting wave, you slid into the cab, already shifting gears mentally to whatever awaited you back at the office.

Sarah watched you disappear into the cab with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. Just as she turned to figure out her next move, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, wincing when she saw the caller ID. Taking a steadying breath, she answered.

“SARAH!” J. Jonah Jameson’s voice practically exploded through the phone, making her jump and hold the phone a few inches away from her ear. “I need you back at the office, pronto!”

“Uh, hi, Mr. Jameson,” she replied, trying to sound composed. “Is everything okay?”

“Do I sound like everything’s okay?” he barked. “We’ve got a tip on a big story—no, a scandal! Could shake up the whole city! And I need my best reporter here now!”

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “On my way, boss.”

“Good!” he replied, practically cutting off the line before she could respond.

With a shake of her head and a resigned smile, Sarah headed down the street, already mentally preparing for the whirlwind of work that awaited her at the Daily Bugle.

As Sarah headed toward the office, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of "scandal" could have Jameson so worked up. The Daily Bugle was always sniffing out juicy stories, but this sounded personal. When she finally reached the office and pushed through the doors, she barely made it to her desk before Jameson spotted her and charged over.

“Glad you finally made it,” he said, his voice intense. “We just got a tip about the Emporium—the shopping mall empire. Something big is going on behind the scenes.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, and her mind raced. Y/N’s family business.

“Do we have any solid information yet?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jameson thrust a stack of preliminary notes and reports into her hands. “Not yet, but rumors are swirling about questionable transactions, offshore accounts, maybe even connections to shady organizations. I want you on this, Sarah. Dig deep, find out if there’s a scandal in there somewhere. If there’s dirt, I want it on the front page!”

Sarah forced a nod, her mind flashing back to her earlier tea with you. 

“Got it, boss,” she replied, clutching the documents, her mind already racing with questions about what this could mean for you—and how she would approach it without compromising her friendship with you.

× × × × 

A discrepancy in the accounts wasn’t typical, not for The Emporium, and certainly not something the board would demand immediate approval to resolve. Numbers ran like clockwork under your oversight, and you’d established a system so airtight that any red flag was immediately worth noting.

Staring out the window, you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease twist in your gut. Sure, discrepancies happened—data entries, system glitches, even miscommunication between departments. But this felt different. Lincoln’s urgency wasn’t the usual, nor was the board’s sudden insistence on your approval.

You knew that taking on the CEO position would mean an endless carousel of problems needing to be fixed or avoided, but this was something more. Something beyond routine. You’d barely had time to settle into the role, and already it seemed like cracks were surfacing.

When you finally arrived at The Emporium’s main office, you stepped out of the cab, straightening your posture as if bracing yourself against whatever you were about to face. The lobby bustled with activity as usual, employees and visitors moving about, the hum of productivity masking the weight of whatever issue had been quietly simmering beneath.

Once upstairs, you strode into your office, where Lincoln was already waiting, a set of documents spread out on the table. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with tension as he handed you a tablet displaying the latest financial report.

“Here’s the summary,” he said, his voice lowered. “It’s in the overhead expenses—numbers don’t line up with projected costs, but it’s small enough that it might’ve flown under the radar.”

You scanned the figures, your brows furrowing as the discrepancy became more apparent. The numbers weren’t wildly off, but they were just enough to be suspicious. The amounts were being siphoned off in bits and pieces—a little here, a little there—practically invisible unless someone knew where to look.

“Who else has seen this?” you asked, voice steady as you looked up.

“Just you, me, and the board,” Lincoln replied. “They’re pressing for a quick approval to ‘rectify the issue,’ but…” His voice trailed off, clearly cautious about voicing his suspicions.

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you finished for him, the weight of his unspoken concern settling over you both.

You set the tablet down, crossing your arms as you considered your options. This was your first significant test as CEO, and you couldn’t afford to let it slide—not without answers.

“Alright, Lincoln,” you said, your tone resolved. “I want a full audit of every expense tied to this discrepancy. And I want to know who’s overseeing these transactions.”

He nodded, already jotting down notes. “I’ll get the team on it. In the meantime, maybe stall the board?”

You gave a tight smile. “Let them know I’ll review it by end of day. They’ll get answers once I have them.”

As Lincoln left, you exhaled slowly, leaning against your desk, the polished surface cool beneath your fingers. You’d wanted this job, wanted to carve your own place in your family’s legacy, but now you were feeling the weight of what that truly meant. You were the one in charge, and this—no matter how small it might seem to others—was yours to resolve.

With a quick shake of your head, you steeled yourself and turned back to the tablet. You had no intention of being caught off guard again.

Your phone buzzed, drawing you out of your focus. It was a text from Rhys.

Rhys: Hey, can’t make it to dinner tonight. Got to stay overtime at work.

You glanced at the message, feeling a familiar twinge of disappointment. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed, your response clipped.

You: K.

A few seconds later, the dots appeared, then disappeared. Another message popped up.

Rhys: Raincheck?

You stared at the screen, your lips pressing into a thin line.

You: Sure.

× × × ×

By the end of the day, you’d pored over the accounts, scrutinized each line and every report, reviewing it all until the numbers blurred together. Yet no matter how many times you examined the details, something about the discrepancy didn’t sit right. The board was pressing for a quick approval, but approving without full certainty wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.

Taking a steadying breath, you pulled up the video call with the board members. Your face remained composed, professional, as you addressed them.

“After a thorough review of the accounts, I’ve decided to delay my approval,” you announced, your voice calm yet resolute. “I want to ensure everything aligns perfectly before moving forward, for the good of the company.”

A few board members nodded in understanding, but one of them—a man with a steely gaze and a penchant for impatience—leaned forward, his brows furrowing. “With all due respect, Ms. Y/N, perhaps another review could clear this up quickly. We’ve been waiting on this matter for a while.”

You met his gaze evenly, unfazed by his subtle challenge. “I understand the urgency, but approving without absolute clarity could expose us to greater risk down the line. I’d prefer to be certain now rather than regretful later,” you replied, keeping your tone respectful but firm. “I’m sure we can all agree that protecting The Emporium’s integrity is our first priority.”

A murmur of agreement spread among some of the board members, though the one opposing you still seemed unconvinced. He opened his mouth to press further, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’ll follow up with additional findings by the end of the week,” you continued, your voice steady. “But until then, my decision to hold off stands.”

You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but you held your ground, watching as one by one, they gave reluctant nods. After a few more exchanges, the call ended, and you exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and resolve. You’d faced their pushback with confidence—and ensured that your standards for the company remained intact.

As you leaned back in your chair, the weight of the meeting with the board still settling over you, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Lincoln, poking his head in, his expression a blend of curiosity and concern.

“How did it go?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

You managed a small smile. “Surprisingly well. There was some pushback, but I held my ground,” you said, leaning forward to stack some papers. “They weren’t exactly thrilled about the delay, but I made it clear why I’m being cautious.”

Lincoln nodded approvingly, hands slipping into his pockets. “Good call. Want me to arrange your ride home?”

You glanced at the clock, then back at the files still sprawled out over your desk. “Thanks, Lincoln, but I think I’ll be staying late. Just want to go over everything one more time, be certain I didn’t miss anything.”

With a nod of understanding, Lincoln gave a brief smile. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said before heading out, leaving you alone with the silence of the office and the persistent, nagging feeling that there was something still buried in the numbers.

Determined, you dove back into the system, meticulously retracing each figure and record line by line. After what felt like hours, your eyes caught something—a detail that seemed to have slipped through before, a specific source of funds that suddenly appeared in the data. You swore it hadn’t been there in your last review, but there it was now, standing out like a flag.

A frown creased your forehead as you hovered over the entry, wondering if you could’ve really missed it. You wanted to cancel the audit entirely and approve the request, as the newly surfaced detail seemed to align perfectly with the numbers. But as you leaned closer to the screen, the strange sense of something being slightly off continued to linger, almost hauntingly.

But it all looked right… didn’t it?

× × × ×

As you step out of the Emporium, the chilly late November air greets you, and the faint sound of holiday music filters through the street, blending with the gentle noise of the city. Pulling your coat tighter around you, you start to head toward the curb when a figure catches your eye.

There, leaning against a lamppost just outside the building, is Bucky. His face is partially shadowed, and he’s dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, looking a bit out of place yet completely at ease in the late-night scene.

“Bucky?” you ask, your surprise evident as you step closer. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens, glancing briefly up at the Emporium sign before looking back at you. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I was just, uh—meeting someone nearby. Thought I’d take a walk after, and figured I’d swing by here to see if the rumors were true about those holiday lights.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your expression. “Really? You decided to swing by the Emporium in the middle of the night to check out Christmas decorations?”

He shrugs, looking offhanded but not entirely defensive. “Yeah, well, they’re pretty famous. Thought I’d see them up close. But I guess you got the better view from up there.” He nods toward the office windows, giving a slight smirk.

You cross your arms, unable to help the amused smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Sure, okay,” you say, not entirely convinced but entertained by his excuse nonetheless. “But for the record, you didn’t miss much. It’s just lights.”

“Hey, it’s the season,” he replies, gesturing around at the twinkling displays. “Guess you’re not a fan?”

“After a long day of spreadsheets and budget requests? Not tonight,” you say, shaking your head. “But thanks for the review.”

Bucky shrugs, glancing at the quiet street. “Well, then, let me make it up to you. Mind if I walk with you?”

You give him a raised eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“Actually, I have a car waiting,” you say, teasing just a little. Then, with a small sigh, you add, “But… I guess I’ll say yes. Just because I don’t want to feel guilty.”

He lets out a low chuckle, falling in step beside you. 

“Well, far be it from me to give you a guilt trip,” he replies, a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

You and Bucky strolled side by side down the twinkling city streets, he glanced over, his expression relaxed yet curious. 

“So,” he started casually, “how was the day? Besides the whole spreadsheet marathon and budget thing.”

You shrugged, lips quirking. “Oh, you know, just another day of trying to keep an empire afloat without losing my sanity.”

He chuckled, his gaze following the lights strung along the trees. “No pressure, right?”

“Not at all,” you replied dryly, sharing a knowing look. “Though I will say, I could’ve used a win today… like maybe a certain bag of cat kibble.”

A spark lit his eyes, and he tilted his head with a smirk. “Ah, you mean the bag of kibble I heroically claimed off the highest shelf? I’ll have you know that was Alpine’s reward for being a saint.”

You scoffed, feigning disbelief. “Heroically? You didn’t even offer to help. You just left me there, hanging—literally.”

“I don’t know,” he replied, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “You seemed pretty resourceful. Besides, I figured I’d let the ‘trash panda’ hone her skills.”

You nudged his arm lightly, as you continued through the festive district, the world around you buzzing with soft chatter and the glow of holiday lights. The chill in the air had grown crisper, biting, and you tucked your hands deeper into your coat pockets.

Then, just as you were about to reply with another retort, a tiny cold speck landed right on the tip of your nose. You blinked, surprised, watching as Bucky’s eyes drifted upward, following yours to the sky. Little white flakes were floating down, delicate and pure, catching in the glow of the lights as they drifted.

“Oh…” you whispered, lifting your hand to catch a few of the tiny, fleeting snowflakes, their touch cold against your skin. Around you, a hush settled as people stopped to take in the first snowfall of the year, gazes lifted in awe.

Bucky held out his hand, watching a single flake melt against his palm, his expression unreadable. And just then, he overheard a soft voice from a couple nearby, a woman nudging her guy friend and whispering, “You know, in my country… seeing the first snow with someone you like means you’ll fall in love and have a lasting relationship.”

The man laughed, nudging her back, but Bucky shook his head slightly, a low chuckle escaping him at the sentiment. That’s ridiculous, he thought, though when he glanced back, his gaze softened. You stood there, face upturned to the sky, lips parted in a soft, childlike smile, utterly mesmerized by the tiny specks of snow falling around you. The snowflakes caught in your hair, melting against your cheeks, their delicate spirals illuminated by the glow of the city lights. You lifted your hand slowly, palm open as if to cradle the snow, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the gentle dance of winter’s first gift.

Bucky found himself frozen, captivated by the simple joy radiating from you, his own breath catching in his throat. The city sounds faded, and all he could focus on was you, wrapped in this fleeting, ethereal moment. The way the snowflakes danced around you, landing softly on your hair and shoulders, made it seem like time itself had stopped.

Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away and glancing off to the side just as you turned back to him with a soft, glowing smile.

“It’s so lovely, isn’t it?” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper as your eyes drifted back to the falling snow.

He glanced up briefly, letting the snow brush against his face, before looking back at you. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, his gaze on you a bit longer. “Lovely.”

× × × × 

Rhys swirled his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim lights of the bar. A few of his friends sat around him, joined by two women who laughed at each half-hearted joke he made. He took a sip, then leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug smile.

“You know, these days Y/N seems… less clingy,” he said with a hint of disbelief, like he was still processing the change. “No more arguments, no more endless complaints. I mean, it’s probably just because she’s still bitter I couldn’t make it to that gala,” he added with a dismissive wave.

One of the women leaned forward, tilting her head. “Honey, she’s obviously done with your relationship.”

Rhys snorted, though her words seemed to settle in the air a second too long. One of his friends chuckled, nodding in agreement. “That’s what happened to me last time. She probably wants out. Just break up with her, man.”

Rhys scoffed, looking genuinely taken aback. 

“Are you insane? There’s no way I’m letting her go,” he muttered, taking a longer sip from his glass. “Do you know how valuable her family connections are? And besides, she’s never going to leave me. She’s invested.”

Rhys’ friend, Derek, raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a smirk. “Really? When was the last time you two even slept together?”

Rhys' jaw tightened, irritation flickering across his face. “I’m not telling you that,” he replied curtly, setting his glass down a little harder than necessary.

Derek let out a short, mocking laugh. “Right. Because, you know, inviting other women over for drinks isn’t exactly what most girlfriends would call a turn-on.”

Rhys’ grip on his glass tightened as he turned to face Derek, his gaze hardening. “Got something you want to say, man?”

Derek just shrugged, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, clearly enjoying how easily he’d ruffled Rhys. 

“Hey, I’m just saying… maybe you should think twice before acting like she’s wrapped around your finger. Just looks like the ice might be thinning, that’s all.”

Rhys glared at him, the playful atmosphere turning tense. But Derek just held his gaze, unconcerned, before lifting his own drink in a mocking toast.

Rhys’ gaze drifted toward the window as he took another sip, only to freeze mid-drink. His jaw clenched as he spotted you walking along the street with Bucky by your side. 

Scoffing, he muttered, “Speak of the devil.”

He slammed his glass down, standing abruptly, drawing curious glances from the women beside him. Derek glanced over, his eyes widening slightly as Rhys stormed out, pushing past the crowd without a word.

Outside, you were laughing lightly, lost in the easy conversation with Bucky, unaware of the storm approaching. The chilly November air swirled around you, a rare moment of peace settling between you two under the soft glow of the city lights and holiday decorations.

“Y/N!” Rhys’ voice cut through the evening calm, loud and unmistakably irritated.

Startled, you turned, seeing him striding toward you, a tense expression on his face. Bucky’s gaze flickered to him, his posture shifting slightly as Rhys approached.

“Rhys… what are you doing here?” you asked, instinctively stepping back as he drew closer.

“Forget that,” he said, brushing off your question, his tone sharp. His gaze narrowed as it flickered between you and Bucky before landing back on you. “Let’s go. Now.”

You hesitated, glancing at Bucky, who was watching the situation unfold with a calm but alert expression. “Rhys, I’m just… out for a walk. You don’t get to tell me—”

Before you could finish, Rhys reached for your arm, gripping it firmly. “We’re leaving. This… whatever this is, is over,” he said, jerking his head toward Bucky dismissively.

“Rhys, let go!” you protested, your tone turning firm as you pulled against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, ignoring your plea. His fingers dug into your arm, the discomfort quickly bordering on pain.

“You’re causing a scene,” he hissed, leaning closer as if to scold you.

“Rhys,” you said, a wince escaping, “your grip… it’s starting to hurt.”

That was all Bucky needed to hear. He stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Rhys, gently guiding you behind him. His expression remained calm, but there was a steely edge to his voice as he addressed Rhys.

“You heard her. Let go.” Bucky’s gaze was cold, unwavering, as he stared Rhys down, his entire stance emanating a quiet warning.

Rhys scoffed, his jaw clenched, refusing to back down. “And who exactly are you to tell me what to do?” he sneered, still holding your arm as he squared up to Bucky.

“I’m the guy telling you to let go,” Bucky replied, his tone steady, his eyes locked on Rhys without flinching. He took a small step closer, his frame casting a shadow that made Rhys falter just slightly.

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke up, “Rhys, please, you’re making this worse.”

Bucky's jaw tensed as he held Rhys' gaze, his piercing blue eyes unyielding, a flicker of restrained anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He stood tall and solid, a quiet force between you and Rhys, his frame blocking you protectively from Rhys’ looming grip.

“She’s not going anywhere unless she wants to,” Bucky said, his voice low, edged with a steel that made him look almost dangerously calm. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene—he didn’t need to. His mere presence, unwavering and intense, was enough to convey every warning Rhys should heed.

Rhys scoffed, rolling his shoulders back as he maintained his grip on your arm, not backing down. 

“Do you know who I am?” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “I’m her boyfriend, so she’s coming with me. Get the hint?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if Rhys' bravado amused him. 

“Oh, I get the hint,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with calm menace. “I just don’t care.”

Bucky took a half-step closer, his gaze never wavering, his voice dropping lower. “You heard her. Let. Go.”

Rhys' face twisted in fury, clearly not taking the hint. His grip tightened as he looked straight at you, tugging at your arm again with impatience. 

"Let’s go, Y/N. Now.”

You winced, pulling against his hold, but he held firm, clearly too fueled by anger—and probably the alcohol coursing through his system—to let you walk away.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched you struggle against Rhys’ grip. Without a second thought, he reached forward, his hand strong yet controlled as he pried Rhys’ fingers from your wrist, loosening his hold until your arm was free.

The tension thickened as Rhys’ gaze flicked down to his empty hand, his face contorting with anger. Before either of you could react, he swung, his fist connecting hard with Bucky’s jaw. The impact echoed, drawing the attention of people nearby who began to murmur and stare.

Bucky stumbled back a step, his hand reaching up to wipe the corner of his mouth, smearing the faint trace of blood there. He straightened, his expression calm but his eyes dark and intense. He smirked slightly, almost as if he found Rhys’ outburst… amusing.

“Really?” Bucky murmured, his tone cool, laced with disappointment that cut deeper than anger.

Rhys faltered, his confidence shaken as he met Bucky’s stare—cold, unwavering, and far from intimidated.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his right side, and he took a half step forward, his eyes never leaving Rhys. The silence between them was charged, heavy with unspoken challenge, but before he could make a move, you gently wrapped your hand around his arm.

“Don’t,” you said softly, knowing Rhy won’t be able to handle what might come for him. “He’s not worth it.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his hardened expression softening just a fraction. He gave a slow nod, letting out a controlled breath as his shoulders relaxed. Then, without another word, he took a step back, keeping himself firmly between you and Rhys.

Rhys’s gaze darted around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the tense scene unfolding before them. A few whispers and pointed glances pierced through his drunken haze, and he stiffened, the hint of embarrassment creeping over his face.

Realizing he was becoming the center of unwanted attention, Rhys clenched his jaw, reluctantly loosening his stance. He took a step back, throwing one last, heated look at you.

“This isn’t over, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely more than a growl, but the threat was clear.

With that, he turned on his heel, brushing past the murmuring onlookers without a backward glance, his posture rigid with lingering anger and frustration. The tension in the air gradually lifted as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Bucky standing together under the soft glow of the city lights.

Bucky turned back to you, his gaze immediately dropping to where you were rubbing your wrist. His eyes softened, and he reached out gently, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me see,” he murmured, concern lacing his voice as he carefully held your wrist, examining it with a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension.

You offered a small, apologetic smile, averting your gaze. “I’m sorry… about all of that,” you said quietly. “You didn’t have to step in.”

Bucky’s grip was firm but reassuring as he looked back up, meeting your eyes. 

“Don’t apologize for him. And trust me—I did.” His voice was stern, with a hint of quiet conviction, as if he wanted you to understand that he’d gladly do it again if he had to.

Your eyes drifted to the faint bruise forming on Bucky's jaw, the small cut on his lip that still bore a trace of blood. A pang of guilt tugged at you, even though you knew Rhys was the one responsible.

"Bucky…" you began softly, biting your lip. “Let me make it up to you. Come back to my place? I can at least clean that up,” you offered, gesturing to his split lip.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk breaking through. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I want to,” you replied firmly. “So unless you’re planning to argue…”

“Alright, fine,” Bucky agreed, a slight chuckle escaping as he glanced at you.

You pulled out your phone, dialing your chauffeur, and after a brief exchange, arranged for him to meet you both outside. The evening air was crisp, a soft breeze tugging at the stray hairs framing your face as you stood beside Bucky, waiting.

Within minutes, the sleek car pulled up to the curb, and the driver stepped out, opening the door for you both. You slipped inside first, settling into the plush seat as Bucky joined you, still looking slightly amused at the unexpected turn of events.

× × × × 

You unlocked the door, stepping into your penthouse, the soft lights illuminating the modern, inviting space. Almost instantly, Figaro trotted over, his tail swishing elegantly behind him. He rubbed against your legs, his usual greeting… until his gaze landed on Bucky.

The cat stopped in his tracks, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes, almost as if he were thinking, What the…? Figaro let out a small, questioning chirp, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky with unmistakable suspicion, though a small part of him begrudgingly acknowledged, Well, he did have a decent ear-scratching technique last time.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Recognize me, don’t you?” he muttered under his breath, watching Figaro with a knowing look. It was hard to miss the cat’s distinctive tuxedo markings—after all, he’d seen this little troublemaker sneaking over to visit Alpine more than once.

Of course I recognize you, Figaro thought, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. Doesn’t mean I have to like you invading my domain.

Unbothered by Figaro’s scrutiny, you led Bucky into the kitchen, opening a drawer to pull out the first aid kit as Bucky settled onto a bar stool. Figaro followed, tail high in the air, but he seemed more fixated on Bucky than usual, his amber eyes narrowing as he watched Bucky’s every move.

“What’s up with you, Figaro?” you asked, casting the cat a puzzled look as you opened the first aid kit on the counter.

I’m keeping an eye on him, obviously, Figaro thought with a huff, not that I’m worried or anything…

But Figaro only responded by jumping onto the countertop—a rare move for him—and inching closer to Bucky with a loud, indignant meow, as if to say, What is this guy doing here?

Bucky chuckled, meeting Figaro’s glare with an amused smirk. “Got a little territorial streak, huh?” He looked back at you. “Pretty sure he doesn’t approve of my presence.”

You glanced between Bucky and Figaro, your brow furrowing in mild disbelief. “Figaro, honestly—what’s with the attitude?” you said, reaching over to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears, but his gaze never left Bucky.

It’s not attitude, Figaro thought, shooting Bucky one last narrowed look. It’s… quality control. You’ll thank me later.

Bucky raised his hands slightly, grinning. “If it makes you feel better, I’m just here for the first aid. Nothing permanent,” he joked, earning another disgruntled meow from Figaro, who continued his vigil from the counter, as if making sure Bucky knew he was being closely monitored.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes with a smile as you dabbed some antiseptic onto a cotton pad, preparing to tend to Bucky’s split lip. Meanwhile, Figaro stayed firmly planted on the counter, his tail twitching as he observed every move with a suspicious, almost possessive air, though a tiny part of him begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t entirely mind Bucky’s presence.

As you began to clean his lip, Bucky’s eyes subtly scanned the room, taking in the layout of your penthouse in that almost instinctive, assessing way. His gaze flicked from the sleek, modern furnishings to the well-organized shelves, noting details without appearing overly interested—a habit he couldn’t quite shake, even in settings like this.

Figaro, still perched on the counter, watched him with narrowed eyes. He let out a low, inquisitive meow, his head tilting slightly as if asking, What happened to your face?

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at Figaro with a smirk. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

You laughed, catching the exchange. “Figaro’s just keeping tabs on his guests. It’s not every day someone shows up with a busted lip.”

Figaro’s tail flicked, his gaze lingering on Bucky’s bruised jaw, as if silently judging him for somehow letting it happen. You call yourself a tough guy? his eyes seemed to say, a faint air of feline disapproval mixed with that begrudging interest he refused to admit.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. “Well, tell him not to worry. The other guy didn’t fare much better.”

Figaro gave a little snort of a meow, as if to say, Good. Keep it that way, before settling back, still keeping a close eye on Bucky’s every move as he took in the surroundings, each glance and observation not escaping Figaro’s watchful, judgmental gaze.

You dabbed at Bucky’s lip with a cotton swab, your face mere inches from his, he watched you with a soft intensity, a gaze that lingered, one where he couln't tear his eyes away. Figaro, keenly observant even when pretending to ignore things, narrowed his eyes, picking up on the subtle shift in Bucky’s expression. That soft, unwavering look—a look Figaro had seen before, usually directed at Alpine, but never this intense.

Oh, I see… Figaro thought, letting out a low, almost smug-sounding meow that echoed around the kitchen. You find my human. . . attractive don’t you?

Bucky shot a look at Figaro, brows furrowing, as though he could sense the cat’s amusement. Figaro’s tail flicked with a barely contained smugness, his gaze darting between you and Bucky like he’d stumbled upon a secret.

“Something you want to add, buddy?” Bucky muttered under his breath, his tone just low enough.

Hm. How about we settle on a deal? I will help you with her. You throw in a good word for me to your feline friend, okay? The cat only blinked back at him with that irritatingly all-knowing expression, like he was storing this little detail away for later teasing. 

“Oh, he’s just nosy,” you chuckled, glancing over at Figaro, who was watching the two of you with an unmistakable gleam in his eye.

But as you returned your focus to Bucky, Figaro’s gaze lingered on the man, practically oozing feline judgment and, if Bucky had to guess, satisfaction. It was as if Figaro was thinking, Yeah, I caught you, and good luck hiding it.

“There,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “All done.”

Bucky offered a small smile, his hand instinctively brushing his lip where you’d tended to the cut. 

“Thanks,” he replied, glancing around before adding, “Mind if I…?” He gestured towards the open expanse of your penthouse.

“Go ahead,” you replied, moving to the bar area to fix a couple of drinks. As you started pouring, Bucky drifted towards a series of frames on the wall, his gaze lingering on one particularly large, formal portrait.

He pointed to the frame, glancing back at you. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

You followed his gaze, feeling a familiar, complicated tug at the sight of the photograph. “Oh, yeah… half-brother, actually. My mom’s the second wife.”

“I see,” he replied softly, still studying the image with an almost analytical eye. He seemed to pick up on the formality in the photograph—the perfectly arranged poses, the distance in everyone’s smiles.

Noticing his expression, you added, “Family photos tend to look like business headshots when your family’s… like mine.”

“Guessing ‘family time’ wasn’t exactly Friday night pizza and board games?” Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as he looked at you with a newfound understanding. 

You laughed softly, handing him his drink. “Not exactly.” 

As Bucky moved from one framed photo to the next, Figaro padded along right beside him, tail flicking as he matched Bucky’s steps with a slight swagger, casting sidelong glances up at him.

In his mind, Figaro couldn’t help but scrutinize Bucky’s every move. Are you here to get rid of that other guy for good? Because, frankly, I DO NOT like him. He flicked his tail with a sense of finality, as if his opinion were the only one that mattered. Just saying, he thought, staring up at Bucky with a silent, assessing look.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing down to find Figaro practically glued to his side, the cat’s wide, amber eyes watching him with a mix of expectation and judgment. For a brief second, it almost felt like the cat was evaluating him.

“Got something to say, Figaro?” Bucky murmured, giving the cat a curious look.

Figaro simply blinked back, his whiskers twitching in what could only be described as mild approval. Maybe, he thought, as he continued shadowing Bucky’s every step, we can be on the same side, after all.

Bucky paused mid-step, glancing down at Figaro, who was still trailing him like a loyal—albeit judgmental—shadow. He let out a soft chuckle, crouching down to the cat’s level. 

“You’ve got quite the attitude, you know that?” he murmured, extending a cautious hand.

Figaro’s ears twitched as he considered the offering, giving Bucky a look that seemed to say, Finally, some respect. After a brief, regal pause, he leaned in, letting Bucky’s fingers brush over the soft fur on his head. “Guess we’re cool then,” Bucky muttered, scratching behind Figaro’s ears. Figaro’s eyes narrowed in pleasure, a low purr rumbling from his chest. He wasn’t about to admit it, but this arrangement suited him just fine. If you’re here to stay, soldier, at least you know who’s boss around here.

 tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow

[solbaby7]

Life of the Party

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: typical jealousy trope, sexual themes, minors DNI, swearing, probably typos, chill boyfriend/party animal girlfriend trope

summary: A spymaster who’s restraint wears thin when his mate is invited to a costume party

—

“Oh wow,” Mor breathes out when you walk in the sitting room; heels clicking against the glossy floors as you made a bee-line for the bar cart. “Azriel’s letting you go?”

“No, which is why I’m rushing.” Your hands shake around the decanter; not with any real fear but your heartbeat does quicken at the reminder of the little white lie you’d told instead of the truth because you knew how it sounded. You, going to a party that you were invited to outside of the Night Court. “Tarquin said he’d meet me at the border.”

“A personal escort from the host himself?” Mor doesn’t bother hiding the implication in her tone and she lets out a low laugh, Amren joining in with a chuckle of her own at the way your eyes roll.

The whiskey Rhysand splurged on was warm going down and after three consecutive shots, the nerves were steadily beginning to subside. “He’s my friend.”

“Did your friend also provide you with that little outfit?”

You glance down at yourself at Armen’s slow drawl, a ruby nail pointing at your frame.

Maybe it was a little much.

The obsidian color of the fighting leather like material fits like second skin on the parts of you that they do cover. There are no sleeves, the neckline fairly tame; a deterrent to offset how much leg was on display. The see through material of the skirt flows tauntingly with each step, the two deep slits on both sides so high your hipbones showed along with the leather straps that curled around your thighs, equipped with two jeweled daggers. Two large swords crossed at your back, the hilts wrapped in blue ribbon; a small reminder of the shadowsinger. It was sexy; meant to make you appear as some warrior goddess—Azriel would never let you step foot out of the house like this. “It was a gift.”

Mor lets out a low whistle, eyes still taking in the details; the gold chains that held together some flimsy underwear that hid your modesty when the breeze cut through too hard. “He’s going to fucking kill you.”

One more shot and you swear you see a shadow lurking about in the corner. Armen smirks at your jumpiness, tucking silky hair behind a pierced ear. “Better hurry along, sounds like he just got home.”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat thumping quickly against your chest and you don’t care to let their laughter distract you when you dart from the room. You speed walk on the tips of your toes, trying to make as little noise as possible in the high heels as you prayed to the Mother above to just let you past the front door and then everything would be perfectly fine. Your hair tickles at your shoulders every time your head whips back to ensure you aren’t being followed and you finally feel the cool breeze of the night touch your skin when you bump into a large body.

The gasp that emits is comical, a little yelp, eyes wide and the relief doesn’t settle in even when you notice it’s just Cassian. “Whoa,” He mutters, bright eyes running across your frame and you pray that’s distraction enough for him to not question the way you slowly circle him, adjusting the position and finding a clear path the hell out of there the second he left. “Where are you going dressed like that?”

“Nowhere,” You breathe out, a shaky smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Have you seen Az?”

Cass smirks, taking this as you getting dressed like this for Azriel—some sexy little fantasy made reality and your shoulders immediately relax. “Went inside a couple minutes before I did. He’s probably looking for you.”

“Guess, I better hurry.” He nods, not bothering to hide the way his eyes eat at all the skin you have bared, the sultry curve of ass that peeks out the back of the skirt with each step and he barely notices you’ve gone the wrong way—leaving with a sheepish smile and a wave before you winnowed away.

It sets in when he steps inside the house, spotting Azriel turning the corner and he can’t help the words that form, even when Mor and Armen step out of the sitting room. “Az, you lucky bastard.”

The spymasters brows furrow in confusion, shadows slinking about; drifting beneath the cracks of room after room, reporting your absence back to their master. “What are you talking about?”

“That little outfit your girls got on—I’m surprised you’re even standing here right now.” Mor’s eyes widen, sharing a gaze with Armen and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Azriel’s shoulders subtly square out, spine straightening and the way golden irises darken has the otherworldly woman chuckling to herself. The pieces click without any further information and the scowl that forms on his face is positively hellish. “Did she go to that fucking party?”

Silence.

But it’s plenty answer enough.

Darkness clouds the rooms so thick it was nearly impossible to see even an inch before you and just like that it was gone and so was Azriel.

—

You let out a deep breath, nerves beginning to subside when you stand before Tarquin. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

His hand is warm when he guides your arm into his own, a large palm gentle rested over your own. “Got a bit delayed on the way over. Hope I didn’t miss anything too exciting.”

“No,” He murmurs, a smile growing in the corner of his mouth. “I believe the excitement just arrived.” Stark white hair contrasts against rich skin, Tarquin’s abdomen is exposed, the buttons of his shirt undone and left out of the waistband of his dress pants.

“Who exactly are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a High Lord, I’m not obligated to participate in such things.”

The cool breeze cuts through the thin material, all your exposed skin doing little to stave off the elements but the warmth radiating from the man beside you is enough to hold you over until you breach the main doors. Everyone was dressed in all types of extravagant outfits, some so revealing you wondered if it were a costume at all. “Glad to see that title hasn’t inflated your ego.”

“I’m sure it’ll be much more manageable after a drink or two.”

Two drinks quickly turned to five and then after a few more you’d shuck off to a corner to roll up the mirthroot Mor had generously slid your way a few weeks back. Golden light casts over the room in a sultry glow, music alluring and your hips are moving from side to side without being told. The smoke trickles from your mouth, smile growing as your worries began to fade. You could feel the eyes, the lusty gazes and Tarquin’s genuine joy from just watching.

You’re too caught up in the moment, mirthroot burning between two fingers when the shadowsinger arrives, his intent march abruptly stopped by the High Lord of the Summer Court. Cassian follows close by, Mor and Rhys a few paces behind and their steps abruptly halt when they see you. Perched up on a raised structure, your hips sway in sync with the music, hair flowing behind you and the blue ribbons attached to the swords flutter with each movement. “You,” Azriel all but hisses but Tarquin doesn’t so much as flinch. “—a terrible, horrible influence.”

“Relax," Tarquin drawls out, obviously somewhat affected by the few glasses of wine he'd indulged in. "-- look at her,” Az's hands clench in fists at his sides but the spymaster can’t help the way his eyes shift to you, to the costume and the color you donned; the smoke huffing from your nose like a dragon emerging from her cave for the night and Azriel forgets about what he was mad about in the first place. “She’s just having fun.”

More than having fun.

You were positively the life of the party, others beginning to gather around, watching the warrior of a woman dancing like no one else was there. Your head dips back and Azriel finds his eyes trained on the column of your neck, mouth closing as whatever response he’d originally intended to give the High Lord completely died on his tongue. Something in the way Tarquin remains trained on you has Azriel's shadows go on edge, sizing up the man baring so much skin; lean muscle on display and bright eyes are fixed on the way you move. "Watch this," He mutters, living vicariously through you and Azriel begins to question the true intentions behind the High Lords friendship with you. "It's her favorite part." Water begins to trickle down like fresh rain after weeks of sweltering heat and Azriel's heart actually swells when he hears the laugh you let out; hands raised above your hand to catch the cool drops.

It soaks through your clothes, the flimsy material of your skirt sticking to your thighs and Azriel is acutely aware of exactly how much skin you have on display and the plethora of males and females in the crowd beginning to recognize that same thing. Even Rhysand has a brow raised, head slowly tilting to the side when a particularly obscene about of ass flashes, gold chains holding underwear in place glistening under the flame light.

Azriel doesn't even need to trudge through the sea of sweaty bodies to get to you; eyes catching after turning to send a grateful smile to Tarquin and for a split second your whole body freezes. You recover quickly but you come down from the stand much quicker, body dripping and hair sticking to your neck. The closer you approach your mate, the more aware you become of the smell of the mirthroot stuck to your clothes, lacing your breath and Az doesn't seem swayed in the slightest by the sweet smile you offer him when you reach. "Nice party, right?"

Aureate irises drag down the length of your frame, catching on the parts of you made visible from the impromptu shower and Az can't help but be a little disappointed to see your makeup still in place. He'd always got a little frenzied when he saw you all messy; eyeshadow smeared and mascara dripping down your cheeks while he fucked off the sticky lipgloss that smelled like cherries. The evaluation pauses at the holsters wrapped around your thighs, jewels in shades of blue intricately welded together on the daggers peeking out the sodden skirt. "It would appear so," Shadows curl around your legs, avoiding the gift of a costume as if it were toxic waste. "I hope you enjoyed it because we are going home."

"But, I just got here."

"Yeah, Shadowsinger," Tarquin tacks on and Az's hand twitches to punch him; to wipe that smug grin off his face and to demand Rhys erase decades of memories the two of you had made before ever even meeting Azriel because no other male should be this comfortable with you. "She just got here and she hasn't even begun to make a dent in the bag of mirthroot Mor got her." The blonde in question huffs, eyes going a little wide but she doesn't seem too worried-- confident that whatever Az had planned for you was far worse than anything he could conjure up for her.

"Actually, he's right," You pull away from the High Lord with a warm smile, offering a hug and thanks for everything and Cassian hides the laugh that grows at the sight of Azriel's jaw clenched so tight; shadows just itching to slice off the hand that lingered a little too low in the dip of your back. "We should be getting home."

Az wastes no time tugging you to his side, nose grazing your temple when whispering in your ear. "When we get back take these clothes off but leave those on." Shadows twist at the fat of your thigh, around the holsters and the weapons they held. "Only those."

A smile grows, pupils blown and the way you glance up through thick lashes has his cock hardening in his pants. "Yes, sir."

[itsdrawingmen]

We need to talk about Zen.

Every character in Mystic Messenger is a tragic one, and the Casual Story trio is often disregarded in that respect. But there is one character for whom I’ve hardly seen it explored at all. Maybe it’s because his route sucks such major ass, or because he’s honestly a bit of an asshole, misogynistic, homophobic, and ableist; or maybe it’s because his trauma is only briefly, fleetingly mentioned, as he and his friends refer to it, and then quickly brush it aside.

Zen Ryu, beautiful, stupid, and self-absorbed, is, on the surface, a perfect comic relief character, a beloved himbo, brash but well-intentioned. And I think this wonderful actor has been playing that role so well that he has fooled everyone, including the fandom.

Some character exploration and the uncropped art under the cut.

It’s no secret that Zen’s selfishness is nothing but a coping mechanism, masking a deep-set fear of inadequacy and paralysing self-doubt. It’s stated explicitly by Ray in Another Story, and it’s pretty evident from the way Zen is quick to worry there’s nothing more to him than his looks.

It’s obvious where he got it, considering how his mother treated him and his passions, and how his brother turned his back on him when he needed him the most. But there are more things I haven’t seen discussed anywhere, and I have a lot of thoughts and headcanons, and simply questions, so let’s start from the very beginning.

It’s made very clear in Zen’s route that his early life was… well, horrible. As early as kindergarten, he started getting singled out for his looks. Strangers kept staring at him and wanting to touch him, which bothered his mother.

Instead of getting on their child’s side, little Hyun’s parents tried to convince him he was ugly, to ‘humble’ him. It’s said that they just wanted him to be successful and to have a stable, secure life. Well, good intentions pave the road to hell, as it’s said. What they got as a result was a child who was harassed and stalked at school and in the streets with no one to confide in but his brother, who didn’t explicitly dismiss it, but still made light of it.

A little interesting point:

Make a note here of the ‘protection’ line, because I will get back to it later.

Anyway, whatever small support and understanding little Hyun’s brother provided him with, it wasn’t meant to last. Zen states that their parents treated them so differently they effectively separated them.

When he entered middle school and found passion for music, what his mother saw was her son turning to a precarious road and basically undermining his future. When she tried to convince him his dreams were stupid, Hyun’s brother took her side, leaving Hyun without the last person in his family who supported him. So little Hyun ran away from home, and thus began the story of Zen.

And here is where things get interesting. Zen left home when he was in middle school. A middle schooler in South Korea is anywhere between 12 and 15 years old. And a person living on their own must eat something and sleep somewhere. But here’s the catch: you can only rent if you are at least 19 (I’m assuming, Korean-19, so 18), and you can technically work part-time jobs starting at 13, but you need parental permission for that. And for any full-time job you must be 18. And this is the first big question with no easy answer: how did little Hyun survive after he left home? Where did he live, and what did he eat?

We can assume that for a while, he stayed with his friends, whom he for some reason tried to hide from his parents.

However, it would have been problematic for him to make it a long-term arrangement. If his friends were teenagers like him, their parents would be likely to tell his family where he was so that they would come collect their son. And if the friends were older and employed, it’s doubtful they would be well off enough to host a dependent long-term, unless there was something sinister going on. So the question remains: where did he live and what did he eat?

He mentions part-time jobs and extortion as sources of income, he worked night shifts to make ends meet, and there are also the mysterious 'bad things' that we will get back to later. But there are more variables here than just money.

Well, as far as I can tell, the answer to that is right here:

And now, I want you to stop for a moment and think about what this implies.

A child in his early teens (I like to assume 13-14), and a very pretty child at that, with a history of harassment that was never addressed, let alone stopped, finds himself on the street (at this point, we can presume: homeless and hungry). And he catches the eye of gangsters. Perhaps it’s my fresh experience watching ‘Banana Fish’ speaking (definitely not, I've had this conviction basically since I saw 'bad things' mentioned), but I want to really ask you: what do you think gangsters are likely to do with a beautiful and vulnerable young boy, besides use him for petty crimes Zen admits on the screens above? What 'bad things' could he have been forced to do to survive?

This admission by Zen himself doesn’t help my train of thoughts at all:

Of course, this is said in the context of exploitation at work, but given the gangs and the ‘bad things’, one can’t help but draw a connection.

Besides, this is where that screen I told you to take note of comes into play. Zen says that after middle school, he understood what his parents were trying to protect him from, essentially what dangers being pretty entailed. It couldn’t have been the usual harassment that he had been facing since kindergarten, he would have understood that by then. Another interesting point is that for someone with a gangster past, Zen is suspiciously gender nonconforming in his looks, and mellow in general demeanour. Yes, he’s rough around the edges, he’s homophobic, misogynistic, and foul-mouthed, but he isn’t really violent. Someone who used to fit in with gangs, especially as a youth, I would think, looks and acts differently. And this all takes me to a very grim conclusion: I firmly don’t believe that a good-looking and vulnerable child with no support network and with a history of harassment survived in gangs without being molested or sexually exploited once.

But let’s not delve into my headcanons and continue with the facts we have. These bits and pieces that come together to form a picture of Zen’s teenage years already paint a pretty morbid picture. But he made it big, became an actor, and left it all behind, and he’s happy in the canon timeline, right? Right?!

Wrong.

The most obvious thing is the contents of Zen’s fridge, which Jaehee points out when she goes to see him.

It’s referenced many times in the game, Zen lightheartedly says he often skips meals and in general eats pretty badly, and I think even V refers to it. And it’s easy to chalk it up to his insane diets and the expectations of his body and looks that he has to maintain to stay in the industry. Or, if you are a little like me and like to assume the worst, you can also attribute it to Zen’s borderline self-harming workaholism. But I think there’s a little bit more to it, and the key to it is actually where Zen lives.

I remember being a little confused as to why everyone was surprised that Zen lived in a semi-basement.

But I didn’t give it much thought, after all, semi-basements seem to be cheaper here as well, and Zen’s flat looked pretty nice on CGs (if extremely beige). And it wasn’t until recently when I was talking to a colleague about his friend sharing her experience in Korea that I learned that semi-basements were actually a signature dwelling of the poorest, and seemingly a clearly understandable trope for a Korean. Those semi-basement apartments are often at risk of flooding, which is apparently a well-known fact, and also why they’re supposed to be banned as residential quarters. And, of course, Zen is quick to tell everyone he likes that place with poor ventilation and little sunlight, because it’s Zen, after all. He has that working class mentality because he’s cool, and he likes underground apartments and old tech.

But it seems that the picture of his present life is also pretty grim. Now, I’m not in South Korea, and I know little about how theatre actors are paid there, but I can tell you what I know from several actor/actress friends here in Ukraine: theatre actors aren’t, unfortunately, paid shit. Even the ones you recognise and talk about, working in cool popular theatres, drop over half of their salary to rent a shitty apartment, and are left wondering what they’re going to eat. So it seems pretty likely to me that Zen’s empty fridge, old computer and mp3 player, daily subway commute, and semi-basement apartment all point to one simple fact: he’s simply poor.

And to make it worse, he seems to be extremely lonely.

I’m pretty sure he also mentions isolating himself when he’s feeling bad, but I can’t seem to find screenshots for that anywhere.

All that said, when the fandom looks at Zen, they see a self-absorbed himbo, the ‘don’t kill yourself you so sexy aha’ type of guy. And he is, and I think he’s hilarious, and I’m the first one to laugh at him tbh. But when I look at him for a little longer than a second, I see a young man who has been harassed to hell and back starting as early as kindergarten, who never graduated from school, who ran away from home in his early teens, worked multiple jobs, and still had to resort to crime to make ends meet. I see a young man who was once a vulnerable teen at the mercy of gangsters, who had to learn that all help comes with strings attached. And I see a young man struggling silently with poverty while maintaining a facade of a glamorous and charming actor.

And I think the charming actor has fooled everyone.

[rubbish-taste1234]

Maid to the Shadow King

The marble floors of Ouran High School glistened under the morning sun, casting a polished reflection of the opulent chandeliers above. The grand hallways echoed with the rhythmic tapping of designer shoes and the melodious hum of idle conversation. Amidst this sea of calm, a sudden burst of frenetic energy broke the tranquility.

A girl, her cheeks flushed with urgency and her breath coming in desperate gasps, sprinted down the hallway. Her maid uniform was slightly askew, the ribbon at her collar barely hanging on. She dodged past students with an agility born of pure panic, her eyes scanning every corner, every nook, searching frantically.

"Where is he? Oh no, oh no, oh no!" she muttered under her breath, her mind racing even faster than her legs. She had one job, one simple task: look after the boy. But in the labyrinthine corridors of the elite academy, he had vanished as if into thin air.

Her thoughts spiraled into worst-case scenarios. What if he got lost? What if he was in trouble? The boy was the familys next patriarch after all. And she, entrusted with his care, had let him slip away.

She turned another corner, almost colliding with a group of giggling girls, and skidded to a halt. Ahead of her was the music room. Desperation guiding her actions, she decided to check inside. If there was one place in this grandiose school where she might find him, it was here.

With a quick prayer, she pushed open the ornate double doors and was immediately greeted by a flurry of rose petals. They fluttered around her like a dream, the sweet fragrance momentarily distracting her from her mission. As the petals settled, she blinked, taking in the scene before her.

Standing in a dramatic triangle formation were seven boys, each dressed in elaborate knight costumes, complete with capes and faux armor that glinted in the light.To the right of this formation, adjusting his glasses, stood the raven-haired boy she had been desperately searching for.

"Welcome to the Ouran Host Club," they chorused in unison, their voices harmonizing perfectly.

She stared, wide-eyed and breathless, at the theatrical spectacle before her. 

Her heart was still racing, but now it was from a mix of relief and something else entirely. She took a deep breath, gathering her composure. "Master Kyoya," she began, her tone respectful yet firm, "you can't just disappear like that. You know I have my duties to attend to."

Kyoya adjusted his glasses, his expression remaining steady. "My apologies. I didn't mean to cause you any distress."

She straightened her maid uniform, trying to maintain her professionalism despite the surreal setting. "Please, inform me next time you decide to... participate in such activities. It's my responsibility to ensure your well-being."

The other hosts watched the exchange with amused interest, their expressions ranging from curiosity to admiration for her steadfast demeanour. Kyoya nodded, his expression calm and respectful. "I'll keep you informed."

With a final nod, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Master Kyoya."

As she turned to leave, she gently pulled the ornate double doors closed behind her. The soft click of the latch echoed through the room, marking her exit.

The moment the doors were shut, the remaining hosts turned their heads in unison, their expressions a comical mix of curiosity and mischief. All eyes were now on Kyoya, waiting for an explanation.

Tamaki, with his pale-blond hair shimmering in the light, was the first to speak, his violet eyes wide with excitement. "Kyoya, who was that girl? She seemed so serious!"

Honey, the smallest and most cheerful of the group, perched on Mori's shoulders, clasped his hands together, flowers practically blooming around his head. "Yeah, Kyoya! She was cute! Does she like cake?"

Mori, stoic as ever, simply nodded in agreement, his dark eyes observing Kyoya with a hint of curiosity.

The Hitachiin twins, Hikaru and Kaoru, shared a conspiratorial grin. Hikaru leaned forward, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. "Is she a new club member?"

Kaoru, standing next to his twin with his hair parted to the left, added with a smirk, "Or maybe she's your secret girlfriend, Kyoya-senpai?"

Haruhi, ever practical and straightforward, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Who is she, really? She seemed very concerned about you."

Kyoya adjusted his glasses, his expression calm and collected as always. "She's simply someone who takes her responsibilities seriously. There's no need for unnecessary speculation."

Tamaki, never one to be easily dissuaded, leaned in closer, his enthusiasm undiminished. "But Kyoya, she called you 'Master.' There's got to be more to this story!"

Kyoya sighed softly, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "As I said, she is someone responsible for my well-being. Nothing more, nothing less."

The hosts exchanged glances, clearly unconvinced but willing to let the matter rest, for now. The room fell silent for a moment, each of them pondering the unexpected encounter.

Finally, Kyoya spoke again, his tone signaling the end of the discussion. "Now, if we're done with this interrogation, we have guests to attend to."

With that, the hosts resumed their preparations, the curiosity lingering in the air but the immediate focus shifting back to their duties. SHOULD I CONTINUE THIS?? this is a reader x ohshc with the reader being a maid I just wanted to do something while I had free time and I kind of remembered fanfics exist 🤗

[thewideawakechronicles]

Hello! And welcome to my ask blog!

There are a few things I want to put down as a start, just so everyone is aware.

1. Please refrain from any nsfw things. Jokes or not. We have young characters in this blog. Please dont.

2. I may be a bit slow with responses! So please be patient.

3. You may have powers! But they need to be toned down and kept at a reasonable level. And please refrain from any powerplaying.

4. There may be some very sore themes, so just be aware/prepared.

5. I want to keep the tone a bit more serious and refrain from things that may be a little too crazy, but, obviously we can still have breaks here and there(mostly stuff that's some sort of comic relief or wholesome).

6. Designs will sometimes fluctuate here and there. Please do not be alarmed if someone's appearance suddenly changes!(I literally can not make up my mind. I am so sorry)

I want to keep this as fun and as smooth as possible, so everyone can enjoy this. And I hope it stays that way. As long as people play by and respect the rules, everything should be alright. Please enjoy!

Also, say hello to my wonderful bestie and co-host of the blog, @marbledmoonstone! Please go check our xyr ask blog as well! @ask-styx-and-friends

[watermelonsugacry]

James corden and harry and yn pleeeeeeeaasee

The Final Late Late Show

A/N: how are you lovies?! its been a minute since I've posted but i just HAD to write about this as soon as I saw it! 💚

SUMMARY: For the final Late Late Show, YN and Harry are two of the three final guests. Here are some snippets from the final episode! (2.5k)

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married!ynrry, famous!reader

SINCE 2010 masterlist

“Joining us also, he’s the biggest superstar in the world. He’s a three-time Grammy winner. He’s your friend, he’s my friend. Harry Styles is here tonight!”

Harry’s dimple smile appears from the small window on the door. “Hi, mate! Man, terrible timing with this door thing, eh?...Cause it’s yeh last show.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” James dramatically sighs in frustration.

“I mean what are the chances, you know? Absolute disaster,” Harry humorously rolls his eyes with a smile. “...cause it’s yeh last show.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware that it’s my last show, Harry, thank you very much! I don’t need anybody to tell me that. Nobody knows that more than me. This is a disaster!” 

“James! James!” YN steps in next to her husband and peaks through the tiny window through the door. 

“YN! Oh, thank God!” The talk show host sighs in relief. “Also joining us tonight is the multi-talented mega star of the century. She’s another dear friend of mine and married to this guy right here. Everybody give it up for YN YLN-Styles!”

She gives a small wave before turning her attention back to the host. “Don't worry, James. V’got everything under control,” YN says with a confident nods of her head.

“Oh, that’s great to hear. So you’ve called security to get the doors unlocked then?”

“Umm...no.” Fans can see Harry’s lips tucked in frown, shaking his head along to his wife’s words. “But I’ve got this fire extinguisher that m’gonna use to bash in the window.”

The audience members yell and cheer excitedly as they see YN hold up the red object and ask everyone to stand back. But before she can take a swing, the voice on the intercom lets them know that the door issue has been resolved.

...

“Everyone, please give it up for the one and only, Mrs. YN YLN-Styles!”

When the curtains zip open, YN has her back to the crowd. She comically looks over her shoulder and playfully acts surprised at the screaming crowd. As she walks down the stairs, everyone is able to see her full outfit for the night. Her white skirt and top combo hug her curves in just the right places but her (and Harry’s) favorite part has to be the white stain roses that hold the slide slit of her dress in place.

She smiles and gives high fives to the audience members as she passes them by. When she gets to James’s parents in the audience, she gives them kisses on both of their cheeks. And once she’s reached the stage, she happily takes her husband’s outreached hand as he helps her up the short steps.

When the third guest of the night makes his way onto the stage, Harry puts a hand on YN’s back and shuffles them over to the corner at what’s to come. They watch as Will takes swing after swing at James’s desk with a sledgehammer, destroying it into pieces. While Harry’s face expresses one of remorse over the obliterated scene, YN puts a fist over her smile as she laughs.

...

“Then you and your former bandmate turned wife—” James presents the couple sitting next to each other on the couch with a grand hand swing of his hands as he looks out to the screaming audience. “—came on the show a few years ago as a band. Then again when Harry hosted for the first time where you, YN, were one of the featured guests for that night. And you guys even played a game of Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts.”

With the mention of the atrocious food game, James mentions how Will Ferrell loves the game so much that he specifically requested for them to play it one more time. Each guest is given their own cards with their questions on them and an obscene food concoction to eat if they do not want to answer their question. 

Soon after, YN claps along with everyone else but her jaw is on the floor at the hefty scoop and bite Will takes from his nasty food arrangement despite not having to do so. 

“Yeh really enjoyed that didn’t yeh?” She teases.

“It’s like Thanksgiving,” Will responds around a mouth full of bug trifles. “Alright, your turn YN.”

“Okay, mine says...” She says as she slowly gets the card out. Harry leans over to her to get a peek at the question and immediately lets out a chuckle, trying to cover it up with a cough to his fist but fails. “Uh oh. When and where did you and Harry have your first kiss together?”

The crowd goes into a frantic frenzy at the possibility of getting official confirmation of the heavily researched and hypothesized answer. She wiggles her brows in a playful manner towards her husband and it only makes him laugh harder. 

She contemplates on revealing the answer, it is the last show after all...but where’s the fun in that?

“Umm...” She hides her smile behind the purple card before shrugging her shoulders. “Guess m’taking a bite out of a grasshopper.”

“I’ll do one with you,” Will generously offers, already reaching for one of the little bugs in the small bowl. They clink their grasshoppers together before plopping them past their lips. While Will happily reaches for seconds, YN puts on a strained, pained smile as she chews. 

“Mmm, yummy,” She sarcastically says, making James let out one of his high-pitched laughs. She gladly takes the mug from Harry’s giving hands to rinse her mouth of the odd taste.

When Harry reads his question asking if there will be a One Direction reunion, the crowd erupts in screams once again. The couple gives each other a humorous look, absolutely eating up the way the audience goes crazy at the mention of their band.

“I think if there was a time where we all felt that that was something we wanted to do—” Harry’s interrupted by Will mocking the crowd awing and cooing at the mention of their old band. It has the two former band members giggling before he continues. “Then I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”

“YN, this question kind of goes to you as well,” James offers.

“Yeah, I mean. I totally agree with everything he said. We’re definitely not opposed to it. If it happens, it happens.”

“I’ll take that as a yes!” James exclaims. “I mean, we already have a permanent, mini reunion with the two of you being married.”

“Wait, you guys are married?” Will dramatically questions with faux confusion that makes everyone in the room laugh. 

“Wait, wait, can we please get a close up of this really quick,” James frantically moves his hands as the couple holds up their hands to show their wedding rings. It’s in this moment that fans realize that the two of them aren’t wearing any of their regular set of rings across their fingers, solely the ones that signify their promise to love one another forevermore. 

...

“Who’s more talented? Will Farrell, YN YLN-Styles or Harry Styles?”

There’s no forethought or second guessing with the couple’s response to immediately vouch for Will. 

“Sustainable talent,” Harry points out with a sweep of his hand.

“There’s literally nothing this man can’t do,” YN compliments.

The couple breaks out in bright smiles when Will begins to sing a solemn version of As It Was. But what has YN turning into a fit of giggles, her head leaning back as she hovers her hands over her mouth is when the famous comedian begins to sing 34+35 with a strong vibrato. 

It’s then Will’s turn to let out a string of giddy chuckles when James then asks the married couple to do an impression of the comedic actor.

“Ladies first,” Harry quickly says with a tap on his wife’s hand.

“Hmm...Oh okay, ‘ve out it.” YN comically clears her throat and readjusts herself on the couch. “Yeh ready for this? I’m singing. I’m in a store and I’m singing. I’m in a store, and I’m singing!” 

Will doubles over in laughter, applauding along with everyone else at her spot-on impression. As The Roots plays a snippet of celebration music, YN stands from her seat and takes a grand bow. 

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you, YN,” Will turns his attention to the pop star next to him. When she gives an encouraging nod of her head, he continues with a professionally acted sense of genuine curiosity, “What exactly does 34+35 mean?” 

While everyone else in the room breaks out into laughter, YN lifts her gaze to the ceiling as she contemplates how to explain the sexual song. She tries to hide her smile by tucking in her lips but it's really hard to keep it professional when there’s an iconic actor asking that type of question. Even Harry has his face in his hands, his shoulder bouncing as he laughs.

She clears her throat as she adjusts her skirt and places her clasped hands over her crossed legs. She goes to open her mouth to answer but instead leans over to whisper the answer in the actor’s ear with a cupped hand instead.

“So it’s not about solving a math problem?!” Will dramatically exclaims.

“Harry, what’s your impression of Will?” YN says through a laugh, playfully attempting to change the subject. 

Without saying a word, Harry gets up from his seat, grabs the sledgehammer, and smashes what’s left of James’s desk. YN puts her fingers in the corner of her mouth and blows a loud whistle at the sight before them as everyone else applauds with a mixture of cheering.

When it’s time for James to answer his question, he says, “So, we’ve known each other for quite some time, haven’t we? I would even go as far as to consider you both as family.” The married couple nods their heads in agreement. “But A, I watch Elf every year on Christmas. And B, I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding so,” James gives a shrug of his shoulders as the audience goes crazy.

...

In between a commercial break, fans and crew members record the interactions happening on the main stage. While James goes over to talk with Will, everybody else focuses on the married couple.

A cheeky sound technician plays Late Night Talking as background music. They watch as the two of them mouth along to the words and cheekily dance in their seats as they get lost in their own little world.

The fans watch them with hearts in their eyes. On some parts of the song, the couple will do the same little dance moves together, speculating that they do this behind closed doors as well: rolling their arms like they’re going to hit the woah, hands up and slicing the air in front of them as they move their upper bodies, and dramatically swiveling their heads to the funky beat—every move has them end up laughing quietly to one another. 

It reminds the OG fans of how the two would be on their third world tour with the band. They’re easily reminded of when the two of them would sit next to each other on the raised platforms on the humongous catwalk and get distracted from singing. They would lean into each other, talking in one another’s ears, and squeeze their eyes shut as laughter overtook them. Almost a decade later and the two still act like a couple of love-sick teenagers.

There’s even a part during the chorus where Harry gets up from his seat to move his hips with a swing of his elbow; YN does the same movements but from her sitting down position. 

When the couple turns their attention to the cheering crowd, Harry points to his wife and mouths, “She produced the song!” 

...

“And to add onto that,” YN places a hand on Harry’s arm after he complimented James. “I think I can speak for both of us in that we’re so grateful to have met yeh. You’ve been such a great friend to the both of us and I’m just super excited for what’s ahead of yeh.”

James pulls the both of them into a group hug from their spots on the couch and the audience laughs when Will scoots up to join the hug as well. YN can’t hold back the laugh that tumbles past her lips as the comedian reaches over her and her husband to pat James on the back.

When Will begins his mini speech to compliment the host on his hard work in the late night talk show industry, in the process he calls England a “shithole of a country.” While everyone knows he means it in a playful way and while the comment has James laughing, the married couple raise their eyebrows, purse their lips, and nod their head as they take the diss. 

And while Will tries to continue what he has to say, it's not long before Harry gets up from his seat and grabs the sledgehammer.

“Hold him down, lovie,” He tells his wife who's already playfully reaching her angry fingers toward Will. 

...

The Late Late music provided by The Roots mixes with the ear-piercing screams from the audience as they watch what’s happening backstage. Harry’s already sat in the photobooth’s seat and gently tugs his wife into his lap. She wraps an arm around the tops of his shoulders as they get ready for their picture to be taken. She tilts her head to touch his as he fully wraps his arms around her middle. 

Right before the countdown reaches its end, his fingers dig into the ticklish part in her side and she jolts up in a laugh. Just in time, the picture captures YN’s bright, open-mouthed smile, her eyes squeezed shut and her nose cutely scrunched up; her husband’s expression matches similarly to her own. 

In the end, the picture ends up in the middle of three pictures on the collaged wall: one of the band during their last Late Late interview as a four piece. YN is sitting in the middle of the group with a sly smile on her face as her long haired band mate has a hand on her shoulder. On the other side, one of Harry’s solo shots of when he first came on the show as a solo artist, and beside that one is one of YN when she came on the show when Harry hosted. At the time, her hair was barely below her ears, her naturally curly hair looked like a cloud on her head. She has one eye squinted shut, her tongue peaking out from between her teeth as she holds up a peace sign. 

Looking at the pictures in front of them, they reminisce on their shared history of being on this show. The Late Late studio has seen these two back when they were merely bandmates, secretly pining over one another with so many barriers in their way. It’s seen how they came back on the show as solo artists a few years later. It was a perfectly timed occasion for the both of them as they hid their secret relationship away from the public eye with a live audience and cameras in their faces. 

And now, as the last guests on the show, the studio sees the pair happily married and more in love with one another than they’ve ever been before.

.

.

taglist:

@wobblymug @be-with-me-so-happily @ashtongivesmebutterflies @kiwiskiwiskiwi @darlingdesire @obsesseddd @hopefulwastelandcreation @cacapeepee @breezie-b00 @harrysfolklore @theekyliepage @sunshinemoonsposts @nervousspiderling @tbslonelyhes @tenaciousperfectionunknown @harrystylesrecs @certified-nalayak @itsjustsel @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @gviosca @behindmygreyeyes @twobluejeans @allisonxmcu @theemeraldbutterfly @jean-love @marvellover-sam @b-reads-things @reveriehs @rach2602 @thurhomish @perrypughstyles @luvonstyles @mxltifxnd0m @teamspideyman @c00chiemonster @juiceboxrry @s8tellite @folklorehrry @illicithallways @claramllera @eunoiaax @hoya122 @nichmedder @sleutherclaw @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @harianaswhore @vrittivsanghavi @vc55bughead @futuristiccroissantlampsludge @onecrazydirectioner @valluvsu @itsgabbysblog @awkwardbisexuall @rosehel @sucker4angstt @isalove @diorchives @mrshiddlestyles02 @fdl305 @tiaamberxx

[spotlightlowlife]

Loona is a whole missed opportunity

Loona is Loona, someone who has had plenty of time to see her dads situation for what it is and she's old enough to understand, but this would deviated from the rude and sarcastic, edgy and always bored 20 something whoes minimal progress always gets squashed by her own attitude. Like Blitzø, Loona falls victim to 'had a hard life and that's the justification, oh and they're only ever punching up which is fine, oh and comic relief', but where Blitzø's words and actions make a some difference to the story, Loona's make none.

We know Loona to be an excellent tracker because she is a canine, she has something that is hers and hers alone, it would then fit that she would be the one to find runaway Octavia. Their heatt to heart consisted of guilt tripping Octavia, a child who had the right to be upset, for being too hard on her disinterested dad, this was hypocritical of Loona who mistreats her loving dad but so easily could have been growth for her.

Since she had just got done viciously physically attacking Blitzø, trashed his workplace and making a scene infront of their colleagues for discreetly attempting to address her intentional poor conduct at work, did her own advice to virtual strangers hit home and make her reflect? No, she kicked the worried Blitzø in the nuts, with no regard for Stolas or Octavia's presence, the fact that she has just pushed compassion on the reasonable teenager she influenced, no regard for how she looked in the least. Sensibility gone.

The episode were we meet Verosika and the gang end up on a beach showed us that Loona knows transformation magic, the first example of her having an important skill her team don't, yet when did she learn this skill no other leading character has? How is it possible that she has resorces Blitzø doesn't have? Why does she have more common sense than anyone else? What else does she get up to in her spare time? Why is this not a bigger deal?

This was her best episode because it raised questions that have yet to be answered about her, one being her lack of reaction to Verosika, which could have helped us build a timeline.

We would also learnt that she is friendless and not comfortable with this, she is no edgelord around a new peer but an awkward young woman who doesn't socialize much, helped and not helped by the person she's nervous around is someone she is clearly crushing on.

Loona also showed that she is capable of feeling guilt for her mean ways, but that was only because she got called out a little by this new peer she just met who she fancies, so it's hard to give her credit and many episodes later, it made no difference to her growth.

Loona finds out that the guy she just met has a girlfriend, which for her is a bummer, but he invites her to one of their parties where she can mingle, which is excellent. In a future episode Loona does attend the party but as expected she is unnecessarily rude to multiple party goers for no good reason, to no detriment.

She goes on to meet Bee, the host, who happens to be her crushed girlfriend, who happens to be high up royalty, a whole district leader and gluttony itself, instantly Loona is threatened because "she's hot" and it's not long before Loona is rude to Bee, as usual, to no detriment.

We actually had the opportunity to address the dog shelter Loona was living in, signed off on by queen Bee. Loona could have had a subplot that was just hers, but yet again, hierarchy means nothing, she doesn't know who Bee is and doesn't appear to have any political views.

Loona chooses to give the party another chance when another 'cute guy' approaches her, who we never see again, with Blitzø turning up for this party and receiving a positive reception, Loona is now happy to show him off as her dad, gets closer with him and goes on to show him kindness, but alas, this doesn't carry on to future episodes.

All these two episodes taught us was that though she's sad, she is a Pickme and like a school child will jump on the bandwagon of what will grant her instant popularity. These actually are not bad things, they're good, they are at the heart of a lot of people's failure to find themselves along with their crowd. If only we were allowed to explore her shallowness and loneliness more, her need to compete with other women and not be like other girls. This would start by her actions actually resulting in something.

There is an abundance of teen mean girls in media to study that could help give Loona more substance, explore the numberours things she may gave missed out on during her childhood.

Let her be a user, let her smugness at knowing she gets away with her horrible ways be challenged by maybe revisiting her work 'assessment' and addressing her fat jokes at Moxxie, maybe we could know what it is she's constantly viewing on her phone too? Just look at how Stolas validated his feelings with the dramatic telenovela in that tiny little scene.

The episode where Blitzø and Moxxie were abducted gave us a level headed Loona who got along fine with Millie dispite being rude to her for mo reason, it made it clear they they don't talk at all, yet immediately and many episodes later nothing has come of their excellent team work and friendliness, nothing has come of level headed Loona, she has actually gotten more unpleasant. Sensibility gone again.

This latest episode, crescent moon, had us hear from Loona again for the first time in a while (personal reasons took the VA away from work) and what we got between Loona and Blitzø was a proof that they are no parent and child, smugly suggesting that Stolas is simply getting bored of Blitzø and that she too employs tactics of ignoring him shows us her level of immaturity, she is old enough to know what's going on and capable of empathy, her apathy and meanness is a choice, we saw her self censoring at Bee's party, we saw her trying to impress Tex, we saw her quickly get thought to Octavia who is nothing like her and it was Loona who was kind to Blitzø at their home when he was drunk, sad and opened up about being alone. Sensible and caring initiated because she was impressed which is a huge take away Loona? What did any of that matter? We can't have these aspects aswell as unbothered wise cracking Loona at the same time, even though character duality is out there, it's one or the other with this character and the other has to be prompted to suit the plot on the occasion something actually happens, one is an intention bully who is ignored, it's hard to say tolerated when her actions don't matter at all.

I guarantee Loona's character improve if this series stuck to the main plot more and we saw them working most of time?

Since she really could do with her own thing, the property damage she caused in crescent moon coming back to bite her would be the making of her best storyline to date. Community give back would let her learn new skills and mingle.

Lastly, she as good as throws on a cape for Stolas yet again. Since the tone is that Blitzø needs to come to his senses and hook up with his abuser, why not have Loona be part of this plot and let her commit to wanting a rich stepdad and the perceived popularity that comes with it?

[bear-boi-5]

imagine being one of the first objects to be brought back (say. oj or taco or whatever) - the first thing that you feel is the lingering anger at being told That you never had a life to begin with - you turn to face the host and all that gets blown away. the face that stares back at you is not the warmth that he once held, its something far more - something primal.

he *laughs* - his voice a hollow husk from what it used to be. as he swings you around, crying out that it worked it worked your home your back! something clicks in him and he puts you down - telling you to stay put, excitement in his movements as he stumbles over to something behind one of his shelves.

he pulls something out. the mangled remains of a mephone like him - its screen completely gone and its insides exposed. he gets down on his knees and rips out a dripping-chunk of it.

eat. he says, tone filled with a twisted sense of relief, you must be hungry after being in a void for so long.

(demented comatose, fun lil drabble lol)

THIS.

YES.

I have to draw a comic for this

THANK YOU ANON

[ingravinoveritas]

hey, if you watched comic relief, did you think david looked unbearably tired? he sounded near tears at times and idt it was just bcs of the charity videos

Hi there! I'm not in the UK, so I wasn't able to see Comic Relief while it aired, or any clips until now.

I didn't notice the tiredness at first, but it definitely seemed to become more visible later in the show, as did the sounding near tears. This moment (which I got from a fan on Twitter who compiled all of David's bits) in particular really got me, as it's so apparent here...

As to what could've been causing this, I think there are several things that could have been happening, possibly even all at once. Up until I got into Good Omens/David/Michael, I wasn't at all familiar with Comic Relief, but having watched the show for a few years now, there are some really striking things I've noticed about how it's structured and what it involves.

On the one hand, you have lots of famous actors and comedians and musicians putting on a show and telling jokes...and then on the other, you have emotional videos of people in dire situations, both in the UK and abroad. And because Comic Relief is live, it's much harder to build in transitions between these two things, so you end up dramatically shifting from lighthearted to serious and back, and it leaves you with a bit of whiplash as a result.

So if those abrupt tonal shifts are difficult for us an audience, they must be even more challenging for the host(s), including David. I think the live aspect of the show makes it very similar to theater and how David might have reacted in differing moments during Macbeth, because we're seeing emotional reactions in real time, without the benefit of editing. Tonight was also the last occasion of Comic Relief that Lenny Henry was hosting after nearly 40 years at the helm, so I feel like that probably made David emotional as well, given how much he has worked with and admires him.

As for the tiredness, it seems there were at least a few interviews that David did prior to the broadcast, so he was probably running around all day trying to get everything done. Then you add to that the chaos of multiple hosts on stage and everyone trying to find their marks (which seems to have been something David was stressing out about a bit in one of the interviews today), plus the charity videos, and it's no wonder that he looked so drained.

(Another thing I also wonder is if David's demeanor had anything to do with sharing the stage with Davina McCall, who was allegedly outed as a TERF last year. Given the attacks from the anti-trans loons that David and Georgia have endured over the last several months, I can imagine that he might not be comfortable co-hosting with someone who espouses such views. And for the record, there was something about Davina that inexplicably annoyed/seemed off to me long before any of the TERF stuff came to light. It seems like my instincts have been confirmed in that regard...)

So yes, those are pretty much all of the things that came to mind regarding David's demeanor at Comic Relief. He's probably been running himself ragged lately with new projects since Macbeth ended (the Genius Game hosting gig, for one, and an appearance on the SmartTV game show, plus multiple upcoming Comic Con appearances), so hopefully he can find some time to relax and breathe in between all of this, because he more than deserves a break.

I hope this helps to answer your question. Thanks for writing in! x

[shiroganeryo]

My spouse's contribution to this year's BSD Rarepair Week! We have a whole AU dedicated to animal forms (most of them are dogs, similar to Wan!) so naturally, there are also couples 😌 I’m his official reposter for Tumblr, so please do not repost; support the original instead!

🐶💖 I drew some dogs for the #bsdrpw2024, day 7: Free Day!higugin and #fukuran for me, and #chuuaki for my spouse. Thank you for hosting such a fun event!! ´ v `//

There's always a reasoning behind each breed pick, so under the Read More are the explanations my spouse wrote for each character:

"I choose breeds based on their traits and appearance. Here's why I chose each of these:

🏵️ Higuchi: Goldens are popular for being goofy, ray of sunshines, but they are also very capable working dogs. Higuchi is usually a comic relief, with her obsession over her senpai and 'girl failure' attitude, but she's also very capable and stands in a kinda high position in the Mafia, so I thought it was a good parallel. 🗡️ Gin: I wanted a breed that would fit both the Akutagawa siblings: a black dog, with a sleek look and possibly lethal. As one of Ryunosuke's titles is "Black-Fanged Hellhound", and dobermans are the popular image of a hellhound, I went with it. (I hope to post dog Ryunosuke someday as well!)

🐺 Fukuzawa: welp his title is 'Silver Wolf'. 🔎 Ranpo: When we think about detectives, we think about scent dogs. Beagles are excellent scent dogs, with a small size, friendly face and love for treats! Reason why they are used on airports to inspect luggage (so they won't scare the travelers) and why I picked one for Ranpo.

🍷 Chuuya: I wanted a dog with short legs for Chuuya, so Dazai could make of fun it (sorry!). As hearding dogs, corgis have a sturdy physique that suits him pretty well. I went with the cardigan because of its fluffy tail and their older origin, from the rough terrains of the Wales. 🦋 Yosano: I couldn't think of any breed that's directly related to medicine other than 'test' dogs, which I didn't want, so I went with a working breed. From all the working dogs, I thought Dalmatian would be a fun choice because I could make some of the spots shaped like butterflies! They were also one of the breeds used in warfare, a detail that goes well with her backstory. Their flop ears would also mix well with Yosano's hair."

[satuwn]

i have decided to randomly infodump about my lab rats as a way to motivate myself to: 1) revamp existing characters old refs and 2) DRAW THE GD REFERENCES OF THE REST OF THE BITCHES (this will probably take me ages still. alas), more rambly details abt the story and characters under the cut

the main characters: Dr. Kitty Whisker and her twin sibling Happy(tbd), Dr. Brainworms, Gummi (comic relief character mostly), Prof. Fuzzybottom(tbd) and Prof. Snakebite (previously known as prof. pinky, i need to redesign him more heavily)

the side characters (these guys may have side stories of their own but theyre mostly just an excuse for me to design more weird lab rats): Prof. Smartypants - ref to be finished, ferret with a brain of a human, she is my 'authors blatant self insert' into my own story lol; Fishsticks (drawn, a dissected mouse/frog stitched together), (the rest of these dont have names yet) a rat/chick hybrid with funy lil chicken legs, a rat/gator/shark hybrid she is punk and goth and she Bites, a mouse/cat dna mix with a surprisingly tragic backstory that im still working out, more tba

each lab rat represents usually an amalgamation of different experiments as the lab they are in is 'cheap' with their test subjects and likes to Repurpose old, usually failed experiments and do other stuff to them! honestly even if theyre a success they still end up getting experimented on more lol but they are still unimportant enough and the lab big enough where they can hide themselves away and have their own space w/o being actively searched for. ofc the world of the setting is based on our own reality but way more Hyperreal, i dont aim to represent logical feats of science bc a lot of these guys would defs be revolutionary (and impossible) irl lol. i will briefly run down what each main character is a result of but ideally id like to go into more detail when i actually. make the story more visual in whatever format i decide to do (probably experimental and non linear snippets, i dont think im smart enough for a full comic)

Dr. Kitty and Happy are twins! they were the result of an experiment where the scientists were testing if one species of rodent could gestate a different species of rodent just thru a little genetic modification. and that was Happy! he is actually a bunny born from a rat mother and with all rat siblings (one of them being Kitty) hes a bit smaller in stature than a usual bunny being more rat sized but other than that just a bnuuy! further experiments on them was how well skin grafting would work between different yet similar species. it worked for Kitty (hence the bunny ear) but not so much for Happy... both of them had separate experiments done on them also, altho Kitty was more rebellious of the two earning her the shock collar. Happy also had experiments on his fur to make it color changing like a chameleon, as well as some experiments to his eye (tbd)

Dr. Brainworms is actually a sapient amoeba/bacteria type thing, attached to a host body(that happens to be a hairless rat), this host body is her most compatible one as she Can overtake and control other bodies but they start to decay pretty quickly. her history is something she herself is trying to find out as her host body is its own mystery.. is she just an amoeba that gainted sentience? is her mind really her own? was this body maybe always hers? who knows!

Gummi is a jelly belly gummy rat candy brought to life, pretty self explanatory... but shes got a few mysteries of her own! like, why was she even created, for what purpose, i mean who could even do such advanced science anyway to bring an inorganic candy to life, and Why does she keep talking abt a scientist with green gloves when there arent any scientists like that around?

Prof. Fuzzybottom is a rabbit! she used to be just used for breeding new test subjects which left her pretty traumatized not being able to keep any of her children, she became infertile from the stress so she was repurposed for other experiments, like trying to turn her fur to naturally be an unnatural color, and to be more synthetic like faux fur (aka a living plush) she was also blind so they replaced her eyes with a plushy sleeping mask that actually has LEDs inside that are hooked up to her brain to see if they could restore vision thru cybernetics. in her original iteration she was even supposed to be half rat half bunny buut i felt it too much, might still reuse the idea tho! tbh i just wanted a bunny with cute rat hands :3

Prof. Snakebite is not even a lab rat originally, he was simply a pinky rat used to feed the lab snakes, but due to freak circumstances he was actually still alive and after being bitten by a venomous snake, the stress hormones in his little body make him develop rapidly especially in brain power. as he was still very tiny and fragile, he wasnt the best subject to experiment on, but he was fitted with a brain chip originally just to read and analyze his brain development as he was much more advanced in mind than in body (of an almost newborn). after escaping he would upgrade his brain chip to help him utilize more brain power but also lessen the burden on his tiny body that could not handle the strain. he and prof. fuzzybottom are always hanging around each other, fuzzy very often babying him or just helping him out by carrying him and helping him reach places or handle objects, while he begrudgingly tolerates her as she is useful to his needs. also cant admit he appreciates her actually awww

the rest of the side characters are pretty self explanatory, theyre mostly just various animal hybrids and crossbreeds and splices! smh only the main characters get cool powers and shit -_- aside from Prof. Smartypants, after having a ferrets body fitted with a human mind(who doesnt remember the human part almost at all. its just the advanced intellect from it) tries to figure out the weird body dysmorphia with Science Potions aka chemisty. but thats mostly just to give another one of my sonas shapeshifting ablities (go figure) so yah if u read this so far Waow o_o Thank U and also Pls Send me asks abt this. if u want <3 can be questions or just ur thoughts ig!! id love feedback pleas please plea

[afraidofbee]

Thanks for your response for Mephistopheles. I get that on surface level, he seems like if you swap color pallet on Luci with Barney the Dinosaur but a bit more "stuck up, noble rich boy on first glance in Ouran High School Host Club episode" vibe. But like you, I decided to give him and others a chance and I GOT EYES STUCK ON HIM THE SAME LEVEL AS LUCI AND BARB! I have another User here that explained him better from the OG and bit of NB lore from last year, so I'll leave a link here: https://maddymoreau.tumblr.com/post/717214068185890816/mephistopheles-discussionanalysis

I've also learned more from him in the NB earlier lesson(which I cannot spoil anything between 13 and 40.) I REALLY hope that more people would give him and others like Thirteen and Raphael another chance. There SO much more underneath these characters despite barely having some screen time after the second batch. (AKA Dia, Barb, Simeon, Luke, Solo.) I hope that they'll all grow onto us and becomes Dateables in the future.

Thx for asking me, and sharing the post! Love it!

I am sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes, I hope I am not too difficult to understand (English isn’t my first language)

Mephistopheles is really interesting and have a good character development. In the og obey me (for me) he is like Lucifer, Barbatos and Diavolo combine but exaggerated (he’s prideful and have a similar haircut as Lucifer, he’s loyal and diligent as Barbatos, and last but not least he live a shelter life and born with a responsibility as diavolo), at first I think he will be a comic relief but obey me nightbringer prove me wrong.

All the new side characters (Mephisto, Thriteen and Raphael) deserved more time on screen indeed (and become dateables), we could know more about Mephisto in nigthbringer but the other two feel like filler characters ‘ > ‘ (all of them have my interest and attention as well)

In Solomon case I can say he grown on me so much in nightbringer. But Diavolo, Barbatos and Simeon lore or development was limited to devilgram story, I feel disappointed but I understand this two first season was to reintroduce the brothers and present the antagonist(?)

I think the side character will continue growing on more people in the future, they’re charismatic and fascinating. There is already artists and writers making wonderful art or writing about them (eg. I’m little obsessed with “Drawing Raphael Daily until he Becomes Dateable” (///￣ ᵕ ￣///) all their post are full of creativity and cuteness)

All we have left is pray to the devs have mercy and decide to explore the story of this interesting character (love the brothers but give the spotlight to the dateables (including mephisto, thrirteen and raphael) and show us Michael ૮꒰ྀི∩' ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა)

And for my son/little brother/chihuahua I hope solmare don’t make him sad, he deserves have a happy childhood, pls.

[mizgnomer]

David Tennant - hosting Comic Relief Red Nose Day - March 2023

for Tennant Tuesday (or whatever day this post finds you)