#everything is worse than it ever has been!

[tuttle-did-it]

With you on all of this. I wanted to like Deanna. But the show seemed to decide that if Riker liked her, that was enough to make us like her.

But if I had been on this ship, I would have found it offensive that someone could just drill into my brain like that. I would have avoided her like the plague-- because I do find it quite invasive to have someone know how I was feeling and why-- all the time. I would feel incredibly vulnerable around someone like that-- if she was as powerful as they say, she could easily not only detect what people were feeling, but also influence that. I would hate being near someone like that because I am possessive of my thoughts and feelings. Certain topics-- especially tv-- sure, I can talk about feelings about that. But real life stuff? My past, traumas, etc? Those are mine. And someone seeing through them and announcing them to the whole bridge crew whenever she felt like it-- or even having the ability to do that-- I would steer clear of her.

And instead of them just insisting it is moral and fine and giving us what-- one single episode where they acknowledge how much power she could have over someone, how vulnerable it could make people around her? How easily she could fuck people over if she wanted to? Play with that a bit more. Have people uncomfortable around her. Have her trying to deal with crew who avoid her like the plague. Have crew who refuse to work with her, have some fucking conflict *somewhere.* have her do something bloody unethical where she crosses a line because she is so powerful and it causes actual problems instead of 'he's angry, captain,' and 'what do you think?' And 'how does that make you feel?' Either she's powerful and there are consequences for that power, or she os not powerful and there are consequences for that, too. But you're right-- everything she says, Beverly could have figured out as well.

Or, hell-- when Troi loses her powers, give her 12 episodes where she is trying to get it back. Where she has to prove she is more than just a lie detector machine. Where she has to become more. Data advanced from his programming. But none of the others ever did. And it was the worst with Troi. Give us a whole season where she has to prove she's more. Where sometimes bits of her powers are coming back, but then they blink out again. Where she just has to work for it and prove that no, she deserves to be there even without the powers. She is good enough to be there without them. Then, maybe she gets them back, maybe not. I honestly think she'd have been a better character of they *didn't* return. Shed have to find *something* more to say than 'he's angry, captain.' 'They're hiding something, captain.' It just makes him look incompetent not to see that. So take away her powers and make her work for it.

She's not a good therapist. I've gone to therapy, a lot. And the advice she gives people is worse than the shit you'd see from chat gpt. She's a terrible therapist. At least make her competent. At least hire a psychologist who can say 'she needs to dig deeper here, she can't just say 'and how does that make you feel?' Thats awful therapy. Barclay was a mess before she met him, but her 'counselling' just does absolutely nothing.

I wanted to like Troi. I genuinely have tried for decades to find something I like about her, some story about her I can care about. And there is just nothing for me. I cared more about Tasha in s1 and 'Yesterday's Enterprise' than I ever cared about Troi. I cared more about Ro Laren in her debut episode than I ever cared about Troi. More about Pulaski in a single season. More about Beverly in a single scene than I ever cared about Troi. Which is sad and absurd because she's in the show twice as much as these women-- maybe more of them all put together. She had to ability to be such a great character. The writing failed, hands down. But the other actors brought something more to their characters, made them feel more real and fleshed out despite the shoddy scripts. I don't feel the same with Marina. I genuinely would have preferred to kill off Troi and keep Tasha (had Denise wanted to stay, I get why she didn't) or to have Beverly or Ro in more often. Troi is one of the most useless characters I've ever seen in Trek. Which is sad cos Trek has quite a fee useless characters.

Agree with Odo comments as well-- it was a stroke of genius that they made Odo a shapeshifter who could be anything. Except he can't because he's bad at it. And it hurts him. Was it for budget reasons and to avoid plots becoming way too easy? Yes. But they did something with it that pushed his storyline forward and gave him conflict. And it gave him an inner trauma that he needed to fix-- to the point where he does things *very* against his own ideals and morals just to try to get answers about who he was, and where he came from. By making his talent his trauma, they invited that story, that discomfort of others around him, his own discomfort about himself and his people, that was just a brilliant way to deal with it.

They *eventually* did the same thing with Wesley-- his genius (which they could only show by making all the other qualified adults around him very stupid-- eventually became his trauma. Became the thing that hurt him and kept him distant from others. And it actually worked really well! It was sad they waited til s7 to give him those cracks and issues, but there were a few tiny fractures in earlier seasons do when it did happen, it made sense. It actually ended up being a fantastic story arc. The thing that made him special was also the thing that hurt him.

There were no consequences to Troi having 1000+ worth of people's emotions every day other than her getting a bit tired and needing some chocolate. Okay? And? We met another Betazoid who completely fell apart just being around one person, let alone a ship of people. And I cared more about Tam in that one single episode than i ever cared about Troi. Make it harder on her. Make it hurt her sometimes. Make her talent her achilles heel. They did it with Tam. Data. Odo. But they couldn't do it with her. So they just stuffed her in spandex and had her say 'and how does that make you feel?' For 7 years.

But DS9 was the only legacy Trek that wasn't desperately allergic to consequence. I wish DS9 had more consequence-- poor O'Brien should have had at least a couple mental breakdowns. But they did what they could with the formula at the time.

star trek characters will literally go through the most life changing traumatic multidimensional extrasensory eldritch hell torture imaginable and then they're fine and the next episode they gotta deal with a guy who is bald

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 5: Valentine (FINALE)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end of the 2024 F1 season brings regret and a newfound desire for reconciliation—but is your relationship with Franco beyond saving?

WORD COUNT: 13k

WARNINGS: Sadness. Angry Hispanic mother. Creepy men in bars (not Franco ofc). Drinking, drunk Franco is a media menace. Use of the word whore jokingly. Smut 18+ MINORS DNI. Hickeys, hair pulling. Dom Franco and sub reader, use of good girl, light choking, Oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

SERIES TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

A/N: My baby is now complete!! I did not plan for this to be the ending originally, but as I was writing it just kind of came about, and who am I to anger the writing Gods? Honestly, though, the beginning of this chapter destroyed me trying to find a way to redeem Franco. Fun fact, I very loosely based my depiction of Franco off of my real life ex, which explains why he is so horrible lmao (but unlike my real life ex, Franco has been redeemed!). I cannot express how grateful I am for everyone’s support throughout the writing of this story. More to come, but for now, enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

All this love, I'm so choked up, I can feel you in my blood

All this lust for just one touch, I'm so scared to give you up

Valentine, my decline is so much better with you

Valentine, my decline, I'm always running' to you

Valentine, Valentine

The block button did nothing to assuage Franco’s obsession with you. In fact, it only made it worse.

If he hadn’t blocked you, he would at least know that you weren’t contacting him. But since he pressed the button, there was now the ever present question of if you had reached out, and if the digital barrier he erected had led it to be lost forever. 

But why would you reach out after what he had done? 

Truthfully, it took everything in you to not call him. You had both said things you didn’t mean—at least, you prayed that Franco didn’t mean them—and you wanted nothing more than to just make up and act like it never happened. 

But the words kept echoing in your mind at night when you couldn’t sleep. You were a distraction.

All the years of supporting him, all the sacrifices you made—all for nothing. 

You couldn’t help that you loved him. And the Franco you knew and loved didn’t mean those things. He couldn’t. 

So you checked your phone’s international clock. It was still night where you were at home, but morning in Abu Dhabi, where he’d be completing his last F1 race tomorrow. 

There was still time. If you called and made up now, you could be there for the final race. You could be there at the end, just like you had been there at all of his beginnings.

So you swallowed your pride, tapped on his name in your contacts, and pressed call. But it didn’t even ring before it hung up. You knew what that meant. He had blocked you.

At first you wanted to puke. You wanted to burst down the stairs of your apartment and run into the street screaming. You wanted to throw a bottle of wine on the walls and cry in the wreckage.

But after a few hours of getting all the crying out, a strange peace fell over you.

It was just… over. That was that.

In the morning, however, the grief came back from a familiar notification. His mother.

You had been putting off her messages ever since your argument with Franco. You couldn’t bear to tell her what had happened. But she was worried about you, evident by her increasingly concerned messages.

You finally gathered the courage to type up a response.

Hi Mami, you began—she had forbidden you to call her by her name, instead telling you to call her Mom—I tried to talk to Franco like you asked. It didn’t go well, and we both said a lot of hurtful things. It ended on bad terms and he ended up canceling all my passes and flights, and I think he blocked me. I’m sorry, I tried to get through to him. Thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me over the years <3

You read over what you’d typed. It was honest. You could have spared her more of the details, but why? Franco would have to live with the consequences of his actions. That wasn’t your problem.

It was only a few moments later that she responded. Oh dear, I am so sorry. I am ashamed of Franco—that is not the son I raised. I hope you know we all love you, and I wish you all the best.

You liked her message and left it at that. But she called you later that night.

She began, “YN, words can’t describe how sorry I am. What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” you began, carefully choosing your words. You weren’t quite sure how much you wanted to tell her. “He was already upset when I got there. He kept accusing me of lecturing him, but I was just trying to tell him I was worried. He said… that I was a distraction.”

“I can’t believe him! You have never been a distraction. You’ve been there for him when we couldn’t, we’ve always been so grateful for you.” Her admission nearly brought tears to your eyes. “I just… Dios Mio.” 

The conversation was short, but vulnerable. 

“YN, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.”

“You had feelings for him, didn’t you?” She asked it as if it were a statement, rather than a question.

You were silent for a beat before answering. “I did. I… I do.”

“Oh, dear, I wish I was there to give you a hug.” You could feel the care in her voice, a soothing comfort. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here, no matter what my idiot son says.”

You chuckled, thanking her for her kindness before ending the call. You were truly grateful for her invitation, but you couldn’t imagine being in Argentina without Franco. The call had felt more like a farewell. 

In Abu Dhabi, Franco was having his own farewells. It was bittersweet; he had worked so hard for so long to get here, but he couldn’t wait for it to be over. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He just wanted to go home.

Home—the only place he felt like he had left. His Madrid apartment would feel empty without your laughter echoing in the halls. But back in Argentina, the people still loved him, and he could come back to a warm, home-cooked meal.

It was the only thing on his mind as he was forced to retire the car early, ending his last F1 race of 2024 with a DNF. But he didn’t care about that at all when he stepped off his flight from Abu Dhabi to Buenos Aires. 

Unfortunately for him, what was waiting for him at home was not peace and a warm meal. It was a very angry Hispanic mother. 

He came through the door, jet lagged, struggling with his luggage. She didn’t help him. 

When his father and sister ran up to give him a hug and help him in, she didn’t move an inch. She just stayed in the kitchen, silently chopping vegetables with her recently sharpened knife.

After putting away his bags into his room, Franco made his way to the kitchen to greet his mother, who didn’t even look up from her cutting board.

“Hi Mami, I’m home,” he said tentatively.

“Welcome home,” she replied, no warmth in her voice.

“Aren’t you excited to see me?” he joked. He knew he was dodging landmines. He knew she had every right to be angry—he had gotten caught up in everything after Singapore, and after his controversy, he had been dodging her calls and texts, other than to arrange plans to come home for the holidays. Others may have gotten over their frustration, or chose to ignore it for the sake of the holidays. She was not that kind of woman. 

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice flat. “Dinner is almost ready. Can you set the table for five, please?”

“Five? There’s only 4 of us.”

“Well, isn’t YN going to join us?” She already knew the answer. She just wanted to see him squirm as he answered it. He had nowhere to run anymore. 

“Uh… no. Not this year.”

“And why would that be?”

“She’s, uh, busy.” His mother didn’t respond. He had to fill the awkward silence. “And she’s probably mad at me…”

She paused, holding the knife in an iron grip. She lifted it from the cutting board to point towards him. “And why would that be, Franco?”

“Mami…”

“Do not lie to me.” Her voice was cold as ice.

“Mami, it’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to enjoy the holidays and forget about this whole season.”

“I’m sure you do,” she concluded, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. Franco sighed, getting down the plates to set the table for his family. But he stopped in his tracks when he turned and felt a slipper to the back of his head. 

“Ah! What was that for?” The blow didn’t hurt anything but his ego.

“You know what you did,” his mother seethed. “You can’t run from this forever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

Franco obeyed, muttering under his breath. 

“What was that?” his mother asked.

“Nothing!” he chirped, setting the plates on the table.

During dinner, it wasn’t any better. His father and sister, oblivious to his mother’s rage, chatted as if nothing had happened. They had been angry at his…questionable dating decisions, yes, but they clearly had let it go in the meantime and decided to just enjoy the time together as a family. His mother, however, had not. 

And whenever anyone asked about it, she said she was fine. But she was clearly not fine. 

As Franco took the dishes into the kitchen to help clean up after dinner, he sighed, knowing that his mother was right. He couldn’t go the entire holiday ignoring it—she would make sure of that.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The bed of his childhood home was warm and comforting, but he couldn’t relax under the weight of it all.

Maybe some fresh air would do him good. That’s what he reasoned when he slid open the back door and inhaled the cool night air. He sat cross legged on the back terrace, just taking in the sounds of the serene night. 

That was, until he heard another person closing the door behind him. His mother. 

“Not now, Mami,” he said, not even turning to look at her.

“I’m not going to chastise you.” She handed him a mug of something warm. For a moment they just sat next to each other, sipping their drinks in silence. 

Franco began to speak unprompted. “YN has every right to be angry at me. I…ruined everything. I was so cruel to her.”

His mother just gave him a reassuring hum.

He continued, “She had feelings for me. I know I should have known it sooner, but I was in denial. But I had feelings for her too. And I got distracted. But it wasn’t her fault. I was so worried about my future that I ignored how she had always been there in my past.” 

The mug in his hands trembled and his voice wavered. “She was always there for me. Every race, every win, every failure. She was always there.”

His mother reached for him, lovingly stroking his back as he confessed.

“She probably hates me now. I don’t blame her.” A tear fell into his mug. He turned to look at his mother, her expression far more sympathetic than it was at dinner. “Can I fix it?”

“I don’t know. But first of all, you owe her an apology.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you would have already done it.” He was silent. “It’s possible that she will forgive you. Or, she may not. You have to accept that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Franco,” she began, “you did this. You have to suffer through the consequences of your actions. And if you are lucky enough that she forgives you and wants you back in your life, it’ll be a hell of a lot of work to regain her trust.” 

He nodded. “I’ll do it. I’d do anything.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

He paused. “I’m scared. Scared that it really is beyond saving.”

“The longer you wait, the more likely that is to be true.” 

This time, he actually knew what he needed to do.

Neither of you knew the parallels between you two; each of you pining for the other’s love, wanting nothing more than just to speak to the other. And when he unblocked you and called, it was like the stars aligned.

You didn’t answer. 

He didn’t panic at first. It was close to the holidays, in the middle of the day in your timezone. Maybe you were with your family. 

But as one missed call turned to two, and days of no contact turned to weeks, Franco began to know the bitter taste of his own medicine.

You had seen him call. And yes, you were with your family at the time. You told yourself that was the main reason why you hadn’t answered. As if seeing his contact on your phone didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces. 

But later that night, when you were finally alone, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him back. He hadn’t left any voicemail or text, just his name and a missed call icon. 

What would you even say to him? He knew you were angry. And you knew you couldn’t just act as if nothing happened.

So despite your desperation to speak to him again, you just let his calls keep coming and coming over the weeks. 

A dark part of you enjoyed having his attention. You waited to see his icon pop up, just to let the call go to voicemail. It made you feel wanted again. 

And you were wanted. When he tried to sleep at night, he wanted you. When he talked with his manager about future plans for the next season—back down to F2—he wanted you. 

Both of you knew it was a delicate balance. He couldn’t keep calling forever. At some point you’d have to answer, or he’d have to stop. But you loved the dark thrill of pushing it. 

And this continued for weeks.

The calls lessened as the F2 season began. Franco was back at work. You had finally let go of the need to watch his races.

But there was another contact you hadn’t ignored: Lily. 

She called you out of the blue one day. “YN! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

The last time you saw her—it must have been Austin—felt like years ago.  

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you replied. 

“Do you… wanna talk about how you’ve been?” It was late January now. You had spent the weeks just passing time, lost, but somehow also at peace with all of it.

“Um… not if you don’t want to ruin your day,” you joked. Humor was a good coping mechanism, you had learned. You’d grown tired of explaining to people why Franco was no longer in your life. You had once been so intertwined, and now, nothing. You were thankful that she didn’t press further. 

“Well, we should go out,” she suggested. “I know a great new club in Madrid, and Rebecca and I will be there the weekend before Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day. The bane of your fucking existence. Worst holiday ever.

But you had spent Christmas in a daze, and New Years alone. You didn’t know if you could do another holiday like that, so acutely aware of Franco’s absence. So you agreed. 

But Lily’s phone call wasn’t as out of the blue as you had thought.

One thing about Franco was that he was determined. If he wanted something, he was going to get it. So yes, he called and called and called and let all his calls be missed.

He couldn’t just text you or leave a voicemail. What he needed to say was too important. He needed to see you.  

So he called up the only other woman he knew besides you and his own mother: Lily. 

He pitched the idea simply. He just needed her to arrange something where you and him would meet. Lily was skeptical. 

“Franco, you know when a woman isn’t answering your calls, it’s usually because she doesn’t want to talk to you, right?” 

“I know,” he signed. “I know she’s pissed at me. She has every right to be. I just want to apologize to her.”

“Then why not, like, send her a letter or something? Trying to organize an event where she’s forced to see you is kind of…creepy.”

Deep down, he knew Lily was right. “It’s not like that, though. I just need to see her, say it to her face. If she gets angry and never wants to see me again, I’ll respect her wishes. But I love her too much to not try.”

Lily was a hopeless romantic if nothing else. And Franco was charismatic and too smooth to deny with his one-liners. 

So she agreed. Besides, she knew you needed a girls night.

And you realized it too when Rebecca and Lily came over to your apartment to get ready a few weeks later. 

You vented to them as they helped you apply your eyeliner and zip up your dress—yes, THAT dress—about how hard the past few weeks had been.

“And then,” you explained, as Rebecca dusted a brush along your cheekbones, “he told me that I didn’t need to be there! As if he wasn’t the one who begged me to go!”

Rebecca made a sour expression. “Girl,” she said, “Good riddance to him.”

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you nearly gasped. You looked fucking amazing. 

Yes, you were wearing that dress that always reminded you of him—his favorite color, bought while on vacation to see his family. But if he couldn’t see your beauty, someone else would. And right now, that someone was Lily, as she snapped photos of you all before you left for the club and posted them on her story.

As you entered the club, you felt the bass in your bones. Yes, this was exactly what you needed. 

You drank. You danced. You felt the eyes of tipsy men on you.. And for a while, all your troubles faded away.

You approached the bar for your second drink of the night. A man walked next to you, presumably to order his own drink. You recognized him as someone you’d danced with earlier.

“You look great tonight,” he said, eyeing you up and down. His tone was too sleazy for your liking.

“Thanks,” you said, hoping a short response would end the exchange so you could get your drink and make your way back to Lily and Rebecca, who were waiting for you in a booth. 

“D’you always dance like that?”

“Like what?” 

He smirked. “You’re cute when you play dumb like that.”

You genuinely had no idea what the man was going on about. “Sorry, I need to get back to my friends.”

You turned to leave, but the man grabbed your arm. “Don’t you need to get your drink? Stay a minute.”

You grimaced, but a surge of anxiety kept you frozen to your spot. You turned your glaze to the floor, silently beginning for an out.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Uh…” You were unable to answer. You feigned ignorance. “Sorry, it’s loud in here, I can’t hear you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know your name to take you home tonight.”

“What?” You wanted to puke.

The man started to reach his arm out toward your waist. You stepped back and bumped into someone. You cursed your own awkwardness. When you turned to apologize, you saw a familiar face.

Franco. Fuck. You felt your stomach drop. 

“You know this guy?” The man behind you asked.

“She does,” Franco answered for you. You were grateful—you were unable to speak, choked with anxiety. 

“You let your girl act like that?” 

“Fuck off, mate.”

The man took the hint and shrugged, taking his drink and disappearing into the crowd. 

Your eyes were still glued to the floor. “Thank you,” you said. 

“Don’t thank me,” he said, “it’s the least I could do.”

The bartender handed you your drink. Part of you just wanted to go back to Lily and Rebecca and act like all of this never happened. But by the look of Franco’s face, one of grave seriousness, you knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But the other part of you was thankful. Thankful that Franco had saved you from that creep, yes, but also thankful that the stars had aligned to bring you and your best friend back together. What were the odds?

Wait. Maybe the stars hadn’t aligned.

“Franco, what are you doing here?” 

Now it was him who looked to the floor in embarrassment. “Lily told me you were here. I asked her to help me talk to you.”

“So you… arranged to find me in a club, because I wasn’t answering your calls?” 

Franco may be Latino, but he sure had the audacity of a white man. 

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad…”

You rolled your eyes and walked away. He followed you through the crowd. 

“YN, wait! Why won't you answer my calls?”

“Because I have nothing to say to you.” That wasn’t true. You actually had a lot to say, you were just too afraid to say it.

“Okay, I get it. I fucked up. But will you just listen to me? Please?” 

You just kept walking. 

“YN! Please!” You had nearly reached the booths, and he was still following you. You just kept ignoring him. 

“YN—” You slammed down your drink on the table, startling Lily and Rebecca. When Franco came into view behind you, they exchanged knowing glances. 

You turned around to face him. “Are you really begging?” you whispered in a hushed tone. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice equally low. 

Lily got out of the booth, standing next to you. “What’s the harm in just hearing him out?” she said, low enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the thumping bass. 

You swallowed. The harm? You would fall for him again. And he would hurt you again and again. You’d lose him again. A never ending cycle of pain. 

But his pleading expression in front of you was too much to bear. You couldn’t say no to the man you still loved.

“Let’s get some air, hm?” he said, and you nodded, silently following him back to the crowd. He led you to a staircase where a bouncer nodded and silently let the both of you pass. 

The staircase led to the roof of the club, with a beautiful view of the city. The space was clearly set up for patrons to enjoy, but there wasn’t a soul there besides you and Franco. 

The view took your breath away. You had seen so much beauty when you had traveled the world with Franco for his races, but this was home, and he was warm next to you as he snaked his arm around your waist, silently taking in the sight next to you.

You relaxed into the touch. For a moment, you just let everything fade away into the peaceful scene. 

But as you smelled Franco’s familiar cologne and relished the feeling of his touch, you couldn’t help the anxiety that rose in your throat. It felt like it was choking you. You moved forward, forcing his arm away, and leaned against the railing on the edge of the rooftop.

“Say what you have to say,” you said plainly. 

“I want to apologize.” His opening sentence was simple, yet powerful. “YN, I was horrible to you. I lied and I betrayed your trust. I blamed all my problems on you, when you were the only one who was ever there for me.”

You watched the cars on the road below, like ants in a colony.

He continued, “And you were right, about everything.” 

The silence in the air was thick.

Your voice was shaking when you began. “Franco, you made me feel like I was insane. You… you accused me of using you. You called me a distraction. You said I was disgusting. You uninvited me from the last races and you blocked me.”

“You tried to call?”

“Of course I did.” The tears in your eyes threatened to mess up your mascara that Rebecca had so carefully applied. “I tried to call you before Abu Dhabi. I wanted to forgive you and be there for your last race.”

“Shit, YN… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you now.”

It was him, now, who had eyes full of tears. “YN, I…I love you. I can’t lose you. I know I hurt you, and it kills me. But I miss my best friend. My friend who skipped prom to come to a race. My friend who helped me dry my clothes after she found me trying to use an oven to do it. My friend who is the only one that really gets my sense of humor.”

You finally broke down at his confession. He reached out to hold you.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

He let you cry it out, before pulling back and looking at you. He gently used the pad of his thumb to wipe away your tears and fix your smeared makeup.

“I can’t ask for everything to go back to normal,” he said, looking you in the eyes. His eyes were teary, too. “I know I can’t. I did things that are beyond awful. But I promise you that if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll do whatever I can to regain your trust. You’re too important to me.”

All you could do was bury yourself in his chest. He wasn’t expecting the sudden gesture, but he slotted his arms around you like they always belonged there. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You don’t know how long you stood there, warm in his embrace. You could have stayed there for years. 

You were brought out of the perfect scene by the sound of a notification on your phone. You broke the hug after a moment to check it. A text from Lily: everything okay?

You chuckled. “I think Lily is worried about us.”

“Well,” he asked, “is everything okay?”

He wanted an answer. You didn’t know if you could say it. 

But is this not what your entire journey had been leading up to? You had begun writing in your journal to communicate what you feel. And now, you had no choice. 

You were strong. You had changed.

“I want to forgive you,” you said. “But it won’t be easy. It’ll take time.”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“And I can’t promise that I won’t be scared or insecure.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll listen, I’ll show you—”

“Franco.” You cut him off. “I know. I love you.”

You couldn’t name the expression on his face. Like relief. Or love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

You were scared of what door that would open, of how much you truly wanted him to. So you didn’t speak. You just reached up to caress his cheek and tell him with your actions.

Your lips met his, and all the sorrow melted away. You could feel the vibrations of the club under your feet, the gentle pumping of blood through his veins, faster now that he could touch you. He pulled you in by the waist, and you brought your other hand to the back of his neck, making the space between you infinitesimally small. 

But you pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. You couldn’t rush it, no matter how badly you wanted it. 

When you opened your eyes, he had that expression you had grown to yearn for; it gave away how badly he needed more of you. You could feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the thought of his wanting.

“We should go back down before Lily gets too worried,” you said. He smiled and nodded, but as his expression of desire faded away, you saw the familiar signs of anxiety. He didn’t know how far to push, how comfortable to act. 

You grabbed his hand. “And then, you should dance with me.”

His tentative smile grew more relaxed. “Of course.”

Turns out, there’s nothing an honest conversation and a little alcohol couldn’t fix. And in the aftermath of the former, you definitely indulged in the latter—maybe a little too much. 

You went downstairs to retrieve your drink that Lily and Rebecca had so kindly watched for you. It was a little watered down from the ice melting, but it would do the trick. 

Rebecca helped you fix your makeup as Lily glared at Franco for making you cry. He knew he’d have work to do to earn back their trust, too, but he was more than willing. 

So when you were ready, he wasted no time taking you out to the dancefloor to give you the night of your life. 

The only problem was that Franco was not a frequent club goer, and therefore unable to handle his liquor. And you all had a lot to drink that night. 

You finally cut him off when he threatened to get on the table and start stripping. 

“Oh, Lord, Franco, I’m cutting you off, you’ve had too much to drink,” you slurred. You were tipsy yourself, in no state to talk, but at least you were committed to staying clothed for the night. 

“What are you gonna do? Fuck me about it?” he joked, sticking his tongue out playfully. 

You don’t know if the blush on your face was from the drinks or his taunting. But God, even when he was wasted, he looked so good. As the night had progressed, he had become more disheveled, his shirt buttons coming undone to expose his toned chest and a sheen of sweat from all the dancing. He leaned over, running a hand along your cheek. “Bet you would want that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Okay, time to get you home!” you told him. Lily and Rebecca had left a bit earlier, satisfied that their mission was accomplished. 

You got up and tried to corral your drunk friend out of the club. He didn't want to cooperate, though. 

“No, YN, I don’t want to go home! I missed you, dance with me!” He reached out to grab your waist, his hands wandering up and down your body. 

“Franco, you’re drunk,” you said, moving out of his grip. “I’m calling an Uber and getting you home.”

It’s not like his touch was unwelcome. But you were in public and he was inebriated, unable to consent to what he was actually doing. You knew it was time to go. 

You finally dragged him outside as you waited for the Uber on the corner. You hoped the cool night air would sober him up a bit.

“Have I told you that you look fucking gorgeous tonight?” he slurred. You ignored him as you watched the little car icon drive closer and closer. 

“I always loved that dress on you,” he continued, “but it’d look better off of you.”

“Our Uber is here!” you said through your blush. 

But even in the Uber, he was relentless. 

“I missed youuuuu” he cooed in your ear.

“I missed you too, but could you not be a whore for 5 minutes?” you laughed. You hoped the humor would distract him. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper.

“But YNNNNN, I want you so fucking badly. Every part of you, even the parts that you’re ashamed of—fuck, especially those parts. I want to know the version of you that you’re scared to be. I want you to use me like a toy to get what you want. And when I read what you wrote I was… fuck, I couldn’t stop myself. Every day I’d read it and touch myself and wish it was you. God, I just need to fuck you so badly—“ he practically moaned in your ear as his hand again reached to your waist.

You grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. His doe eyes looked up at you, deceptively innocent, hiding behind them the true depths of his lust.

You moved his hand away and let go. He was silent and still.

“Franco, you are drunk. I am going to get you home and you are going to get some rest.”

“I know you’re mad at me. You should be, I’m a fucking idiot,” he slurred. “But you can take it out on me, on my body—“

“Franco! We are in public,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Is being horny a crime? You can arrest me, put me in restraints—” 

The Uber pulled up in front of your apartment and you wasted no time getting Franco out of the car and up the stairs. You made sure to tip the driver well. 

Franco didn’t even let up as he collapsed on your bed, dizzy from stumbling up the stairs and into your apartment. He grabbed you, pulling you back to the bed, burying his face in your hair.

“You smell so good,” he muttered. You wrestled free from his grip, throwing a pillow back at him playfully. 

“I am not going to fuck you when you’re this drunk. Get changed and go to sleep.” 

He pouted, but complied, undressing agonizingly slowly behind you. You had turned away to give him privacy, but your mind wandered as you heard the shuffling of his clothes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, still behind you.

“You didn’t,” you said, and it was true; you loved that he wanted you, just…not in that setting. “Just sleep it off. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, come here,” he said, patting the side of the bed. You turned and jumped, seeing that instead of changing into the pair of old pajamas that he had left at your place many months ago that you had laid out for him, he had just stripped down to his underwear.

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face turning a bright red. “Put some clothes on.”

“But it’s hot in here!”

“Then I’ll take the couch.”

“YN just snuggle with me—”

You cut him off by closing the bedroom door. 

A few hours later, you were convinced that you had the world’s most uncomfortable couch. You couldn’t sleep a bit. 

You filled the hours by scrolling on your phone. The F1 gossip pages were calling your name. 

The reappearance of YN! The former friend (and suspected ex girlfriend) of Williams reserve driver Franco Colapinto was featured in a post from a nightclub in Madrid with current Williams wags Lily Muni He and Rebecca Donaldson. Several attendees also caught videos of her dancing with a mysterious man that is definitely not Franco. YN hasn’t been publicly seen since the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, which fans assume has something to do with Franco’s fling with a controversial Argentine actress.

Above the caption was a slideshow: the pictures of you, Lily, and Rebecca on the first slide, and the next being a video of you dancing with the creep. You cringed at the memory.

The top comment made you chuckle: I can’t believe Franco fumbled his 2025 seat AND a baddie. 

You scrolled to the next post. 

Former F1 driver for Williams, Franco Colapinto, spotted in a nightclub in Madrid getting very handsy with best friend YN! 

The two have not been seen together since the Brazilian Grand Prix in 2024. At the time, fans speculated that the two were dating, but sources close to the driver reported that a falling out regarding Franco’s dating controversies during the season led him to cancel her VIP pass for the last triple header.

But luckily for Franco x YN shippers, the pair seem to be quite comfortable with each other again. Do you think they’ll make it official soon? Comment your opinion below!

Fuck. Someone had gotten a video of you trying to get Franco out of the club, and without context, it looked bad.

You were pushing him off of you, yes, but not because you didn’t want his touch. You were just afraid of this exact scenario happening. You prayed a silent apology for his manager. 

Your scrolling was interrupted by the sound of Franco waking up and stumbling into your kitchen for a glass of water. Even with only a few hours of rest, he had slept off the drunkenness, but was left with a horrific hangover. 

You probably should have just pretended to be asleep until he went back to bed. But, against your better judgement, you got up to meet him at your kitchen counter.

He still hadn’t put any clothes on. Typical.

“You alive there?” you joked.

He downed his entire glass of water. “Barely,” he grimaced. “Worth it, though.”

You gave him a half smile. “You’re probably gonna have a million notifications from your manager. I tried my best.” You handed him your phone to watch the video.

“Jesus, that’s how I looked? I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mind. But it’s a good thing that you probably don’t remember what you said.”

“Oh no, I remember.” You blushed. “And I don’t regret a word. I meant everything I said.”

“Franco, when we were in the Uber, you said I could use your body as a toy.” You cringed as you repeated his words back to him.

“I know. Offer still stands.”

“Franco…”

“YN, be honest with me. If I was sober, and we were alone, what would you have done?”

You swallowed. He was sober. You were alone.

He saw the thoughts cross your eyes. He broke the space between you walking to the other side of the counter. He pulled you in by the waist until all that separated you was the thin fabric of your pajamas and his underwear.

The breath had been taken from you. “Talk to me,” he said. You couldn’t. The anxiety choked you. “YN, I’m tired of pretending like I don’t want you.”

“Don’t do this to me, Franco,” you pleaded. “I want this but … we shouldn’t.” You looked away. You couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze

“Why not?”

“Because… we just made up. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m here to stay. Trust me. If I promise that everything will be okay, will you trust me?”

You paused. “… I can’t. I don’t trust you. Not yet, at least.”

You had to be honest with him, but it broke your heart to say those words. You didn't know yet if he was genuine, or if his fling with the actress hadn't worked out and he was using you as a placeholder. The thought made you want to puke. 

He loosened his grip on you. Your words felt like a thousand knives going through his chest, but he knew he was going to have to face the very real consequences of his actions. 

“I understand,” he said. “Just let me hold you. I know my words don’t mean much anymore. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to earn back your trust, and I mean it.”

He buried his face in your hair. “Come back to bed with me.” You knew the request was innocent, so you allowed it, snuggling up into his warm chest and falling asleep as the sun began to peak in the sky outside. “I’m letting go of you. Never again,” he murmured. Both of you knew that it wasn't about the sex, or about how right you felt curled up next to him. It was something deeper, more intimate, than the bare skin that he now innocently wrapped his arm around. 

When you woke up, for a moment, you thought you had dreamed the whole thing. But the soothing sound of Franco’s soft snoring proved you wrong. 

Over breakfast, you laid out boundaries. You both needed to take things slowly, build up the trust that had been lost.

But when you woke up a week later on Valentine’s Day to a bouquet of pink roses on your nightstand, you couldn’t help but blush darker than the petals, remembering the reference from your diary. 

Franco had planned to take you out, and of course, you wore his favorite dress. 

The night was perfect—a little too perfect. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help remembering the salacious ending to that diary entry, replaying the fantasy over and over in your mind. But as he took you home for the night, Franco was ever the gentleman, perfectly keeping his hands to himself.

The longer you looked at him, the more you wanted him to touch you. 

You had only made it to your apartment for a few seconds when the sight of Franco taking off his suit jacket was too much to bear. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a frantic kiss. 

He wasn’t complaining, of course.

He took your actions as a sign, gently pushing you into the wall behind you until you were pinned. His lips never left yours, instead deepening the connection, tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

When you did come up for air, there was a faint hint of your lipstick on him. He chuckled. “Mi amor, what was that?” he teased, stroking your cheek and he looked down on you. He rested his arm above your head, leaning his body into yours. You could feel both of your chests breathing heavily with a growing desire.

“I wanted you.”

“I thought you wanted to wait?” He was right. You didn’t want to rush into physical things so early. Franco had been nothing but respectful and apologetic all week, but still, only those few days had passed. 

“...Yeah,” you said. You were frustrated at him. For being so fucking attractive. For making you want him so badly.

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he teased, “I’m sorry that I’m so irresistible.” Only a week since you all had made up, and he was already back to reading your thoughts.

“Oh, hush.” 

In the following weeks, Franco’s return to racing made resisting him a lot easier. He had asked you to come to a few races, but you had declined. The memories of his time in F1 were too fresh, the wounds not quite sealed. Besides, you didn’t want to be seen in public with him just yet. You hadn’t exactly made your relationship official—though neither of you were talking to other people—and you were anxious for the public eye to be on you again. 

That was, until Franco got a very exciting phone call. 

Carlos Sainz had gotten in a minor biking accident—nothing major, just a sprained wrist, but enough that he needed to take a week off to heal—so Franco would be back in his car.

When he asked you to return to the F1 paddock with him, this time, you couldn’t refuse. 

So that’s how you found yourself in a hotel room with your best friend (and now sort-of boyfriend). 

Before bed on Wednesday night, after a long day of meetings, he wanted nothing more than to come back to the hotel and lay in your arms. And that’s exactly what he did.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair. “You nervous for tomorrow?” you asked.

“No,” he answered truthfully, “not one bit.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, I have nothing to lose. Nothing could be worse than the end of last season.”

“Franco, don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though.” He chuckled. “I can’t fuck up any worse than I already did. For a while there, I lost everything.”

You stopped playing with his hair to crane your neck down and kiss the top of his head. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you said. 

He sat up, looking you dead in the eyes, his expression as serious as it could get.

“I love you.”

You were taken aback for a moment. You had both said it back in February when you confessed, but it was different now; more real, vulnerable. 

“I love you too.”

“I want you to be mine.” His gaze traced the line from your lips to your eyes, finally meeting you where you couldn’t look away.

“I already am.”

“Then I’m yours, too. And I want the world to know it.”

You finally broke the stare, looking down at the comforter. “I’m nervous about what people will say.”

“YN, who gives a fuck what they say? They’re not here. They don’t know us.” You knew, deep down, that he was right, but that did nothing to temper your anxiety.

Franco playfully grabbed you and pulled you to sit on his lap. You let out a yelp that dissolved into laughter as you saw the smile on his face. 

“I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my girl, yeah?” 

You smiled too. “Yeah.”

“And I'm yours. You wanna prove it?” he teased, pulling down the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. “Show them all what’s yours, hm?”

“Franco,” you said, blushing, “everyone will see.”

“That’s the point, mi amor.”

“Your manager will kill me if you show up to media day covered in hickeys.”

“I’ll cover them up.” You knew better. He absolutely would not cover them up. He’d wear them like a badge of honor.

But Franco’s refusal to be media trained was one of the many qualities you loved about him.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he teased. He was right. Right now you wanted nothing more than to cover him in love bites, claiming him as yours. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could read you so well.

“Oh, hush,” you said, grabbing his chin to bring him into another drawn out kiss. 

You trailed the kiss down to his neck, finally giving in to his request. Yes, he was yours. And now the world would see it.

You relentlessly nipped at the rough skin, enjoying the soft but labored breaths that came from Franco. You kissed his earlobes, his jaw, his collarbones, until you found that perfect spot on his neck. He gasped when your teeth met his skin, softly moaning when you gently sunk your teeth in and sucked to leave a bright red mark.

You pulled away, and his expression was one of deep wanting. Sitting on his lap, you could feel him hardening under you, desperate for whatever he could get of you. 

You rested your hands on the hem of his shirt. “This is getting in my way,” you complained.

He wasted no time in taking it off. 

He slid his hands under your shirt too, drawing you closer to him, burying his face in your neck and smothering it with kisses. You gently grinded down on him, giving both of you the friction you so desperately needed.

But you didn’t want to be the focus of the night. You took back control, running your hands through his hair and roughly pulling it, forcing his head back.

His doe eyes on you were full of lust. He paused for a moment.

“Sorry, was that too much?” you whispered, embarrassment beginning to flush your face bright pink.

“Oh no, I..” he panted, “I liked that a lot.”

You smiled, and went right back to your attack on his skin. He ran his hands up and down your back underneath your shirt, teasing with the clasp of your bra.

You felt his phone buzz in his pocket. You both ignored it. 

“YN…” he exhaled, a breathy moan. You pulled back, seeing the red flush on his face. You could feel his excitement beneath you.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his hands tugging at your top.

You weren’t quite sure what to answer. You figured that you’d sit down and talk before your first time. You all hadn’t gone beyond heavy kissing—Franco had been respectful of your desire to wait. But it had been months now, and he’d gone above and beyond to prove that you could trust him.

His phone buzzed again. And again, you both ignored it.

“You don’t have to if you’re nervous,” he said. “We only go as far as you want.”

You nodded, silently giving him permission. He leaned in to softly press one last kiss to your lips before moving to pull off your top.

Only for his phone to ring, ruining the moment.

Your shirt remained on as he fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket and turn it off. But the caller was James Vowels.

You both saw the contact info and knew that the mood had been ruined.

“I’m sorry, amor, I have to take this—” he apologized as you climbed off of his lap and he answered the call.

As he spoke, you took a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened, and what was about to happen before you had been cockblocked by the William’s team principal. 

After only a minute he hung up the call, continuing to apologize. “I’m so sorry, they need me right now.” His voice was full of urgency. 

“It’s okay, go,” you assured him, your tone genuine. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek before grabbing a Williams quarter zip from the floor to cover up the darkening marks on his neck. 

He raced down to the hotel conference room, hoping that his…little problem would not be visible in what had sounded like a very important meeting. The tone in James’ voice had been one of immediacy, and Franco had no idea what to expect. 

And when he finally made it to the room, he was met with faces both new and familiar: James, his manager, and…Aston Martin employees?

He made a confused face and he gave the group a cursory nod and sat down in the last remaining seat, next to his manager. 

“Oh, Franco, you’re here,” James said, exhaling. “We have some exciting news.”

His manager had a smile that beamed across the room. “We’ve been talking to these lovely folks from Aston Martin,” she said, gesturing to the other side of the table. “It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but soon they’ll be putting out a statement. Fernando Alonso is retiring.”

Franco gave them a polite smile, unsure of what that information had to do with him.

“So, Aston Martin would like to offer you the seat for 2026.”

Franco felt the air leave his lungs. “I…uh…yes,” he said, too stunned to really speak. “Yes, I want it. Where do I sign?”

“Well, not so fast,” his manager responded. “We have a lot to discuss regarding the new contract, brand deals, buying you out of your Williams contract…”

But Franco was on cloud nine. His manager’s words faded into the background. He felt like heaven had opened up, and the absolute novel of a contract that now sat on the table in front of him was dropped directly there by God Himself. He could even hear the chorus of angels singing. 

His presence there was merely a formality, it seemed, as the Aston Martin officials and his manager talked back and forth on minute details for what felt like hours. Nothing would be set in stone today, of course, but she wasn’t lying when she had said that a mountain of work laid ahead of them. 

As the time droned on, the officials filtered out one by one, leaving only Franco and his manager alone in the conference room.

“I’m so proud of you, kid,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “You really earned this.”

“Thank you,” he replied, genuine. 

“Look, go back to your room and get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. But this is strictly confidential, you hear me? You can’t tell a single soul. Not even your own mother. Not even YN.”

“I hear you.”

“And, tomorrow, maybe cover that up better, yeah?” she said, gesturing to her neck. But Franco felt no shame.

“Well, can’t help that you all called at a very inconvenient time.”

His manager grimaced. “I didn’t need to know that. Get some rest,” she laughed, shaking her head. Even she was too happy to truly scold him. 

When he finally returned to the room hours later, you had already fallen asleep waiting for him. He quietly undressed and got in bed, gently brushing your hair out of your face to gaze on your sleeping form.

You were perfect. He had gotten the seat and the girl; what else could a man ask for?

The morning was chaotic. You had both overslept. 

“I’m sorry about last night, amor,” Franco said as you applied concealer to his neck. “It was urgent, and they kept me there for hours.”

“What was it about?” You gently dabbed a makeup sponge across the reddened skin.

“I can’t say. Strictly confidential. But it’s amazing, you’ll see.” He beamed, but you made a face at him. Smiling flexed his neck muscles and made it harder to cover up the evidence of your intimacy.

At the paddock, it was chaos as usual. It was the return of the Franco Colapinto—now triumphant, having had a solid season in F2 so far—and this time, he walked in with you on his arm. 

The only problem was that Franco kept tugging at the neckline of his quarter zip, and the friction was causing the hastily applied makeup from the morning to smudge, revealing the marks beneath.

Thankfully, no reporters said anything. But the fans online certainly were.

Steamy! Franco Colapinto arrives today at the paddock with suspected girlfriend YN in tow, and the driver appears to have several red marks on his neck. YN and Franco have not confirmed any relationship other than being friends, and this is the first race she has attended since Brazil 2024.

COMMENT: Franco showing up to the paddock absolutely covered in hickeys was not on my 2025 bingo card

COMMENT: Okay but that is so on brand for him. This man simply does not give a fuck and I love it.

You chuckled to yourself as you read the comment. But you tensed up as you felt Franco’s manager walk up next to you. You were already anticipating the earful she’d give you.

“He’s a natural at this, ain’t he?” she asked, more a statement than a question. In the distance, Franco was making a reporter laugh.

“Yeah,” you said. Franco’s manager always made you nervous, for some reason. 

“I’m so proud of him.”

“Me too.” You paused, unsure of whether to broach the subject. “You’re…unusually chipper today.”

His manager laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. But even I have to relax sometimes. I mean, he’s doing a great job.”

“I heard there was some exciting news. Franco wouldn’t tell me what, though.”

His manager’s casual smile now stretched from ear to ear. “Oh yeah, big stuff. But top secret.”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

Media day went smooth as butter. Practice 1 and 2 went perfect. With the arrival of Carlos Sainz, the Williams car had vastly improved, and Franco drove like an expert.

Such was evident by his P8 finish in qualifying the next day; his highest ever qualifying in F1. 

Since your night had been interrupted the day before, your wanting of him hadn’t lessened; in fact, it had grown stronger ever since you realized how you truly were ready. But quali day had taken it out of him, and you knew he needed to rest before the Grand Prix tomorrow.

And on that next day, as you watched him climb in the car from the Williams garage, you hoped that he’d put that rest to good use. You said a prayer for his safety even more than his success.

You held your breath through each lap, silently cheering him on through the knots of nervousness in your stomach. But it seems like your prayer was working; he was gaining places, P8 to P5 only a fourth of the way into the race. 

He boxed halfway, and your eyes traced the lines of his car and helmet as he pulled into eyeshot of you and sped away in only a few seconds. He wasn’t looking at you, of course, but it didn’t matter. Your heart felt like it would burst with love.

At first, you didn’t even notice the cameras capturing your sentimental expression. That was, until you glanced away from his car in the distance and looked toward the screen. You were shocked to see your own reflection, captioned with your job title and ‘Franco Colapinto’s partner.’

He really was yours, now. You smiled at the camera and waved before it cut away to the action. Franco just kept gaining. He had dropped a few places after boxing, but made up for it in no time. P4.

You could hear the commentators through your headphones.

“And really, Franco Colapinto is stunning us all here. As we all remember, he had a rather disappointing end to the 2024 F1 season, but he seems to have come back with a vengeance. A podium is a real possibility for him today.”

Your smile couldn’t be contained. He was going to do this. You knew it. 

With only five laps left, he overtook for P3. The garage cheered. You cheered with them. But it wasn’t over yet. It was a tense, wheel to wheel battle. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was able to inch just slightly enough ahead to cinch the spot as he crossed the checkered flag.

The William’s garage erupted in applause.

You ran to meet him as he pulled up the car, catching him when he jumped into the arms of the crowd of William’s employees. He nearly ripped off his helmet and balaclava, grabbed your jaw and brought you into a rough kiss.

You broke with a smile. “I love you, I’m so proud of you!” you said, unsure if he could even hear you in the chaos.

“Te amo, YN,” he said, tears of happiness clouding the edges of his vision. He continued speaking in Spanish, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the crowd. He had to break the embrace to go to the podium.

As he stood up there, you beamed with pride below. He really had made it.  

After the podium, you hid away in his driver’s room, waiting for all his media obligations to be over so you could go back to the hotel together. To pass the time, you scrolled. The internet was losing their mind over your hard launch.

And even better, people had already uploaded videos of you and Franco exchanging words of love at the barriers. His words were difficult to make out, but a few dedicated lip readers had attempted to decipher the message. But there was no internet consensus just yet.

You made a mental note to ask Franco what he had said later, but for now, you were sure he was exhausted.  

Your assumption was proven correct as he walked into his driver’s room, rolling his shoulders and sighing. But upon seeing you, his face lit up. You greeted him with more hugs and words of praise.

As you both stood there, holding each other, it was like the world around you melted away. 

“YN, can I tell you something?” he muttered into your hair, hand snaked around your upper back.

“Anything,” you answered, your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone. You can’t let my manager know that I told you.”

You hummed in response, but he broke the hug to look at you, indicating the seriousness of his statement to come.

“I got a contract for 2026.”

Your eyes went as wide as dinner plates. You were speechless.

“Franco… that’s, oh my God, that’s amazing!” You thought you were going to burst with love for him.

“Nothing is set in stone yet,” he explained, “but she’s been negotiating the contract, and they’ll probably announce it in a few weeks.”

You reached your fingers up to run them through his curls. “You’re incredible.” He blushed.

“I think we should go back to the hotel and celebrate, hm?” he teased.

“You don’t want to go out?”

“We can if you want,” he mused, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “but I think the world has seen enough of us today, yeah?”

So you celebrated in your hotel room alone. The bottle of champagne that decorated the desk of the room was left untouched—but you sure as hell weren’t. 

The podium had emboldened him. He explored the curves of your body over your clothes with reckless abandon. You wordlessly helped him remove his shirt, trailing your eyes of the muscles that were sure to be sore in a few hours. You traced the marks you had left the other day, now beginning to fade.

“My turn,” he joked, bringing his lips to your neck to give you your fair share of love bites. He brought one hand to gently hold your neck, while the other inched further and further up your shirt, teasing the edge of your bra. You felt like you could drown in his touch. You closed your eyes and fell deep into bliss. 

“YN,” he whispered, “are you sure you want to do this? Are we ready?”

You swallowed, nervous. “Yes.”

But he could sense your anxiety, and was hesitant to continue. He pulled back, raking his eyes up and down your form. You couldn’t help your nervousness. But having read your darkest fantasies, he knew what you really wanted. 

“You know, the reason I read your diary is because I knew there was something about you that you try so desperately to hide,” he said, his voice soft and smooth as honey. “I wanted to know whatever part of you that you try to hide away from the rest of the world,” he let his hands trace down the length of your arm, and leaned in closer to whisper in your ear, “and that part of you is that you’re a needy girl who’s desperate to get fucked.” 

A shiver ran down your spine at the vulgarity of his words, a side to him you’d never seen.

He brought his hand from your arm to your neck, gently tracing the curve towards your chin. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course.” 

His voice was soft and tender, but when his hand grabbed your chin and forced you to face him, his expression was anything but. “You just needed a man who can fuck you like the desperate girl you are.” Your eyes widened at his words, and you could feel the warmth rush to your cheeks in a rosy blush. 

His eyes met yours. “Just say the word, mi amor. Do you trust me? Will you let me fuck you like you want… no, like you need to be fucked so badly? I can do it. I’m not afraid. I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head and closed the gap between you, placing his lips right below your ear. The kiss was soft and made you release your breath. “Say it, YN. Tell me you want this as bad as I do.” 

“You really want this?” you said, your voice almost trembling with anticipation.

His lips near your ear were going to be the death of you. “Of course. Can’t you feel how badly I do?” he whispered. You could feel him beneath you, hardening with every second that went past. You imagined the feeling of grinding your hips down on his length, recalling the memories of only a few days before. 

Oh God, how badly you wanted to. You wanted to give him everything. You could feel his soft breath on your neck, his hands now resting on your waist, tentatively waiting for your permission to resume roaming the curves of your body. But your breath was caught in your throat.

“Franco…” The soft exhalation of his name was all you can muster. “What, amor?” he replied. You swallowed and closed your eyes, knowing your next word would let the floodgates of your desire open.

“Please.”

His lips met your neck in a kiss that was tentative at first, like you were something fragile that could be broken by his touch. But the feeling of his soft lips finally meeting your skin caused you to draw in a breath. 

“You want to take the lead, or should I?” he asked. 

“You,” you answered simply, too distracted by the absolutely heavenly feeling of his velvet lips on your neck.

He hummed in response. “If you ever want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“I will.”

He placed one final kiss on your neck and helped you take off your top. You felt his eyes undressing you more than his hands.

He wordlessly turned you around to sit on his lap, your back against his chest. His hands traced lower and lower down your stomach until they met the lacy waistband of your shorts.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take these off for me?” he purred. 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” You could tease him right back. He let out a dark laugh, kissing your neck from behind. 

“Little brat…” he cooed, but you took no offense. He slid your shorts off, and you were left with only your bra and panties. He ran his hands up and down your now exposed stomach. His touch was warm and inviting as it traced down to the now wet fabric of your panties. 

He began slowly, just tracing the skin through the fabric, inching lower and lower. He could already feel how wet you were. “Doesn’t take that much to get you going, hm? So wet just from my words.”

You blushed in embarrassment at his teasing. “Shut up…”

“Oh, amor,” he kissed your cheek, your face now turning away from him. “It’s okay. I know how badly you needed this.”

You let out a breathy moan as he began to outline your pussy with the feather-light touch of his fingers. He tentatively dipped his fingers under the fabric, spreading them around your growing wetness as he circled your clit.

Slowly and carefully, he put a finger inside you curling it up to hit that sweet spot. With his other hand, he roughly groped at your chest. He unclasped your bra with one hand, tossing it across the room, and let his free hand paw at your chest and circle your nipple.

“See, bébé, what a reward you get when you use your words and tell me what you want?”

“Yes,” you moaned, breathy and full of desire.

“And what do you want?” he asked.

“I want… you.” The words stuck in your throat, your mind too preoccupied with the pleasure of his thumb swirling softly around your clit and the two fingers now pumping in and out of you. You were vulnerable, at his mercy, but you trusted him. 

“You want me to…?”

“I want you to… to fuck me.”

“Good girls get what they want. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? Can you do one more thing for me?” He smirked, removing his hand from your sensitive bundle of nerves. You already missed the friction. 

“Yes, anything,” you promised. 

“Get on your knees for me.”

You obeyed. The sight of you on your knees below him, gazing at home longingly with your big doe eyes, made his cock twitch. But he saw something beyond obedience in your face.

He knelt down next to you. “Are you still nervous?” he asked.

You laughed. “I’m always nervous.” 

He brushed your hair out of your face, removing all the barriers between the two of you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. I’m just… not as experienced as you. What if I'm not good?”

“You’ve already been so good for me,” he said, cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll guide you.”

You watched him with your innocent eyes as he stood up, unbuckled his belt, and took off his pants. You dug your knees into the pillow beneath you as he shed his last remaining layer of clothing.

He had no right to tease you for being so wet, when his own arousal coated him. His cock was dripping precum, so hard that it nearly hurt.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, and again, you obeyed. He gently led you to him as you pressed your tongue to the bottom of his length and licked up to the sensitive head.

He moaned. “I don’t think you need any help, do you?” You just hummed as your tongue traced the lines of his veins up and down his shaft, before you took as much of him as you could, closing your mouth to trap him in the warmth.

He grabbed your hair to gently guide you to a good rhythm. You looked at him in admiration, but his head was thrown back, eyes closed in bliss. 

He moved your head faster, and you gagged a bit at his cock filling your mouth. You dug your hands into his thighs. Franco cursed in Spanish under his breath.

Soon, he pulled you away. You were embarrassed. Did you do something wrong?

“God, you feel too good. I can’t finish yet. I want to take my time with you.” He led you back to the bed, finally taking time to gaze at your form laid bare before him.

For a moment, he was silent, just taking in the sight of you. “You’re beautiful, YN.”

You blushed. “You don’t need to flatter me, you already got in my pants,” you joked.

“It’s not flattery,” he replied as he crossed the room to grab a condom from his bag and put it on, “it’s true.”

He returned to the bed, climbing on top of you. “You’re perfect. Every part of you.”

The vulnerable praise made you uncomfortable. “Franco…” 

“Touch me, amor.” You obeyed, bringing your hands to his broad shoulder, bracing for what you knew would come next.

“You may not think you’re beautiful, but I do. And I’ll make love to you as many times as I need to until you believe it.”

You blushed and brought your hands to your face. You were not immune to his Argentine charm. He gently pulled your hands away, kissing your wrists, so he could see your face. 

As he guided himself to your entrance, he slowly and carefully slid inside you with a deep groan. His eyes rolled back into his head at the heavenly feeling of your pussy, and your breath hitched.

He stopped to give you a moment to adjust to his length. You felt filled and warm; all his. 

For a moment he just stayed there, still, looking down at the sight of you stuffed with his cock, ready to be ravished.

“You alright?” he asked, softly tracing circles along your hips with his hands. You nodded through the sweet burn of being stretched on him.

But he could feel the tension in you. “Just relax, YN,” he cooed at you. “I’m going to take good care of you, hm?” 

He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and you whined. He whispered something in Spanish, too fast and incoherent for you to understand, but with a soft enough tone to recognize the love behind the gesture.

His thrusts at first were slow and shallow, giving you time to adjust. As he gently fucked you, he leaned down to softly whisper sweet nothings into your ears. You felt safe in his arms. 

But soon the softness faded away into lust. You both wanted it, and you showing him by how you sang a chorus of noises the faster he fucked you. His rough thrusts brought forth sinful noises from the both of you, lost in your pleasure. “It’s okay, YN. I know how badly you needed this,” he cooed, his own breath strained. “And I needed it too. I needed to feel you wrapped around me. You feel so fucking good, so tight and wet.”

His words weren’t lost on you. “Fuck, Franco…” you begged between his thrusts. You dug your nails into his back as he continued his unrelenting pace.

“Talk to me, pretty girl,” he said, slowing down for a moment. “You okay? Is it good?”

“So good,” you responded. “Don’t stop.”

He wordlessly continued, pumping his full length into you with reckless abandon. You were sure that your nails in his back would draw blood with how roughly you clung to him.

All you could do was take it, all of him, and let the moans and gasps fall from your lips with every touch.

As he sped up, his tone changed, becoming something rougher. He was clearly emboldened by the noises that left your mouth with every movement.

“I love hearing your pretty little noises. I want you to scream for me. Fucking scream my name,” he commanded. You didn’t have the strength in you, too distracted by how good he felt, burying his cock in you. 

“F- Franco,” you gasped. He pulled back so you could see him and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him directly in the eyes.

“What’s that, love? Did you say something, or am I fucking you too good that you can’t even speak properly?”

“Franco, I—” you were cut off by your own whine, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed at you, “let go. Cum for me.”

You wanted nothing more than to obey him, and you came closer to the edge hearing his command. 

“I want you to look at me when I make you cum,” he instructed. You nodded at him.

But he slowed his pace down to a torturously slow speed, savoring how every inch of him went in and out of your drenched pussy. 

Even with his switch, you could feel that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to explode as you held his intense gaze. Any self consciousness you would have had was cast aside by your desperate need to obey him.

And when he moved his hand from your hips down to your sensitive clit and began to rub, you couldn’t help but follow his command, climaxing in his arms.

He held you as you let the waves of pleasure come over you, not letting up his soft assault on your bundle of nerves. Even as you began to buck your hips involuntarily from the sensitive touch, he just whispered, “It’s okay, mi amor. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He softly shushed your whimpers of pleasure, gently running his free hand up and down your curves. “Are you okay to keep going? Because you know I’m not done with you yet.”

You didn’t know if you could handle any more, but you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him to stop. You’d waited too long for this, wanted it too badly, to go back now.

You nodded, so he kept going, hitting every spot inside you just right, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. He was careful not to overwhelm you, taking an even and steady pace, but neither of you could help so heavenly it felt to have him inside of you.

Franco chased his own release, sitting up so he could see your whole body as he fucked you. He held onto your hips hard enough to leave marks, but you’d gladly wear them with pride. 

It didn’t take long for him to pull out and rip off the condom, pumping his hand up and down his length. 

“YN, I’m so fucking close,” he moaned. “Where—”

You didn’t answer him, just leaning down to take him in your mouth. He grabbed the back of your head, roughly pushing you closer to him.

“Don’t stop, you’re gonna make me cum, don’t—” 

He couldn’t finish his sentence before he climaxed, filling your mouth and letting out a low and low groan.

You pulled away from him and swallowed the stickiness that coated your mouth. 

He collapsed on the bed next to you. “Fuck, YN.” You laid down next to him. “That was so good.” His chest was still heaving with the intensity of his orgasm. 

But as he turned to you, the lust left him, growing into something softer as he brushed your hair out of your face. You were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“You okay?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into him, taking in the smell of sex and his cologne. You couldn’t get close enough to him.

He kissed the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he assured. You were too overwhelmed to say anything. He just held you. 

Eventually, you both got up to take a shower before you both got ready for bed. Snuggled close to him, you felt the quiet warmth of his presence protecting you, and it lulled you to sleep quicker than anything else ever could.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you checked your phone. The internet sleuths had finally deciphered what Franco had said to you—a heartachingly sweet confession of love. He had said you were his life, his everything. He couldn’t have done it without you. 

Within the thin crack of light from blinds and the streetlights outside, you could see Franco’s backpack, with your diary still in it. If you wanted to, you could have stolen it back. But instead, you left it be, snuggling deeper into the bed to get close to the man you loved who slept peacefully beside you. 

It was true that more work needed to be done until you all could fully communicate with no difficulties—no language barriers, no journals, just heartfelt words. But you knew you both could do it. You loved each other too much to not. 

So you smiled as you felt his arm sleepily wrap around you and pull you close. You were safe. You were home. 

[4zahara]

00 | The Star Child

A/N: Happy New Year!!!

—Ad astra per aspera—

Gotham's streets hadn't been designed to withstand rainfall over 30 milliliters per hour. A fact highlighted when some areas became prone to flooding due to the poorly thought out infrastructure of the sewer system. Built far too intricate and unnecessarily so, without consideration for situations such as heavy storms and raining season. The kind of problem Politicians would forever liked to preach about solving despite not a single soul believing half the funds for said project wouldn't be later on pocketed. Not a single uncorrupted branch was left on Politic matters.

Unfortunately and adding to the pile of reasons for a solitary boy to be wondering the streets drenched from head to toe at the whim of the storm—Clothes clinged uncomfortably to his skin; said kid was seemingly trying to shield a backpack with his body.

Car horns blaring in the distance in the alleys, speeding over the runoff from the storm pooling along the curbs. Streams formed, raising past ankles as the lone boy sprinted across the street, splashing in the filth to round the wrong corner. By the time he stepped in The Narrows his already worn off shoes became muddy puddles.

There was the chilling wind biting at his bones too. No matter how much he pulled at the hoodie, clearly a size too big, it did little socked and stained to provide any warmth.

A dog barking behind a fence became the only sound Jason could hear above his own teeth chattering.

He became the man of the house at a far too young age, the same day his father got arrested. Jason Todd’s survival on the streets of the country's most dangerous city hinged on a self-sufficiency no child should possess. Devastating was the burden thrusted upon him, forcing him to scavenge for food, scrape together money—stealing if necessary—and keep a eye on his mother.

He had learned through pain how things worked. Everything always getting worse over and over before ever showing signs of getting better—if they ever did. Lessons taught by the streets. Yet for all his toughness and bravado, the idea of losing his mother devastated him enough to seek help from anyone, anywhere. He'll do anything.

His mother, Catherine Todd, had never been so shameless before. Never like this, in her infinite wisdom, had she locked Jason out of the house with a storm in toe. Perhaps in her altered perception of reality, she did her son a favor. However, most children were far from far from stupid. The closest they'll have would be naivety, which her son wasn't. Jason wasn't blind and deaf like many seemed to view him as. What those days and afternoons locked out really were for Jason were failures for not having been able to stop them. Stop her.

The cure for her mother's illness was the same substance slowly but surely killing her, apparently, and according to the drug dealer that'll come to their home. As if Jason were stupid. As if he didn't know drugs were no magical spell and about his mother's addiction.

Overwhelmed, his resolve faltered. Losing on a betting game with all odds against him, Jason saw no choice but to force himself to go out under the lash of a storm in search of a new player.

Someone who had no name or face that he could remember, but whose existence was suspended in a forgotten photo half-embraced by fire; His sister.

Willis had not liked to talk about his oldest child, so you must've been a force to be reckoned with.

═════════════ • ✧ • ══════════════

One of the last threads of hope he had had, summarized in this ominous building. After this, Jason will ran out of ideas. For a while he has been standing in front of the door of an apartment in one of the many complexes nearby. After hitting one too many dead ends, Jason knew better than to let himself be haunted with What ifs.

Armed with an old picture of you, the sister he never had, in which he was an infant in your arms and your smile had missing baby teeth. Now he was ten and had to squint to find any resemblance to his old baby-self. You could've changed so much all could be for nothing if you had done as much as dyed your hair.

Just the walk from Crime Alley had costed him his backpack. Far more he should've allowed himself to for this to be worth nothing, so there better be a fairy behind this door. At the very least a decent human being.

He wasn't backing down. Jason just needed a moment, okay?

Lots of thoughts and thugs had been faced tonight—the longest walk his short legs had ever made in his short life was enough for him to get mugged by a group of drug addicts.

Facing disappointment, his great fear of being left alone, tightened his chest far more than the kick to the ribs he got a couple blocks ago. (Him being a child meant his backpack had proudly carried four pieces of gum, a pair of socks and an used toothbrush which hadn't been good enough for a bunch of crazy. God forbid a boy had his own problems.) However, he was lucky they didn't kidnap him or worse. Even if only because of knowing nothing would be gained from it after seeing the inside of his backpack.

You could be anywhere if not here, really. Even dead in a ditch. Children didn't get very far alone. They were all attracted by dim light of deception in a deep dark ocean and devoured by an anglefish or other predator lurking by.

After a deep sigh, his lungs filled with false courage and the pollution gothamies were so familiar with. Although His hand froze halfway to knocking on the door, three times did the sound echoed down the hall and Jason's arm flashed hidden behind himself just as fast.

An eerie silence settled back in before Jason tried again. Three knocks, louder this time, were intended. Jason got to one before the dull thud of something falling to the ground was heard from inside. The response had almost been immediate, followed by footsteps. Jason barely had time to take a step back before the door creaked open as far as the chain on the bolt allowed.

A somewhat gloomy looking girl peeked out. She seemed to have just woken up in any case, with her short hair a mess of spiky locks pointed in all directions. Adding to the frame of her face were blue drooping eyes lingered above Jason's head for a second too long as if she expected someone taller.

Great offense was taken at that by the way. He had gone through a lot, walked way too much, not for this—and you—to call him out like that. You weren't even that much taller than him. You weren't even standing straight hiding most of yourself behind the door. Then her eyes descended to meet him, and Jason's mind went blank.

He couldn't fully see her face. Didn't need to see to know this was you his sister. The picture he had of you felt heavy on his pocket as you looked just like your mother. His mother.

The lump in his throat made itself all the more present when he tried to speak, so he waited for a greeting of your own instead. Anything to not be the one who had to speak first would have been a good start in Jason's books.

The silence stretched despite the two. His tongue felt like it had been tied up, stammered the first thing that came to mind when nothing came of you.

“I am your brother,” he blurted out, with anxious energy so clumsy he instantly regretted it.

Taglist(?): @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[megamagimugi]

It's finally 2025 where I am. Since I only joined Tumblr in June 2024, this is the first New Year's celebration I get to share with you guys. I hope it's okay if I say a few words on this special occasion.

Real talk: I can't say 2024 was a particularly good year for me, though like any year it certainly had its ups and downs. My mental health hasn't really been good since 2017, and it seemed to only be getting worse as my life kept falling apart over the years. The consequences of my bad decisions along with some things outside my control not working out in my favor kept eating away at my hope bit by bit, slowly killing my normally optimistic nature. In the first half of 2024, I had an increasingly hard time finding reasons to even keep going.

But then I joined Tumblr for one reason only: to read some cool Mario fan comics as Tumblr kept telling me to sign in. Annoyed, I eventually caved in and created this little Mario themed blog. Little did I know it would be my best decision of the year.

Turns out, while there are certainly things I don't like about Tumblr just as I initially thought, they all pale in comparison to one of the first things I found here: a surprisingly wholesome and supportive community full of joy, kindness, creativity and camaraderie. It proved me wrong when I thought it wasn't possible to find and maintain true friendship online, especially without ever meeting in person. It also proved me wrong when I thought I was unlovable and unworthy. It has also validated me a lot as an artist, welcoming the fanart I've shared with a level of enthusiasm I never expected to see. And finally, it has been changing me as a person, inspiring me to be a little gentler and more caring.

As I recently noticed, ever since joining Tumblr my mental health has significantly improved. It's nowhere near perfect (ha! I wish it was that simple), but I'm overall significantly less lonely, quite a bit happier and it's not as hard to find the motivation to keep going anymore. I'm more thankful to you all for this than I can express with words. I'll still say it: thank you for everything, guys!

Some people I'd like to tag here, that I can think of off the top of my head (if I'm forgetting anyone, then I'm really sorry!): @silenzahra @bberetd @vulpixfairy1985 @peaches2217 @itsavee4117 @stripetkattelalala54-gf @coffeecat1983 @multicolour-ink @jelly-fish-wishes @pepperycar @supergay-64 @roscolate @doodleydoo101 @drones-of-innocence @elitadream @akiiame-blog

I just really love this community that has become such an important part of my life. I also love the Mario franchise for leading me to it, and for always bringing me joy and fun even in the darkest of times❤️

Say what you want about 2024, but I think we can all agree that at least it was a great year for Mario!

Happy New Year, everyone!🥳🎉🎉🎉

[lesbiansforboromir]

I find this kind of unfair and lacking context for both RoP and WotR, inspite of my own criticisms with both stories. My main gripe being the idea that, especially RoP, is trying to 'reinvent LotR'.

RoP is not LotR, it's adapting a completely different story written by Tolkien, set in the same universe but with very different themes and character narratives that never saw the light of day in LotR. But those themes still existed in these historical accounts of the world, and the events based on them formed an important foundation for LotR as a tale in and of itself.

RoP is also absolutely not about an 'Aragorn-style destined royal hero', the story is going to be one long miserable series of prideful mistakes and well meaning intentions that eventually lead to one of the most devastating losses of life Arda has ever seen. This is not a story with a happy eucatastrophe ending, despair and death will reign and the Galadriel of the show could not be more emblematic of that course.

And whilst it is arguable whether or not her character suits the role she's been given, this narrative is just as part of Tolkien's work as LotR is. Like you would essentially have to claim that adapting any piece of Tolkien's writing other than the ones with Hobbits in it that aren't about royalty is misrepresenting his work. Which would essentially exclude all Tolkien's work BUT LotR and The Hobbit.

Honestly, I think the attitude that 'it's not Tolkien if there aren't hobbits in it' is one of the major criticisms I have with the show. One of the showrunners said something to the same effect in an interview, as explanation for inserting a completely superfluous hobbit/gandalf plot that should never have been there and robs time from what should be the main story and characters.

I could not agree more that it was extremely egregious that The Hobbit films became so much about everything but THE Hobbit (and the dwarves). The main substance of the original tale was sidelined for either commercial, cynical or misguided reasons (to my perspective). But RoP isn't adapting The Hobbit, and WotR isn't either. They're adapting the Akallabeth and the ending of the first Royal Line of Rohan, respectively. And inserting narratives about 'the little people' into these stories would be just as egregious as what happened to the Hobbit films.

And like! Well something to this effect definitely did happen to WotR! A story about how a grim King's brutality and vicious prejudice lead to the deaths of nearly his entire family was turned into a shallow attempt at a feminist story that was really just a worse version of Eowyn. The realities of Helm's violence and Frecca's murder were muted to give him more plausible deniability and to launder the reputation of Middle-Earth royalty as a whole, a thing the Warner Bros cinematic Tolkien universe puts a lot of work into in general, one assumes for all the same cynical/commercial reasons.

So I don't disagree that Tolkien adaptations skew the ways in which Tolkien's work portrayed royalty, I just don't really agree that the original PJ films did not do the same thing, nor that the only narrative of value worth telling in Tolkien adaptations is one of small heroes. Like, yes, those themes existed in LotR, and now there are new stories to tell with their own themes in them that suit their plots. Tolkien adaptations do not need to be chained to the altar of one theme from one story. That seems quite boring and restrictive.

It's ironic how a major part of Lord of the Rings is that storytellers always overlook hobbits in their legends because their simple lives are "less important" than the lives of Great Royals & Grand Warriors--- since that's ultimately been reflected in the current state of the Tolkien franchise itself! After the LOTR films, big-budget Tolkien franchise installments (and copycats) overwhelmingly focus on their Aragorn analogues, with hobbit-like characters shoved to the sidelines. The Lord of the Rings films may be flawed, but they succeeded because they had a strong central story-- the relationship between Frodo and Sam, and the fairytale-themes about small overlooked people who save the day while the villains are distracted by Great Heroes from Noble Bloodlines, are what give the story the deep lasting emotional impact that it has. But the franchise(tm) quickly decided that the royal warrior elves/men were the far more exciting marketable characters, and their battle skills could allow for more flashy spectacle. The Hobbit films gradually focused more heavily on the warrior characters, with Bilbo being a glorified extra by the last movie; The Amazon LOTR show focuses on a noble warrior elf of royal blood as its main character and political intrigue among the royalty of different kingdoms as its main plot; the recent animated film focuses on a noble hero of royal blood involved in epic battles. I've mentioned before that it's fascinating how all the new "Tolkien franchise" installments (as well as media inspired by LOTR) continue to center their stories on the Aragorn archetype-- a Destined Noble Hero/Warrior from a Royal Bloodline etc etc. The entire premise of Lord of the Rings is that Aragorn represents the hero of a typical generic fantasy epic, while the ordinary Hobbits are the heroes of this one. Aragorn is interesting not in spite of the fact that he is a side character, but because of it. If he were the central character of the story, Lord of the Rings would be very bland and generic. "Let's do a new version of Lord of the Rings but focus on powerful grand royal hero characters instead" is a lot like saying "let's do a retelling of Wicked from Dorothy's point of view." It's like, "congrats! you've successfully reinvented the exact type of story the original writer was commenting on and subverting." XD

[postcrashcurly]

A short list of Jimmy headcanons I've been tinkering with for a bit. CW: OCD and Hoarding Behavior, Trichophagia, Body Image, and a lot of other triggers tbh it's far too long to list just prepare for anything.

One. On earth, Jimmy has a hoarding problem that stems from not having a lot as a kid. His dad was physically abusive and his mom was emotionally absent, so he wasn't allowed any privacy, personal belongings, or comfort objects. So as an adult he keeps EVERYTHING. Every single birthday card, every receipt, boxes, old clothes, certain food wrapping items and empty cans. It's chaos but it's somewhat organized, and piles move around here and there. It's not necessarily *gross* in the traditional sense. There is no rats or roaches or anything like that- its just overwhelming to the outside observer. It has the potential to be much worse depending.

He compulsively reorganizes his belongings but he'll be sent into a blind rage if he feels he's lost something. Piles move back and forth from the living room and bed room. Certain objects of interest are always within eye-shot, specifically things like gifts or photos. He has a particular affinity towards gift-cards and enjoys the elaborate designs (even though he pretends he doesn't).

Jimmy gets incredibly defensive when anyone offers to help him clean up or move things around and worries greatly that someone may steal from him. The only person who's ever seen the inside of his place is Curly, and he's also the only person Jimmy has ever left unattended in his home. Every so often Curly is able to nudge him to pack things in different areas so it isn't such a fire hazard (because of the hoarding, Jimmy has a massive fear of house fires and losing his things), and so he can have better access to rooms.

The only "clean" areas are the kitchen and bathroom, and they are remarkably clean. This is something Curly doesn't understand but doesn't really bother to question because he knows Jimmy needs to have things a certain way.

Two. As a child Jimmy developed really poor coping mechanisms to deal with his home life. He used to eat his own hair, and because of this his parents always had his hair cut as short as possible. This is why he keeps it long as an adult, and even though he doesn't eat/swallow it anymore he likes to suck and bite on the ends sometimes when he's self-soothing.

Three. Jimmy struggles with his body image and isn't quite sure what he looks like. If you asked him to draw a picture of himself, it wouldn't resemble him well. He feels that he looks much smaller, weaker, and uglier than he really is, for which he overcompensates. This also means he is a lot rougher when making physical contact with people.

It is also why a lot of his clothes are ill fitting.

Four. Jimmy loved cats when he was younger. When he was a kid he used sneak around his parents to feed them dinner leftovers. He was particularly close with a little tabby that cried at his bedroom window every night and he'd always sneak out to pet her. His father grew sick of the strays hanging around the property and put out poisoned food, which unfortunately took out his tabby. To this day, he blames himself for making the cats comfortable enough to take food from his house.

Five. Jimmy has experimented with many drugs and had mostly positive experiences with them. He's particularly fond of Kratom.

Six. Jimmy doesn't try to understand people, he only learns what they expect of him and changes his approach depending on the person. Everyone is so vastly different that he struggles to keep up appearances with most people, so he often latches onto one person (Curly) and puts most of his energy into that.

Seven. Jimmy is the type to give up a hobby if he isn't good at it right off the bat.

Eight. Jimmy can't swim, he doesn't want to swim, and you cannot make him swim. It stems from having a fear of water, specifically fully submerging his head/face.

Nine. Jimmy has food sensory issues. Sometimes he even needs to spit out things he likes because his body refuses to swallow it. To avoid this in public spaces, he takes very small bites and eats very slowly. He orders comfort meals and if he wants to try something new, he'll just pick of the plate of who he's with.

Ten. Jimmy is a Red Bull guy, specifically the Coconut Berry one. This is very oddly specific but it just feels right to me.

Y'all should send me asks with some of your Jimmy headcanons (if you want) because I love to hear other peoples opinions and perceptions of his character, especially if you don't agree with mine I'd love to hear why!

[midnight-bay-if]

(NSFW Question) How would the RO’s act in a situation involving an aphrodisiac? Say Mc accidentally ate something that makes them extremely uncomfortable until they have sex, though the effects aren’t permanent or life-threatening. Would any of the RO’s be willing to help them out? Deep crushing but pre-relationship :3

(NSFW content warning. Not explicit, but very suggestive.)

S: As soon as they realise what your symptoms are demonstrating, S is very conflicted. They've read how unbearably uncomfortable the effects are, so they want to help. Not to mention the self-control it has already taken them to take it slow and court you properly, as you deserve. When S imagined falling into bed with you, it was after a romantic evening or bold love confession. It didn't involve the risk of rolling over after the deed with a deep regret.

In the end, they can't bring themselves to do it. They will stand guard, wait on you hand and foot, give you everything you desire... everything except them.

"I know you are strong enough to withstand this; should you feel the same after... perhaps we can talk."

Rain: They hesitate. In any other instance of you begging, they wouldn't. Absolutely not. They've been craving to see you like this for a long time. They've imagined countless ways to steal your breath; their imagination has kept them good company on many a lonely night. But it frightens them to believe you only ask out of necessity and not desire.

Still, they can't resist. They have ached for you much too long, and your heated gaze is enough to set their heart ablaze.

"Tell me how I can take it away. Breathe the word, and I am yours."

Taj: Taj realised their feelings were genuine only recently. In the middle of another verbal spar with you, they imagined your absence, and it hit them like a punch to the gut. They see you now, desperate and wanton, and fuck, do they ever want to give in. Had this happened before... when they thought you were nothing more than a chirping bird, they would have. No hesitation. It wouldn't be the first time they've rolled into bed with someone for the sake of fucking.

But now it matters. God, why does it have to matter?

"Ask me again when you're not blitzed out of your mind, Koel. I want to know when I'm making you beg, it's me your begging for."

N: All it takes is one heated gaze and whispered "please" for them to fall to their knees in front of you. They are no stranger to the effects of such a potent aphrodisiac, having fallen victim to such a ploy from their enemies. Except, they were locked into a dark room after, bound, left to rot. Why use pain to inflict torture when pleasure can be just as excruciating and lacks the mess?

They will satisfy you for as long as you desire. Then, they will don their mask that keeps them protected, smile, and leave. Feelings do not need to play a part. They cannot afford to expose themselves to you.

"Whisper your every desire, my dear; I want to hear everything."

Umbra: They can't stand it. They watch as you writhe and squirm before your eyes lock onto theirs, and you beg, "I need you". The words are their Achilles heel, and they fall to their knees like a devotee might pray at an altar.

"Tell me how."

Nothing can be worse than watching you struggle. If they can take it away, they will. There is not a single thing in this world they would not do for you.

[just-a-carrot]

I'm not really in the mood to make a festive Happy New Year's post. So instead I'll just say... we made it. I made it. You made it. The year is over and we're still here. And that is enough.

It's no real secret by this point but 2024 has been one of the worst years of my life. From constant anxiety and panic attacks over job stability in the spring, to losing two family members, to the depressive spiral I entered after finishing OW, to the second spiral in the fall just when I thought maybe I was finally doing a bit better and everything came crashing back down, my mental health has been worse than it's ever been. And I've spent a lot more nights than I'd like to admit wishing I wouldn't wake up in the morning. (And downed a lot more sleeping pills than I'd like to admit because it's the only OTC thing I can get to mildly decrease my anxiety and help numb me a bit LOL)

I just want... this year to be over. Even though I have no hope for 2025 either and mostly just feel anxious and hopeless about it. But I will continue trying. Continuing grappling for the bits of joy that can keep me going. And maybe I finally will get a little bit of calm and peace. Who can say. I guess we'll see what 2025 decides to bring. I just really want to feel a bit better finally. And I hope that 2025 might take pity on me and allow me some mental respite.

2024 did have its moments of joy. Despite it sending me into the spiral, I am ofc glad that I finished OW finally this year. I consider it one of my greatest accomplishments. And I still can't believe that I put 3 whole years of work into this thing and just how much of my soul went into it. Even if my depression keeps trying to convince me that it (and me) are worthless.

I feel like I grew a lot in my art over the year. Trying new and more complex things. Getting better at composition and poses. Which led into my starting Broomtail, which gave me really the first renewed spark of creative joy since releasing the finale and actually made me excited to work on something again.

Speaking of joy amidst melancholy, DD2 was released this year, and it became the one thing that could keep me going at times. It brought me so much joy and inspiration when nothing else would. And it still holds my heart captive in its grip. From all the DD2 art I did, to the O2A2 game, to my silly tragic music video, to a very self-indulgent fanfic, it gave me so much creative energy, and I want to do more art for it in 2025 too! (And I'm still waiting for that DLC, Capcom...) I can't think of another game ever that's had this much of a hold on me before. Though I do attribute much of that to the fact that in my head it's mostly an OW AU since I could make Iggy and Genzou and play out their tragic love story and it was so beautiful and Genzou was so so sweet and cute GUH. Yeah... that helped a lot.

I think my main goal for 2025 is just to keep trying. To keep surviving. To keep trying to find hope and joy where I can. To believe that I can feel better and things can be better. Even when it's hard. And that hopefully... hopefully I will be able to find some peace in there finally.

I do have various projects I'd like to work on too. Like finishing the remaster, continuing Broomtail, maybe working on another game later on. But I'd rather just think of those as things I'd like to do for myself and because they bring me joy, rather than as any kind of goal or pressure. Especially since I never want to make any promises given the instability of my mental health.

I'm just so tired always. And I hate feeling scared and worthless all the time. I hate feeling trapped. Even if I know it's my own life choices and debilitating fear of change that has led to a lot of this. So it's my own fault in the end. But I hope I can find some solace. And I hope you can, too. I hope 2025 will be a kind year to everyone. And even if it's not, that we can find some joy and hope to help us through it.

Sorry this felt a bit morose LOL I guess I wanted to just take this opportunity to reflect back on the year a bit for some catharsis. I shall now sleep for 24 hours to recover from my flight hahaha.

if you saw this post a day ago for a few seconds i'm sorry -- i was working on it in my drafts and must have accidentally clicked post instead of save(??) somehow(???) idk but it posted and i panicked and deleted it and then had to rewrite it from scratch LOL

[frostfires-blog]

With all due respect, I greatly disagree. I wasn't going to say anything decisive about this 'epilogue debacle' because I'm honestly tired of everything I've gone through for the past few years... But when someone directly uses my post like this, I can't just say nothing... Firstly, my post was made half-jokingly—so there's no need to take things this seriously. Not in the sense that everyone's feelings aren't valid—but in the sense that I know BakuDeku and ItaFushi's situations aren't the same. No two ships are exactly identical—no matter their shared parallels and tropes. Likewise, UraDeku and Yuji x Ozawa aren't the same either. I was merely drawing a parallel between things because certain elements are comparable. I believe that shipping is a very personal matter—but when engaging in discourse with others, it's important to take a step back sometimes. I know this is easier to say than to do at times.

-> The treatment of M/F ships compared to M/M ships: The handling of M/F ships in comparison to M/M ships is incomparable—particularly in publications that are highly restrictive, such as Shounen Jump. While a casual yet suggestive conversation or simple gestures like a simple handhold can be interpreted as subtle confirmation for a M/M ship—the same cannot be said for a M/F ship. You can undoubtedly use such instances to support the foundation of an M/F ship—but declaring it canon, in my opinion, is a little presumptuous. There is nothing barring a shounen mangaka from clearly confirming a M/F ship. While social prejudice, censorship, and management would undoubtedly impede a mangaka from confirming an M/M ship. That is why I find it somewhat distasteful that people are claiming UraDeku is canon when there wasn't a concrete confirmation. As biased as I am... We all know that if the roles were reversed, many UraDeku shippers would be rioting if BakuDeku shippers called the ship canon because of a conversation and "silly dap-up"—despite the added context of BakuDeku being an M/M ship in a shounen manga.

-> Why I think BakuDeku and ItaFushi are comparable in this context: I went slightly off-topic, but ultimately it boils down to the fact the events of both epilogues were used by part of the fandom to taunt and ridicule both BakuDeku and ItaFushi shippers. At least that is what has been going on within the circles I run in. Generally, BakuDeku shippers have been getting it far worse though, but since when hasn't it been like this? While I love BakuDeku and ItaFushi with all my heart, I didn't have much faith in either ship being outright confirmed given that BNHA and JJK are serialised in Shounen Jump. The best we could ever hope for was an implied ending with no confirmed ships. The same cannot be said for M/F ships like UraDeku and Yuji x Ozawa. It is well acknowledged that shounen manga integrates bromance aspects to appeal to audiences who support M/M pairings, thereby bolstering merchandise sales. So it will remain unknown whether the symbolism encircling BakuDeku and ItaFushi was intentional or not. Nonetheless, I firmly believe that the decision to refrain from overtly confirming UraDeku and Yuji x Ozawa was deliberate. Given that, no one at Shounen Jump could or would prevent either Horikoshi or Gege from making an M/F pairing canon.

-> In Conclusion: Despite everything I said, in no way am I saying that people who like ItaFushi have to like BakuDeku and vice versa... But their situations presently are undoubtedly comparable. While I can't speak for all BakuDeku shippers, most of us were civil with other shippers despite having endured years of harassment. Most of us wanted the series to end with no official ships so that everyone could be happy. Yet many UraDeku shippers used the epilogue to harass and taunt BakuDeku shippers. I've started to see the same thing happen in the JJK fandom, albeit to a lesser extent. So naturally, many BakuDeku and ItaFushi shippers have gotten frustrated and have expressed themselves in creative ways. Ultimately, I'm not saying all UraDeku and Yuji x Ozawa shippers are bad people—just as I know that not all BakuDeku and ItaFushi shippers are good people. However, we've been through a lot—so please be more mindful and patient with us.

If I had a nickel for every time almost half the fandom called a ship canon based off of a casual conversation in a shounen manga's epilogue, I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice…

_________________________________

If I had a nickel for every time a shounen manga ended with no canon ships but somehow half the fandom still found a way to discredit one of its most profound fanships just because they were M/M, I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

December 29 - Frost | word count: 845 | @wolfstarmicrofic

When Sirius ran away, he sent a letter to Regulus just a few days letter. It wasn’t much, but enough to let Regulus know he wasn’t coming back, not this time. At the time, that was the only part of the letter Regulus could think about. That Sirius had abandoned him, with no way out. But there was an out. An address scrawled at the bottom of the page, with a promise that if Regulus decided to join him, he would have a place at Sirius’ side. No matter how long it took—or if he even decided to show up at all—there would always be a place in his life for Regulus.

Now, eight years later down to the day, Regulus finds himself clinging onto the hope in the second part of the letter that young him had spitefully ignored. He knows there is probably a high probability that he waited too long to seek out the offer.  He left the family at eighteen, only three years after Sirius left. That would have been the perfect time to show up. To say he was waiting for the security of his inheritance before he left. Instead, he had been a coward and stayed away, and the allowance from his inheritance had quickly dwindled, leaving him with nothing. Even then, it would have done to seek out Sirius.

He isn’t sure what compelled him to follow the address tonight. Eight years is a long time, Sirius could have easily forgotten about him or simply decided he was tired of Regulus’ empty promises.

Still, he walks through Hogsmeade, the streets oddly silent for Christmas Eve. He finds the house on a quiet side street. It’s a quaint home, everything Grimmauld is not. The two-story cottage has light glowing from nearly every window, inviting and promises that no dark secrets hide within. He feels comfortable approaching the door, almost too comfortable considering everything.

So, before he ruins the life Sirius has painstakingly built for himself, he glances through the frost coated windows.

He immediately regrets it. Sirius is dancing in front of the most hideous Christmas tree that Regulus has ever seen. But he is not alone. He has clasped hands with a little girl. She looks around ten years old, maybe eleven—just around Hogwarts age. She has two pigtails in her short curly hair that bounce with each jouncing step they take. Her cheeks are round and rosy with excitement, and her eyes shine. Sirius has changed, but that was expected. Twenty-four years old, he is no longer the scared and far too skinny boy Regulus grew up with. He has filled out, clearly, he hasn’t been deprived of any meals. There are wrinkles around his eyes, though not those of old age, but those of happiness, those of a man who smiles every day.

Somebody else approaches the room, but lingers in the doorway. Remus Lupin. The boy Sirius swore he would marry one day. He too has aged, though it seems to have worn on him worse than Sirius. His shoulder slouches, and there are heavy bags under his eyes even as he watches the two with deep fondness in his eyes.

This is the life Sirius wanted; this is the life Sirius deserves. Full of love and people who will reflect that love back at him. Not somebody like Regulus. Not somebody with a twisted monster inside their body. Not Regulus. Once a star, he has since caved in on himself, a black hole that absorbs all of the love and attention, and never gives any in return.

So, he turns away. Without knocking on the door, without even giving himself the chance to look Sirius in the face and say thank you for the courage to leave. He turns away and leave Sirius to the life he earned for himself. The one without Regulus. Because Sirius was only a child when he said Regulus would always have a place in his life. But sixteen-year-olds hardly know anything about the world—Regulus knows that feeling well—and clearly Sirius has learned better in the years Regulus distanced himself—no, abandoned Sirius the way he felt he was abandoned. Once upon a time, Regulus might have had a spot, but that spot was swallowed up in the black hole.

No, there is no longer a place for Regulus in Sirius’ life.

★           ★           ★

Sirius watches as the clock slowly ticks over to midnight. Another year gone, another year without his brother. Belatedly, he realizes he should have gotten Regulus out himself when he had the chance. At eighteen years old, he could have stood a chance of becoming Regulus’ guardian. Instead, he let himself believe Regulus wanted to stay in that house, that’s why he didn’t follow him the same night he got the letter. But now, it’s too late. There is no way of reaching somebody who doesn’t want to be reached, no point in saving somebody who is set on drowning.

Another year gone; another part of his life noticeably absent.

[loving-family-poll]

Andy/Leyley propoganda: they're perfect because they're written with so much more complexity than they seem! on the surface they just look like a yandere and her victim, but then you find out Andrew is JUST as obsessed w his little sister as she is with him. he's desperate to be seen as normal, but he can never be bc he's in love with his sister. even when he tries to date, it's bc of the incest rumors, he picks his sister's "friend" and even tries to get her to style herself more like Ashley.

meanwhile--while Ashley definitely loves Andrew obviously--her flirty remarks definitely seem like they're done not just because she wants him, but because she NEEDS him to need her. she's always been his everything EXCEPT romantically/sexually (bc that isn't allowed), and if they cross that line, she'll be everything he needs so he'll never leave her. she's so deep in her own head that she can't see how much he's already obsessed with her in return

they're both SO mentally ill (bc of their toxic mom and seemingly neglectful dad, and also bc of a society that neglected and mistreated them just as badly) and they're BOTH "i can fix them" and "i can make them worse" at the same time

there are whole essays analyzing why the incest ending is shaping up to be easily the most healthy ending for them--the one where they accept themselves and each other for exactly who they are. the one where Andrew follows his sister's lead and goes "screw society, what has it ever done for us?" and then goes and screws his sister like he's wanted for ages

they're somehow the best parts of both childhood best friends -> lovers AND enemies -> lovers, as well as being canonically incestuous siblings. they're toxic as hell but also somehow incredibly sweet. they're that post that says "sometimes you ship something partially bc these people need to be quarantined away from literally everyone else for the good of society" (oh wait, they already literally were)

they're 10/10, no notes

.

[3liza]

long post about puzzling manifestations of White Woman Hair Standards

ok so i realize this is firmly in the realm of White Girl Complaints and i apologize for that. everything i'm describing here is white-on-white friendly fire from the white policing of Black hair and Black people get way more shit about this than i ever will (the history of hair texture's association in white culture with race is extremely complicated and i dont have time rn, but it's really interesting, look up "circassian beauties" sometime). i have the standard 3b-c curl pattern. when my hair is wet it forms ringlets, and then dries into ringlets, the Merida hair if you will, its a pretty common scottish gene. when i brush it out when it's dry, it looks approximately like this pre-raphaelite painting of Elizabeth Siddel. this was a common and even desirable hair texture in the 19th century for white women, and was imitated with curling irons and perms and beer rinses. this state of affairs continued roughly until the 90s, when straight--or if textured, very obviously rollered or curled with tools, never natural--became not only on-trend, but the only permissible hair texture to have in a professional environment. and now, if i go outside on the West Coast of the USA with my hair in the Elizabeth Siddel condition, it is like people have spotted a plague victim. we're talking audible and visible pointing and laughing on many occasions even as an adult, asking me if im wearing a wig, and every single person i talk to will either treat me observably worse than when my hair is straight, and/or have Something to Say About It, ranging from unsolicited advice about "conditioner" to asking me if im "okay". any rude question or comment you can think of that i had to answer with "no, this is just my hair. this is my normal hair when i havent spent three hours on it" has been directed at me when my hair is like the painting, including asking me about my racial background, sometimes just assuming/telling me i'm mixed race (white people LOVE to do this to each other)

i'm not sure what to attribute this to, exactly. it's obviously based in American racism, i'm just not sure how the switch happened from curly/frizzy hair being considered an "exotic" thing that was observed by white culture to be more common outside the white race but still expected to show up on white people now and then, to something that was considered a symptom of freakishness or cause for alarm. it seems to have happened suddenly in the mid 90s, because before then, youd see celebrities with frizzy spiral perms all over the place. i dont think Nicole Kidman has shown her natural hair texture outside her house since the late 80s

she has the same hair texture gene as i do, white australians are mostly scots-irish convict phenotypes like mine. she will appear in public with curls, but not natural ones, always roller sets/curling iron/blowout curls.

Natasha Lyonne is another public example of some texture being allowed through but its because she is always playing characters who are insane, "quirky", lesbian, drug addicts, or just profoundly weird. and even then 1. her natural hair is wavy, not curly and 2. it's still styled to death even if the styling is to make it "look" unstyled. Carol Kane is another one, again, she used to play leading girls in the 70s and 80s and then became a "weird cat lady" character actor in the 90s,partially due to age sure, but even in Kimmy Schmidt when she was supposed to have crazy cat lady hair they were still roller setting or two-strand twist setting it. it was not natural curl pattern, they had to straighten it and then recurl it to make it screen acceptable. even though this is her natural texture (2c-3a and some mixed ringlet/wave pattern, im guessing):

backcombed and scrunched a bit on the left, brushed out dry on the right (possibly with extensions, hard to tell)

and here's how they're presenting "crazy cat lady" in Kimmy Schmidt:

it actually started out longer and frizzier in the early episodes and they made it way more conservative as the show went on

i've been puzzling over this for years. between 1993 and 2010 i just sort of assumed it was lingering Aniston Effect and eventually other white people would stop bothering me about my hair, but the longer it goes on the more puzzling it is.

theres no appreciation for white girls with fucked up puffy frizzy hair anymore. we just sort of lost our way in the 90s and never found our way back out of the jennifer aniston torment nexus

[taffywabbit]

it feels weird to finally get a year where I get to say this but I think maybe 2024 actually WAS my year. hopefully not the last, but it really feels like the first, at least in a long time. I was stagnant and static and drifting without much momentum in any direction for quite a while, and then suddenly this year:

I finally moved into a solo apartment and am no longer living in a house with an ever-shifting pool of like 5 roommates. having my own quiet comfy space to cook and relax and be nocturnal without bothering anyone has been HUGE for my mental health

I worked very hard to recoup the money I lost from that move and got myself in a fairly stable and comfortable position again, work-wise

I finally started HRT in June, after about 5 years of waiting/struggling to find a doctor/fear/general motivation issues. which absolutely kicks ass and is probably the highlight of the whole year if I had to pick just one

I also finally got diagnosed with ADHD and (with a little trial and error) got medicated for it, which is another thing I've been trying to sort out for like 6 years. hey did you know executive dysfunction and problems with memory/task management/motivation make it really hard to go through the process of getting treated for the cause of those symptoms? wild huh

I rekindled a much closer relationship with a couple of my younger siblings, especially the elder of my two sisters, and we have really nice chats fairly regularly now (crazy considering we did nothing but fight constantly for like 20 years lol)

I came out fully to my family, for better or worse, and MOST of them have been surprisingly chill and supportive about it

I worked on a little game project with a friend for a couple months! it didn't end up working out but I learned a lot from the experience

I started doing WAY more personal art and kinda rediscovered my passion for it, and as a result I've progressed a lot stylistically and technically within the past few months

I beat Pseudoregalia 94 times since the first time I tried it in February. not really an achievement on the same level as all this other stuff but I'm still proud of it

like idk! there were a lot of rough patches this year and I was honestly pretty burnt out for the first half of it, but 2024 still feels like the year where I bundled up all my frustration about going nowhere with my life and achieving none of my goals and turned it into fuel to just blaze through a bunch of stuff in the back half. I wish I'd done a lot of it sooner, but life has been reminding me a lot lately that it really IS better late than never, so I'm trying to keep that perspective in mind and not let the idea of a ticking clock intimidate me like it used to. I am trying to be optimistic that 2025 will allow me to continue this momentum. we'll see I guess!

idk if I really have any resolutions per se? I guess I'd really like to make music more often in 2025, even if it's just small things I do in one or two sittings occasionally instead of full songs. I started writing a song this year, with lyrics and everything, and then didn't finish putting it together, so at the very least I'd like to make THAT happen soon. I think finding a way to get myself back into animation casually would be neat too - I have a lot of mental hangups and personal roadblocks holding me back, largely from my awful college experience, but I think if I can just find some tools that are comfortable for me then I'll be able to conquer those and hopefully start enjoying it again on my own terms. there's other stuff I'd like to pick up this year as well but honestly I'm keeping my expectations small for now and we'll just see what happens! let's do it, wahoo

[suitov]

The anti-Komahina copypasta of all time pt 2/2

[We're still going, gays. When we left off, Hajime was contemplating his true waifu.]

16. Forced Hand holding In these few scenes Nagito gets physical with Hajime. He begins to touch Hajime's hand without permission and then gets suprised, when Hajime wants him to let go off his hand. [src]

17. "Love" Confession You all believe Nagito confessed his love to Hajime in this single scene. Now, I did my research and apparently he attempted to confess, but didn't manage to in the japanese version. Probably because he's aware of Hajime's heterosexuality+ [src]

[Video: original here. Clip is of the ending to Nagito's fifth free time event. Nagito: "Please, don't forget... From the bottom of my heart... I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you."]

+or maybe he was too shy. What's even worse is that he ultilizes hope for expressing his forbidden love to a hetero guy. [src]

18.Friendship Complex Friendship Complexes frequently happen between same sex couples(mostly men). When a guy catches romantic feelings for another man can often lead to friendship complexes because the brain can sometimes lose the heterosexual nerve cell or the hetero heart cell [src]

In Nagito's case I'd say friendship Complex is not the case, because it's the decisison he made. He is a homosexual who curses men hearts. (It's my psychological analysis) [src]

19. Nagito's reason to get Chiaki executed Nagito maybe secretly despised Chiaki in the game, because she was always flirty with Hajime and Nagito got jealous, that she achieved to win Hajime's heart+ [src]

+and receives a lot more love from the others than he ever gained love from his parents. Not only did he choose Chiaki to murder him, because she's the traitor but also because of jealousy. That's why I'm saying. This guy wants to be Chiaki that bad bruh! [src]

20.Nagito bullying Hajime So are you Yaoi shippers ignoring the fact, that your favorite character bullied the MC, acting like a jerk towards Hajime after he found out he's a reverse course student and almost got him executed, by trolling around? [src]

+ Now his fanbase is going to defend him making up excuses "Noooo that's his way of showing his lovely dovely affection to his "husband". [src]

21. Questionable freetime events So we have Nagito accuse Hajime of harassing him with a present: Gag ball. It's meant to shut him the hell up for being too annyoing and he totally changes the meaning of it. It's seriously getting on my nerves how he needs to homofy everything. [src]

22. Nagito's Lying disease In chapter 3, Nagito comes down with the lying disease and acted as dramatic as I expected. He then demands Hajime to leave him alone+ [src]

I'm aware he's telling the opposite and wants Hajime to stay, but here is where the freakness starts and Hajime's disinterest and discomfort shows. Our hetero MC makes the right decision and leaves the antagonist sick at the hospital with no single soul soul left except Mikan+ [src]

who shouldn't have to feel forced to take care of scum like him. The lying disease might have been a possibility for Nagito to spend more time with his rival alone. If Hajime hadn't left the hospital, maybe it could have been the end for the poor MC+ [src]

+who would have been entirely under the influence of Nagito's homoerotic feelings. [src]

Nagito immitating Chiaki The antagonist wants to be in Chiaki's shoes sooo bad bruh. A theory of mine is that Chiaki told Nagito when they were "friends" about her crush she has on the reverse course student before. Since Hajime and him have met already (Hajime as Izuru)+ [src]

+you know, I assume that evil bastard thought of a plan to brainwash the hetero Main character with homosexual desires. [src]

24. Pregnancy Another theory of mine is, that Nagito wishes for Hajime to breed him, so they can make a baby together, but Nagito, who is male isn't able to. It's not possible for the male gender to produce babies, because they don't have an uterus. (Common knowledge) [src]

25. Official Art interpretation [src]

26. Forcing Homosexuality Both Mika and Nagito have something in common. They both force their homosexuality on the main characters, who are like 100% hetero and have their crushes on beautiful females. Both of them like to seduce/manipulate their love interests with femininity. [src]

28.Awareness/Shot through the heart. In Island Mode during Shot through the heart, we learn that Nagito gets all scared and pale of Hajime hating him, because he's aware Hajime despises him and there is no way it will ever change. [src]

[Video: original here. Clip is of Nagito's Shot through the Heart event. Hajime: (That voice just now. Is that... Is that Nagito's inner thoughts?) Nagito: "So I'm all alone with Hajime, huh… What should I talk about today…? All I want to do is… Entertain Hajime… But I guess being verbally abused by him wouldn't be so bad. Ah, but…if I say anything weirder than this… He'd probably hate me… I don't really want that… Ahh, why is this so difficult…!?" At this point, the dialogue loops and the player fast-forwards through it, stopping to shoot "Negate" at the words "hate me", causing Hajime to say his "No, that's wrong" voice clip.]

+Does this guy fr believe Hajime is going to end up liking him the way he will always love his girlfriend Chiaki. Now be for real! [src]

The End of my thread. I'd like to thank everyone who took their time to read this very long thread of mine. I hope everyone understands now how toxic the realtionship is between them and refuse to ship them NOW. If you have any questions regarding my thread. [src]

If you have any questions regarding my thread. Ask me under the comment-section. To clarify, I've worked HOURS on this thread and I better not see anyone comment. "You played the game with your eyes shut blah blah blah" [src]

One day I would love to have a conversation with the 2 creators of Danganronpa @kazkodaka and @SpikeChunsoft_e to discuss my theories and analysis with the both of them, wondering if all of them turned out to be true. Furthermore, I'd be happy for some positive feedback. [src]

So I still find a few people judge me for my thread, claiming I'm delulu. Just letting you all know, I was given a literature stipendium last year and the teacher praised me for always being detailed and factual enough, when writing essays . [src]

[This is the end of mrpoopoofart's thread. For context and completeness, I'll include a grab of his Twitter profile.]

(not satire)

I can also recommend visiting the original links to enjoy the comments and the author's replies.

[swankytigre]

2024 was something else-I experienced some amazing highs and felt pain like I could never have anticipated…literally some of the worse I’ve ever felt. The stress of this year,both positive and negative,really took a toll on me. And while I still need to continue through the messiness that exists, there was one thing that emerged in 2024 that I shoved away nearly 13 years ago-a whole side of me.

He showed up every now and again throughout the years-mostly in job interviews, meetings with senior management, and every finance class I’ve ever taken-but when I got pregnant back in 2012 he (begrudgingly) went away. There are many things I wouldn’t have been able to do without him, but having a child and getting married was not one of them. I needed to be HER completely for this, and I gotta give credit to her because she is fierce as fuck. Because of this though, I never really reflected on anything. There were many signs of him through out the years and my dear wife obviously picked up on it because I quote “if my wife ever comes out and tells me she’s my husband this would be my reaction:”

I genuinely don’t really think about things too much-I’ve always been myself. But being smacked in the face at a red light on the way to work that the reason I went through many lengths so I don’t get a period or that I was SO miserable during pregnancy/after was because I was feeling dysphoric and it simply didn’t feel right was kind of a new thing. And I don’t think any of these realizations would have happened without other things happening in 2024.

So instead of Jamie just being a “concept” in my head that I created at 13, I realized that Jamie was me. And that kinda freaks me out a little. I don’t have a headmate or anything, I’m just me. I’m really not doing anything I’d didn’t do when I was way younger -super feminine and put together one day, extremely masculine the next, and 100% baller either way. I’m just am going to my adult job instead of school and instead of feeling guilty about it I feel rad as fuck.Have I thought about hormones since this realization-sure. But I don’t know if that’s quite where I need to go yet.

In the same way I needed her to get through certain things, I needed him to get me through 2024. And I’m really glad that he still exists. And I’m glad that he’s accepted by the majority of the world (however If you think I’ll ever tell my mom you’re absolutely nuts).

One of the biggest highlights of my year was being at the fair and @coelii was buying a braclet and I fully expected for her to get the lesbian one but she ended up getting the pansexual one. NOTHING has ever made me feel more seen than that and I feel all mushy whenever I think of it.

In fact, she makes me feel all mushy a lot. And despite everything, she is my world. And sometimes I’m not good at expressing that. But I want her to know I love her no matter what and I’m looking forward to another year with the most gorgeous woman on the planet. (This will be the 14th new year we’ve started together and that is fucking insane!)

So yeah-fuck off 2024 and happy 2025. Please have no earth shattering surprises.

[lexosaurus]

Everything Was White: Part 25

[see all chapters]

read on: [ao3] [ffn] (please read tags)

Summary: After being accidentally revealed to the public and taken away by the government, Danny deals with the aftermath of his time with the GIW.

****

"You can't stay inside forever, Danny," his mother told him that morning as he tried to eat his sad, soggy cereal.

"I know, Mom," he snapped. Because he did know, Captain Obvious. But it still didn't make today any less nerve-racking.

"You'll be fine. Your friends will be there with you, and Sam has her car, right? So the only walking you'll be doing is from her car to inside the restaurant."

Danny scowled at his spoon. "It's not the walking I have a problem with, and it’s not like I’m using my crutches anyway."

There was no saying how long they would be out, and using his crutches for longer than a few minutes was still exhausting. So no, that wasn’t the reason he was so on edge about this.

The truth was, this was officially the first time Daniel Fenton Phantom was going to be out and about in public. 

"People will leave you alone. And worst case, just leave!" Maddie offered a smile as she plucked his now-empty bowl from the table. "This is a big step, but your therapists have been telling you for some time now that you need to do this. It'll be fine, you'll see."

It was just lunch at the Nasty Burger. He'd done it hundreds of times before. And this time, because his parents were just so proud of him for taking this big step, sweetie, Jack had even left him a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the table that morning.

Apparently, Jack had chalked his last wad of missing cash up to ghosts. Assuming that Danny would ever do something like stealing was simply unthinkable. 

Danny went about his morning, showering, putting fresh clothes on, and combing his hair no fewer than three times because what if he couldn't convince the public that he was normal? What if they all saw him as a grotesque, dead monster in a human skin suit? Or worse, a traumatized, skinny, weak kid that the Guys in White had trained into their pet plaything?

No, he wasn't a dog, and he could cover up all his fears under shampoo, washed clothes, and a friendly smile that he tried to practice in the mirror but felt silly enough to stop.

And then the doorbell rang.

His core sizzled, and he was almost too slow to stamp it out, to remind himself that it was just Sam and Tucker, that there were no government agents at the door, Danny.

His therapist had said this adrenaline response was natural. Still, it infuriated him the way his heart pounded and fingers tingled pins and needles whenever someone approached the other side of a closed door.

"Danny!" Sam bounded through the entrance.

He barely remembered to put on that smile he'd practiced in front of the mirror that morning. "Hey, Sam! Tucker!"

"Dude!" Tucker pranced inside like he owned the place. "This has been such a long time coming!"

"Yeah, it was kind of—kind of hard for me to get out before."

"No worries, man!" Tucker offered him a high five, and though Danny rolled his eyes, he met his friend halfway.

"Eating alone with Tucker has been torture," Sam lamented, her dark purple lips setting in a pout. "There's only so many times I can take him drooling over his beef environmental disasters by myself before I lose my sanity."

"Well, don't worry, Sammykins, because now you'll have to witness the power of two of us drooling over our beef environmental disasters!"

Sam slugged Tucker in the arm, and although Danny could see there was little power behind it, Tucker still made a big show about gripping his shoulder and wailing, "You wound me, woman!”

"Shut up!" Sam cackled.

Danny watched the dramatic performance as if he were standing on the other side of a glass wall. Every time the three of them hung out, he noticed these little moments more and more. Moments where Sam and Tucker seemed like they were from another planet.

Or maybe Danny was the one from another planet. The hopeless alien trying to blend in with the humans.

"Alright, let's go?" Danny asked, not wanting to delve further into his depressed psychology.

Tucker snapped out of his performance. "Let's go!"

"My car's in your driveway. You good to get in on your own? I mean—uh—" Sam stammered, glancing at Danny's wheelchair.

Right. He hadn't driven with his friends before.

"I'm good. You just—um, throw it in the—you know what? I'll show you." Danny transferred from the couch and headed for the door.

It was warm for a typical January day in Amity Park. There was no paparazzi outside their house either—thank god. Danny was last year's sensational hit, and his overnight fame seemed to be beginning to die down.

Not that he was becoming obscure by any means. He was still on the front page of Reddit nearly every day, and his tag on TikTok had thousands of videos and millions of interactions. But the constant bombardment of people stalking him outside his house was finally dispelling.

Of course, this only added fuel to the fire that was his parents’ recent insistence on him going outside. The paparazzi would find him eventually as they always did, and there was nothing he could do about people recording videos of him to post on social media, but Danny would at least get a semblance of normalcy.

He followed them out of the house and into the driveway where Sam’s car—a hybrid, she’d been very proud to show off—was waiting for them. He climbed into the car. The passenger seat, because although Danny was fully expecting Tucker to call shotgun, he hadn't.

"So I just put it in the back?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. The brakes are on, so just put it in as is. It won't move or anything."

"Alright." Sam picked up his wheelchair as if she were picking up a baby for the first time. Nervous, hesitant, as if afraid it would break under the lightest touch.

He remembered when he was like that too. Scared he would break it by shifting his weight even slightly incorrectly. But those days had long since passed. 

Sam slipped into the driver's seat just in time for Tucker to lean over the center console. "Alright, Team Phantom! Nasty Burger time!"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Sam groaned, but Danny could see her smiling.

With little more fanfare than a nervous glance Danny's way, she turned the car on and backed out of his driveway.

"Should we get milkshakes, too?" Tucker asked. "I mean, what am I even saying? Of course we're going to get milkshakes! Duh! It's Danny's first time out since...since..."

"July," Danny finished all too quickly.

An awkward silence settled over the car. Tucker tried to save it. "Wow, that long? That's..."

He wasn't successful.

"It's okay! Uh, we're really happy that—that you…" Sam's voice also stammered.

God, the awkwardness between him and his friends was painful. Okay, it was Danny's turn to step in. Maybe a joke to ease the tension?

"Yeah. Well, you know, I was—I was too busy being kidnapped."

The dead silence grew, and Danny's heartbeat stuttered. He mentally kicked himself for bringing that up when he absolutely was not ready to talk about it with his friends.

If only they could see that he was Phantom again. That he had his core back and he was fine, he was okay. He wasn't some weak kid anymore, this helpless, fragile child. 

"Yeah..." Tucker said, looking at Danny like he had spinach in his teeth and he was too nervous to tell him.

"Listen, I'm good, guys, seriously. I'm just looking forward to—to eating my body weight in Nasty Burger fries," he lied. 

He’d wanted to take extra measures that morning to ensure the looming red bag wouldn’t be a problem, but he needed to be careful. Sam and Tucker knew him better than anyone else. He couldn’t take too much medication or they’d know something was up. But if Danny had a freak-out in the middle of the Nasty Burger, what would they do? How would they react? Would they agree with his parents and say that Phantom should never come out again?

Well, they already thought that, actually. That's why they didn't help him get Frostbite to take his chip out. That's why Danny had to turn to Vlad of all people.

Danny tried to shove that particular strain of bitterness away and tune back into their conversation. Sam and Tucker were chatting about…something that happened in their science class. Danny didn't know what because he wasn't in their science class. He was in the Learning Center because he couldn't handle being in a normal classroom. At least, not yet. 

“Yeah, but you’ll be back soon,” Sam said.

Oops, had he said something out loud?

"We wouldn't be in the same class anyway. You're in—in honors," Danny said. He turned to her, incredulous. "Do I look like an honors kid to you?"

"Well, you never know!" Sam said. “I’m not in honors everything, you know.”

"Yeah, we could be in the same English class!" Tucker said. “I’d rather die than join Sam in honors English hell, after all.”

“Maybe. But knowing me, they’ll invent a new—a new class below all the other ones.”

"Nah, no way you're leaving me alone with Valerie. You know she's been trying to talk to me, right? She knows we know she's the Red Huntress. She keeps asking about you."

He did not, in fact, know that Tucker and Valerie had spoken.

"What'd she say?" Danny asked, trying to seem casual as their car passed by a group of joggers who didn't so much as bat an eye at their normal car passing by. He was too used to people staring at the GAV.

"Uh…you know…" Tucker began, waving his hand around. "She said she was sorry for being rude or whatever—you know, back before she noticed my stunning good looks and charm!"

Sam snorted. "You're so full of it."

Danny found it difficult to find the humor. "Seriously, what?"

"Just the normal stuff you'd expect. You know, the same sorts of questions everyone else has. Was wanting to know how long we'd known you were Phantom, and how we'd helped out with the ghost fights and stuff. Nothing really special."

Danny had forgotten that Sam and Tucker had become somewhat public figures when he had been both thrust into the spotlight and taken from them. It was short-sighted of him to believe that they would have been left alone in Casper High

Sam pulled into the Nasty Burger parking lot. "She's been trying to talk to me, too. Same as Tucker. Have you talked to her at all?"

“No,” Danny lied, glancing at the red-and-white building. "You know if she still works here?"

"Nah," Tucker said. "She quit last fall. I think Vlad gave her a raise."

That was good. It meant there was little chance Danny would run into her again.

The car came to a stop. The drive had seemed much too short. Though, Danny suspected that even if the drive had lasted three hours, he would still think it was too short. Inside the car, he was safe, he was anonymous. But outside?

Outside, he was none of those things.

Danny took a breath in. Held. Then, on the exhale, said, "Okay." He looked at the gray ceiling of the car if only to avoid his friends' eyes. He didn't want to know if they were looking at him with pity or concern.

He opened his eyes and went to open the door when he noticed the large black SUV parked directly next to them. "Wait, Sam, uh—sorry. Sorry, I can't...you need to..." His cheeks heated up, and he felt the weight of the disabled parking placard in his hoodie pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it over in his fingers.

Sam's eyebrows knit in confusion, but then her eyes met the distinct blue and white stick figure, and her eyes lit up. "Oh shit! Sorry—totally forgot. Force of habit."

She turned the car back on, and Danny's cheeks only heated more. "Not—not a big deal. It's…it's not the distance. It's the space."

"No, no, I get it," Sam said.

Tucker leaned over the center console, not bothering to buckle his seatbelt again for the ten-second drive. "Listen, Danny, all I'm saying is that I can totally piggyback you over to the curb."

"I'd rather take my chances crawling, thanks."

"You're no fun!"

"Tucker, you can barely lift a wet paper bag," Sam quipped.

"You too? Come on, I've put on muscle this year!" He flexed his arm, though nothing bulged out from the sleeve of his baggy hoodie.

Sam snorted. "Doing what? Lifting your pencil from your desk every day?"

"No! I've totally been going to the gym, Sam!"

If he had, that was news to Danny.

But apparently, Sam knew exactly what he was talking about. She parked the car again and turned it off, saying, "Your New Year's resolution doesn't count! You've gone what, like three times so far? That's not exactly going to get you gains."

Tucker mimicked her lead, throwing open the car door and sliding out of his seat. "I told you, I'm easing into it! They say people fail because they go too hard too fast. Hell, you were the one that told me that!"

"Yeah, but I also told you it was important to establish a routine. Have you done any of that?"

"I'm working up to it, woman!"

Danny was about to yell out to his friends, "Hey! I'm still in here! Don't forget about me!" but thankfully, just as the awkwardness was beginning to get to him, Sam opened the trunk of the car and gently pulled his wheelchair out.

"Do I undo the breaks or…?" she called over.

"No, just leave them. I have to, um, transfer."

"Right! Duh!" Sam set the wheelchair next to his door.

Danny tried to make this transfer seem as fluid as possible. He tried to descend out of the car with the practice of someone who had had a spinal cord injury for a decade and was confident in their own body, thank you very much, but he couldn't help but notice the way Tucker awkwardly shuffled nearby, or the child with its eyes glued on Danny as his mother yanked him through the Nasty Burger doors, admonishing him because it's rude to stare.

He was fine. He was fine. It was only the Nasty Burger. He had come here a million times before.

He undid the brakes and gripped the rims of his wheels, his palms clammy against the sleek metal. He felt so small between Sam and Tucker. He was usually half the height of everyone else, but the gap felt so much greater out in public. He wondered how long it would take before someone posted a video of him on social media. This would almost certainly make the fame worse again.

Maybe people would see that he was just trying to return to his old life and would leave him alone. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he stamped it out. No way would that ever happen.

"Okay, let’s go! I'm fucking starving!" Tucker said, ushering the pace along. He ran ahead and held open the door nice and wide. "Come on, you guys are so slow! Make way, make way, the world's slowest people might come through!"

In times like these, Danny was almost grateful for Tucker's dorky obnoxiousness, if only to help quell some of his seemingly never-ending anxiety.

He opened his mouth to say something about Tucker being a little shit and maybe a threat about sleeping with one eye open that night when his voice died in his throat.

Friend groups and families of all ages packed the Nasty Burger as the weekend lunch rush commenced. And Danny could see them, the people whose eyes lazily glanced over to the loud teen at the door, spotted Danny, and froze. Then they nudged their friends, who also turned to stare at Danny.

The whispers started, and the cell phones rose.

"That's really him?"

"No way!"

"Do you think that means Phantom's back?"

Phantom was back, but Danny couldn't say that much. He could only sit here and grind his teeth into silence.

Meanwhile, Sam and Tucker seemed to be faring far better with the whispers and blatant videoing of their trio. Maybe they were used to it. Or maybe they were trying to pretend everything was normal for Danny because he was fragile now, he couldn't handle the pressure last time that's what landed him in inpatient.

"I keep telling you to come to the gym with me," Sam chatted animatedly. "I'll show you how to build a solid routine!"

"Oh yeah, because sticking to a rigid routine is exactly what I'd call having fun at the gym," Tucker snarked. "Seriously, do I look like the kind of person who'd be into that?"

"You're impossible sometimes, you know that?"

Tucker only offered his signature shit-eating grin in return. "And you still love me anyway!"

Once again, Danny was not a participant in their banter.

"Okay, I seriously wasn't joking before that I'm starving! I didn't eat breakfast."

"That's what you get for waking up late."

"Yeah, yeah. What are you, my mom?"

Danny forced himself to join the conversation as they got in line. Primarily, to distract himself from the blatant onlookers. And, perhaps also, to show that he was a normal kid with normal friends. "What are you gonna get?"

"Triple Nasty combo," Tucker answered automatically. "And probably a milkshake on the side. Duh!"

"That's so much food. The poor animals," Sam said.

"Yeah, and I'll eat it all too. You watch!"

"I'd rather not."

"Well, I already know you're getting a tofu melt because you hate fun. So what about you, Danny?" Tucker asked.

Danny shrugged. He wasn't sure he could eat with his stomach practicing gymnastics inside his torso. The smell wasn't horrible in the Nasty Burger, but it still had that slight processed scent that made Danny's eyes think that every red booth they spotted in passing was a vestige of the red bag.

Shit, now his brain was thinking about it. He wanted to stop thinking about it. Just stop, Danny, it's not that hard.

People got behind him in line. He could hear their whispers.

"…so small in person…"

"…feds messed him up…"

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Normal kid. He was a normal kid.

"Danny?" Sam's tone was too gentle.

He looked up to see that they were now standing in front of the register, and a nervous-looking teenager was staring openly at him. People around gave him a wide berth, most openly gawking at this point. The rims of his wheelchair felt cold, and then he realized shit, that was just the ecto-frost on his palms threatening to freeze him to the floor.

"Um…" Danny pretended to look at the menu, but his eyes couldn't really focus on anything. "I guess a…uh…just—just a regular Nasty Burger. And, um, fries."

That was a normal teenager thing to order, right?

"What, no milkshake?" Tucker asked.

"Not—not that hungry," Danny admitted. He tried to remember if he would have ordered a milkshake in the past. He probably did, right? His shrunken stomach was supposed to be back to normal now, according to his doctors, but he still didn't feel like it was.

"Aw, for real?" Tucker said, but he snapped himself out of it quickly, clasping a hand on Danny's shoulder and flashing a grin. "Don't worry, because I'm such an amazing friend, I'll let you share mine!"

"Oh, yeah, thanks."

The cashier rang him up—only slightly stuttering when she pressed a wrong button and apologized five times for making him wait an extra few seconds—and then the trio headed for a table.

"Needs to be off to the side," Danny said, realizing there was no way he could fit through the narrow aisles in the middle of the packed joint. "Not near the front windows, though."

Like hell was his face going to be the first that everyone saw when they entered the restaurant.

Sam was way ahead of him, though, already beelining for a table along the side. Danny followed with Tucker in tow yapping about some glitch he'd discovered in whatever video game he was playing. Danny appreciated the effort, truly. Video games used to be the primary thing that they bonded over. But now, Danny didn't even recognize the title, and he realized that he wasn't too interested in trying it for himself.

As they passed by the crowd, people practically leaped out of the way. When a middle schooler with her back turned was partially blocking Danny's path, her friends yanked her aside so hard that Danny thought the poor kid was going to fly headfirst into a table. But then she turned, saw him, and her eyes grew comically wide as she yelled, "Oh shit!"

Her friends, of course, giggled uncontrollably at that, chiding their friend for being "so oblivious, oh my god!"

Yeah, this was fine. He was just a normal teen at a Nasty Burger. There was nothing to yell about.

In another universe, they would have sat at a booth along the outer perimeter of the fast food joint. After all, booths were always superior. But not now, not when sitting in a booth meant abandoning his wheelchair to the aisle where the general public could trip and spill their drinks on it.

Danny didn't have to ask Sam to move one of the chairs off to another table. He scooted himself in as if this were rehearsed and they'd done this before, as if this were a normal Saturday routine for them and Danny wasn't so anxious he thought he might actually sink through the floor.

"This is why you never get any better at games, though," Sam snapped at Tucker.

It took Danny a few seconds to realize that they were still in the middle of a conversation.

"But it's fun! Come on, Danny, back me up!"

Danny blinked owlishly at him. "What is?"

There was the barest hint of a flicker in Tucker's face. A brief moment where his eyebrows began pulling together, where his lips dropped, where his eyes flashed, before he pulled his cheeky smile back on and answered in the same bright, whiny tone, "Exploiting the system, of course!"

If Danny hadn't known any better, he would have excused that as a trick of the light.

"But if you spend the entire time cheating, then you'll never actually develop any skill! See, this is why I always crush you one-on-one," Sam argued.

"Yeah but it's fun," Tucker reiterated.

Danny attempted to put on his best bro-code as he backed Tucker up with what was probably an extremely convincing, "Right."

Sam pressed her lips together, and Danny's fingers twitched for his pocket where a little plastic baggy awaited him.

He was not doing well at this whole pretending-to-be-normal thing. Maybe at home it was less obvious, but here, surrounded by dozens of other normal people, his little quirks were too glaring. Too freakish.

If he could take up the offerings of the small plastic bag in his pocket, he could pass as normal. But then Sam and Tucker would know something was up, and oh god, everyone was watching him, right? There were whispers everywhere. Why was being normal so easy for Sam and Tucker? Why couldn’t he be like them?

Maybe the pills were like his wheelchair or crutches. He couldn't be normal without them. He was a freak, a zoo animal in an exhibit, and everyone knew it. Maybe he belonged in a little cage where everyone could watch him, point and whisper, one with white walls and white floors and—

A kid stumbled forward, knocking into his wheelchair. Danny turned, and the child hid his face behind his stubby fingers and backed away. He bumped into his parents, who gently said, "Go on," and pushed him forward again.

The child, who couldn't have been older than six, approached him again, now peeking rather obviously out of his fingers. A tuft of dirty blond hair sat on a head almost too large for his body. But Danny immediately zeroed in on the child’s black shirt with a familiar white logo on his chest.

Why was this kid wearing his shirt when Phantom hadn't made an appearance in months?

"Hi." The kid stood beside Danny and dropped his fingers from his face. He rocked back and forth on his heels, barely able to hide his nervous excitement as he asked, "Can I take a picture with you?"

Danny's mouth dried instantly. He glanced at Sam’s and Tucker's reassuring expressions before turning back to this bouncing child.

Phantom had taken lots of pictures with kids before. But Fenton? Well, before the reveal, Fenton was a nobody. And after the reveal, he'd turned government-plaything-to-crazy-kid. The fact that not only did this random child want a picture with him but his parents were standing a few steps away encouraging it?

Was he dreaming?

Thankfully, his voice returned to Danny quickly enough for him to say, "Uh—yeah. Yeah! Of course!"

The child squealed and closed the gap between himself and Danny, who leaned to the side with his arm out. The kid went right for it, clasping his hands in delight when Danny's hand wrapped around his shoulder.

The kid's parents were quick with their phones, snapping their photos before Danny's brain could finish processing the bizarre nature of whatever the fuck was happening.

When the parents gave their thumbs-up, the kid whipped back around to face Danny, his nerves now fully given way to excitement. "Thank you, Phantom! You're my favorite superhero. Look, I have your shirt!"

For the first time in his life, Danny felt completely out of his depth. Thankfully, Tucker was to the rescue, leaning over with a "Wow! Look, Danny, it matches your suit perfectly!"

The kid clapped. "It does! I got it because then we match!"

"Thank you." Danny hoped he didn't sound too dumbfounded. "Um, what's your name?"

"Theo! Santa got me this for Christmas. I wear it all the time and my friends wanted the shirt from Santa! Bryce has a shirt already, and sometimes we match too!"

"Well, thank you, Theo!" Danny said, having no idea how to respond.

"Come now, let's let Mr. Phantom get back to his friends," his father said.

"Okay!" Theo said, then hesitated, glancing between the wheelchair and Danny before something in his little brain computed and he reached over and tried his best to hug Danny.

And if Danny's brainpower was flickering before, now it officially short-circuited. Because this kid, this kid, was really...hugging him? He took a picture with Danny and now he was trying to hug him?

And his parents weren't screaming and cursing at him for being a danger to their son?

No. Wait, his parents were taking a picture of this? They were smiling?

Danny felt a kick to the side of his wheelchair, and he snapped back to Earth to realize that oh, duh, he was supposed to hug Theo back.

Even though he was afraid that touching the kid might set someone off enough to call the police on him, nothing of the sort happened. He gently wrapped his hands around Theo's back, and then the kid broke free, beaming up at him with a smile so wide, Danny was afraid it might fly off his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Phantom! I hope you feel better soon!" Theo said, skipping back to his parents.

His father high-fived him, praising him for being such a good boy and asking Mr. Phantom first before leading them back to their table across the restaurant. The mother hovered for a moment, hesitating, before walking over to Danny and saying, "Thank you for taking a photo with him. You're Theo's idol. He was so worried about you when everything happened, so seeing you here today meant a lot to him."

"It's no problem," Danny said, and he meant it. He was still reeling that this happened at all.

Not that it was bad. It wasn't. It was actually…kind of nice. Warm in a way he couldn’t explain.

He pushed through his jittering nerves because, for some reason, he really felt like he needed to say one more thing. "Tell—tell your son that—that Phantom is working hard to be back soon."

The woman's eyes almost looked watery as she said, "I will. Thank you."

And then she left to join her family.

The whispers followed, but Danny suddenly didn't care. He felt light. Like he was almost flying. His core hummed happily, sending waves of exhilaration dancing along his limbs.

"Wow, that's so cool, Danny!" Sam said.

"Yeah, I guess it is,” Danny replied, blinking more stars from his eyes. "I didn't think anyone—anyone would…"

"It's like I said, dude!" Tucker grinned. "You're kind of a big deal. Both you, and Phantom."

"Well, yeah, I noticed." Danny's eyes flickered to that group of middle school girls who were very obviously sending Snapchat videos of him to all of their friends. "I just—I didn't think it would be—be like…that. I don't know."

Sam's lips pulled into a frown. "Danny, you realize that most people are on your side, right? That it's just the angry people who are the loudest?"

"On my—on my side and letting their kid take photos with me are two different things, Sam."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look. A long look. One that soured Danny's mood instantly because shit, his friends thought he was unstable, didn't they? Were they going to tattle on him to his parents? Or Jazz? Tell them that Danny thought of himself as little more than a freakshow exhibit at the circus and that they should get him more therapy?

"It's—forget it," Danny said. He opened his mouth to elaborate, to make an excuse that the kid just caught him off guard and that he was aware that most people were on his side, thanks, and maybe spill that he'd seen their post pinned to his subreddit, when the girl at the counter called their order number.

He waited at the table while Sam and Tucker got their food. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He was alone, vulnerable. Everyone was looking at him. Whispering. Wondering.

He heard a snicker behind him. Were people laughing at him?

No, it was just a group of friends, they were talking, they probably were laughing at something else entirely. Not everything revolves around you, Danny. Stop being so egotistical.

Thankfully, Sam and Tucker didn't abandon him for too long. They returned, trays of food in hand.

Sam placed his plate in front of him, and he held his breath. He could feel his fingers start to shake, and he hid them within the sleeves of his hoodie. He couldn't crack, not now, not while he was in public.

Don't think about it. It doesn't smell the same. This is totally different.

Eventually, he had to let out a breath, but not until the world had drowned out of his ears and his head was spinning. Was it from the lack of oxygen or the anxiety biting holes in his skin? 

"You're not going to eat?" 

He jolted up to see Tucker already halfway through his burger. Sam, too, was looking at him with a lost expression.

Panic swirled in him. Had his friends been talking casually to each other the entire time? Had they noticed his silence?

Did they care?

Was he even really their friend anymore? Or was he just the third they let tag along because they felt bad leaving him behind?

"Oh, what?" Danny tried to let out the breath he'd been holding as quietly as he could. His lungs burned. "Sorry. Yeah, just spaced out."

They stared at him a moment longer, and Danny could feel his face heating up. He could smell the processed food in front of him.

It's not the same thing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam asked gently. “We can take this to go if you need.”

God, he hated how she looked at him like he could break at any moment.

"I'm fine," he snapped. He wasn't going to let her see him weak.

His pulse quickened. He needed another pill.

This was the issue with the hydrocodone. It wasn’t as potent as the oxycodone. It didn't last as long either. The mental relief wore off too soon.

He should have taken the extra one in his pocket.

Tucker and Sam were having a silent conversation. But this one was so loud, Danny could almost hear it.

"Should we bring him home?"

"I don't know."

"What if he has a meltdown?"

"He can't have one right now. We're in public."

He wanted them to shut up, to leave him alone, to stop looking at him like he was something to pity, like some starving dog begging on the street corner. And so, he raised his burger to his mouth and took a bite.

It was fine. He was in the Nasty Burger. He was fine.

The burger was juicy, and regardless of the smell, it really did taste like a burger. Nothing at all like what he’d eaten before. Which seemed to work for whatever set of stringent rules his brain had decided on, and he could feel the panic begin to trickle out of his skin.

"It's good," Danny commented when his gaze flickered up to see the strained looks on his friends’ faces. "Really good."

Sam's face melted in relief. "I'm glad!"

"That's why we brought you out here!” said Tucker. “Figured a taste of the best fast food ever would bring you right back to the good old days!"

Danny wished that was all it took.

"Yeah. I guess the reminder is nice."

Their eyes weighed a thousand pounds on his skull as he bent down and took another bite.

It did taste pretty okay. Nothing at all like the red bag, though it smelled a little like the red bag and ugh no don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

Their chatter started up again, and this time, Danny tried his best to follow along.

Or, maybe not. Because while they were talking about school, a topic Danny should have at least been familiar with, he was already lost.

“Dash and Paulina haven’t broken up yet, idiot,” Sam said.

“‘Yet’ being the key word there,” Tucker said. “That means you think they’re a bad matchup too!”

“Yeah, they have basically nothing in common other than popularity.” Sam swiped a fry off Tucker’s plate with a level of ease that made Danny’s gut squirm, though he didn’t understand why. “That doesn’t mean you’re suddenly going to become her knight in shining armor. You have even less in common with Paulina than Dash does!”

“Wait, Dash and Paulina are dating?” Danny asked.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Barely. Tucker’s convinced he has a chance to ask her to prom. No one thinks they’re going to last.”

��Prom?” Danny’s voice squeaked.

“Yeah, we’re juniors!” Tucker nudged him playfully. “We get to go to prom in the spring! It’s still a few months away before promposals start, but a man’s gotta plan early, right?”

Danny took a slow bite of his burger and chewed, not making eye contact with either of his friends. He’d forgotten that he was an upperclassman, technically. Though, given his current academic situation, he barely felt like a student at all.

But it didn’t really matter, because there was no way a damaged, fucked-up hybrid like him was ever going to get a date to prom.

“Hey,” a voice behind him said.

He turned just in time for a camera to flash.

The paparazzi instinct was burned deep into his reflexes at this point, and he ducked his face behind his hands.

“Can you still turn into Phantom?” the pap asked.

Sam shot her a glare. “Um, do you mind? We’re eating.”

The girl ignored Sam. “Can you speak to the rumors about why you haven’t transformed since your arrest? Is it true that the government took away your ghost form?”

“He’s literally still injured. He can turn into Phantom just fine. Let him heal first,” Sam said.

Danny felt his core pulse and winced, pushing it back down. His ghostly half didn't take kindly to the implication that it was weak and needed to stay hidden. It didn't like to lose.

It wanted to appear, to show the world that he was here again, he was back. 

But no. No.

"Does this mean that you're done acting as the town's protector?"

Danny ducked his head to hide the green glow of his eyes under his bangs, and he heard Tucker suck in a breath beside him.

Click!

The camera flashed.

Conversations at other tables hushed around him. Other people were picking up on what was happening.

Calm down. 

The door opened, and another set of footsteps began stalking over to his booth. 

Click!

"Phantom! Hey, Phantom, look over here!" 

Another paparazzo.

"Hey, hey!" a gruff voice behind the register called out. "What the hell are you guys doing on my property?"

"Phantom!" the paparazzo said, closer this time, ignoring the Nasty Burger manager.

"Okay, it's time for us to go," Tucker said quietly, stuffing both his and Danny's food back into its paper bag and tugging Danny's hoodie sleeve. "Come on, we're leaving."

If he got up, then that would be another shining example of him running away from his problems. It would be proof that he was weak, that he couldn’t handle a few simple questions. It would show the public that he couldn’t do normal human things like go to the Nasty Burger with his friends. 

But he didn’t have enough of the medication in him. His fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. He couldn’t make a stand without the fog.

"Let's go." Tucker's uncharacteristically serious tone offered no argument, and his eyes were hardened like a soldier going into battle. 

In all their years of friendship, Danny had never seen this side of Tucker before. Sam had always been the leader of their group, but in this moment, it wasn't Sam taking charge. It was Tucker not just asking but commanding Danny to follow his orders.

So Danny did. He pushed himself away from the table and followed Tucker to the door, passing by nameless faces and eyes all tracking his every muscle twitch. 

He felt like an alien. 

He should have just taken the extra hydrocodone that he couldn’t afford, suspicions from Sam and Tucker be damned. 

It was sickening how instantly he’d caved to the pressure from the paparazzi. He just wanted to look them in the eye and tell them to fuck off. 

But he couldn’t do that. Not without help.

"Phantom! Look over here!"

"Phantom!"

Had they multiplied?

"Get the fuck out of my store before I call the fucking cops, you vultures!" 

Those girls were whispering again. As were the other group of teens next to them. And the group of families behind them. And every group around the store. They were all staring at him, whispering, talking about him because they couldn't believe that Phantom was actually here in the flesh after months of only seeing his name in the news.

He felt hands on the back of his wheelchair, and then he had the stunning realization that Tucker was pushing him out of the restaurant. Had he stopped moving? He hadn't even noticed.

Déjà vu rushed over him, and for a moment, he felt like this was last fall all over again. With him spacey and confused, and Sam and Tucker doing their best to maintain a normal friendship out of some deluded sense of obligation, even though they were acting more like Danny was a toddler they were responsible for looking after rather than their friend. And worse, he couldn't even blame them.

Danny had rarely heard Tucker sound so serious. So confident. Gone was his squeaky, puberty-ridden voice, and now here was the blooming baritone of a nearly seventeen-year-old who had matured far more in the last six months than Danny had even realized.

Both of them had matured, he amended as he looked over to Sam's straight back and squared shoulders. Her toned arms swung and her chin stuck out with a set jaw and purple lips pressed in a line.

They had both grown so much. And he hadn't.

A toddler. He was just a toddler to them.

"I got it," he muttered, trying not to sound too bitter as he regained control of his wheelchair. 

The paparazzi followed them out of the restaurant, of course, yelling questions that sounded more like the buzzing of a mosquito than actual words.

Sam's car was right in front of the building where they'd left it, which meant that it was in the prime location for the paparazzi to get a nice show of Danny transferring to the car.

"Sorry that your faces are gonna end up on TMZ tomorrow," Danny said, trying to keep the tone light. 

Tucker waved him off with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't sweat it, dude."

"Wouldn't be the first time, anyway," Sam added.

Yeah, he supposed it wouldn't.

He tried to look more energetic than he felt as he got into the car, turning his head away as Sam and Tucker stowed the wheelchair in the trunk, even as he heard the flurry of camera clicks capturing every moment of it.

He also didn't miss Sam's overly aggressive door slam, or the tensely lighthearted tone Tucker's voice held as he called out to the paps, "Enjoy the rent money!"

Sam snorted, then opened the driver's door and began sliding into the seat. "Yeah, hope your parents are proud of you right now! Harassing a bunch of teens like this!"

"Just a word!" one of the paparazzi yelled back.

"Why haven't you turned into Phantom?" the second asked.

"Is it true that the Ghost Investigation Ward destroyed your ghost half?"

"Why didn't you answer me before? Are you finished working as Amity Park's protector?"

Danny's core twinged, and not for the first time today, he cursed his ghostly Obsession for making things like this utterly impossible to ignore. "I'm not done!"

Beside him, Sam stiffened, her hand poised on her open door, a second too late to close it. 

"I'm not done working as Phantom!" His core hummed. "I—I'll be back! Soon!"

"Danny, stop," Sam hissed.

Danny was done listening to what other people thought he should do with Phantom. He was done hiding.

"How soon?"

His core throbbed, and it took everything in him to not transform right then and there. Though judging by the breath Tucker sucked in, Danny could guess that he hadn't managed to keep his eyes from glowing green.

The first ghostly display he'd shown the public since his release from the hospital, and…he wasn’t concerned in the slightest at the potential backlash.

In fact, his core was preening like a peacock at the mere thought that the paparazzi had caught a video of his eyes glowing.

Recklessly, he pushed his aura out harder.

"How soon, Phantom?" 

Danny grinned. "Soon!"

****

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Thanks to @imekitty for betaing!

[read more of my works here]