#first of all they just looked cool in contrast and it meant i could give sora the blue ones

[forgotten-lumis]

Yo guess what! I actully finished this! It's been actual months!

I've improved quite a bit since I started so the Sora verison is a bit more... eh- in my brain. But I think it overall looks good and it's fun to have them together. But yeah, link to corresponding part is below the cut if you want it.

[fushitoru]

finish her! a toji fushiguro oneshot

pairing ⸺ wrestler!toji x reader

summary ⸺ you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) creds to @/reynisxxsimart on twitter for art!

warnings ⸺ nasty, NASTY smut, VERY public sex, WWE but pornhub edition, you’re a wrestler fighting toji, so some violence but nothing graphic, fem!reader, HUMILIATION, degradation, you're literally fucked in an arena of people, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f! recieving), boobplay, very inaccurate depiction of wrestling/WWE, not edited we die like toji

a/n im going to sit in the corner and think about what i just wrote

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

the muffled sounds of the crowd’s deafening roar seem to swirl in the space around you, each cheer vibrating through your chest like distant thunder. you take a long, cool sip of water, a welcome contrast to the warm air backstage. lounging back, you let the chair support your weight, your muscles still humming with the residual tension of anticipation. utahime’s fingers work into your shoulders, and her voice filters through the buzzing atmosphere, calm and steady as she gives you a rundown of the night ahead, though her words seem to blur slightly at the edges—just background noise to the constant hum of adrenaline.

“in front of a crowd—do you understand? and the rules are no fucking, unless all clothes are off first.”

“right,” you affirm, albeit hesitantly. you’re feeling a bit jitterish in anticipation of what’s to happen, despite having trained months to hone your ability as a wrestler. look, wwe itself can get really suggestive at times, with people giving wedgies, removing certain articles of clothing, or even letting the crowd cop a feel of the defeated to serve as humiliation. not only does it improve publicity, but it also increases viewership of all the horny bastards on the internet to circle the televised clip around in their subreddits or discord servers.

but what you were going to do today—that was a bit…extreme. it was like bridging the gap between soft core and hard core, with the humiliation turned up to a hundred. because today, you were going to wrestle the man that all female–and male–wrestlers could even dream of having their hands on, even if for a slight moment.

toji fushiguro.

a man of impressive build—entering a ring with him only meant defeat. he’s had numerous career wins, far exceeding any other. hell, you shouldn’t even be matched to wrestle with him today; he outweighs and outranks you by far. the only thing you really have running for you is the sheer amount of fans you have, ready to tune in to your fights and edit your moves and time spent in the fighting ring to songs like “chun li” and “maneater.” so, sure, you don’t exactly anticipate a win today in that stadium that’s waiting for you, but you’re no less of a wrestler in your own right. you won’t go down without a fight.

however, today was no normal fight. the wwe had suddenly decided that their viewership was too low, that extreme measures needed to be taken to boost. so, ironically enough they had decided to change the rules just before your momentous match:

all wrestlers must consent to having all and any articles of clothing removed from their person, particularly for sexual intercourse as a reward for the winner.

so, WWE (Pornhub’s Version) (In The Vault). 

and your luck dictated that this paradigm shift for the organization occur just before your most anticipated match with toji. again, you knew that no amount of training could prevent you from getting utterly humiliated, but it was almost like the gods were laughing down on you, eager to rub in your impending defeat once more. because you were going to get your shit fucked up—-literally.

“it’s going to be fine,” utahime assures you, and you snap back to the present from your thoughts at the sound of her voice. “just think about the publicity this’ll get you! not that you don’t have any fans of yourself, but there are going to be a lot of people tuned in because of fushiguro.”

you take an inhale in and nod. “yea, that’s true. i just want to get it over with.”

as if answering your prayers, gojo satoru, the mc, burst into your dressing room. “it’s your time to shine, buttercup!” he grins, ushering you out the door. albeit a bit nervously, you stand up and make your way into the hallway that leads directly into the middle of the arena. “you’re going to do great!”

as soon as you walk closer and closer to the arena, the screams get louder and louder, the music booming and causing the floor under you to vibrate. the sounds of people surround all your senses, wrapping you up and causing your heartbeat to go faster and faster. 

reaching the end of the hallway, the arena is filled with light, and you have to blink to get a hold of your sight. surrounding the center boxing ring are stands upon stands of people, hustling and bustling. at the sight of you, cameramen stationed around in various spots through the arena furiously angle their cameras towards you. not only are journalists and the media snapping pictures, blinding you with the flash, but you see yourself displayed on the big screens visible to everyone in the arena. you smile and wave, causing your fans to scream as they register that you have walked in. 

then, a realization washes over you. these are the same screens that are going to be projected whatever's going to happen during the fight and when you lose.

oh god.

you walk forward, trying to keep up your smile and wave to all of your fans that outstretched their hands, trying to cop a feel and/or get a high five. most of your fans are male (to no one's surprise), and you can feel their eyes roving over you appreciatively, taking in your outfit. it was simple and tight; shorts that just barely covered your ass and was snug around your hips, and a low cut top that couldn't even be called a top. your cleavage was on full display, and the top stopped just below your waist. typically, this is your wrestling attire you wear to a normal match, but you couldn't help but wryly notice that today, your neckline was cut lower than usual. the wwe was really trying to milk this, huh?

you stood just below the boxing ring, eyes anxiously scanning the arena, unconsciously searching for the man you were set to fight. but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't spot his tall, muscular figure either in the ring or in the seat he was supposed to occupy with his manager.

a light tap on your shoulder startled you, and you turned to find utahime behind you, a concerned look on her face. "everything alright?"

"yeah," you said, waving her off with a forced smile. "but where is he?"

utahime pointed toward the boxing ring, and then you saw it—a glimpse of black hair.

"alright," you said, swallowing nervously. "i'm heading into the ring. wish me luck."

"wait!" utahime called out, but you were already too far to hear her. gripping the ropes at the edge of the ring, you hauled yourself up and strode toward the center, determined to get a better view. and there, just on the far side of the ring, hidden from your previous angle, was toji fushiguro.

he was lounging back, relaxed, his posture almost lazy as he faced his manager, shiu kong. you couldn’t see toji's face from this angle, but his body language indicated that he was the epitome of ease. shiu was saying something to him, and from your best attempt at lip reading, you could just make out the words, "don't break the rules today."

toji, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at him (giving 0 fucks, something so classically toji), focusing now towards the big screens everyone else saw in the arena. you turned your gaze towards them as well, only to be taken aback when it was you, a compilation of your best moments in the ring, narrated by gojo.

“and today, fellas, we’re going to see the bombshell y/n—the maneater, as coined by her fans—-competing! while her opponent is fushiguro, don’t be fooled—she can pack a mean punch. look at this fight with mei mei; she sweeped the floor with her face!” 

satisfied, you looked around, the arena bustling with people getting drinks, being enraptured with your fight on the screen, or pointing at you or toji. toji, on the other hand, was chuckling and shaking his head at your fight, observing as you gave the bitch mei mei a wedgie. which kind of made you flustered, because you had developed a crush on the guy observing him from afar or in passing, so you just focused on shaking out your legs and arms in nervousness.

gojo similarly announced toji’s fights and compilation, gassing him up for the crowd and it was then that toji finally turned around, uninterested in whatever was going on, and caught your eye. you stared back, breath held involuntarily. 

his eyes had a predatory glint to them, and he smiled, charmingly in a way that showed off his scar, and they scanned up and down your figure, taking in what you were wearing—or rather, letting his imagination run. nervously, your heart sped up as you clenched your thighs up in anticipation or anxiety, you couldn’t choose which, as your mind began running at the speed of light thinking about what was going to happen today.

today, you weren’t only going to wrestle toji fushiguro. you were going to fuck him.

but you’re jolted out of your thoughts as gojo’s obnoxious voice blares through the speakers. “give it up for thee wwe goat, toji fushiguro!”

screams reach an all time high as his smirk is broadcasted to the audience, biceps bulging and flexing as he heaves his way up on the ring, joining you. he waves lazily, roars at an all time high as he stalks his way to you, and you squeeze your nails into your palm out of nervousness.

when gojo announces your name, the male screams rise up in volume, causing you to giggle and fushiguro to roll his eyes from what you can see in the corner of your eye. you give a dainty wave, choosing to wink and blow a kiss to the camera in front of you, causing your fans to scream even louder.

“you sure got a lotta fanboys, darling.” you jump as toji has now bent down to whisper in your ear, literally sending shivers down your spine.

you force out a laugh. “and you're at no shortage of fangirls yourself, fushiguro.”

he gives you a nonchalant hum, assuming his original position. as gojo continued to yap about the stakes of the round today, the recent rule change, a referee walked over to you both, coming in closer so that you would be able to hear him over the chaos of the arena.

“so, you’re both aware of the rules, right?” he both looked at you, to which you nodded and toji’s smirk widens. “you gotta get the other’s clothes completely off, and the first one to do that wins.”

you gulp, eyeing what toji was wearing today. it was his signature garb, the one he wore to almost every match without fail: grey pants with various sponsorships sewed on, and a black compression shirt. it was definitely very minimal compared to what a lot of the other wrestlers wore, but it was iconic, giving him a lazy, laid back aura that no other wrestler could truly emanate.

it wasn’t anything hard to take off in particular.

both of you affirmed your consent to the referee, who then took a step back after wishing you both good luck.  you turned, facing toji face on, who had his hand on his hip. “try to last long, okay?” he smirks, patting your shoulder with his other hand. “i’ll try to drag this out as much as i can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

you glare, but there isn’t much intensity to it because you know he’s much stronger than you. there isn’t much to get angry about. “yea, yea,” you huff. “for all i know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

he barks out a laugh and looks at the referee, who has one hand raised, the other one poised on his whistle, ready to blow and start the round. it’s starting soon. then, he looks back to you and smiles. “let the games begin.”

the referee blows the whistle.

at once, you launch yourself towards toji, trying to jump on him to get him off his feet with your weight. instead, he dodges easily and leaves you hurtling towards the floor, making you poise yourself on your hands and feet upon impact. you roll over just as toji tries to tackle you and pin you against your original position on the floor and quickly get up.

however, as you’re steadying yourself on your feet, toji grabs your ankle, causing you to lose your balance and giving him the advantage to pin himself on top of you, his mouth breathing heavily next to your ear, whispering so it was just the two of you that could hear his words. “what do you think i should take off first?” he laughs deeply, the vibration causing you to shiver and try to squirm to get out of his hold, to no avail. “should it be these?” he snakes his hands down to grope your tits, giving them a firm squeeze, much to the arena’s pleasure. “or should i take these off of you?” he slaps your ass, making you blush furiously.

“fuck you,” you hiss as his hands catch on the edge of your shorts.

he gives you a sweet, small kiss on your temple. “don’t worry, baby,” he smiles. “you’ll be doing that anyways.” and with that, he pulls at your shorts until the waistband’s elastic rips, leaving your shorts in tatters until he throws the remains of it away, baring your panty-covered ass to the crowd, which immediately grows wild.

you crane your neck to look at the screen, which is currently focused on toji’s hands feeling up your ass, dipping inside your underwear to knead the flesh. your heart is pounding, the thought i need to get the upper hand flashing continuously across your mind. it’s almost as if you’re drowning, the noises of the crowd blurring together until it was only you and toji’s weight on you. you barely heard the announcer exclaim, “toji is currently in the lead!” as you focused on calculating your next move.

it was time to pull out all the stops. 

turning your head until you were making eye contact with him, you bit your lip, momentarily distracted him with the 180 turn of your actions, now nonchalant rather than the flailing you were doing earlier. then, you raised your hips, meeting your backside with his crotch in an effort to catch him off guard and to make him lose balance. then, you maneuvered yourself so your thighs surround toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. this momentarily distracted and weakened toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. you quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. the whole stadium, in fact, can see his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

smirking while peering down at him, you slowly grind your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, making a show of spinning around his shirt with your hand to mock him. toji’s eyes darken, but a mirthless smile flashes across his face anyways. “damn, take me out to dinner first.”

you flash him one of your own humorless smirks, happy that you got at least one thing against him. “i don’t fuck anyone before the first day, honey. this is just another cheap fuck.” with that, you yank his head back with his hair roughly, making a show of motorboating his pecs, as if to mock him.

instead of getting angry, he chuckles darkly. “you’re going to regret that. i was going to drag this out, princess, but i gotta fuck the brat out of you.” with that, he spins you around just as quickly—if not quicker—pinning you against the ground with your hands held above your head in one hand in a vice grip, the other groping its way down your body. he buries his face in your neck, salaciously licking the length of it. with his free hand—now stationed around your tits—he grabs at the hem of your top, pulling it up so everyone could see your lace bra. mockingly, he plants his face in the middle of your tits, moving his head side by side to motorboat you just as you had done to him, the soft plush of your tits encompassing his face.

the crowd cheers, even more so than they had when you had ripped his shirt off, as toji completely rips the top off as you squirm, making the removal even easier for him. you can feel all eyes on you as toji reaches for the clip of your bra, unhooking it and making your tits pop out. helplessly, you look at the screen, your writhing making them move in a jiggling motion, sweat shining and giving you the “oiled-up” look. he takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “what a sensitive girl,” he coos. “too bad she was too weak. now she’s going to have to take my cock.”

with that, he teasingly closes the distance between the waistband of your panties and his teeth, mouth snagging on the elastic. slowly, he drags them down, unveiling your glistening pussy for all eyes to see, and the crowd goes wild, chanting random requests at toji to do the most heinous things to you. as soon as you’re completely naked, he grabs you by the waist, propping you up against one of the corner posts. you’re now standing up, tearfully facing the arena as the wrestler kneels behind you, burying his face and nosing his way until your pussy, lapping up your wetness.

at the unexpected feeling of his tongue, you yelp, and toji slaps your ass. “stay still.” acquiescing, he licks up long stripes and shakes his head to grind his nose into your cunt, pleasuring you while humiliating you in front of everyone, forcing you to succumb to the pleasure he’s making you feel. while licking you, he groans. “fuck, this pussy is so sweet. i’ve run out of patience, fuck the performance part.”

with that, toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees on the floor and pulls down his pants. you don’t even look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs. 

he drags his cock teasingly through your folds, and then brings it out to slap it against your ass, humming appreciatively at the recoil. then, as if he’s lost patience, he’s slowly entering you, pushing against your pussy’s resistance as he penetrates you in front of the whole arena. “fuck!” he groans, getting a better grip on you as he pushes your head down on the mat and fully goes to pound town.  

the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “the fuck this pussy’s so tight for? thought you were a slut?”

you’re tearing up, the feeling of his dick hitting your g-spot straight on making you clench hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pummeling you and his hands on your body, feeling you up. clearly, he knew how to pleasure a woman, and it made you all the more annoyed. you were fucked out, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “you’re not turning me on, small dick.”

he did not like that very much.

toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? why is she dripping, you whore?” as if to demonstrate his point, he brings his fingers to rub at your clit furiously, collecting the wetness that had dripped down from your hole then shoving his fingers into your mouth. “suck.” when you did just that, suckling at his fingers while hollowing your hot, wet heat around the appendages. 

at that, he groaned. “what a little cockwhore. shoulda made you suck my dick instead.”

in retaliation, you bite his fingers, hard, and then spit them out. “i would’ve bit your micro off.”

toji hisses, grabbing the hair at your scalp and pulling on it until your face was up, his mouth at your ear. “just for that, i’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.” he speeds up, moving his hips faster and fast. the hand that wasn’t at your hair is now sneaking his way down your back, until you gasp.

because he’s inserted his thumb inside your ass.

“oh, ho ho,” he laughs mockingly. “you liked that, didn’t you?” you offer him no response, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of the sheer amount of pressure you were feeling down there, being doubly stuffed. by now, your orgasm has been steadily building because of the sheer power of toji’s stroke game, but as soon as he hits your spot one last time, your eyes roll back, causing you to arch your back and writhe due to the intensity of your orgasm.

you’re breathing heavily, toji fucking you roughly through it. once you’ve gotten a hold of your sense, you come back to reality as you realize that the crowd has adopted a rhythm to their chants, your fans and his screaming the same thing.

cum! cum! cum!

and toji only chortles as he continues your thirst, looking at you once again, and you can tell that he’s staving his orgasm back just after experiencing your clenches with the way he’s biting his lips, sweat running down from his temple to his abs. “what do you say, baby? wanna give the crowd what they’re asking for?” 

all it takes is a whimpered please, and toji just does what the crowd asks of him. ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear toji declared as winner. 

as you exhaustedly lift your head up, you see that cameras are out all around you, focused on the screen. you’re flustered when you realize the billboard is displaying toji’s cum seeping out of you.

A hand on your shoulder. “you good?” toji’s looking at you, eyes twinkling.

you let out a breath. “yea,” you laugh, out of breath. “good round.”

and he’s huffing, giving you a hand to get on your back. you can only lie on the ground as he barks for clothes to be put on you and for some water. then he turns to look at you once more, eyes twinkling. “wanna go for more in my hotel?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n i was going to have him carry u up near to the stands where your fans could grab at ur titties but this is alr depraved as it is. now im going to take a breather from tumblr for the rest of this week becasue WHEW ch5 gojo yesterday and finished this today i am ON A ROLL. see you guys for next week's kinktober fic (comment if you want to be tagged)! much love<3

reblog and comments are much appreciated!!!!!

taglist:

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk

[berryz-writes]

Blue

Azriel x reader

Summary: There's a large contrast between the warm and gentle Az you get to enjoy versus the cold and quiet demeanour he reserves for others

Note: FIRST FULL WEEK I HAVE THINGS PLANNED OUT FOR. this isn't entirely my favourite but fuck it we ball <33 enjoy lovelies

@azrielappreciationweek day 1

The kitchen is a warm, flour-dusted haven, filled with the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla as Azriel leans over my shoulder, watching me whisk the batter with an amused glint in his eyes.

“You know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck, “you could just let me do that.” He slips his arms around my waist, pulling me gently against him. “Your hands might get tired.”

I laugh, nudging him with my elbow. “I think I can handle a little whisking.” I turn to face him, catching the soft, rare smile that lights his face, the one that only appears when it’s just us. I lean up, brushing a light kiss to his lips, and feel him pull me closer, his fingers resting at the small of my back.

“Hmm,” he hums, deep and quiet, his lips lingering just a moment longer. “You taste like sugar.”

“You’re distracting me,” I say, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Good,” he replies, his voice low. His gaze drops to the cupcakes cooling on the counter, and he raises an eyebrow. “They’re missing something.”

“Exactly,” I sigh, surveying the icing jars and realizing I’ve run out of the last colour I need. I hesitate, glancing at him, knowing he’s had a long week of missions and should probably be resting. But he just tilts his head, a patient smile on his face, like he already knows what I’m about to ask.

“Could you pick up more icing for me?” I ask, brushing a bit of flour off his cheek, unable to hide my smile. “Please?”

He chuckles softly, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “Anything for you.” There’s a gentle warmth in his eyes, a soft devotion that melts me from the inside out.

As he steps back, he squeezes my hand. “Save a few for me?”

“All of them,” I reply with a grin, watching as he heads to the door, wings stretching wide in the golden afternoon light. He gives me one last look before taking off, a dark silhouette against the sky.

Azriel's POV

Flying over the city, my mind lingers on her, the soft warmth of her laugh, the way her eyes light up when I walk into the room. She’s goddess incarnate, far too perfect for me.

The cold air rushes past as I fly, enjoying the time to stretch out my wings to their fullest.

But halfway through my journey, I feel Rhysand’s voice slip into my thoughts, quiet and laced with urgency.

Azriel, we have a guest in the dungeons. I need answers from him if you're available, it's urgent

I think about his words. Maybe if it had been a few months ago Rhys wouldn't have added the part of me being "available" knowing I was waiting at the chance to distract my mind. But ever since y/n walked into my life it was getting easier and easier to spend days doing nothing except enjoy her company. No torture sessions. No constant dagger sharpening. Just time spent with her.

Fine.

Was the simple reply I gave. It would only take a few minutes of my time.

The warmth I felt just minutes ago fades as I turn, heading down toward the underground jail, where shadows and silence reign. My shadows coil tighter around me, sharper, attuned to the work at hand as I descend into the dim halls of the dungeon.

The heavy door creaks open, and I step inside to find the prisoner chained to a chair, his gaze faltering as he meets mine. He tries to summon some defiance, but I can see the fear flicker beneath it, his breaths shallow as my shadows drift closer, surrounding him in darkness. This won’t take long.

I approach him slowly, letting each step echo off the stone walls. Leaning forward, I let my voice drop to a low, controlled murmur, knowing how much more effective a whisper can be. “Let's make this quick. Tell me everything you know"

I didn't have to elaborate on what I meant by everything. He knew what I was here for and I would get it one way or another.

He’s silent at first, eyes darting, and I can see him calculating his options. But there’s no fight in him, not against what he senses I’m capable of. My shadows close in, tightening like a noose around him, each word I speak dripping with cold intent.

After a slow drag of my dagger down the column of his neck the information begins to spill out, fast and frantic. I listen carefully, never blinking, absorbing each detail.

No need for lost blood; I extract every piece with surgical precision, each question laced with the promise of what could happen if he resists. Soon, he’s left shuddering, broken, and silent.

I silently thank the cauldron he didn't make this difficult otherwise I would have to clean up before getting to my wife and the thought of keeping her waiting was not something I enjoyed.

Before I leave, I pause, tilting my head as I look down at him with one last, almost casual question. “Pick a colour.”

His face twists in confusion, fear giving way to bewilderment. “Uh… blue,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

I give him a curt nod, acknowledging his choice before I turn and leave him to the shadows that linger. As I step into the fresh air aboveground, I make my way to a small shop, selecting a container of bright blue icing, a flash of colour that feels strange against the cold efficiency of what I’ve just done.

When I arrive home, I find her at the counter, surrounded by stacks of sweet heaven. She lights up as she sees me, her eyes crinkling with happiness. "Az! Thank you my love" she says, taking the container and pressing a warm kiss to my cheek.

I'd be lying if i said I didn't melt.

But then she pauses, glancing at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “What took so long?”

I shake my head, not wanting her to worry “You don’t need to worry” I murmur, my voice gentle. “Rhys just needed something done”

She watches me closely, as if weighing my words, a knowing look in her eyes. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she smiles softly, letting her fingers brush over mine as she returns to her cupcakes.

I linger there, watching her work, feeling the lightness return to my chest as I settle back into the life we share. She doesn’t push, and I’m grateful.

With her I feel like life is worth living.

note: should have azriel year tbh

[midnightfict]

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

[leth-writes]

Distance (Yandere tim drake x reader)

SUMMARY: Tim Drake is a fucking asshole, but at least you're moving.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with Tim?”

Your voice breaks the cozy silence that had fallen in Stephanie’s room. The blond looked over, face the picture of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Your other friend, Conner, asked.

“I don’t know, I just… Sometimes he’s kinda creepy, ya know? Like he knows more than he lets on. Like he’s looking through you, into your soul.” You explain.

Stephanie cocks her head to the side, pretending to think.

“I mean, he can be a lil’ weird, but I think it’s just cuz he was socially stunted growing up…” She hums. What could that possibly mean? You thought, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s cuz of his parents; they like, left him alone all the time when he was younger.” Stephanie continues, turning back to her homework. She seems satisfied with herself.

“I-”

“Hey, maybe you’ll just have to ask Tim, he won’t bite, ya know.” Conner says, not even bothering to face you.

The three of you fell back into silence.

You liked your friends. You didn’t have much experience with friendship, especially growing up moving around constantly because of your dad’s job. You’d met Conner completely by accident; you just so happened to be going to the same school, he just so happened to be walking down the hall, you tripped, he caught you. The two of you hit it off after that. That had introduced you to Steph, and later to Tim, and just like that, you were no longer alone.

Conner was kind, despite his outward appearance. He had dark, ruffled curly hair and a slight southern accent, and he always wore his stupid black leather jacket, the one with the spikes on the shoulders. Sometimes he even wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even inside, like an asshole. Despite his arrogance and his snarky attitude, he was a good friend, defending you from the schoolyard bullies that had plagued your life.

Steph was in some ways, his polar opposite. She had long, slightly wavy blond hair, down to the middle of her back, and the most bright blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, the color of a cloudless summer day’s sky. She was boisterous, constantly laughing and joking around, a sharp contrast to Conner’s cool, calm demeanor.

TIm was an entirely different story. He was… Quiet. Weirdly quiet. It was the first thing you’d noticed, the first time you met him, sitting down for lunch next to Steph and Kon. They’d happily introduced the two of you, and Tim. Shook your hand. You’d never met another person who shook hands, except for uppity businessmen who treated you like a baby.

His eyes were a cold, cruel blue, almost grey. They stared into you, never leaving your form, even as you turned to talk to Steph. You could feel him staring, like he was trying to cut your skull open for a peek inside. You felt like a bad lab experiment every time his attention fell on you.

His hair was always perfectly mussed, like he’d spent the entire morning debating about where to place each strand, and his clothes were impeccably prepped. All in all, he looked more like a doll than a person.

It was creepy, off-putting. Despite all of that, you were in desperate need for friends, especially friends your own age, not your annoying little cousins that you were forced to babysit when your Aunt was away on vacation, which she seemed to always be.

You were willing to put up with him, if it meant being Conner and Steph’s friend. You weren’t willing to give up that first taste of freedom from your overwhelming family.

Even if you hated him.

Tim was perfect, was the thing. Any time you had a problem, he had a condescendingly offered solution. Homework troubles transformed from a normal, if slightly irritating, part of your life into an embarrassing and awkward time for Tim to show off his expertise. Conner and Steph, both seemingly prodigies in their own rights, didn’t have nearly the same problem as you. Sometimes, in fact, you felt like they had some sort of telepathy, reading each other's minds and knowing the answers before you’d even begun.

Tim was also the perfect child, as your parents were constantly berating you. He helped his family, Tim cared for the company his adoptive father would one day be giving to him, Tim had perfect grades, Tim was perfectly behaved. Everywhere you turned it was Tim, Tim, Tim. You couldn’t even escape him on social media. If he wasn’t peering out at you with those icy eyes from Steph and Conner’s feeds, he was staring holes into your skull through pictures of him accepting awards and attending important events.

As you got to know him, the disparities between the two of you only became more clear. He was annoyingly flawless, and you seemed to be built of nothing but flaws, at least according to most of your teachers and your parents.

The constant comparisons were grating on your nerves, and you knew that if you never saw Tim again, it’d be too late. The damage to your fragile self-esteem was already done.

Luckily, today, Tim had to be with his father for some stupid gala, leaving you to hang out with your two normal, non-superhuman friends, who would never rub their perfections into your face. Even if they had plenty of them. You knew the two of them toned down their gloating when you were around, and they were always trying to hype you up, to get you to brag about your accomplishments. To hear about it from them, you’d think you were the most talented person in Gotham, if not all of America.

You were pretty sure that particular award could go to Tim.

Everything was perfect, all three of you working on your own individual homework. Steph and Kon weren’t in the class you were working on. Tim, of course, was, and he was top of the class, as you were constantly being reminded. God, he was pretentious.

Everything was perfect, of course, until Tim walked in. Steph and Kon lit up, smiling and welcoming him in. His hair was, once again, perfectly tousled, and he had clearly changed back into his normal clothes.

“Ditching, pretty boy?” Kon teased, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Awe, don’t tease him, you know he’s a daddy’s boy,” Steph said, laughing.

Tim just batted Conner’s hands away, before turning to face you all.

“I got out of the gala early. My presence was unneeded.” He said, face completely blank. God, he even talked like a fucking robot. You turned away, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, are you working on homework? I can help…” He began, looking over your shoulder. You turned slightly to look at him, baring your teeth in what barely counted as a smile. “I’m. Okay,” you said, teeth grinding. Tim winced at the sight. “A-alright. I’ll just…” he gestured to where Steph and Kon had migrated to Steph’s bed, now painting their nails.

You finished your homework in record time and stood up, eager to just make an excuse and get home.

“Sorry guys, my parents must be worried… I have to get home,” you said, smiling tightly.

“Oh, it’s alright, you can stay. Your parents are still at the gala.” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from where he was concentrating on painting Steph’s pinky.

Shit. He couldn’t even let you leave in dignity, could he?

You gripped the handle of your bag even tighter and turned around. “W-well, still. They don’t want me out too late.” Steph and Kon nodded, saying their goodbyes with ease. Kon waved, his newly painted black nails shining in the dim light.

Tim simply. Stared at you. It’s like he knew you were lying. What a fucking asshole.

You left without another word.

The next day, your parents dropped a bombshell on you. You were all moving. Again. No amount of protest seemed to change their mind. The date was set and your house was sold; you had until the end of the week to say goodbye to your new life.

You, of course, immediately told your new friends. You hadn’t even known them for a month. You should’ve known this would happen; your parents would never let you be happy, and neither would the universe. The mood was solemn as you all sat around your designated table. Even Tim looked upset. More upset than you’d ever seen him, in fact, you think this was the first time you’d ever seen him show an emotion.

Steph looked over, eyes pitying. She squeezed Tim’s hand. What? Geeze, you were the one who was fucking leaving, and he’s the one who was getting comforted! He didn’t even like you!

Kon leaned over the table and grasped your hand, blocking Steph and Tim from your view.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” You simply shook your head, biting on your trembling lip. Sure, you didn’t like Tim, but you’d miss your friends!

“Is there any way to change your parents’ minds?” Steph asked as Kon leaned back. All hint of emotion was gone from Tim’s face. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset for the rest of lunch?

“No, no. They already sold the house…” You sniffled.

“Oh…” She said, looking down at the floor. You could hear the defeat in her voice, even as it wavered.

“Well, maybe you can come over tomorrow? One last hurrah, you know? We can spend the night together, do each other's nails, watch a movie…” She asked, voice hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds okay…”

“You’re crying.” Tim stated, voice cold and hard. Your hands flew up to your face, shocked to find tears slowly running down your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck him for saying something. You were fucking done. You were done! He couldn’t even pretend to care for a few minutes, and now he was mocking you?! You felt your anger boil up, faster than it ever had.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for fucking expressing emotion, not like you’d know anything about that!” You said, voice cracking. You slammed your hands down on the table as you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it across your shoulder. Tim looked up, startled by your outburst, mouth agape. Steph and Kon wore similar gobsmacked expressions. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d find it almost comical.

Still, you were incandescent. You fled the room, rage boiling underneath your skin, masking the hurt you were burying deep inside.

You ignored Tim the rest of the day. As a consequence, you were unable to talk to Steph and Kon. The distance pained you, but you knew if you had to see Tim’s smarmy face, you’d punch his teeth out. Neither approached you alone, though they did shoot you guilty looks from across the classroom. 

The pain was the worst part. Tim’d been an asshole, he’d made fun of you for as long as you’d known them, and they were choosing him. Everyone always chose Tim; your parents, your teachers, the press… You were stuck in his shadow, doomed to never meet his fucking mold. You were done. You just couldn’t deal with it, not while losing your two best friends, the best friends you’d ever had.

Steph texted you that night, asking you to still come over. She’d assured you that Tim and Kon wouldn’t even be there. The knowledge that Kon was still choosing Tim was painful, but you could deal with it, just to see Steph that one last time.

So, you’d agreed.

The next day came with a fresh wave of grief, pouring off you in waves. It was exhausting, so exhausting that your parents asked you to stay home, concerned you would pass out and be injured right before the big move.

You’d agreed, and spent the day catching up on some much-needed sleep.

That evening, you waved goodbye to your parents, bag slung over your shoulder, and began the walk to Steph’s place. Her family was middle class, not as wealthy as yours, but still quite well-off. You had never seen either of her parents, but Steph assured you she had a very competent housekeeper to help her out when she needed an adult.

You were almost to her house when it hit you. What the fuck were you doing? You shouldn’t be doing this. You were being naive. You’d only known them a short while, they’d forget you in a week! It would be best to just turn right around and go home; that way, you’d be spared the pain of a slow, petering off relationship. You didn’t want to watch as they made new friends, replaced you, slowly stopped responding to your calls; you couldn’t bear the pain.

So, you turned around and walked right back home, not even bothering to text Steph. You’d call her at home, when you were safe in your bed, and you had the room to cry all you wanted and eat as much ice cream as you could handle.

As you walked home, shivering, you couldn’t help but look up. The bat-signal was up, projected against the cloudy night sky. If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss, besides Tim, it was the constant crime. The constant need to carry a gas mask or a taser, the constant preparation to be kidnapped or maimed or tortured. It was tiring, always being on edge.

You kept your eyes on the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of one of the bats. You couldn’t help your slight fascination with them, despite the way your frie- former friends constantly laughed at you. Tim had looked weirdly smug after he’d wheedled you into admitting Red Robin was your favorite, though you thought the newest superboy on the scene was your favorite hero in general. You just liked his hair (and the way he reminded you of Conner).

It was only once you were back in your neighborhood that you noticed the feeling of being watched. You whipped your head around, looking every direction and clutching your taser. You couldn’t find anyone.

Shrugging it off as needless paranoia, built up over your stay in Gotham, you continued.

The lights in your house were off. The lights in your house were off, but your parents had promised they’d leave them on for when you got home. Did the fucking forget about you?!

You grumbled and stomped up the driveway.

The door was open. A sense of unease began to build, tension keeping your stomach in knots.

You slowly pushed it open, taser in hand.

The house was dark, and empty. Even the curtains were gone. You stepped further in, anxiety beginning to build.

“Mom? Dad?” You called, walking through the living room and to the stairs. You checked each room; each was as empty as the last, both devoid of any furniture, and your parents.

You made your way up the stairs, searching each room, all empty, until you came upon your room, tucked away in the corner away from your parents’ room. The light was on, shining through the cracks in the door and barely illuminating the dark hallway. You snuck closer, taser out and ready.

Finally, you were in front of the door, and you kicked it open.

Inside, your room was perfectly preserved, the overhead light shining down.

Sitting on the bed, head buried in his laptop, was Tim fucking Drake.

“Wha- Tim?” You said, tensed shoulders drooping.

He looked up and smiled, though it didn’t reach his stony eyes.

“Hey, come in.” he gestured to the bed. Confused, you wandered over and plopped down. 

He sighed and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I never meant to upset you, but I’m afraid it’s simply inevitable.”

You stared at him. “Tim, where-where are my parents?”

He sighed again, looking out the window.

“I thought we’d be able to avoid this. I thought I’d have time. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“...”

He turned the laptop to you and clicked play on the video queued up.

On screen, your parents appeared.

“I know about the assistant.” Tim’s voice came through, tinny from the low quality of the   video.

“Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your father’s voice was shaky, shakier than you’d ever heard it.

“There was an accident, wasn’t there.” Tim.

“N-no. No!” Your mom, anger clear on her face.

“It only takes one push and the story gets out.” Tim, voice and face clear. His eyes were stony, glaring down at where your parents sat on the couch.

“We’re leaving town, it won’t matter. We’ll leave.” Your dad said, voice sure. He stood up.

“Sit down.” Tim commanded, and your father did, fear flicking across his face.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving. The Daily Planet is an internationally renowned paper.”

“Please, that would ruin us, you can’t!” Your mom begged, tears springing up.

“What do you want.” Your father said, face stormy. You knew he was picturing hitting Tim, and you knew he was calculating the risk.

“I want you to leave, right now, and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We will, we will! Just let me call my daugh-”

“No. Right now.”

“...” 

You could see the acquiescence, the relief, on your father’s face. He nodded, determination slowly creeping onto his features. Your mother just sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“And what of our things?”

“I’ll have them sent to your new address.”

“How-”

Tim just stared at your mother, face grim. She closed her jaw with a sharp ‘clack’.

The video ended.

You stared, speechless. Tim simply looked over at you, face blank.

“W-wh- I don’t… I don’t understand?” You said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, but when you said your parents were moving… I had to move quickly.”

You stood up and began walking, feeling as though you were pushing through cotton, like you were seeing yourself in 3rd person. You could barely hear Tim calling your name as you walked down the stairs, toward the door, slowly walking faster and faster. You pushed the door open hard, barely flinching as it slammed into the frame, and burst into a sprint.

You didn’t get far.

A red blur streaked through your peripherals before coming to a stop in front of you. There was superboy, staring at you with guilt in his eyes. No, not superboy. It was Conner.

Just like that, your heart fell. 

“No.” you said, voice shaky with disbelief.

“No!” you backed up, raising the taser. Conner moved closer, hands raised in placation. You flicked the taser on and let it connect with his side. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shouted, dropping the taser and whirling around to run.

Arms like steel wrapped around you and picked you up. Suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder, your vision upside down. He marched you back into the house, plopping you back on the bed where Tim still sat, the laptop on your nightstand.

Conner shot you another guilty look, standing guard by the door, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. You’d never noticed how buff he was; you guessed the jacket was there to prevent you from noticing.

You were crying in earnest now, tears running down your cheeks.

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking.

Tim looked at you, blew out a breath, and wiped your face gently, hands cool. He cradled your face, bringing it closer.

Gently, oh so gently, he kissed your forehead, then brought your head into his shoulder, as you continued to cry. He shushed you, patting your back comfortingly.

“Why?!” you cried.

He gave no answer.

Finally, your crying slowed, then stopped. You pulled away and wiped your eyes with your sleeves.

“You’re going to come with me. We’re going to go back to my place, and you’re going to meet the rest of your family.”

You looked up at Conner, pleading with your eyes. He looked away, grimacing.

“Tim, I- I don’t want to do that, I want my parents, you get that this is fucked up, right?!” You questioned, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

[sodapopwrites]

the first sign of fall chapter four: you said no attachment

college au, the inner circle boys and the reader are bartenders.

pairings - eris vanserra x reader, a teensy bit of azriel x reader

summary - talking things out seems impossible, so you give up and do exactly what you shouldn't. you, azriel, and eris seem to never be able to find a way to communicate or to tell each other how you feel.

word count - 3.2k

a/n - man. i'm sorry. i love making things go horribly wrong. i swear things will work out at some point, but right now everybody has to be sad and afraid otherwise it's too easy. ALSO thank you to everyone who is showing so much support for this series. like i wish i could buy you all cookies or something.

read the rest of the series here!

You push your way into the locker room slowly. It’s filled with steam, curling its way from the showers, around the lockets, pooling at your feet. Almost like it was reaching you, pulling you towards him. You hear the steady stream of water against tile, broken only by the body under it. He wasn’t facing you. His back taught and head down, letting the scolding water stain his hair darker. 

“Eris?” 

Your voice was wavering and unsure. Your feet moving from side to side, fingers fiddling with the sleeve of your jacket. He straightened, his head raising, his entire body stiffening. Hackles up. The water turned off. He reached for the towel hanging on the wall next to him and wrapped it around his waist before turning around, towards you, but not looking at you. He traipsed across the room to his bag and started rifling through it for his clothes. His only acknowledgement of you, a small sniff as you sighed. 

“Please talk to me” 

It was the closest thing to begging he’d ever heard from you. Those four words drenched in desperation that was so out of character that his eyes snapped to yours. He shook his head, 

“I don’t have anything to say.” 

You take a deep shuddering breath. Trying to think what he wants from you. Scraping every corner of your mind for the right thing to say. You come up empty. You study his face, the cut on his lip, his forehead. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but a garish bruise was starting to form on his cheekbone. You take a tentative step towards him. He doesn’t move an inch, almost as if he’s frozen. A deer in headlights. His eyes don’t leave yours as you draw closer and raise a hand to brush your fingers over the welt now blossoming under his skin. His eyes flutter closed and it takes all of his effort to lean away from your touch instead of into it. 

“Don’t” A small warning. Enough to force you a couple steps back. “I don't think I can do this. I meant it.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Please don’t say that. Please. You want to talk? Let’s talk. You can’t just decide you’re done. There’s two of us in this Eris.” 

“You want to talk? Talk then.” 

He stares at you. His face completely unreadable. Cold in a way that it never had been before. His eyes always sold him away, always carried all of his feelings, like a window straight to his heart. But now, looking at them, you couldn’t see a thing. The only other person who ever managed that kind of mask….was Azriel. 

“I didn’t mean to blame you.” It was a lame response. You knew that. But you continued anyway. “You were hurt, and you'd gotten into a fight with Az, and I was worried, and lashed out.” 

He didn’t say anything. Small droplets of water rolled down his chest. His hair was tousled and damp. The heat of his body contrasting so harshly with the cool air, that small wisps of steam curled from him. It would have been a beautiful sight, if the look on his face didn’t scare you quite as much as it did. 

“Who were you really worried about?” His voice was low and calm. Horrifyingly calm. 

“Both of you.” 

It was an honest answer. Just not the one he wanted to hear. 

“I’m tired. I’m tired of being a second choice. I’m not something you can keep in your backpocket. I l-” 

He shook his head. As if the last couple words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say them. Not like this. Not when he was looking at you, draped in a jersey that wasn’t his, your eyes so desperate and pleading. I love you too much. That’s what he wanted to say. What he couldn’t say. Not when all he could think about was Azriel, and all those unspoken feelings. 

“You’re not.” 

That’s all you could say. Choking down the tears that you wanted to cry. You couldn’t cry. Not like this. You wouldn’t let him see that. It was too pathetic. Too desperate. 

He stared at you. Blankly. Mind reeling. You were on the brink of tears. He could see it plain as day. Just cry. Show some emotion. Any emotion. He wanted to yell it at you. Beg you. At least the tears would prove that this was more than nothing. But you didn’t. You just stood. Like looking at him was the most painful thing you could possibly be doing. 

He thought of Azriel. He had heard the two of you yelling before he had retreated to the showers, hoping that the water would drown out the sound of it. He didn’t want to hear what was being said. Didn’t need to hear more of Azriel’s opinions on him. 

He thought of the way that Azriel had years of history with you. The way he’d seen you cry, something you’d refuse to do in front of him. The way Eris had watched your eyes drift off into some far away thought and had your eyes snap back into focus, on him. Azriel had your embrace in moments of panic, a comfort and a quiet that you floated towards. A solace and hiding place you looked for. You never seemed to grow tired of him the way you grew tired of others. Azriel would have you for lifetimes and Eris didn’t want to be a footnote in that story.

“I just need time to think.” That was all he could think to say before finally pulling a shirt over his head. And turning away from you. 

“I’m scared of what that means.” 

He shook his head. He couldn’t look back at you. One right word from you and he’d cave. He’d give you anything you wanted no matter what it did to him. Your voice hit him again, like a bullet, 

“I’m scared it’s going to take you years to think, and figure it out, and I’m scared of what it’ll do to me.” 

He pulled his pants on and sat down to lace his shoes. Still refusing to look at you as he said the first thing that came to mind, 

“Well you always have Az to wash away whatever guilt you're feeling. I said it before. I’m done, so why don’t you go cry to him?” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw your jaw set. The small nod of your head. It was the wrong thing to say. But he was begging you to prove him right. Begging you to do something to prove to him that he wasn’t what you wanted. 

You felt weak. Like your knees were about to buckle. Like every horrible thing you ever thought about yourself was right. It didn’t matter how much you cared about him, you never were able to find a way to make that clear. Could never just say it. Could never really figure it out. But he was right and that was the worst part. You fled from the locker room as quickly as you could while still holding onto a shred of dignity. The tears you had choked down rising like a violent tide. Tearing through your every nerve. Your whole body felt like it was burning, like the loss of him might actually consume you. Alone again. You couldn’t stand it. 

★ ★ ★ 

You shouldn’t have done it. But you weren’t thinking, completely on autopilot as you drove, as you walked up the steps, as your arm raised and knocked on the door. Your eyes still glistening, your cheeks red, and your body shaking lightly as the door opened slowly. 

Azriel. 

His eyes flashed with confusion, his hand going to run through his hair before leaning against the door frame as he took you in. Your jacket is gone. His jersey hanging off you. You looked wrecked. Terrified. So clearly the conversation with Eris didn’t work out and here you were. Like you always were when you lost something. 

“Is Cass home?” 

Your voice was shredded. Hoarse and devastated. The mask of cool collection you usually aimed for completely lost now. He shook his head slowly as he pulled the door slightly more ajar. 

“You want to talk?” 

You sniffled and curled your arms around yourself, “No. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think.” 

“So…What do you want?” 

He knew exactly what you wanted. He just needed to hear it straight from your bitten red and raw lips. 

“I don’t want to be alone.” 

A whisper. A small admission. Almost a question. 

He held out an arm and you pulled yourself into his embrace too easily. Your arms immediately circling around his neck. He leaned down to pull your legs around his waist and carried you across the threshold. Closing the door behind him. His fingers bruising against your thighs. Like he wanted his fingerprints embedded in your skin forever. His lips never leaving yours as he walked towards his room. As he lowered you to his bed. Only pulling away to peel your clothes off slowly. To press open mouthed kisses against your neck as he let his hands roam. His pace slow and deliberate, as if every small claim of his lips was a victory. 

It was. A small victory. He’d have you for lifetimes, maybe only like this, when he was needed to fill some emptiness inside you. But still. Others would have you for minutes at a time that in their lifespan would boil down to nothing. But he’d have you forever. A small form of revenge. 

He traced every path he thought Eris might have once marked as his own. Neither of you saying a word. Both of you ignoring the tears streaming down your face. Azriel only pausing once to wipe them away with a brief brush of his thumbs and soft shushing from his lips, before he sank his teeth into the crook of your neck. The force behind it bruising and almost angry. Like he wanted it to hurt. Like he wanted you to remember that feeling in the morning. Like he wanted you to remember that other men would have your adhd driven drifts of attention, your accolades and commendation. Your fantasies and broken form of love tainted remedies to draw out seconds on a timesheet. Your short term hyperfocus. Your false forms of naive intimacies. Your fleeting fingers through their hair when they bend their heads to you. Your anger when they don’t live up to the image you’ve built in your head. 

You closed your eyes. Letting him take the lead. You didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to do anything, but feel him. Because that was the easiest thing you could possibly do. The easiest way to not be alone. 

Azriel reveled in it. Your attention when convenient. Your gaze when you thought he was too lost in his movements against you. The way he could still feel your anger from earlier bubbling under the surface, and the way that it didn’t matter now. The way that you had still come to him. The way that he was always right. The way that the little jersey stunt had worked exactly in his favor. The way he always managed to do exactly what you wanted. The way your nails raked across his shoulder blades and you let out a choked sob. 

He’d let you right to it. Something to be angry about again. The one thing you wanted. The one thing you never wanted Eris to see. The one real thing you were. Angry and afraid. Afraid of everything you had ever felt. 

A small form of revenge. 

He held you close to his chest after. He knew you’d leave. Just like you had done before. Just like you did every time something too intimate, no matter what the scale, happened between the two of you. You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You’d stopped crying, but by the way you were breathing he knew you still wanted to. So he held you tighter. 

★ ★ ★

You left while he was still asleep. Seven in the morning. Guilt rippling through your entire body. Eris expected the worst from you, so you did the worst thing you could think of, and it felt good. That was the worst part. You closed Azriel’s door as quietly as you could and turned around, immediately met with Cassian’s hulking form leaning against the wall of the hallways. His arms crossed and his eyebrow raised. Your eyes widened. Since when has he ever woken up this early? 

“Again?” 

You didn’t respond. Heading for the door shaking your head. He stepped in front of you, blocking your exit. 

“Why?” 

His voice was a whisper, but the question hit like he was shouting. 

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you said it. 

“You look like you just had a death in the family or something. That’s not how you should look after hooking up with someone. This is…this fucking sadness that you get from Eris….Even Az can’t fix that.” 

You look at him now. He was wrong. Of course he wanted to blame Eris. Why wouldn’t he? 

“It’s not Eris that made me….” 

You trailed off and Cassian inhaled deeply. Finally getting it. Whatever you and Azriel had going on…hurt you just as much as it hurt him. A mutual form of self destruction. 

“So why did you do it?” 

Azriel’s door opened now. You didn’t hear it. Didn’t notice that Azriel had finally woken up and was watching intently as you responded, 

“Because Azriel….” You push Cassian out of the way and reach for the door, “Eris makes me weak.” 

You close the door behind you and Cassian flinches at the sound of it clicking shut. His eyes looking towards his friend now. Azriel looked like he’d seen a ghost. Eris makes me weak. The only way you could think to say that you were in love with him. The only way you could find to express that the feeling scared you so deeply that you went back to something you, and everyone else, had so adamantly ignored for years. It was almost like falling in love with Azriel and wasting it had turned you into something cold. Something accidentally cruel. 

Cassian sighed and shook his head. The disappointment coming off him in waves. Azriel unsure which one of them that disappointment was really directed at. Cassian watched him, he looked small, and unlike himself. He thought of the years Az had spent chasing whatever had happened between the two of you that one night. Like he was so desperate to prove that he was capable of love. Like having you in any small form would make him better at it, like doing whatever he could to keep you away from other people, and bring you back to him. Would prove that he could love someone. Like letting you in last night and fucking you while you cried was a testament to how much he was willing to ignore. Maybe that was what he thought love was. Ignoring all the bad and taking you anyways, under any condition, nevermind who your heart really called for. 

“You’re just a glutton for punishment aren’t you Az?” 

That was all Cassian said as he turned back to his room and shut the door sharply behind him. Leaving Azriel to stand alone in the morning shadow soaked hall. 

★ ★ ★

Eris’ apartment felt empty. Without your laughter. Without you sitting at his kitchen counter biting your nails and complaining about whatever class was pissing you off at the moment. 

He sat alone in his living room. Your sweater still draped over the back of the chair he crashed into. His eyes falling on the plants you had lined up against his windowsill while muttering something about lifeless male living spaces. The notes you had written him stuck to his fridge. The books you had left scattered across his coffee table. The pair of shoes you placed next to his by the door, shrugging, and saying it’s good to have a spare. Almost every inch of his apartment screamed your name, and begged for your return. 

He remembered the ice in your stare as he told you to run back to Azriel. The kind of cold he could never warm. The set determination of your walk as you strode away from him. He knew exactly where you were right now. He knew that you had done exactly what you told him to, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to blame you. He should have just talked to you. Should have made it clear to you that he wanted everything. That he was all in. That he didn’t care about the fact that you were scared, he could see it clear as day. He’d seen it since you started seeing each other. The way that you were so terrified that the second you admitted how much he meant to you, he’d leave. 

It wasn’t like you made your affections a secret. You had decorated his apartment. You had spent all of your free time with him. You had held him so tight at night that sometimes he wondered if you thought that if you let go he’d slip away, or fade away. You had given him annotated book’s, highlighting lines you thought he might like. Had sent him playlists and pictures of things throughout the day that reminded you of him. Had wrapped your arms around him lazily and pulled him away from his computer whispering you have to stop being such a workaholic. The closest you let yourself get to exhibiting how much you worried about him. You had made it as clear as you could. 

But he could’t wipe the image of Azriel’s smirk as you had yelled at him what the fuck is wrong with you? Like your outburst was some sort of victory. Like shadowsinger had won. Like getting Eris to fight him was exactly what he had hoped for.

He remembered the way that Azriel went slack under him as they fought, the way he had let Eris throw punch after punch and seemed almost elated as blood spilled from his mouth. Like the blood would stain your hands and force you into remembering what and who really mattered. And maybe it had. 

Eris sighed and stood from his chair. Sleep. He needed sleep. But when he laid eyes on his bed, the sheets rumpled and blankets a mess. He thought of you that morning. Refusing to wake up, quietly calling for him to come back to bed, telling him to stop answering emails and come kiss you awake. The way he’d obliged and reveled in your warmth, and your smell, and the soft graze your fingers across his skin. He should have stopped you from leaving. 

I’m scared it’s going to take you years to think, and figure it out, and I’m scared of what it’ll do to me.

He should have told you. I love you too much. But he didn’t and now he’d have to suffer the consequences. Maybe that was what he deserved. Maybe he thought, this is what happens when he let himself fall in love with someone. When he let his walls down. When he let someone into his space. 

taglist:

@tiredsleepyhead @rosewood-cafe @kristijenner19 @becstersworld @girlwhoreadseverywhere @iambored24601

@the-sylver-dragon @scarsandallaz @fairydustblossom 

@theflowerswillbloom 

@theflowerswillbloom @melsunshine @mad-katsuki @lilylilyyyyyy @blueeeeeshark

@redr0sewrites

[redcoralpot]

Eleganti - Poly!Stuilly x FTM!Reader

If you saw this before it was reposted, no you didn't.

Warnings: Implied internalized homophobia.

Summary: The heat has managed to affect all of you, and the only solution? A date at Stu's house with a dash of nail polish. You're sure they were both thrilled.

-

The summer heat truly had gotten to the three of you, with not even a cool breeze to give you relief. Rich boy Stu Macher’s parents were away for the weekend, again, which left his house the ideal place to take shelter in. If you had to be honest, you did not mind the temperature– kind of. The bottles of nail polish in your bag clinked together as you walked up the stairs; you knew Billy would be able to sit still long enough for it to dry. Stu, on the other hand, you weren’t so sure of. Not without heat and plenty of air flow.

Speaking of the devil, Billy glanced up from his book as you creaked the door open, leisurely spread on Stu’s bed. He raised an eyebrow at your appearance, before going back to reading, shifting a little to the side so you had more room to sit down. A smug grin slowly spread over your lips as you set your backpack down on the bed and unzipped it, making a show of the little, colorful bottles you displayed inside. You scooched beside it, and after setting down a towel in front of you, cracked open the first container.

Seeming to catch the smell, Billy spoke up, “Nail polish?”

“Yeah, want some?” He watched as you meticulously picked the colors you wanted, his mouth pursing.

“Not right now.”

You shrugged, applying a lavender base to your fingernails, “Suit yourself!”

Your hand flinched as the door was shoved open, smearing the liquid down your skin, only to be greeted by the eccentric figure of Stu. Upon seeing the predicament he caused, he bounced his shoulders and held up his hands beside his head, with an exaggerated frown. 

“Uh… whoops!”

He sauntered over, pressing his face into your shoulder. In response, you slapped the towel onto his face after wiping the spilled polish on the material. Stu grumbled something; it was ineligible. 

It eventually slid off on its own, with a little help from the teen shaking his head, “Suffocate me, why don’t you?”

Chuckling, you said, “You were the one who made me mess up, tough guy.”

“I totally meant for that to happen.” He slipped his arm over you, hanging like a sloth.

“If you meant it, then you have to be my test subject!”

Stu made a noise, contemplating. You wouldn’t force him to wear it, of course, but it was funny threatening something so harmless anyway. After just a few seconds, you felt the weight on your back release; Stu had moved in favor of shoving your bag into Billy to make space for himself. Then, the noodle of a guy flopped across from you, sitting criss-crossed with the most shit eating grin you have ever seen. Billy scowled at the rough treatment, but the expression was covered by the other’s knee.

He leaned forward, “Gimme orange.”

“Good choice!”

To prevent smearing, you blew on your covered nails as best you could, before bright orange coated the tiny brush in your hand. Stu seemed giddy as you took his hand, peering down, applying the cool liquid with precision. It was such a contrast to what his hand felt like; rough and as warm as a furnace. In the corner of your eye, you could see Billy’s eyes watching over Stu’s jeans, his book long forgotten. Finally, you finished, and allowed the fidgety boy to hold up his palms. His eyes were wide as he admired your handiwork, flexing his fingers with pride.

Stu tapped the top of Billy’s head with his elbow, “Hey, dude, want some of this?”

“Hm.”

“C’mon—”

“Black.”

You snickered, “I knew you’d crack.”

Billy rolled his eyes and leaned on Stu, holding out a hand. He shivered when you made a slight mistake, and gave you an unimpressed look as you fixed it with the edge of your towel. You could only complete one hand before he stopped you.

“Look who’s gonna be Cruella this Halloween!” Stu sneered, poking the other’s nose.

“Hey, hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You shut the bottle, carefully sealing them all back in your bag, “Fuddy duddy William could be making a new trend.”

“Never call me that again. Is this enough for you two?”

Stu cocked his head, “Lemme think… nope.”

You stretched your body out, setting your belongings on the ground. Opening Stu’s own closet, you ran your fingers over the variety of shirts and robes the guy had. In the very back, there was a band shirt, obviously too small for Stu; he grew out of it by the time he was sixteen. You held it out, studying it, before shrugging and taking it off the hanger. Your shirt flew over your head and smacked Stu in the face, but the air soothed the sweat that was gathering under your double sport bras, at least for a moment. Then, the newer shirt covered everything back up, and the dark material banned anyone from clocking the extra layers underneath.

“Why don’t we go out for ice cream?” you suggested.

Stu pumped his fist, even though your shirt was still clinging to his body. Billy shook his head, a little smile playing on his lips when Stu ran out the door, presumably to get his car keys. You, on the other hand, hesitated when you saw a shadow underneath the shirt, where your chest lay. The only other boy left in the room must have caught on, because you felt a passing hand on your shoulder and a whisper in your ear.

“You look fine, it’s normal.”

He met your gaze. However, someone was getting impatient, as a muffled shout rang through the closed window, “Coming? I’m totally getting pistachio this time, and you gotta be here to see me try it!”

-

[burr-ell]

On the subject of Vex's flaws, I think it's interesting to compare and contrast the conversations she has first with Vax and then with Percy in 1x63. Right before the episode break, Vax goes to Vex to talk to her about the title Percy gave her and tells her that while he appreciates that it made her happy, to him it's like "gilding a lily" and that she's "already perfect" to him. She insists her strength is an act and he immediately replies "bullshit".

Immediately after the break, Vex seeks out Percy, and thanks him for the title and tells him how much it meant to her that he took up for her that way. Percy says a title is "mostly there to remind you you don't really need it" and "it doesn't change anything", and they have a brief discussion about the logistics of what her title means. He teases her that "I imagine you're eventually going to become very insufferable" but then adds that "you have to be".

Now on its face it seems like Percy's saying the same thing Vax is! But there are a couple of crucial differences. For one thing, the comments Percy makes about her becoming "insufferable" (and then that actually she should be) are clearly playful, but it's also an acknowledgment that she can be exasperating. Lighthearted it may be, but it tells Vex that Percy's not afraid of her flaws or put off by the ways she could potentially be annoying. For another, he openly admits that she doesn't actually have any land—the land isn't his to give; it's Cassandra's, as the actual ruler of the city. Percy's promising her what he CAN give her, with an honest explanation of what that is. Like with the come-from-money conversation, he's being both kind and objective. It's at this point where he says a title "doesn't change anything", and I think that allows Vex to see his gesture for the totality of what it is and make her own choice about what she does with it. It's like the arrows; he's giving her the tools to forge her own path, trusting her judgment.

Now I'm not at all hating on Vax here, but I do think Vex's conversation with him revealed some flaws in their relationship. Vax only emphasizes how Vex is cool and strong, and when Vex directly states that it's an act, Vax dismisses this and says he needs her to keep being strong. And he clearly means well! But it's a fascinating choice from Laura to go from that conversation and then talk to Percy the first chance she gets, and one of the things that says is that Vex does not trust Vax's judgment of her in that moment. He's her brother, and he just explicitly said she's perfect! Vex has, by this point, started to see her own flaws clearly enough that just telling her how amazing she is doesn't address the issue, and she's less inclined to trust the opinion of someone who does it. She wants to know that someone can see her flaws, assess her honestly, and still love her.

And the conversation with Percy shows Vex someone who looks at her and sees through her, who has seen and done terrible things and is clever and pragmatic and ruthless, someone who does his best to evaluate a situation as objectively as possible and someone who's striving every day to become better. And that person trusts her, wants to see her succeed, and gives her everything he can to make that happen.

[destinylaurier]

The Alchemy | chapter one

a/n: thank you for choosing this to read! this is my first post on tumblr, and i'm excited to share this with you! as someone who likes to read, i just couldn't find enough stories about my man here, and i'd like to share what i had in mind if you'll let me. i really hope you enjoy reading this, because it is long af, and it's been in the drafts for several days now!!

summary : there's no such place like home. and for you, home, meant san diego. top gun has called upon the top pilots their programme has ever produced, and that includes you. but it also includes him. the one that got away. you never took it across the line, but it had always felt like more. it had always been push and pull with the two of you, and you could curse the universe for reuniting you. but would you, really?

pairing : bradley bradshaw x f!reader (callsign : karma)

warnings : alcohol use, inaccurate navy references, just some good old fluff.

word count : 3.6k words

North Island, San Diego.

Top Gun.

Home.

It held many memories. Too many. And you were sure it would weigh down on you as you walk through the doors of the Hard Deck.

There was no doubt that's where everyone would be headed the eve before the first day of training, just to cool off before they'd be stressed out by the mission parameters first thing in the goddamn morning, you were sure.

You'd taken a shower, and slipped on a figure-hugging pair of denims, a white tee, and your branded hand-me-down brown leather jacket that had those beige ruffles you liked so much.

Making sure your black Bronco was locked, you turn towards the doors of the Hard Deck in front of you. Behind you, the sun was glaring with a beautiful mix of orange and yellow, a warm contrast to the still bright blue sky.

The Hard Deck was a constant in your life, at least four years ago. Games were played, songs were sung, drinks had been drank. And there had almost been… never mind.

Okay, maybe you'd been standing outside for way too long, and it was a form of stalling.

It is.

Huffing out a quick breath, your head jerks to the side as you place your hands on the handles, pushing inwards. The bell rings, and it seems to announce your arrival to pretty much every person in the bar, most of them turning to you mid-conversation or just out of interest.

Here goes nothing.

You take not more than four steps inside, and your head turns at the booming Southern drawl from deep inside.

"Is that who I think it is?!" Jake 'Hangman' Seresin teases, with that jerky smile that was seemingly always plastered right across his face. His arms are out, one holding a pool stick, and the other a beer, as he begins walking toward you.

"Karma, my dear, how've you been?" He passes you the beer, and you take a long sip, not bothering to greet him at all, because that's just how you've been. And to deal with Hangman, you'd have to take at least a sip or two. Oh, scratch that, maybe a bottle or two.

But you know he was a good man deep inside. Very, very, very deep inside.

“Oh, you know, Bagman, worse now that I’ve seen your face.” You nod as a reassurance, giving him that sarcastic smile of yours that made his brighter, teeth shining as he chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down towards his boots.

“Well, I thought they’d sent the invitations to the best of us, Coyote, but it seems it went to anyone…” And there he is…

“Last I recalled, you’re the one who leaves your wingmen behind, Hangman.” You snark back, shrugging off your jacket and placing it over the backrest of a chair, turning your back to him as you wave at Penny behind the bar.

“Penny, it’s been a while…” The woman just smiles at you, pouring a glass of her finest Tennessee she learnt you appreciate over those years you’d come to her bar almost every night.

You raise the shot glass to her as a thank you, downing it and letting it burn down the way of your throat, a pleasant yet bitter feeling that you were fond of.

This place reeked of him.

Those deep feelings and emotions that you’d tried so very hard to toss to the very back of your mind, slowly, steadily, it was all coming back to you as you look around the bar.

The pool table, where you’d challenged one another so many times, the piano, where you’d sang your hearts out almost every night you spent together at the bar, and the stools, where sometimes, you’d spill something by out to each other, and it’s somehow just bring you closer than before. Every single time.

You catch a glimpse of Natasha by the table and sigh in relief. You were glad you didn't have to suffer Hangman alone. You grab your jacket, shooting a 'bye, Pen!' to the older woman on the other side of the bar, who replies back, and you could hear the smile on her face. Natasha also seems happy that you'd showed up, holding out her hands for a hug.

You accept the embrace with a chuckle, rubbing her back and smiling into her shoulder in happiness. Phoenix had always been the low-maintenance friend. Wherever you'd leave it off, it could build back up again, restoring itself like a puzzle, and it'd remain constant until work stepped in.

She introduces you to Bob, her cute back-seater from Lemoore, who seemed like the shy kind. The two of you started talking, and you teach him the perfect way to line up a shot and take it. When he shoots the shot, and makes three balls into the pit, you clap your hands as Bob jumps in ecstatic-ness. You offer to buy him a beer, and he agrees, but only if you'd take one with him.

As you walk back towards the bar, there’s just a tiny, tiny change in the atmosphere that you’re able to pick up as the bell rings, meaning someone’s entered. That someone, could very well be someone completely not related to whatever was going on in your life, or someone very significant.

Secretly, you hoped it was the significant.

You'd concluded, the seats by the bar were way too close to the entrance, because the way you could practically feel the breeze blocked by him, it made you feel shivers across your body.

Okay, okay, maybe you shouldn’t think about this right now. Or ever again.

You down the second shot Penny pours for you, unaware of the knowing look she gives, knowing you’d need it for the events of the night. And Hangman.

And you knew who.

Or maybe you’d just get drunk on your feelings. Who knows?

The familiar glint in the air is cleared out when you see him.

Broader shoulders, grown mustache, and he’d gotten an inch or two taller somehow. The aviators looked good on him. So did the Hawaiian shirt. But you knew that.

His lips are curled up, and you assume it’s due to the excitement of being here. Being called up was exciting, sure, but it means that you’re probably one of those Top Gun wouldn’t mind losing in a dogfight or flight.

But you’ve been doing this long enough to know how to make it out. Most of the times.

“Bradshaw! Is that you?” Phoenix calls upon him like it’s been eons since they’d seen him. He just smiles, walking over to the farthest corner of the bar Penny made sure had the largest pool table for them.

He holds a mixture of smug and sheepishness to his expression, probably because he was the most dressed, in his true fashion. Just like the pictures your father had shown you.

He nears the pool table, just as Natasha rounds the corner of it, lining up her shot, “This is how we find out you’re state-side?”

Bradley winces just a bit, sheepishness growing as he replies, looking around the bar and placing his aviators in the v of his shirt, “Thought I’d surprise you back..”

Natasha simply hums in response, before lining up her shot and shooting it, pool stick jabbing, very intentionally, in his stomach, making him groan and hunch over.

You hold back the loud laugh you were sure to let out if it hadn’t been for Bradley’s eyes meeting your own.

And it’s so familiar all of a sudden.

Those butterflies that had flutteringly rushed up and down your back, the warmth on your cheeks which were surely maroon, the twists in your gut, all of it, back, for a second of eye contact.

“Guess I surprised you back.” Natasha replies, pressing her lips into a thin line at the man still hunched over.

Her reply makes him look over at Natasha, as he stands straight after pushing his palms against his thighs to steady himself, patting her twice on the forearm.

Then, he looks at you again.

It’s almost like he’s studying you, because you thought it’d be a fluttering glance like always. But it wasn’t that.

He says your name with a tone, one that leaves those butterflies in your stomach dancing once more around, just as the chill returns.

“Bradley.” You hate that you sound so breathless.

You tell yourself that it’s just Bradley, the one you grew up with, the one you went to high school with, and then the one who you trained to be the best of the best with. He was your best friend, and even if you hadn’t talked in what felt like ages, things would never change between the two of you. Especially not for the worse.

That’s just how close you were.

But then the heart steps in. And it’s a struggle of do or don’t, because if you do, you’re probably letting go of this beautiful bond you two hold. But if you don’t, it’s just more heart break watching him take those girls home. The prettier ones.

“You definitely know how to make an entrance, don’t ya’?” That smile on your face slips on like a glove, and you watch him as he looks down, the slightest tinge of pink coating his cheeks, the slightest shift of his hair, that looked perfect even when it was messy.

Green hazel eyes meet yours, and you’re enthralled at being able to actually see him face to face. He just seemed so much more real, and pretty from up close. Those random midnight phone calls could never do him any justice.

“Well, I learnt from the best…” Okay, maybe you made a few wild entrances in school. But he was right there by your side, reluctant, but just happy.

The two of you were chaos together, always causing trouble, even when you wore pigtails and he had that awful bowl-cut your eighteen-year-old-selves would cringe at. Even when he was the man of the baseball game and you were on the bleachers, cheering him on, and probably the loudest.

One day, a normal day, you caught yourself staring. And then, came the what-if’s. Thinking about the how’s. And the why nots.

The pining was excruciating. Having to be so close to him, but yet, so far away.

You’d chicken out every time you mustered up the courage. You’d watch as he backs away to his car and heads home as the kiss on your forehead left a lingering chill.

You’d like to think you had gotten over him. But standing here felt like standing on a tightrope with no net below, like if you fell, like the first time, you’d keep plummeting to endless nothingness, hopelessly in love with someone who could never be with someone like you.

No, no.

You’re good enough. And if he couldn’t see that, even after all these years and giving up on practically everything for him, then that’s his loss.

And it's a loss that would be heavy on your heart. Because this had been here ages long. Just like that shot of tequila was making you feel.

He steps forward, his hand out at his side as he gestures questioningly for a hug with that raise of a brow and that grin you’d loved all these years.

And you fall off, beginning your descent.

You step into his warm arms, wrapping yours around the back of his neck as you close your eyes at the familiarity, ignoring the chill from when you could his arms around your back, your chin resting on his shoulder.

That was one thing about him you also liked, his warmth. His comfort. His way of converting your frown into the brightest smiles you’ve ever smiled within an instant. How his mere presence could make you giddy and happy. Just him, and you'd remember what home felt like.

This was great. This is where you wished you could stay. It was upsetting, knowing he'd never like you the way you'd want him to. But whatever this was, it was good enough. Just the pure thrill of wanting, was enough.

You step back first, smiling up at him when he grins down at you.

The riffs of 'Slow Ride' is what catches your attention first. Then, Hangman steps into the playpen.

You notice the way intimidation subtly hangs from Bradley's face, as it falls flat, the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Yes, Hangman and Rooster never got along together. Bradley tried to be the bigger man first, but Hangman would piss him off in some way that would rock him off his rails, and one day, he just snapped.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe." Hangman's tone is natural, as he steps forward, showing off his pearly whites with a crinkle of his lips. Bob, amidst lining up a shot in the game, stands aloof when his cue stick is snatched by the blonde. He stands up, not leaning forward anymore, looking around like a lost puppy, just as Fanboy pats him on the shoulder in reassurance.

You narrow your eyes at Jake, at just how much of an ass he could be. All the damn time. Strike one, Jake. Maybe you'd get to punch him this time after all.

"Hangman. You look," Bradley's eyes glance up and down, the corner of his lips pulled up the slightest, "good."

Jake lines up his shot in what seems like a fraction of a second, and you're sure to roll your eyes.

"Well, I am good, Rooster. I'm very good."

He makes the shot, without looking down, perfectly sinking three balls in.

"In fact, I'm too good to be true." Jake adds, and that's your cue. You roll your eyes, but not before you catch a glimpse of Bradley looking over at you with an expression that said, 'can you believe this guy?'.

"So," Payback steps in, and for that you're mighty grateful, tired of seeing Rooster and Hangman compare sizes for what seemed like the billionth time, "anybody know what this special detachment is about?"

Your attention diverts, and so does everyone else's. You were glad to have received mail, besides Bradley's usual letters and a few other financial statements, and surprised to realize the stamp was Top Gun's.

The letter was straight to the point, but not very informative, just something along the lines of, 'pack your bags and come be our bitches for the next month'.

But seriously. You remembered what your first detachment letter was like, clear as a crystal, and it held some sort of information. All you new about the current mission, was that there was a chance you'd get to be team leader. And you weren't going to pass up that opportunity.

"No, mission's a mission. They don't confront me." Jake's leaning against the pool table in front of Bradley, meaning you could get a clear whiff of Axe body spray off of him. You try to hold back your grimace. Keyword : try.

"What I wanna know," Jake's eyes meet your's with that godawful cocky smirk he'd made his signature for practically everything, "is who's gonna be team leader?"

And then he looks back at Bradley, his smirk widening even more, "And which one of y'all, has what it takes to follow me."

You let out a scoff, narrowing your eyes and raising your brows at his words.

Just how much farther up his ass was his head?

"Hangman," Bradley replies, "the only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave." That cuts it deep. Flashbacks come about and you try hard not to shudder.

Jake's off the table now, stepping further and further towards Bradley, who stood amused just as he neared, "But that's just you, ain't it, Rooster?"

"You're snug on that porch, waiting for just the right moment," Jake'd like to think so, but his eyes flicker towards you for a brief second, before going back to taunt Bradley again, "that never comes."

Bradley keeps his calm, ever the older man amongst the two of them, simply smiling in amusement. Jake leans just the tiniest bit closer to Bradley, not even a crinkle in his smile disappearing, “I love this song.”

And then he backs off, heading off to the bar, leaving everyone grimacing. Literally, everyone.

“Well, he hasn’t changed.” You speak up, watching Jake charm Penny. Back at the Academy, he was just the same. The only difference was, he was your friend. He was Bradley’s friend. At least they wouldn’t snipe at one another then, and simply tolerate each other’s presence. God knows what happened between them suddenly, making them the only rivals amongst your entire class.

“Nope. Sure hasn’t.” Bradley shakes his head just once, watching Jake too. He shakes his head once again, almost like he was slipping out of living the possibility that someday they would have one another’s backs.

Though, you were glad the tension had been cut when Jake’s stride began.

With every step he took, you felt like you could let loose now, and not be alert about Jake and Bradley getting into a cat fight, because, damn, could these both get in a tussle.

Without another word, Bradley’s hand wraps around your wrist, and he begins walking towards the table at the front, dragging you along with him. And you let him, knowing exactly where this was going to go.

If you’d have asked Penny Benjamin who made the most chaos on a coincidentally calm evening, she’d say, Rooster and Karma. Because the way the two of you would sing, it’d entrance the crowd and compel them to practically huddle around the two of you, singing just as loudly.

Yes, the songs would make people go even more crazy for drinks, but Penny was definitely over her ear drums tearing. Though, she was glad to see you both so close, knowing just how much the two of you had been through together, yet you’d stay by each other’s side.

And there was a possibility where you’d gotten drunk drunk and opened your heart out to Penny because she’d lent you her ears to disturb with your problems. She knew just how much you loved Rooster, and she knew the limits to where you’d go for him, and him, for you. It was visible. And it seemed natural.

You’d always be grateful for what you had with him because there was nothing like this.

And, there was nothing like the power of an unrequited love. Yes, okay, it would make tears fall out of your eyes, yes, it would make an agonizing knot in your throat, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Worst part is, you don’t even know how it began. It just happened. And it happened all too fast, and all too deep.

When you reach the piano, Bradley sits down, lending you a smile you swore sparkled underneath the yellow comforting light of the bar. You leant against the piano, a smile naturally covering your face as you watch him fiddle with the piano for the first few seconds. He plays a random melody, one that sends shivers down your spine because you know just how much fun you’ll have tonight, right here, beside him and everyone else.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, approaching from the back was Natasha, beer in her hand and smile on her face, followed by the other boys surrounding the piano by your side.

Natasha knew. From the very beginning. In fact, she was always the one encouraging you to make a move because she was “tired of seeing you make heart eyes at him”.

So, here you were. Right where you wanted to be. Right with whom you yearned to be.

You let the worries and tension knot out of your shoulders for the night, singing in utmost happiness and carelessness for howsoever your voice sounded for once, for howsoever you were with your friends for once.

Bradley just wishes you’d notice the way he looked at you as he sang, “You’re fine, you’re so kind! I’mma tell the world that you’re, mine, mine, mine, mine!”

Because he so wished you were.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.3

“You know, you could try actually folding your clothes.” I lean against the doorframe as I watch Liam struggle to keep the pile of sweatshirts from falling over and landing on the floor.

On the other side of the room, Kieran balances precariously on a chair while trying to tape his drawings to the wooden panelling. “He could, but then he’d just be setting unrealistic expectations for the rest of the year.”

Liam abandons the clothes, distracted by a basketball. “You’re just salty because you got the desk where the drawer sticks.”

“I give you both a month before everything in here sticks.”

“Eww, Juju, don’t be gross.” Kieran laughs and jumps off the chair, just as Liam launches the ball straight at me with a grin. I manage to duck, letting out a half-giggle, half-yelp.

The ball barely misses me, and continues straight through the open door. My eyes widen in panic, already imagining it hitting some poor unsuspecting person – or worse, something expensive.

Instead, there’s a soft thud as the ball is perfectly caught in my mother’s outstretched hands.

“Really, Liam?” she says, her tone carrying that mix of exasperation and amusement my brothers always seem to evoke.

Behind her, my father rubs his forehead. “I see you’re feeling right at home already. The campus tour is about to start. Will you be joining us, Julia?”

“No, I’m going over to Foxbury to meet a friend since I’m here anyway.”

Kieran pulls me into a hug. “Foxbury? Don’t tell me you’re fraternising with the enemy?”

“None of your business, boogerface.”

He doesn’t let me go straight away. “Love you, Juju. We’ll see you at home for Winterfest, right?”

I squeeze him tightly, fighting the burning sensation behind my eyes.

“Of course. Love you too.”

Most people have already left the party, but some are still dancing even though the volume of the music is significantly lower than a few hours ago. It’s getting late and the bright lights from the DJ booth swirl like melted neon in the dark when I move my head.

Marten leans against the wall, his cheeks a bit flushed. “So, what do you think so far?”

I shrug. “Honestly? It’s pretty much what I expected. I’m not sure this is the best learning environment though, it’s a bit chaotic.”

Marten grins. “Yeah, I guess this isn’t exactly representative of the more academic side of things.”

“Are you saying there won’t be beer pong and a DJ during all lectures?”

“You won’t find out unless you enrol.”

I shove him playfully and he almost stumbles.

“Hey, easy there, breakdancing isn’t until the midterms.”

“Oh, then I’m definitely out, sorry. Different learning styles and all that.”

“Pity. I really think you’d do well here.” There’s something like disappointment in the way he says it. I lean closer and turn his face towards me.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me here for more… selfish reasons?”

It’s meant as a joke, or at least I think it is, but my chest feels strangely tight and my voice is husky, barely audible over the music.

Marten’s eyes become much too serious, and I can’t look away.

“I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy and charged. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and for a second I expect him to break character and laugh it off as usual, but his hand reaches up, fingers lightly brushing along my arm. I can feel the heat radiating from him against my cool skin and the contrast gives me goosebumps.

I take a deep breath. He’s standing so close, his blue eyes locked on mine, waiting, almost daring me to make the first move.

“Jules…”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I don’t let him finish. I close the space between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is warm, delicate – almost too delicate for how much tension has built up between us. But then, Marten puts his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me in closer, and the kiss deepens.

There’s nothing playful about him now. His lips are firm, commanding, and there’s a raw hunger in the way he kisses me, like he’s been waiting for this moment for a long time and now he can’t get enough.

It’s incredibly arousing.

My body is trapping him against the wall, and I can taste the faint remnants of beer on his lips, but more than that, I can sense his desire, his determination. His heart is racing and there’s a slight bulge in his jeans already. He’s clearly not as unaffected as he usually pretends to be.

We break the kiss for just a moment to catch our breaths, and I desperately try to regain some sort of control over the situation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually want me.”

A grin spreads across his face. His hand stays on my waist, holding me close in a way that feels possessive, and he looks at me with that intensity that makes my heart skip.

“Want you? Fuck, Jules, I never wanted anything the way I want you. If you could read my mind every time I look at you, you wouldn’t be here, you’d have run away long ago.”

“Is that so? You know, you never showed me your room.”

“How very rude of me.”

He kisses me again. As he takes my hand and we walk towards the doors, someone cheers drunkenly, but I don’t care. In a way, the fact that everyone probably knows exactly where we’re going only makes me more excited.

Marten’s room looks more or less like I expected. Typical boy’s room, a few empty cans and dirty dishes, his computer featured prominently. A small robot stares at me, its eyes glowing creepily in the dark. Marten rests a hand on my thigh, and I wish he’d continue kissing me, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me, studying my face.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you here,” he says, his voice low, teasing, as he runs his thumb over my lip and I shiver, desperate for him to do more. But it’s like he’s savouring the moment. The way he kissed me felt like he’d been waiting for this forever, but now he’s in no rush.

“Really? I honestly thought you weren’t interested. You kept insisting we were just friends.”

“We are. Were. And I wasn’t sure you’d be looking for a nerd who’s into robots and talks too much just after dating… a celebrity.”

I appreciate that he doesn’t say the name, I don’t want to be reminded of that right now. I gently shove him backwards.

“It’s true, you do talk too much.”

“Can’t help it, you’ll just have to shut me up.”

I kiss him again, and his hands finally start exploring my body.

“You’re so fucking sexy”, he breathes, and it feels like electricity coursing through me. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on.

I’m straddling his thigh, moving my hips desperately to get as much friction as possible. His erection is poking into my hip and he breathes in sharply each time I rub against him.

Neither of us is going to last long like this and I wish he’d hurry up and just fuck me, but he seems determined to tease me, see how far he can push me.

My patience runs out. I sit up, tearing off my top. There’s a small snap as the elastic band in my hair breaks and flies off into the darkness. Marten smirks and throws his own t-shirt to the floor after it.

We’re both frantic now, and when he reaches out to grab a condom from a drawer, I realise with a twinge of shame that I hadn’t even thought of that. Some daughter of a doctor I am.

Then he’s inside me, and I forget everything else. The friction from riding his thigh already brought me close, and we’re both surprised by how quickly I come. But I’m still wired up and I want more, bucking my hips against him, meeting every thrust while I wonder if his housemates can hear us.

Soon, too soon for my liking at least, Marten throws his head back and groans, moving in and out a few more times before collapsing on me.

Still breathing heavily, he rolls off.

“Fuck, Jules, that was… You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Maybe you should have let me know sooner.”

“I didn’t have to,” he says with a crooked smile, “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

I nestle into his arms, feeling content. Wanted.

When Marten speaks again, his voice is low, drowsy, he’s almost falling asleep.

“I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

My stomach flutters, and I let myself sink into his certainty.

Maybe this could turn into something great.

Maybe it already is.

navigation / previous / next

[inky-writing]

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: my bad writing, MDNI, +18 only, NSFW, love, CARLISLE is hot, anyway, THIRST

Word count: 4, 436

<<< Previous chapter

Book II, Chapter 7: A Night In Port Angeles

The cafeteria was loud with the usual chatter of students eager for the weekend, but at the table where Y/N sat with her friends, the conversation had taken an interesting turn.

Mike, with his usual enthusiasm, leaned toward Bella, his grin wide. “So, Bella, I was thinking… maybe we could go see a movie tonight?”

Bella stiffened, eyes darting to Y/N, who barely looked up from her notebook. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the awkwardness.

Mike quickly backpedaled. “I mean—only if you want to! We could, you know, all go together.”

Bella let out a quiet breath of relief before giving an eager nod. “Yeah! A group thing sounds fun.”

Eric laughed. “Wow, smooth, Newton.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Angela chimed in. “We haven’t done anything fun as a group in a while.”

“You in, Y/N?” Jessica turned to her.

Y/N shook her head, offering a small smile. “Can’t. I already have plans.”

As the conversation shifted to what movie to see, Y/N returned her attention to her notebook, though she hadn’t actually been working on anything in the last few minutes.

It had been exactly two weeks since she’d discovered the truth about soulmates in her grimoire. Two weeks since she had confirmed Carlisle was back in town. Two weeks of secret meetings, stolen conversations, and desperate attempts to untangle the web of lies Esme had woven around the Cullens.

She still wasn’t sure what scared her more, Carlisle’s unwavering belief that she was his mate, or the fact that she felt it too.

Carlisle’s pov

Carlisle sat in the dimly lit study of the temporary home he had rented in Port Angeles, his fingers absentmindedly running over the old text in front of him. The words blurred together, but his mind was elsewhere.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days since Y/N discovered he had returned to Forks. Fourteen days of secrecy, of quiet meetings with Y/N, of trying to unravel a mystery that seemed impossible.

He now knew, without a doubt, that Esme had been lying to him.

The fog that had clouded his mind for years had begun to lift the moment he distanced himself from her. It was subtle at first, just flickers of clarity. But every moment he spent away from her, every meeting with Y/N, made it clearer.

Esme had done something to him.

Something unnatural.

But how?

Vampires didn’t have abilities like that. At least, none that he had ever encountered.

Y/N, for all her own growing power, had been just as perplexed. They had spent hours talking, exchanging theories, poring over texts she had access to, and retracing the past century of his life for any clues.

But still, nothing.

A part of him wanted to believe it was just his own mind breaking free of a long-held illusion. That maybe, just maybe, he had been mistaken about Esme all these years.

But another part of him, the part that could still hear Esme’s voice in the back of his mind, whispering reassurances and promises, knew it was far more than that.

He closed the book and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Y/N had asked him once—What does this mean for you?

At the time, he hadn’t been able to answer.

But now?

Now, he knew.

It meant his entire existence had been a lie.

Later that day - Y/N’s pov

The air was crisp that night, the scent of saltwater drifting in from the bay as Y/N parked her Jeep outside Carlisle’s rental in Port Angeles. The house itself was small, nothing extravagant, but fitting for a man like him. A warm glow flickered through the windows, a contrast to the cool evening outside.

She had been here a few times before, but never this late. Never with her heart pounding this hard in her chest.

Taking a breath, she stepped up to the door and knocked lightly.

It opened almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her.

Carlisle stood there in the dim light, wearing a black tshirt, exposing strong forearms lined with veins. His hands, God, his hands, were the kind that looked like they could ruin her.

“Come in,” he said, voice deep, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N hesitated for just a second before walking past him, the scent of something delicious hitting her instantly.

“You cooked?” she asked, surprised.

He gave a soft chuckle, closing the door behind her. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten. You’ve been running yourself ragged lately.”

Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl, and she winced.

Carlisle smirked, leading her to the dining table where a plate was already set. The meal was simple, grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

She slid into the chair, watching as he poured her a glass of water. His movements were effortless, precise, like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she murmured, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.

“I wanted to.” He sat across from her, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, and she had to stop herself from staring at the way the fabric of his tshirt stretched over his muscles.

She picked up her fork, trying to focus on the food instead of the way her skin felt hot under his attention.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable, but thick with something unspoken.

Carlisle’s eyes studied her. “You’ve been working too hard.”

She swallowed, setting her fork down. “So have you.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “True. But at least I don’t forget to eat.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the blush rising to her cheeks.

Carlisle leaned back slightly, stretching his arms behind his head for a moment, and Y/N had to look away before she embarrassed herself. How was it even possible for a man to look so effortlessly attractive doing something so simple?

“You’re blushing,” he teased, voice lower now.

Her head snapped up. “No, I’m not.”

His smirk deepened. “You are.”

She scowled, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip. This is dangerous, she thought.

Because for the past two weeks, something had been shifting between them. It wasn’t just the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, or the way she found herself thinking about him more than she should.

It was the way he looked at her.

Like she was something worth looking at.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake the thought away. “Did you find anything new?”

His expression sobered, the teasing glint in his eyes fading just slightly. “Not yet. But I know Esme is manipulating more than just my thoughts. She’s… controlling on a deeper level.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation, though her pulse was still racing. “She doesn’t manipulate fate. Just minds.”

Carlisle exhaled, running a hand through his hair—a rare sign of frustration. “Then the question is… how long has she been doing this? And why?”

Y/N frowned, fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. “You said it started before you even met me, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. But it’s worse now.”

She met his gaze, her voice softer now. “Because of me?”

His jaw clenched for a fraction of a second before he answered. “Because of us.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to stay composed.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew what she felt for him.

And, despite everything, despite the way it terrified her, she knew he felt it too.

He just couldn’t say it.

By the time they finished dinner, the wind had turned violent, howling against the windows of Carlisle’s rental like a wounded animal. The rain started minutes later, heavy and relentless, drumming against the roof with an unforgiving rhythm.

Y/N glanced at the window, her stomach twisting slightly. The drive back to Forks would be hell in this storm.

Carlisle must have noticed the way she tensed because he leaned forward. “You shouldn’t drive in this.” His voice was calm, but there was something in his eyes, concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, but even as the words left her mouth, a sharp gust of wind rattled the glass, making her wince.

Carlisle arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not convincing.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. He’s right. It was stupid to drive back in this kind of weather, especially at night.

Still, she hesitated. Staying the night at his place? Alone?

Dangerous.

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. His tshirt clung to his torso, the fabric stretching just enough to remind her of the solid muscle beneath.

She swallowed.

“I have a room,” he added, as if sensing her hesitation. “You’ll be safe here.”

Y/N bit her lip. The wind howled again, shaking the entire house.

Shit.

With a sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Fine. Let me call Charlie.”

Carlisle didn’t say anything, just watched her with those sharp golden eyes as she dialed.

It only rang once before Charlie picked up. “Hey, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She glanced at the window, listening to the wind roar. “I, uh… got stuck in Port Angeles. The storm’s too bad to drive back, so I just got a hotel room for the night.”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I just heard the warning on the radio. Good call, kid. Just be safe, alright?”

“I will,” she promised. “I’ll drive back in the morning.”

They exchanged quick goodnights before she hung up. When she turned back to Carlisle, he was watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

“You didn’t tell him you were here,” he noted.

She shrugged. “He’d ask too many questions.”

He didn’t press the matter. Instead, he stood, stretching slightly before gathering their plates.

Y/N’s eyes flickered down on instinct.

Oh, hell.

The hem of his sweater lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach, taut muscle and a sharp V-line disappearing beneath his jeans.

Heat flooded her face.

She snapped her gaze away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

“I’ll find something for you to sleep in,” he said. “In the meantime, if you want to shower, the bathroom is just down the hall.”

She exhaled slowly, nodding. “Yeah. That… sounds good.”

The shower was exactly what she needed.

The warm water eased some of the tension from her shoulders, and she took her time washing the day away. But her mind refused to stay quiet.

Instead, it drifted back to him.

Carlisle.

The way he looked tonight, the way he always looked, really. But tonight, in that damn tshirt, with his veined hands gripping the pan while cooking, with the way his muscles flexed ever so slightly when he moved…

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Get a grip, Y/N.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t just some guy. He was Carlisle Cullen. And no matter what they felt, no matter what he claimed about mates and Esme and manipulation, he was still married.

…Wasn’t he?

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly. It was all too much. The storm outside, the storm inside her.

But even as she tried to shake the thoughts away, the image of him lingered behind her eyes. The sharp cut of his jaw. The way his amber eyes darkened when he looked at her. The stretch of his body when he leaned back at dinner.

Her stomach tightened.

She needed to finish this shower before she lost her damn mind.

She exhaled as she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her like a soft mist. The air outside the warm cocoon of the shower was cooler, making goosebumps rise on her damp skin.

Carlisle had left clothes for her just outside the door, a large, soft white t-shirt that smelled like him, and a pair of sweatpants that would no doubt be too big for her. She pulled them on, her skin still warm from the water, and the fabric felt almost too comfortable.

The t-shirt swallowed her frame, the neckline slipping slightly off one shoulder. She didn't hate it. In fact, she liked the way it felt, as if he had wrapped her in something his. She shook the thought away and ran a hand through her damp hair before padding barefoot back into the living room.

Carlisle was lounging on the L-shaped couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest as he flicked through channels on the TV remote. 

And God help her, she was thirsty.

Her eyes betrayed her instantly, trailing down his torso, lingering on the way the soft fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. Then lower, over the faint ridges of his abs beneath the fabric, down to his strong thighs, which were definitely taking up more than their fair share of space on the couch.

And those damn sweatpants.

She swallowed.

“Find something to watch?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

He glanced up at her and gave her a small, almost lazy smile. “Not yet. Any preferences?”

She shook her head and made her way to the couch, sitting beside him. She tried, really tried, not to notice the way his muscles shifted as he moved, the way his veined hands gripped the remote, the way he smelled like cedar and something inherently Carlisle.

But failing miserably.

He must have noticed the way she kept fidgeting because he finally set the remote down and turned slightly to face her. “How’s your medical school application process going?”

Right. Med school. A safe topic.

She exhaled, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s… a lot. I’ve sent in my applications to a few places, but I’m still waiting to hear back.”

He nodded, eyes warm and attentive. “You’ll get in. You’re brilliant.”

She bit her lip, warmth spreading in her chest at the certainty in his voice. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “What do you want from it?”

She blinked. “From med school?”

“From your future,” he clarified.

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly. “I guess… I just want to help people. To matter.”

His gaze softened. “You already do.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. A part of her wanted to reach for him.

No.

She shouldn’t.

But it was getting harder to resist.

She was still warm from the shower, but she felt hotter now. Was it just her, or had he shifted closer?

Her heartbeat picked up.

And then she caught him looking.

At her.

More specifically, at her chest.

Her nipples were peaked beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. The realization made her stomach tighten, heat pooling low.

Carlisle’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his golden eyes darkening just a fraction.

And suddenly, they weren’t talking anymore.

Somewhere between words and silence, the space between them disappeared.

She wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was him leaning in, or her shifting closer, but before she could think about it, his hand was brushing against her jaw, tilting her chin up.

A breath.

A moment.

Then his lips were on hers.

It started slow, testing, almost hesitant, but as soon as she sighed against his mouth, as soon as she parted her lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss, all hesitation disappeared.

Carlisle groaned softly, shifting until he was angled toward her, his large hands framing her face as he kissed her with more intensity.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath. He was strong, she could feel it in the way he held her, the way his hands moved from her face down to her waist, pulling her closer, as if he needed her closer.

Her hands traveled up, slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling his skin, the hard ridges of his stomach. He inhaled sharply at the contact, his grip tightening on her hips.

The kiss turned desperate.

She gasped when he pulled her onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath ragged against her lips as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her chest heaved, lips swollen from the kiss.

Carlisle’s eyes roamed over her face before dropping lower, his hands skimmed up her sides, fingertips brushing beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough. “And I will.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kissed him again, fingers tangling in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He groaned against her lips, hands gripping her hips, guiding her to press against him.

She gasped at the feeling, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Y/N…” His voice was strained, his forehead pressing against hers as if trying to regain control.

Her breathing was uneven, her body trembling slightly against him.

They were playing with fire.

And neither of them wanted to put it out.

Carlisle’s breath was hot against Y/N’s lips, his hands firm on her hips, holding her against him as though she might slip away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t—not when the feel of him, the taste of him, was setting her skin ablaze.

His hands skimmed beneath her shirt, fingers ghosting over her ribs before sliding up, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, her back arching into his touch, pressing her chest against his palms. He groaned, rolling his hips up instinctively.

The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt him beneath her, hard and thick, pressing against her through his sweatpants. Heat pooled in her belly, a desperate ache settling between her thighs.

She wanted more.

Needed more.

Carlisle kissed down her jaw, his lips tracing a slow path to her neck. He paused, breathing her in, before sucking gently at the skin just below her ear. She whimpered, fingers tangling in his golden hair as he moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her throat.

His hands slid higher, pushing her shirt up over her head. She let him, raising her arms as he stripped it from her, tossing it aside.

He froze for a second, just looking at her, his golden eyes darkening as they roamed over her bare skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost reverently.

She shivered under his gaze, heart hammering in her chest. Then his hands were on her again, one sliding up her back, the other gripping her waist as he leaned forward, pressing his lips between her breasts. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, his mouth closing over it, sucking lightly.

She moaned, hips rocking against him, seeking friction.

Carlisle growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on her hips as he guided her movements, pressing her down against his arousal.

“Carlisle…” She barely recognized her own voice, breathless and needy.

He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

Her stomach clenched at the nickname, desire flooding her veins.

“I want you,” she admitted, voice trembling with need.

His jaw clenched, his restraint visibly slipping. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, cupping his face. “Yes. I need you.”

That was all it took.

In a blur of movement, she was on her back, Carlisle hovering over her, his weight pressing her into the couch. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, before trailing his lips down her body, worshiping every inch of her with his mouth.

He peeled the sweatpants from her legs, taking her underwear with them. His fingers traced up her thighs, spreading her open before him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

He didn’t waste any time. His mouth was on her, tongue sliding between her folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. She cried out, fingers gripping his hair as he devoured her, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking.

She was so close, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Carlisle, I…”

“Let go,” he murmured against her, his voice like sin.

And she did.

Pleasure crashed over her in waves, her thighs shaking as she came against his mouth. He groaned, gripping her hips to hold her still as he licked her through it, savoring every drop of her pleasure.

When she finally caught her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, his lips finding hers once more. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the thought only made her want him more.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. He sat back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his stomach. Her fingers traced over them, marveling at the perfection of him.

Then her hands dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. She felt him—hot, heavy, and thick in her palm. He groaned, his head falling forward as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly.

“Y/N,” he growled, his breath ragged.

She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. “I want you inside me.”

His restraint snapped.

He kicked off his sweatpants and settled between her legs, lining himself up with her entrance. He paused, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

She cupped his face. “You won’t.”

With one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into her, stretching her inch by inch. She gasped at the fullness, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to the crook of her neck. “You feel… perfect.”

He gave her a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting forward again, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up speed, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Their moans filled the room, mixing with the sound of skin against skin.

“Carlisle—”

“I know, love,” he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come for me.”

A few more thrusts, and she was falling apart again, her body tightening around him. He cursed, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release.

With a final groan, he pulled out, spilling on her stomach and breast as he whispered her name like a prayer.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies tangled, their breaths mingling.

Then Carlisle lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

The soft golden glow of morning filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting warm streaks of light across the sheets. Y/N stirred, sighing as the soreness in her body reminded her of the night before. She was naked beneath the covers, the faint scent of Carlisle still lingering on her skin.

They had barely slept.

Every time she thought they were done, Carlisle had pulled her back in, whispering her name in that deep, velvety voice, his hands tracing the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. He had worshiped her, again and again, until she had collapsed against him, boneless and spent.

Now, she stretched lazily, rolling onto her back. The sheets were cool beside her. Carlisle was already up.

The distant sound of movement in the kitchen caught her attention. A small smile tugged at her lips as she reached for his shirt from last night, slipping it over her head before padding barefoot toward the source of the noise.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Carlisle standing at the counter, his broad back to her. He had changed into black sweatpants and a fitted long-sleeve Henley, the fabric hugging his muscular shoulders and arms in a way that made her mouth go dry.

He was flipping pancakes, his veiny hands effortlessly maneuvering the pan. A fresh pot of coffee steamed beside him, along with a plate of eggs and toast.

Her heart skipped at the sight.

"You’re cooking again?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.

Carlisle turned, his golden eyes lighting up at the sight of her in his shirt.

"You need to eat," he said simply, a small smile playing on his lips. "You barely did last night, and I kept you… occupied."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "That’s one way to put it."

He smirked, setting a plate in front of her as she sat at the kitchen island. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Morning," she whispered, her stomach flipping.

They ate together, the air between them comfortable, though electric with everything that had happened the night before.

But soon, reality crept back in. She had to go home before Charlie started asking questions, and there was still so much left unresolved about Esme.

She kissed Carlisle one last time before heading out, the memory of his hands on her still burning beneath her skin.

By the time she got home, it was early afternoon, and she barely had time to process everything before Bella came bursting into the living room, looking frantic.

"Where have you been?" Bella demanded, eyes wide.

Y/N blinked. "I was…"

"It doesn’t matter," Bella cut her off. "You won’t believe what happened last night."

Charlie had just walked into the room, sighing. "She’s been like this all morning."

Y/N frowned. "What happened?"

Bella ran a hand through her hair. "The others didn’t show up—just Mike and Jacob. Then Mike got sick, and Jacob almost got into a fight with Mike for no reason. But that’s not even the weird part."

She took a breath. "Jacob had a fever… like, he was burning up. And then, after I got home, he called me saying he’s really sick now, but something feels wrong."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine.

Charlie sighed. "Probably just the flu. Half the town’s sick right now."

Bella shook her head. "No, it’s not just that. He was acting weird. Saying things that didn’t make sense…"

Y/N exchanged a look with Charlie, then sighed. "You should let him rest, Bella. I’m sure he’ll be fine."

Bella bit her lip, looking unconvinced. But there was nothing more to be done.

Still, as Y/N headed upstairs to her room, a bad feeling settled in her stomach.

Something was changing.

And she wasn’t sure any of them were ready for it.

Next chapter >>>

Tag list: @inky-bonnie @irelanrose @i-cant-pick-an-aesthetic09 @wandererthemadhatter

[dorkus-mcdingus]

The Eyes are Always Honest

Characters: Fellow Honest, Gidel, Joanna O'Malley

Tags: OC x Canon, First Meeting, Fellow Honest x Fem!OC

Hoo boy this was a fic that was a long time coming. I love writing the dynamic between Fellow and Joanna especially with how both of them hate having their wings clipped.

You can think of this as like a precursor to Playful Land's story where Fellow and Gidel first landed on Sage's Island and it's sorta day (or rather night one of landing in the place). Also, if you see these brackets bolded (These ones ⏩ { } ), It just means Gidel is signing to his big brother. I just don't want to bother with trying to describe the signs he does unlike the previous story with Rosalie 😅

Another day meant another moment to see the moon rise. As the street lamps emitted their gentle glow, a pair of strangers idly strolled through the laughter filled streets of Foothill Town with nothing more than a bag carrying the essentials they needed and dressed in fabrics so bright that one could easily pinpoint them in the dark. Although in contrast to the vibrant colors they wore and the wolfish grin of the taller beastman, weariness of the road cloaked their eyes.

The bite of the autumn fog mauled their faces and stung their skin while the tiny beastman toddled close to his guardian to keep himself warm. At the same time, a nightmare replayed in their minds, all they could focus on now was to keep walking and to hold on a little longer before they could find something to hold them over until tomorrow. A cheap inn if they're lucky or at least someone who can accept their money and not turn them away.

Over in the Western half of Foothill Town in a quaint little cafe that viewed the vast ocean, a lone barista heaved a heavy sigh once the last customer left for the night and she counted her tips for the day.

"Rough night for tips but every little sorcent counts." The woman muttered. "The sooner I'm able to get back to England with Rosie unscathed, the better I'll be able to sleep."

Alas, the workday wasn't quite finished yet as she had to help close up shop. Excusing herself, she walked outside all while fishing for a cigarette and a lighter. If the boss was going to get on her ass about her behavior, while she loses hope about ever returning home repeating the same boring routine, might as well cool off before more customers come in, loiter around, and treat her like a maid.

Despite the chill in the air, the fog finally cleared and she got a good gander at the twinkling stars that shined as bright as magestones in a mine. Though, one in particular caught her eye as she raised the lit cigarette to her lips. This star in particular glowed brighter than the others and was quite a large one at that. The locals took to calling it,

'The wishing star.'

A star in which can hear the wishes and pleas of the people who are in dire need of hope or happiness. Some say that a gentle and kind celestial fairy took the form of that star and would grant the wishes of those who have given so much happiness to others.

"I sometimes wonder if that's true." She thought as she watched the smoke curl when she exhaled. "With how that bleeding carriage spirited us away, I need any kind of miracle."

Looking up, the twinkling star did give her some feeling of serenity. Maybe one little wish wouldn't hurt? While true, dad always told her that the old star could only take her so far, at this rate, she needed hope for the safety of her sister and a safe journey home.

After exhaling another drag of smoke, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said quietly as if in desperate prayer,

"Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight."

"Some naysayers would say that a girl your age is far too old to be wishing on stars. Personally, I disagree."

The sudden voice that cut through the quiet bustle of the night shot at her like a blast of lightning and she hastily jerked her head to locate the source.

Before her stood two gangly figures. The taller one, a fox with hair, eyes, and fur as orange as a glowing fire, and the younger, a tiny little cat beastman who looked no older than an elementary schooler with fur and hair the color of mahogany while his large, round eyes and eyes that seemed to match the shade of peridot green shadow worn on his guardian's eyelids. Their outfits were unbelievably gaudy, bordering on stage costumes rather than proper streetwear. One could say, it's as if they were cosplaying proper members of society only to come off as a cheap imitation of the kinds of people she used to surround herself with in her old life.

The fox looked a little more spruced up compared to the cat (if not for the hole in one of his gloves and the intricate patchwork on his trousers) but it wasn't by much. In a crowd, he REALLY stuck out like the sorest thumb and his little lackey was no different especially with the mallet he held tightly in his tiny hands that hid behind these comically large sleeves.

"My, my Gidel." Spoke the fox, his honeyed voice oozing with faux adoration. "What have we here?!"

The cat, Gidel, looked up at the woman with wide eyes, and replied with a silent but surprised nod.

{"She's so pretty!"} He signed.

"Isn't she? Dare I say, that..."

"Pardon me." The woman interrupted. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, do excuse me, Miss. I was so enraptured by your beauty that I couldn't help myself with getting distracted." The fox replied, drumming his fingers on the golden handle of his cane.

She nodded with a warm smile as she put her cigarette out on the bottom of her high heeled shoe.

"It's rather cold out so I'll give you both some hot tea to warm up."

"You're far too kind my dear. Come along Giddy, we can't let our gracious host wait on us."

As the two travelers entered the cafe, the barista glared at them. Immediately, she knew they weren't to be trusted and every little fiber in her body screamed at her to turn them in to the police. However, the devil on her shoulder whispered oh so sweetly in her ear, tempting her to let them stay for a while. After all, back in her world she was no stranger to characters like him but the intrigue pulled at her so hard that she wanted to see how the handsome showman and his adorable little brother could try to pull one over on her. Alas, it seemed like this time her hedonistic curiosity won her over as she followed them inside.

The fluorescent lights acted like a spotlight as the two escaped the chill of the autumn night and into something more cozy. The poor things looked like they were practically starving so maybe something complimentary could do for them. Not like a pot of tea from her apartment would break her bank much. Still, just seeing the way the little boy gazed at the pastries displayed in the window, her heart felt close to shattering. The world truly can be an unkind place especially for children like him.

Once the tea was finished steeping, Gidel ran back to the table his guardian fox was sitting by and took his seat aimlessly swinging his legs with an innocent smile.

"Consider this as compliments of the barista." She spoke while pouring the tea with the skill and elegance of a proper hostess.

"Thank you!" Replied the fox. "Although, I'm afraid I haven't gotten your name."

The woman giggled.

"I do believe the custom is that the gentleman introduces himself first, sir."

"Oh my, where are my manners?!" The fox replied with a smile that oozed rose colored dreams. "My name is Fellow Honest. The young lad beside me is my dear friend, Gidel. He can't exactly talk but he's a nice enough sort."

With a light nudge, the cat boy looked over at his caretaker as he said,

"Go on, Gidel. Say hello to her."

Obeying the order, the tiny kitty greeted his hostess with the sweetest smile ever seen from a boy his age and a handshake.

"Aww, aren't you the little charmer, Gidel." She smiled. "Name's Joanna. Joanna O'Malley."

Fellow let out a chuckle as Gidel moved back to his seat, his ears and vulpine eyes narrowing at her like a lone rabbit in an open field.

"Joanna O'Malley, huh? Definitely rolls off the tongue well I'll admit."

Joanna gazed at her two guests, her grey eyes glimmering with intrigue as she retorted the fox's compliment with,

"Is flattery how you communicate, Mr. Honest? Pity your hostess isn't naive to fall in love with something so empty."

"Oh, no, no! I genuinely mean it! A lovely lady such as yourself befits a name like that. Apologies, but in my case it's hard for me to tell a lie. Matter of fact, many people have taken to calling me an 'Honest John' for that reason you see."

Joanna let out a smirk before she broke out into a giggling fit. This bloke couldn't POSSIBLY be serious! An Honest John?! Him?! It was like he had,

'Call the police! I'm a suspicious man!'

Painted in neon colors on the back of his coat.

Just that sentence alone, was enough for her to know the kind of person he is. A charlatan, a silver-tongued sleaze, a professional schmoozer who peddles nothing more than broken promises disguised as sweet dreams.

This rodeo wasn't anything new to her but oh how her heart pounded as a lack of logic took over her mind. She just HAD to speak to him more. Her curiosity about him and his little brother ate at her like vultures feasting on a fresh corpse as well as feeling like she took the revolver in her hand and spun the chamber. Who knows, maybe she'll live, maybe she'll succumb to her gamble and she'll greet the grim reaper with the most passionate kiss.

Either way, much like a shark smelling blood, she was locked in and Fellow could see she was on to him and his pretty little lies.

"Oh this will be FUN!"

"Apologies for my little giggle sir, it's been so long since I've felt this way before, especially since I've been so wracked with worry for a while now."

"Oh my sweet dear!" Fellow replied as he pulled up a chair for her. "Come now, tell me your troubles and maybe I might have the solution to help relieve you of some of your worries."

Joanna took a deep breath as she recounted her story. Not too long ago, a black carriage came by and shoved her little sister into a coffin and dragged her to another world. Trying to free her, she hitched a ride and had one hell of a crash landing and here she was. Trapped in Foothill Town, working day in and day out with barely a sorcent to her name, trying to find a way to bring not just her sister but herself home, back to their world.

Poor Gidel's sweet smile ran away from his face as he rubbed her arm. One could only imagine how terrified she was.

"I appreciate it, sweetheart." She smiled at the boy.

"Unfortunately, as far as my magic is concerned I can't cast a spell to help alleviate your worries. As far as my prowess with magic is concerned, I can only cast sparks to my fingertips, a small breeze, or little droplets of water."

Striking a pose to where it appeared he was lost in thought, Gidel tugged on his guardian's coat and with the rapid fire signs, the fox said,

"Yes... Yes! Ah, Giddy what a clever little genius you are!"

"Pardon me, what is he saying?" Joanna inquired as she collected the tea tray.

"He told me the most brilliant idea!"

Approaching the counter, he pulled out an Ace of Spades playing card with a charming smile on his face, letting out a giggle at the confused expression on the girl's face.

"Sorry, sorry. A bit of humor on my end. This is what I meant to give you."

With a slight of hand, between his fingers rested a glimmering ticket. In bright, red letters inscribed

"Playful Land Dream Ticket, Admit one."

Against the bright blue, crimson red, and beige.

"The hell is this?" Joanna asked a little coldly.

"My word! You've never heard of Playful Land? To think I would ever meet a soul who hasn't heard of our esteemed park."

Gidel nodded, his expression bug-eyed like a fish searching for water.

"Ah, you work at a theme park? I took you two as a pair of runaway vaudevillians or carnival barkers but I suppose the latter was correct."

"Really? It just so happens that I am the manager of the park. Though, color me surprised, I didn't think anyone knew about stage shows like that."

"The theater is one of my interests actually, alongside fashion and costume history. Though, commedia dell'arte is the one that gets me the most."

"Is that so? Well, have you ever thought of becoming a star on the stage? One of the perks of this particular ticket is not just the free rides and food but also participating in our world renowned stage show."

"Pfft! Bruv, never in a million years will I ever reach the stage. Even if you paid me the treasury of any royal family in this bloody world, I wouldn't do it. You truly are hilarious!"

"Oh but I insist!" The fox replied with the most insidiously charming smile and a twirl of his cane. "The moment you and I gazed at each other, I knew you could be a star in the making! Especially someone with the most magnetic 'come hither' stare like yourself, my dear. Think of it, the lights, the applause, a lovely lady such as yourself was made for the stage!"

She tried to choke back her amusement but much like one of her bad hangovers, she had to let it out. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until her sides went sore.

The manager and his lackey looked at each other as the swirl of emotions bubbled up inside them. They were going to lose her if they didn't redirect their strategy sooner. But it felt like a lost cause at this rate as not even magic worked to help her crack. The pitch was far too sketchy to where it could leave anyone howling like a hyena.

Once Joanna dried her tears and calmed herself from her laughter, she looked at the two much with a glint in her grey eyes on par with a lioness hunting for a fresh kill. With a low and melodic purr in her voice, she said to them

"My, my, darling. Aren't you quite the comedian! Dare I say a real Brighella if you will!"

For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, an icy chill shot through the fox. For some strange reason, the cafe started feeling colder than the autumn chill they escaped from.

Brighella was a character he knew well, especially whenever he had time to sneak into the theater. A masterful liar and schemer, fond of money yet spends it rapidly, but he takes advantage of those especially if it will gain him the best advantage. In other words, a scum of the earth omnivore just like himself.

The little boy on the other hand didn't take the insult well and just before he was about to hit her, Fellow immediately grabbed the mallet, looked at him like a stern parent and replied with a calm,

"Don't be crude."

There was a time for violence and this was not one of them.

"Oh how you spark my curiosity though Fellow. Believe me, your offer is tempting. Dare I say, tailor made for someone like me. Gorging myself like I'm a pig for slaughter, going up on stage to dance around like you're making me pretty for buyers who want my body, indulging myself in a carnival that's prime bait for hedonists! It's so sublime...!"

This was it! They got her hook, line, and sinker! Though her choice of words was unbelievably concerning towards anyone that's sound of mind. Well, a fool is a fool and a good way for them to make a quick mark...

"But I have to refuse, darling."

"WHAT?!"

"I've done plenty of dangerous things to give myself an adrenaline rush, hell, even talking with such a suspicious character like yourself is enough to get my blood pumping. However, much like you, I've got a sibling to look after and make sure she's safe. After my last attempt at laughing in the face of death, my sister became my reason to stay alive. Besides, I doubt you both would get anything out of me if you tried to pick my pockets except for a few measly sorcents. I may have come from money back in my world, but here, I have nothing."

Sure, in their travels they may have come across strange and suspicious characters like them, but not once did they ever meet a woman that was both intrigued and on guard. Fellow's sweet-talking silver tongue couldn't do anything while his unique magic wasn't much help either. After all, the girl was searching for her sister and she was already suspicious of them from the start so alas according to the rules of his spell, she really would take a lot of convincing.

She gazed at the ticket, the fox really bore a resemblance to the one in front of her. Recalling her childhood, she remembered her mother telling her stories of foxes and their notorious trickery but she gave both the fox and the tiny kitten toddling beside him a wide smile as her eyes narrowed at them.

"You're trapped in a whale's stomach, aren't you?"

The room started growing colder while Gidel clung to his guardian. He couldn't sign or act out what he wanted to say but it was enough to make him shake. Something about her just put him on edge and every single bit of him was telling him to run away.

"Ahem, eh-ehehehe... My apologies madam, but whatever could you mean by that?" Asked the fox as he smoothed down his little brother's messy hair.

"Your eyes gave you both away to me."

And for once, a look of genuine shock was plastered on their faces.

"You may lie and trick with your silver tongue and your brother's adorable charm is a magnet for gullible bell-ends, but the eyes are always honest, you see? They can tell me everything. You're both so weary from the long journeys you've been on, but you have that desperate hunger in them too."

Stepping out from behind the counter, she walked around the two eyeing them up and down like a prison guard performing an inspection.

"Looking at the clothes you both wear, I must admit, the needlework is amazing, but I wonder how many times you had to patch up your trousers and his shirt while walking for so long. The truth is, I don't know what you two have done in the past, but I can tell that you abhor the life you have now."

"Run! Run! You need to get out of here!"

Was the thought that screamed in the minds of the petty schemers. Just before he was ready to leave, he thanked Joanna for her time and left her the ticket in case she wanted to join them on a day full of fun.

"Boys!" She called.

"What now?!"

"You're forgetting something."

In her hands, she gave them a bag full of leftover sweets and sandwiches and a couple cups of hot apple cider but they both looked at the little offering with DEEP skepticism.

"Oh dear, it seems like you're both worried." Joanna replied.

"Why wouldn't we be scared after all the weird crap you sai-! I mean... We're just curious about the offer."

Close call. Almost slipped their cover.

"Something for the road. You both look starved to death."

"That little...! Is she looking down on us?!"

"I appreciate the offer, but we're on a rather tight schedu-"

Grrrrrol

Gidel's stomach couldn't help itself and as much as the little kitten hated to admit it, he was hungry and the checks they've been getting were getting less and less by the minute so they could barely afford food. Almost like the boss was trying to find a way to keep them as his own personal donkeys he could bark at like a slave driver.

In turn, Joanna looked at the little boy with deep sympathy. As much as it was fun setting them on edge, she really couldn't help but pity them. Heaven only knows what kind of horrors they've seen and what they're experiencing right now.

Fellow hates his life. That was for certain, much like how Jacob Marley was as dead as a doornail. As for Gidel, his innocence has been somewhat shielded for the most part, but he too has witnessed all sorts of horrific things at such a young age. Yet still, in a way he acted as his big brother's conscience. A sweet yet bitter bond they share that you can't help but pity.

"Please, take them. We're going to be closing soon and at least these won't go to waste. Besides you two are quite the fun pair, that it would kill me inside to see something horrible happen to you. Back home, I work as a bartender and I do have strict morals and principles when it comes to my customers. I'd rather they leave happy, satisfied, and head home safe. So rest assured that no one tampered with these."

They did smell good... And the apple cider would be a huge help in keeping them warm tonight on the way. Besides, it was better than a failed theft or pickpocketing attempt, or having to forage for potatoes again for the upteenth time and it was ESPECIALLY better than dealing with the boss barking orders or screaming abusive obscenities at them.

"On second thought, might as well take these while they're still warm."

Gidel let out a beaming smile as he bounced on his toes as he signed,

{"Thank you! Thank you so very much!"}

"You're very welcome, darling. As for you Fellow, I hope you can make it out of there. Whatever it is that's leaving you shackled. I'd hate to see a man like you have his wings clipped."

"What do you know about that?" Fellow replied, his vulpine eyes narrowing at her. "And why in hell do you care?"

"I don't like seeing passionate people like you both losing your spark. From the looks of it, you're stuck."

Heaving a deep sigh, the two gave her a little bow, bade her farewell, and disappeared into the night.

As Joanna watched their silhouettes grow smaller before disappearing into the darkness, she let out a somber smile.

"Honest John…” She scoffed as she tore up the ticket. “What a joke! I can read his face like an open book! Although, I know his pain too well. It's happened to me many times. While true, I don't know what it's like to go through what they've been through, I've been in partnerships and relationships where I nearly had my wings clipped."

Meanwhile, in the outskirts of Foothill Town, there rested a little motel where visitors could rent a room for dirt cheap. The owner, while wary of the two strangers, accepted the little fee they had to pay but at least it served as a refuge from the Coachman's abuse. Although they had no chairs or tables, they made do with the tiny room they had to share. Gidel's eyes lit up like a kid in a candy shop the more he got a good look at the morsels the woman at the cafe gave them.

Sandwiches, a cookie for both, a couple of muffins, croissants with little cups of blueberry jam, and then the hot cider waiting?! This was the most amount of food they've seen in so long and she gave it for free?!

"Damn it..." Fellow huffed as he unwrapped one of the sandwiches. "And she was a good mark too wasn't she Giddy?"

In reply, Gidel nodded although his cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's.

He tried to sign to him but Fellow quickly stopped him.

"Swallow first, then you talk."

Once he swallowed and set his sandwich down, he signed to him,

{"She's nice, but she's so scary!"}

"No kidding...! Geez Louise, I've never been more creeped out by a target in my life! It was like she was staring into my soul!"

Gidel nodded with a shudder as he took another bite of his little meal, urging his big brother to at least eat something.

"Okay, okay. I will." He replied as he took a bite.

The smoky taste of the meat coupled with the slight saltiness of the warm, melted cheese made his face soften up. For what seemed like a long time, Gidel saw a genuine smile on his guardian's face.

"Well, it's not all bad I guess. At least we got a decent meal out of her. I just hope to the heavens we never see her again!"

Gidel nodded as they both toasted the coffee cups filled with the hot cider, and took a sip soon after.

The warm, sweet but slightly tart taste of the apples felt like heaven after spending days on that godforsaken ship, waking up every morning to clean up the evidence of their previous prospects and to make sure the place shined like the Fairest City.

Still, what annoyed Fellow was that she was right. He was just like the old toymaker stuck inside the belly of that behemoth of a whale. The amount of times he had to kiss ass, sacrifice blood, sweat, and tears so that the hard times wouldn't be so hard on them, but that jackass of a Coachman made the two of them his own personal marionettes to exploit.

He looked out the window and back to Gidel, letting out a sigh as he gazed upon the wishing star.

"I'm not lucky enough to have my wish come true, but if you can hear me, I need a sign. At least something to have a bit of hope to better our lives."

[3600frames]

Would you also consider looking over beika tweets for any new insights or maybe things the translation looks over?

[edit: made an easier-to-read version of my edits here]

ok this started getting MUCH longer than i expected so i'll put everything but the first one under the cut.

[...]and then after a little while, he told me that he had debuted with a band[...]

When I first read this and checked the JP text it seemed right but I’d also been looking for as many JP reactions to the booklet as I could possibly find and not a single one brought up anything akin to that… so checking the specific phrasing in the JP again

しばらくしてバンドデビューしたからっていうんで

The literal information being communicated being “band debut-did”, ending with a quoting particle (って) and “to say” (いう). “って言う” being a way of directly quoting a statement... when written in using the 言 kanji. When spelled only in hiragana (っていう), it can gain an alternate meaning of quoting hearsay (explained here, using the more formal と form). So with this definition, it’d be more like

[...]and then some time later, I heard about how he’d debuted with a band[...]

There’s a part of me that wondered if it’s supposed to be ambiguous, but there’s the fact I haven’t seen a single native speaker read it like that, and how it seems you only use the 言 for something Actually Said, and the fuller tweet in context:

ハイカラ行くって言いだして行って、しばらくしてバンドデビューしたからっていうんで

言 IS used for the “I’m going to Inkopolis” statement, which makes that seem like a direct quote, contrasting with the “[the band debut]” being something only heard about...I think.

オマージュじゃんてよく言われるけど、あんたらの曲ならこれぐらいカッコよくできますけど？ていうかこっちのほうが300倍よくね？って言ってるだけで、オマージュとかそういうのじゃねーから

Well, people often say it's a homage to their song, but any of you guys would be able to make a song that's just as cool. I mean our song is this one 300 times better, right? Just wanted to make it clear that we're not trying to pay homage to it or anything like that.

→ I get a lot of people thinking it’s an homage, but just for the record, I was only trying to express, like “If it’s you lots’ “music” we’re talking about, then obviously we could make it SO much cooler, y’know. I mean like, our version is 300 times better, right?”. That’s all. It wasn’t meant as a damn homage.

Okay I assume the “あんたらの曲なら” is what got interpreted as “any of you guys would be able to[...]” but I absolutely think it’s “snidely referring to the original song in a way that implies it has much room for improvement”. Also wanted to emphasize the “じゃねーから” at the end.

今のハイカラはスカしすぎてると思う。ただ、ちょっと昔だけど、フロムボトムは面白いかな。

I think the Inkopolis scene is too pretentious, but Bottom Feeders are pretty cool even though it's been a while since I've listened to them.

→ I think the Inkopolis scene has become way too pretentious. However, I know they’re kinda old news now, but those Bottom Feeder guys are pretty cool.

The JP had the interesting specification of that “pretentious” comment being made about the Inkopolis of now (今のハイカラ). Also, the ちょっと(a bit) 昔 comment was very much directed at Bottom Feeders, which on the JP side was very much seen as an audacious way to refer to presumably still-active artists. (...and that immediately being followed with courting a collab with someone of Finn’s temperament, the response was mostly along the lines of “oh you’re gonna get your ass whooped for that.”)

C-sideで、きかせてやりたいんだよ。バンカラだろうがハイカラだろうが、このごちゃまぜの時代に鳴り響く、ほんとにピュアな音

I'd like to play songs for everyone. No matter if they're from the Splatlands or Inkopolis, I want to create really fresh tunes that make people feel at home in this era of chaos.

→I want to play along with the rest of C-Side so you all can hear it. This truly pure sound that'll reverberate throughout this era of chaos, no matter whether it's the Splatlands or Inkopolis.

pure sound(?).

Fun JP-specific quirks that may give insights:

1) The overall speech patterns are very informal/colloquial (even more so while drunk), except for the “Now or Never is a C-Side original” statement which suddenly ends with the formal sentence ender です/desu.

Now or NeverはC-Sideのオリジナルです。 

2) I said in an earlier post that Beika uses ore in kanji which is true but specifically during the drunk-tweeting they use it in hiragana for it instead (おれ同中だから)... which doesn’t seem intentional on their part on both a consistency level and hiragana-ore being this kinda paradoxical thing where softness of using hiragana clashes with the tougher image of ore. So what I think happened is that they drunkenly didn’t bother/forgot to hit the input that turns it into kanji. Very specific I know.

3) The word they use to collectively refer to Squid Squad is 連中(renchuu) which is a very fun word where the connotations drastically change depending on who you’re using it for (very derogatory here).

4) I get why this didn’t get TL’d because both the dialogue and song name being the same syllabary lessens the impact, but it’s very funny to be so smug about typing out the whole song name after not remembering (or pretending not to) their band name multiple times…

じゃなんで連中のSplattack（合ってる？笑をC-Sideでカバーしたの、

…while also forgetting to close the bracket.

So, you’re probably wondering why we covered that Splattack (did I get it in one? LMAO song of theirs.

(also you forgot the exclamation mark so no you didn’t)

5) Definitely a case of “this works more naturally in JP”:

Oh, their music? Well, I guess it's not as bad as it used to be.

The ? in the JP doesn’t explicitly end the sentence in the JP (あいつらの音？は前よりマシ) so it could also be read with the connotation of:

Oh, well, I guess their music(?) isn’t as bad as it used to be.

Whatever That Means. Also the TL of it is good I just wanted to mention the “compliment” used is マシ, which has the implication of the less bad out of two undesirable options lol.

[spinningbuster98]

Metroid Other M Part 7: You're authorized to go to Hell, Adam

The gravity section before Nightmare is actually pretty cool. It’s actually a much more appropriate use of the Gravity Suit than simply limiting it to underwater usage. However this further proves what I said a long time ago about the authorization mechanic just straight up not being in synch with the story: Adam is no longer present, Samus takes the opportunity to reactivate her Space Jump and Screw Attack...but not the Gravity Suit. Even though she needs it and, again, Adam’s no longer around to be a dick to her. See? The devs thought about building a cool gameplay setpiece without bothering to think about its story consequences. Now Samus looks like a moron, again

Speaking of morons...

Yeah it’s the Adam shoots Samus scene. What you all came to see. Whoo. Much hype. Very yikes

Let’s start with Adam

The game has a very nasty and unfortunate tendency to, unintentionally, create a contrast between how Samus describes Adam VS how he actually acts. Throughout the game Samus does nothing but shower Adam with praise of all kinds, commenting on not only his military genius but also on how compassionate and “fatherly” he was towards her. Yet the guy that we actually see on-screen is the complete opposite: he’s a spiteful control freak obsessed with protocol, who doesn’t know how to manage having such a useful asset as Samus on his team and who, by his own admission in this very scene, incapacitated Samus while she was in the presence of a Metroid he wasn’t completely sure could be frozen. He literally says that, he gambled Samus’ life on a guess for no good reason.

If I wanted to be charitable I’d say that the plot was trying to purposefully present him as a prick in order to create an air of mystique: why does Samus revere this bastard so much? And I guess that this scene was meant to be the one that was going to pull the rug from under our feet, after all this is the closest that Adam ever gets to showing any kind of affection and “trust”...but it’s in the context of him shooting her in the back and leaving her at the mercy of a monster. There’s such an incredible disparity between the Adam that Samus prattles on about and the one that we see that it genuinely makes Samus look like your stereotypical abused girlfriend trying to rationalize why her boyfriend hits her.

But why does Adam shoot Samus? Many people seem to think there’s no reason for him to do that.

But actually...there is

It’s actually a bit of a trope in some works of fiction to have one character attack and or incapacitate another one that they’re supposed to be friends with in order to perform a risky thing on their own. It’s supposed to showcase the character’s levels of selflessness and the lengths they will go to in order to protect their loved one, even if it means hurting them in a way

In theory I would not mind Adam shooting Samus for these reasons: as seen in Fusion, Samus can be pretty stubborn and set in her ways when it comes to the idea of having to sacrifice herself for the greater good, so, in a better story, I wouldn’t necessarily mind Adam needing to exercise some force in order to prevent Samus from throwing her life away. The first issue with this is that the reasoning that the game gives is pretty flimsy to start with: Sector Zero will detatch from the rest of the station and self destruct as soon as she tries anything. Because it’s not like Samus has ever escaped from a self destructing location before right? It’s not like Fusion didn’t have this exact scenario with the Secret Metroid Laboratory, with Samus escaping unscathed, because Other M has its lips locked onto Fusion’s dick harder than a cheap prostitute.

But the biggest, surrounding issue is the general tone.

The story may communicate that Adam is doing this to save Samus’ life selflessly and Adam may say that Samus is inexpendable due to being a galactic heroine unlike him, but the other, underlying reason as to why Adam needs to shoot Samus in order to stop her from entering Sector Zero...

...is because Samus is an immature child that cannot be trusted to act logically

Because if there’s a message that the game just loves hammering into your skull literally since the beginning is this. From the intro when we see Samus as a child curled up in a fetal position because muh symbolism, to her acting subserviant to Adam either because she feels guilty about disobeying her father figure in the past or because she wants to be a spiteful brat, depending on your interpretation, to when she had to be saved by Anthony from Ridley, to her now repeating almost word for word what she told Adam when Ian died, there’s this permeating, consistent idea that Samus, deep down, is just an insecure little girl who isn’t anywhere close to being as confident and capable as she appears. The reason why Adam shoots her is because she’d be too immature and emotional to accept his sacrifice logically, so he needs to use force and take the choice from her. And, as usual, the story proves him right by how Samus reacts afterwards. The scene REEKS of condescension

And I know that some might argue that this is just a result of her trauma of the Baby’s death but....when does she recover from this exactly? After Adam dies she says she gained some “clarity of mind”, but did that just magically fix the trauma? Did that just magically fix her insecurity? The game acts like this act made Samus a stronger character,which I guess it did since she largely stops angsting after this, but when you look at the facts she magages to accomplish shit after this: Ridley gets killed off screen and Anthony will ultimately be the one to save the day.

What is Samus’ arc in this game? What lesson did she learn in the end? That she had been fooling herself all this time? That she’s still that capricious teen from her army days? Ok nice, what was the point of that? What exactly is the point of devoting an entire plot to just telling me that a character that had always been known for being highly skilled and practical is actually just an insecure mess? For depth? To humanize her? Because I’m sorry but if the final take away of a story is “yeah you kinda suck and you shoulda listened more to that abusive prick you called a father figure because you only mess up on your own” then something has gone wrong along the way, unless you’re writing a story that’s being cynical on purpose, or one about a morally reprehensible person getting broken down, which isn’t either case with this game, as the story wants me to believe that Samus ends up being a better person by the end even though she really has no reason to be. And all of this to say nothing of the myriad of sexist implications at play, which I’m not going to touch on since I am by no means knowledgeable on the subject matter

This is also the reason why I refuse the notion that the Samus that we see here is supposed to be a purposefully nerfed take on her due to the Baby’s death: she may be depressed, but a big selling point of this game was that we were gonna see the “real Samus” underneath the helmet, and this is the Samus that we pretty much see from start to finish, so I’m left with the conclusion that, according to this story, this IS Samus, full stop.

And quite frankly? Even if it made logical sense it still would not have been a good idea. I could, theoretically, write a story where I put a character like Superman through a billion different traumas, just so I can write him as a depressed and mysanthropic asshole. Even if it technically made sense writing wise, it still would not be a good decision, unless it’s a what if story of some kind, because there’s very little value in destroying a characrer just for the sake of it or just to say “hey see? He’s falliable just like any person!”

Humanization can be a good thing that can make characters feel more real and even more relatable. However not all characters are meant to feel completely real. Some characters are meant to feel like symbols or concepts or ideas. Distillations of human traits even. It’s only in the world of fiction that we can have characters that are technically impossible or very hard to come by in real life in terms of their character. I do believe that Samus falls into this category for the most part. She’s an iron willed badass, fearless in the face of untold alien dangers and capable of widespread destruction and carnage, yet still possesses a heart of gold and a selfless spirit that allows her to do the right thing because she thinks it’s the right thing to do, no matter what others may think. She suffered a traumatic tragedy, yet is not a Batman-like figure darkly seeking vengeance. I think that this is what Samus is at her core.

You might argue that this is very bland and boring. Maybe you’re right, plenty of people think the same about Superman. But I’d say that the kind of character that Other M Samus is is also a dime a dozen, so for my money I’d rather go with the former, who’s entertaining and even a little inspiring if viewed a certain way, rather than with the latter, who’s got a truckload of writing issues and unfortunate implications.

[inchidentally]

https://x.com/charlclerc/status/1749478427239891090?s=20

I think someone here missed the sight of a soaked Oscar <3

ok so big shock!! I'm gonna use this sweet little morsel of Lando pausing in his remaining winter break to look back on that glorious day

to create an absolute smorgasbord of what Suzuka meant to him and to Oscar

I've edited together the most chewable parts of the post race press conference tho tbh it's mostly just removing the parts where Max tries his best to put a slight new twist on answering the exact same questions as last weekend lgflajsg.

so at the start I love the little private smile Lando and Oscar share when Max's fanfare is going on - it gives me a little rueful but also slightly creepy twinning vestal virgins au like are we going to destroy him Lando? yes we are going to destroy him Oscar

(I AM NOT BEING SERIOUS IT'S JUST JOKES).

which is even funnier with what Max leads into about seeing these two goddamn McLarens sandwiching him and for a split second thinking ah so they want to destroy me? oh dear. like Max is very at home on that couch but the presence of these two creatures sharing covert smiles with each other has him (and probably a lot of that room) uneasily wondering if that's all y'know, normal and above board? they're not like... witches, right? haha. crazy!

and I think the cool meticulous way Lando treats his own performance is a really good example of how (in my opinion!) his self-flagellation does need to be reeled in because he's never the sort to be soaring high enough to compensate for those lowest lows. for a while I was undecided but honestly I agree with Martin Brundle, Jenson Button and Oscar who've said (in different ways and indirectly from Oscar) that Lando is far too level-headed and race smart to be hanging his own tender hide out like he does. I so appreciate how measured he was in self-approval over his back to back podiums and no one's asking him to get cocky, but I'd really love to see him match this approach to when he struggles as a driver (and not just a car issue which was the case pre Silverstone).

contrast that with Oscar discussing his own self-criticisms of the weekend but equally saying he'll still relish the maiden podium. and crucially that he can fairly put at least part of his struggles - which he was also meticulous about - down to this being his first time racing at Suzuka. an anon sent an ask about Andrea praising Oscar specifically for his performance there and you can really feel the influence Andrea has had throughout the season on Oscar. because before Silverstone, Oscar had a tendency to monotone lowness and disappointment in himself that bordered dangerously on bitterness and maybe even a fear/doubt of how his rookie season would indeed turn out? but Andrea's approach of optimism, faith in teamwork and specifically in making sure Oscar was looked after while Lando naturally performed so much better, absolutely sank in.

and it makes sense that Oscar as a rookie has so much more mental plasticity when it comes to outside influence - and says a lot about Andrea's leadership too. it's where I wish Lando could have had Andrea as principal from day one too. bc understandably, Lando has graduated to that level of knowing himself so well as a driver relative the drivers around him that there's an existing almost prejudice about himself that the people in charge of guiding him have to overcome.

literally everyone who knows and who matters has said how similar Lando and Oscar are in terms of their approach to the car and their dedication to the team. and I know Andrea has shielded Lando in his own way by saying that it's a champion's mentality to have as much passion and emotion as Lando does. but - and this is honestly such a great piece about Andrea go read it and thank you again to @mecachrome for repping him so much - he also emphasized the positivity that was so crucial to pushing the team through those awful early races. I don't at all blame Lando for getting a bit grim toward himself at times thinking not only about that first race win but also the championship. but I also really hope that between Andrea and Oscar (source: Lando himself!) he can use the lifts of his highs to not sink so low anymore.

skipping back to around the minute mark when Lando says how much more this second place means to him than Singapore because of the double podium and also because of his own performance being better. not to get too ~contentious~ but this is why I really have needed the Singapore high to wear off as fast as it did for Lando when people are discussing Lando's 2023 as a driver and not as part of a ship. absolutely still revel in it in an rpf sense! but like, real life Lando is intensely loyal to his team and y'know what else? he's intensely loyal to loyalty. which is precisely what Oscar has been proving to McLaren since signing that pre-contract the summer before. it took an entire court case for Oscar to get to McLaren and he was met with a wall of hate coming from three sides. comment sections were filled with people celebrating McLaren's 2023 initial struggles and vilifying Oscar for how much he was costing them (in every sense) for paying out Daniel. and it was the Suzuka weekend when Oscar agreed immediately to extend his contract further.

Lando had a front row seat for all of that once the season started. and considering how few races Oscar's dad and Lily were able to make due to being on the other side of the world and final year of school respectively, Oscar spent a fair amount of that time getting to grips with being in F1, and the particular pressure and stress from media and fans, largely alone in terms of a private life. so it says so much about how well he was repaid by the team and also by Lando for keeping his cool and putting in the extra hours and keeping the faith.

and around 2 mins "we have two drivers up fighting for those positions" "we can help one another and use one another". that tandem the two of them have achieved before the season is even over was largely formed when the car was fighting against them. as was the case with Carlos and then Daniel and truly every other F1 driver, Lando did NOT have to intervene or take on a specific responsibility toward Oscar. F1 drivers aren't pack animals, they move through their careers alone and are happy if they can be buddies with their partner. so to see Lando as the number one show faith in Oscar and stand up for him and receive that trust and faith in return is so unique. Lando controlled that as much as Andrea did - maybe even more considering how he says he feels Oscar is so similar to him in a lot of ways. it's not uncommon for charismatic guys like Lando, Carlos and Daniel to make friends with their team mate.

but I think the whole "Lando effect" thing has actually been a huge disservice to what Lando has put into the partnership with Oscar. in this interview early on in the season, he says how Oscar is really quiet and that it's just how most people are in their first year and "we'll change him". but as we've seen, Oscar didn't end up changing and funnily enough the hanging out he and Lando do off the track has been as private and only alluded to as the rest of Oscar's private life. Lando got a lot of Oscar on his camera (again, a lot we haven't gotten to see yet) but really there was no big transformation in terms of Oscar becoming one of the charismatic personalities of the grid. and yet he and Lando only got closer and more supportive of each other in all the ways that matter to a partnership. so I think it's a much bigger credit to Lando that he learned to understand Oscar's personality better and still found ways to establish that sense of trust and loyalty without a bromance or a bunch of common interests to act as glue.

when they do that slightly eerie, intense active listening when the other is speaking, it's them having a synchronicity that has nothing to do with how guys usually bond. (that's why my vestal virgins au yes I know it's weird)

Lando wasn't in any position of power for any of that to be relevant with Carlos or Daniel - Carlos was so far advanced already in his career and Daniel had his thing going on w McLaren that Lando had no control over (and rightly didn't respond to people demanding he show some kind of shame?? or partake in the blame). so loyalty never really played a part in his partnerships with those two, whereas (and maybe as a result of that) Lando's loyalty to McLaren as a team only grew each season. so seeing someone close to his own age but far behind in experience, work so hard and prove so early on that he wants to stay, absolutely brought out a pride from Lando for Oscar that I really hope he will also extend to himself more. major Zak Brown levels of back pats to Lando.

and side note but it needs to no longer be a question or point of contention when Lando says that Silverstone and then the double podiums are superior races for him. Lando loves his F1 buddies, absolutely. but Lando didn't burn through junior championships by favoring his buddies. he loves racing and his team more. and he sure didn't get that second place podium in Singapore because of a buddy, it was because of the position he'd put himself in. just like how Carlos would have given DRS to anyone behind him who was on older tires like he was to ensure that win. like, let's remember the manic obsession that has brought these men to where they are. buddies are a part-time thing. rpf is my meat and drink but I'll never confuse it up with that reality lol.

4:45 the Senna-Prost comparison - and I could probably get all deep about the youngest generation referring to those old bitter alpha male rivalries as something long gone (but I won't). but it's a really good call-back to Monza and the coming together because there's Oscar's ability to see his performance clearly and where it went wrong for him leading to that third place and not higher. and god, I am in no way saying that it's possible to compare Lando being in his fifth season without a race win to a rookie celebrating his first podium. I just really hope that Lando reminds himself that he's come of age in F1 in the Max Verstappen era and that in the cool down room at Qatar, Oscar giddily thanked Mercedes for clearing a path for him. that it doesn't always have to be pure perfection and pace to keep him afloat. sometimes points are points and serendipity plays her part.

"I've been drowned by Lando in champagne" god I will never be over Lando's smug toothy smile

and I will also never be over the way Lando went from clearly dreading being the "older/experienced" teammate and not knowing what to make of Oscar's quiet, reserved personality, to the intense proprietary authority of practically holding Oscar up by his collar like a prize cat in Suzuka and saying "this is mine! I helped make this what it is! look how good this is!"

all while baptizing him in champagne <3

[darlenicy]

Darcy and Riven – their story and why I ship them

In January 2023 I found my way back into the Winx fandom - more precisely, I created this Tumblr on January 28th, 2023 and since then I have been constantly passionate about this show from my childhood. Most of all, of course, for our three favorite witches. Accordingly, this year I have given a lot of thought and HCs to the Trix and their relationships. Today is the day that I'm going to write down all of these HCs and thoughts I have and tag them properly so that they're easier to find in my jumble of posts, reblogs and crazy fangirling. Well, have fun!

I got my first anon ask about Driven headcanons (hcs most of the time now) in march and therefore tried to order my thoughts on this topic as well. It actually became something of a definition of their relationship and how I see them in the show: This is how my bullet journal looks:

Riven is pretty badass. That's why Rivusa doesn't make much sense because ego-wise he would have gone after best-girl-Bloom. Or Princess Stella, but more Bloom, simply because Brandon (Sky) obviously found Bloom interesting.

Then there is Darcy. Not only is she the complete opposite of the loud, glittering fairy gang, but she also forms a stark contrast to Riven. She is powerful, yes, but above all she is calm, goal-oriented and come on in 1x8 we see how cute she is. Of course, Riven likes her power-talk in 1x9 but he surely is keen on her because she is a totally different type of girl than Musa or Stella.

Oh, and an important thing that just came to my mind while supervising what I wrote and putting it into a post: DARCY DID NOT MIND-CONTROL HIM IN CANON!

Her glowing eyes meant that she formed the connection with Riven, so that he could contact her mentally later on in the show!

It's fkn 4kids who came up with the mind control because they tend to downplay everything for all American kids' sake. - Ok back to the post:

In terms of type, if comparted to the fairies, Darcy is mostly like Flora, but in contrast to the nature fairy, she has a much more self-confident demeanor. She is also the first to respond to Riven as a person and his needs (power, being recognized). Then of course there is the matter of rescue. Firstly: Thanks for saving my life and secondly: The woman can ride this flying motorcycle like a guy. Where can you find something like that? And unlike the Winx, who are constantly in trouble, Darcy (and her sisters) is beyond competent (in Season 1 after all, we know how the writing goes down, *sigh*). So, we have Darcy: a beautiful, competent badass BB who just saved his life and looks like an angel that fell from heaven - all in the specialist uniform too - sexyyy. So, it's an extremely attractive girl who also knows guy things and cares about him and really sees and perceives him as a person. She's not a self-centered good-time girl who makes him clean, so she doesn't have to endure her punishment alone (looking at you, Winx....)

But who exactly is Darcy? (she's my girl, my bb, my queen) Out of the Trix, she is probably the one who is least behind the world domination plans. Of course, she is still a member of the Trix - and of course not less power-hungry than her sisters. But she would be the one most likely to give up everything to live a quiet but fulfilling life with the person she loves. Isn't she? She is definitely the first to panic and to make mistakes as a result. We remember episode 1x5, where she immediately panicked when everything didn't work out as planned. She thought she would find Stella's ring in no time, that wasn't the case. Instead of keeping a cool head like Icy would have, she freaks out and starts attacking Bloom. Is it fear because she is running out of time and doesn't know what to do if her disguise is exposed? In any case, Darcy would have been expected to wear a more confident disguise. But in the end, she's the one most likely to panic and this episode shows that perfectly. Maybe that's also the reason why she has clever ideas, but often doesn't think them through. In episode 2x10 she tries to get Icy to put the feather in the scales, fearing that she might have made a mistake and get wiped just like Stormy, who had previously hit the scales with brute force. Icy states very correctly: You’re a backstabbing coward, Darcy. And I love you for that. And with that she the nail right on the head. Darcy is certainly the first of the Trix to get nervous. She certainly has a tendency to overthink, whereas Riven strikes first and thinks later (at best).

Mind control is her specialty. She knows how to get into the minds of her victims to confuse and weaken them. At the same time, she also knows how uncertain and dangerous feelings can be. When it comes to having deep feelings for someone else, she is more likely to be the one who is insecure and cautious. Precisely because feelings are so uncertain, she probably tries to make decisions with her head rather than with her guts.

Their love story is iconic and cute. Basically, we have good girl and bad boy, but the good girl is one of the bad guys and the bad boy is ultimately one of the good guys. They haven't really fought against each other yet. Riven only knows that Darcy is one of the most powerful witches in Cloud Tower and that she and her sisters hate the Winx. Since Riven is skeptical of the Winx himself and has no deeper connection to them, he has little to do with this antipathy from both sides and perhaps only hears about it in passing from Brandon or Sky. So in 1x7 he doesn't pay much attention to the Trix. The fact that he turns on the light and exposes the Trix is once again Riven being Riven. He wants to be the cool dude and doesn't really care about the situation. He simply has no interest in the Winx's affairs and is only pissed when he becomes personally involved with Musa being thrown into his arms by the minotaur. Maybe that’s where his inner hero speaks? But first and foremost, he wants to praise himself. The first time he really notices Darcy is in 1x8, where she represents to him the complete opposite of the fairies, one of which had just shown him up (Bloom).

Darcy, on the other hand, is already interested in Riven in 1x7 and hides the whole thing behind the talk about the Prince of Darkness (seriously, WHO is the Prince of Darkness? Why is that never clarified?). One episode later, she's extremely worried that something might happen to Riven with Icy's, admittedly delicate, plan. bb obviously already has a crush on him. And no one can claim that Icy doesn't know this and is actively using it for her plan. I think that Darcy's feelings didn't matter to her at all, thinking she'd get over it sooner or later. But the fact is, even Icy sees the spark fly between them.

So you could say it was love at first sight for both of them. It is also important for Riven that after all the disappointments and constant criticism he was exposed to at Red Fountain, someone finally recognizes him and his talents. While the Winx, especially Stella, just complained about him, Darcy supported what he was. Partly because she can take advantage of his ambitions, of course, and partly because she simply likes him. I think there are some things Darcy does simply for herself and not because it's part of the plan to rule the Magic Dimension.

From Riven's point of view, what probably also speaks for Darcy is her maturity. She's not a little fairy to save. The opposite is the case. She is probably more experienced in other things too - but that always depends on the respective HC. Darcy can be a bad bitch and cute bb - both are accurate. For me though, she gives more bb vibes than bitch vibes. However, she appears much more mature and confident than the fairies. Speaking of bb (she's one, look at her!) -

she's the type most likely to develop romantic feelings. Icy is too calculating and Stormy is just there for the passion (if you get what I mean). In 2x2 we have this scene "*sigh* To be young and in love...".

She's also the one of the Trix most likely to feel something resembling remorse, if only for her time with Riven. On the other hand, in season 2 we have Riven, who immediately sees through Darcy's attacks - because he knows them. Very well. There is probably still a connection between the two. There could have been more hints about their relationship besides “cute” and “not cute”. There could have been one or two longing looks. I FELL ROBBED.

That’s basically how I interpret their story and why I ship them. I’ll come up with some headcanons these days as well. Stay tuned :3