#i kind of want to make a character that is like

[idolomantises]

Okay so I’m not going to lie, part of why I haven’t been drawing Mara a lot is for three reasons:

1. She had an entire plotline planned that I ended up scrapping and redoing but that meant putting her in the backseat for a bit.

2. Im honestly afraid of drawing her 20 fallen angel partners I feel like I go a little insane even thinking about it. 20 characters with unique designs and outfits? No, I’m exploding in real life.

3. I’ve been slowly regretting making her a succubus. She was originally an Imp but I didn’t have a base idea for the imp design yet so I just went with a succubus but I’ve been wanting to add more demon characters that weren’t just succubi and hellhounds.

Unfortunately the way people treated the redesigns (specifically Domino’s where I had people messaging me for WEEKS to change it back), makes me kind of unsure if I wanna do a full species swap lmfao. Mara is very cute and I love her OG design, I just don’t want her to be another succubus, so it’s frustrating.

Damn. Remember when this webcomic was a hobby for me.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 25: June 2024 - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was quiet. Soft. Safe.

It always felt that way here — a small haven away from the noise of circuits and media storms, from the sharp edges of being forgotten and the new weight of suddenly being seen. The window let in filtered afternoon light, and Simone’s office smelled faintly of lavender and old books.

Belle sat curled in her usual corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea she hadn’t yet touched.

Simone sat across from her with her notebook closed, eyes kind, waiting.

“I think the worst part,” Belle said softly, after a long pause, “is that I didn’t expect it to feel so loud.”

Simone tilted her head slightly. “The public knowing?”

Belle nodded. “It was quiet for so long. Just ours. Just… safe. But now—one photo, and suddenly everyone’s watching.”

“Does it feel like a loss of control?” Simone asked gently.

“Yes. And no.” Belle looked down at her mug. “I wanted people to know. Eventually. I chose to walk into the paddock. I chose to kiss him. I posted the photo. It wasn’t an accident. But now everyone has an opinion. People I’ve never met are dissecting my life like it’s a press release.”

Simone let the silence settle for a moment, then asked, “What grounded you when it started to feel overwhelming?”

Belle smiled faintly. “Max. He always knows when I’m spiraling — even before I do. He’ll just take my hand or touch my back and everything feels quieter.”

There was a pause.

“I told Arthur,” Belle said, voice softer now.

Simone’s brows lifted slightly. “How did that feel?”

“Better than I expected,” Belle admitted. “He didn’t defend Charles. He didn’t make excuses. He just showed up. And he listened.”

“That’s progress,” Simone said gently.

Belle nodded. “But it’s only him. I haven’t spoken to anyone else.”

“Do you want to?”

Belle was quiet for a long time. Then: “I don’t know.”

Simone didn’t press her. Just waited.

“I think part of me still wants them to reach out. To say sorry without being prompted. To see me on their own. Not because they’re embarrassed or because the media caught on. Just… because they miss me.” Her voice cracked just slightly on that last word.

Simone’s tone was careful, but warm. “It’s okay to want that.”

“I know. I just don’t know if they’re capable of it.”

“And if they’re not?” Simone asked gently.

Belle looked up. “Then I move forward without them.”

Another pause.

“Can I offer a thought?” Simone asked.

Belle nodded.

“If you do choose to let them in again — not now, not even soon, but eventually — it might be helpful to bring those conversations into a neutral space. Somewhere safe.”

Belle’s gaze flicked toward her. “Like here?”

Simone gave a small smile. “Like family therapy. With boundaries. With someone to help hold the structure while you explore whether rebuilding is even possible.”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t want to excuse what they did,” she said. “Or pretend everything’s fine because I married someone famous and suddenly they care.”

“I would never ask you to,” Simone replied gently. “You’ve already built a life. A marriage. Soon a family of your own. The question is whether you want to let them try to earn a place in it.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked them clear. “I think I might be open to the idea.”

“That’s enough for today.”

Belle let out a slow breath.

And for the first time since the Parc Fermé kiss and the global chaos that followed, the silence in her chest didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like peace.

***

It started with a dress.

Just a simple, pale blue linen one — a favorite of hers. Soft. Easy. Forgiving in the waist. She’d worn it to coffee with Emilie two weeks ago and felt fine in it. Pretty, even.

Now, it wouldn’t zip.

Belle stood in the center of the bedroom, barefoot on the rug, hair still damp from the shower, the zipper stuck halfway up her back as she twisted and strained and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a flood of hormones and tears and shouting. It was quiet.

A soft, sharp ache of realization.

Her body had changed overnight.

She turned slowly toward the mirror. Pressed a hand to her stomach. What had once been the faintest suggestion now had shape. Curve. Weight. Not enough to scream pregnant to the world, but more than enough to make her clothes sit wrong. To make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

The zipper finally gave up entirely, and Belle stepped out of the dress with more frustration than grace.

She tried another — a black cotton shift. Still no. Then a flowy skirt — fine at the hips, but suddenly too snug at the waist. A button-down she’d always liked? The buttons across her chest strained so badly it looked like they were preparing for launch.

One by one, the pieces fell to the floor around her.

When she finally dropped into the edge of the bed, she was surrounded by the soft wreckage of what used to fit. A fabric battlefield. Her hands rested on her knees, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

She hadn’t expected to feel sad.

This was supposed to be beautiful — the beginning of something. The miracle. The glow.

But all she could think was: Nothing fits anymore.

And Max wasn’t there.

He’d left for the race two days ago — a back-to-back weekend with media, meetings, track walks. He’d kissed her forehead before leaving, pressed a palm gently over her belly, whispered something about texting her after every session.

But he wasn’t here.

Not now, when her body had changed without warning and she didn’t know how to dress it. Not now, when she just wanted someone to look at her and say, you’re still you.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it without hope — then saw his name.

Max: Morning, Schatje. I just got out of briefing. I miss you. How’s our co-pilot today?

Belle’s throat tightened. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second before she typed back.

Belle: I miss you too. Co-Pilot seems to be growing faster than expected. Nothing fits. At all. It’s ridiculous. I feel like a puffed pastry with a heart rate.

The reply came almost instantly.

Max: That is the most adorable description of pregnancy I’ve ever heard. And also: please stop being mean to my wife. You’re beautiful. You’re growing our baby. I’m buying you stretchy things. All the stretchy things.

Belle let out a quiet, helpless laugh — one that cracked right through the tightness in her chest.

Another message came in:

Max: Also I demand a photo. Even if you’re in my hoodie with no pants. Especially then, actually.

Belle shook her head, smiling through the sting in her eyes.

She stood, padded over to the wardrobe again, and pulled out one of Max’s hoodies. It swallowed her whole, but it didn’t pinch. It didn’t judge. It just fit — in the way that mattered.

She took the photo. Hair damp. No makeup. Hoodie halfway down her thighs. The bump was there. Soft. Round. Theirs.

She sent it to him with one line:

Belle: This is what “nothing fits” looks like.

A minute passed.

Then Max replied:

Max: That’s my favorite person with my favorite future inside her. Perfect. P.S. I’m coming home the second this race is over.

And somehow, in that moment, even with her body unfamiliar and her closet defeated…

Belle didn’t feel alone anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Slightly odd question. Do you remember what you wore when you were trying to hide your pregnancies?

Victoria: Hahaha Has the bump arrived?

Belle: It ambushed me. Overnight. I woke up and suddenly nothing zips and my jeans are threatening to report me to the authorities.

Victoria: God, I remember that phase. I once cried in a Zara changing room because a wrap dress betrayed me. So yes. I remember it well.

Victoria: Okay. Hiding-the-bump tips from a three-time pro:

Flowy dresses

Button-downs + high-waisted trousers unbuttoned and safety pinned

Distracting accessories (big earrings = nobody’s looking at your belly)

Never underestimate a good scarf

Belle: You’re terrifyingly prepared. I love you.

Victoria: We all cope in our own ways. Mine is emotional support designer handbag. Also. You’re glowing.

Belle: I’m sweating and panicked.

Victoria: That’s pregnancy, darling. And when in doubt, steal Max’s clothes, throw on lipstick, and pretend you’re doing it on purpose.

Belle: I’m texting you before every outfit now.

Victoria: I expect nothing less.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Everything I own has turned against me. I just tried on five dresses. None of them fit. One popped a button and hit me in the face.

Emilie: i’m sorry but this is the funniest tragedy i’ve ever read

Belle: I’m going to have to start wearing Max’s hoodies exclusively. Like some sort of tiny, emotionally unstable Formula 1 driver.

Emilie: you say that like it’s not THE aesthetic of the season also: pls send a pic immediately

Belle: No makeup. Wet hair. Hoodie down to my knees. I look like if depression bought a scented candle.

Emilie: okay that’s going in your baby book "week 16: mother described herself as a sad candle in sportswear" you’re glowing, aren't you?

Belle: No. I’m sweating and mildly offended by cotton. But thank you.

Emilie: you are perfect and your body is doing literal magic and i will be there tomorrow with snacks, tissues, and an emergency haul of ethically-sourced maternity leggings

Belle: I don’t deserve you.

Emilie: no but you’re stuck with me anyway

***

The house was glowing.

Not literally — though the late afternoon sun poured golden light through the open shutters like a blessing — but in the way old homes do when they’ve been cared for. When someone’s loved them back into themselves.

Belle stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear, as Daniel and Jules stepped inside.

“Mon Dieu,” Daniel breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Jules let out a soft, stunned sound and turned in a slow circle, eyes catching every detail — the reclaimed beams overhead, the soft plaster walls in a mineral-washed hue, the original tile floor gently cleaned and sealed instead of replaced.

“I can’t believe this is the same house,” Jules said.

“I can,” Daniel murmured. “Because she did it.”

Belle smiled, cheeks warm. “It’s almost done. A few details left — hardware, window treatments, the stone for the kitchen counters is coming Tuesday.”

“Don’t rush,” Jules said. “We’d sleep on the floor if we had to.”

“No need,” Belle said, leading them deeper into the space. “The guest room is fully dressed. Just in case.”

They passed through the arch into the main living room. The old fireplace had been restored, the stone gently cleaned but still mottled with history. Belle had designed built-in shelves on either side — painted in a soft green-grey that picked up the light without swallowing it — and filled them with old books and ceramics she’d sourced from local artisans.

“Belle,” Daniel said softly. “This is… art.”

She smiled at that. Not flustered. Just pleased.

They moved into the kitchen, where Belle had reimagined the space entirely without losing a single antique tile. A large farmhouse sink had been inset into a custom cabinet she’d designed herself, and the walls were finished in limewash — textured, tactile, alive.

The wide French doors at the back opened onto the courtyard. Once crumbling, it was now a soft, green heart of the home. The old fig tree remained, but Belle had added lavender, herbs, and climbing jasmine that was already threatening to devour the wall.

Jules stepped outside. “You saved the soul of this place.”

“I didn’t want to change it,” Belle said. “Just… listen to it.”

Daniel glanced over at her, smiling. “It’s rare. What you do. Most people walk into old houses and want to erase the past. You made it feel like time had layered into the house instead of over it.”

Belle blinked. Something caught behind her ribs — not pride, exactly, but something deeper. Recognition.

“It’s the first full project I did under my name,” she said quietly. “No firm. No partners. Just me.”

“And it shows,” Daniel said. “There’s nothing generic here. Every choice feels personal. Considered.”

“There are still a few finishing touches. Light fixtures in the guest room, and one of the shutters needs repair. But everything else is… as planned,” Belle explained.

Jules looked around again — eyes slightly glassy now. “It’s more than we imagined.”

Daniel stepped beside Belle and nudged her gently. “You didn’t just design this. You gave it a soul.”

Belle swallowed around the sudden ache in her throat.

“I just listened,” she said. “To what the house wanted to be. And to what you needed it to hold.”

“You do realize this is what great designers say when they’re being modest,” Daniel said dryly.

But Jules only smiled and took Belle’s hands in his. “You made us a home.”

And somehow, that landed more than any award ever could.

As they sat down at the table with lemonade and cheese and fresh bread Jules had insisted on bringing from their favorite bakery, Belle let herself relax into the moment.

The laughter was easy. The compliments genuine. There was no shadow of someone else’s name over her work, no sense of borrowed validation.

Just sunlight, and two clients-turned-friends, and a house that now breathed.

And for the first time in her career, Belle didn’t feel like she was working to prove anything.

She had already done it.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: wanna tell me what the actual FUCK that was between max and lando????

Belle: Define “that.”

Emilie: THE AGGRESSIVE WHEEL-TO-WHEEL “ARE WE ENEMIES NOW” SLAP FIGHT THE DEATH STARES THE POST-RACE NON-HANDSHAKE I’M SORRY, IS THE BRO MANCE DEAD??

Belle: Ah. That.

Emilie: YES. THAT. YOUR HUSBAND WENT FULL FINAL BOSS MODE AND LANDO LOOKED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO BITE HIM

Belle: They’ll talk. Eventually.

Emilie: ARE THEY BREAKING UP DO I NEED TO GET THE DIVORCE LAWYERS DO I GET YOU IN THE CUSTODY BATTLE DOES LANDO GET VISITATION WITH THE BABY

Belle: 😂 You are so dramatic. And yes, obviously. 

Emilie: you joke but i’m FUMING i just spent six months convincing myself they were soft-launch brothers-in-arms and now max overtakes like that and lando’s giving “you were supposed to love me” after the race

Belle: It’s called racing, Em.

Emilie: it’s called betrayal he made him crash he gave him a puncture he RUINED HIM i’ve read enemies-to-lovers with less sexual tension than that post-race stare

Belle: Do you want me to ask Max for his side?

Emilie: no

Belle:For the record: Max says he “defended hard” And Lando “should’ve backed out sooner.” He also muttered something about “this is why I don’t have friends.”

Emilie: tell him that’s the most dramatic thing he’s said since “I’m not here to make friends” in 2015

Belle: He is the drama

Emilie: and you married him god i’m proud of you

Belle: Would you and Lando like to come for dinner tomorrow?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME??

Belle: Max is sulking. Lando is brooding. You’re screaming in all caps. I’m fixing it.

Emilie: YOU THINK A CHICKEN PARM IS GONNA FIX A BROKEN BROMANCE

Belle: Yes. That and a homemade lemon tart. Also, you’re bringing wine.

Emilie: oh my god you’re staging a peace summit this is monaco-based diplomacy you’re literally brokering a ceasefire

Belle: We’ve avoided a Red Bull–McLaren cold war so far. I’d like to keep it that way. Also Max gets weird when Lando’s mad at him.

Emilie: i’m bringing rosé and a truce playlist

Belle: Perfect. Tomorrow. 7 PM. We’re serving forgiveness with a side of grilled vegetables.

Emilie: you’re a queen a legend a domestic diplomat

Belle: Good. See you tomorrow. Also, if they refuse to make eye contact, we’re putting on a two-player Mario Kart match and leaving the room.

Emilie: excellent. passive-aggressive gaming therapy. you’re a genius

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Oscar Piastri

Belle: Congratulations on the podium 🧡 You were phenomenal today. Clean, calm, clinical. (And you looked very smug on the podium. It suited you.)

Oscar: Thank you 😊 It’s always nice when Max and Lando are too busy crashing into each other to notice I exist.

Belle: Speaking of which... Care to tell me what that was?

Oscar: Which part? The wheel-to-wheel drama? The parc ferme tension? The complete emotional collapse of an F1 friendship?

Belle: All of it. I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s “spaghetti and feelings” dinner.

Oscar: I’d recommend garlic bread. And helmets.

Belle: Are they talking?

Oscar: Define “talking.” Max said “he’ll get over it.” Lando said “he can bite me.” So, no.

Belle: Excellent. Nothing like emotional maturity from two men who drive at 300km/h for a living.

Oscar: Incredible athletes. Emotionally 14.

Belle: We’ve having dinner tomorrow. I’m staging a ceasefire over lemon tart.

Oscar: Bold of you Godspeed Let me know if I need to be on standby for emotional support 

Belle: You might. If they refuse to speak, they’re playing Mario Kart until one of them cries.

Oscar: So, normal Verstappen conflict resolution. Got it 👍

Belle: Exactly.

***

Belle pulled the lemon tart out of the fridge at exactly 6:58 PM.

It was perfect. Glazed, golden, topped with thin slices of candied lemon and just enough powdered sugar to look effortless without trying too hard. Not unlike her strategy for this entire dinner.

She heard Max pacing somewhere near the front hallway again. That made lap four. Five, if she counted the loop past the cat bowls.

“Max,” she called gently. “It’s dinner. Not an FIA hearing.”

“They’re late,” he muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“They’re two minutes late.”

Max crossed his arms, expression unreadable. “Maybe we should cancel.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Because Lando didn’t arrive early to apologize like a teenager with flowers and a mixtape?”

Max looked away. Belle handed him the salad tongs.

“Go toss the greens and remember you’re a grown man with three world championship titles and a mortgage,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something in Dutch and obeyed.

The buzzer rang at 7:03.

Belle opened the door to find Emilie in her best peacekeeping sundress, holding a bottle of rosé in one hand and a smug smile on her face. Lando trailed behind her, suspiciously quiet, clutching a bakery box like it was a bomb.

“We brought peach galette,” Emilie announced. “And emotional tension.”

Belle stepped aside. “We already have both.”

Dinner began civilly enough.

The pasta was well-timed. The wine poured freely. The cats were temporarily bribed into not launching themselves onto the table.

Max and Lando, however, exchanged exactly four words in the first twenty minutes:

“Hi.” “Hi.” “Water?” “Sure.”

The eye contact was brief. The fork clinking was aggressive.

Belle and Emilie carried the conversation like diplomats on a sinking cruise ship. They talked about weather, Monaco construction permits, the absurdity of a $400 baby monitor Belle had returned on principle. They laughed. They smiled.

The boys sulked.

At one point, Max stabbed a roasted carrot like it had insulted his ancestors. Lando sighed in a way that could've shattered glass.

Belle met Emilie’s gaze across the table.

Time for the nuclear option.

“Okay,” Belle said, standing up. “Dessert in a bit. But first—living room.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Belle said, already walking, “I’m not hosting a three-course cold war.”

Emilie followed with the wine glasses. “We’re resolving this like adults.”

“In Mario Kart,” Belle added.

Max groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m married to you. I’ve never been more serious.”

Lando slumped onto the couch. “This is ridiculous.”

Belle handed him a controller. “And yet you’re already holding the remote.”

Max hesitated—just long enough for Belle to raise an eyebrow. “Afraid to lose?”

He sat down next to Lando like she’d physically shoved him. “I’ve beaten him in real life. I’ll survive Rainbow Road.”

“Your funeral,” Lando muttered.

By the second race, Max had stopped muttering under his breath.

By the fourth, he and Lando were arguing about blue shell etiquette.

By the sixth, Belle and Emilie had abandoned the couch entirely and were watching from the kitchen doorway, with Emilie sipping rosé and Belle snacking on lemon tart, like it was theatre.

“I give it ten more minutes before they forget they were mad,” Emilie whispered.

“Seven,” Belle said, just as Lando shouted, “That’s what you get for punting me off in Austria!”

Max howled. “YOU STARTED IT.”

Belle smiled. “And… there it is.”

By the time dessert hit the table, Lando was retelling the story of Max drunk in a night club and accidentally running into a wall while sneezing. Max was defending himself with increasing indignation. Emilie was crying with laughter. And Belle?

Belle sat back in her chair, hand resting gently over her stomach, watching her husband finally laugh again.

And she thought — this is what peacekeeping looks like.

A lemon tart. A glass of wine. A video game and a well-timed eye roll.

And love.

Always, love.

***

Max hadn’t meant to wake up early.

The apartment was still hushed in the pale-blue light of morning, curtains shifting faintly with the breeze from the balcony doors. Monaco always felt quieter before eight — like even the yachts were still asleep.

He stretched, one arm blindly reaching for Belle’s side of the bed.

Empty.

The faint sound of running water met his ears, and then the rustle of a drawer, a closet door sliding open.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hand over his face, and padded barefoot into the hallway.

What he saw stopped him completely.

Belle stood in front of the mirror in the closet, turned slightly sideways, her back to the door. She was barefoot, her hair in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts and one of his white tank tops — the thin kind she always stole from his drawer without asking.

And her bump — their bump — was there. Real. Rounded. Glowing in the soft morning light.

Max felt something in his chest shift.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched her. Watched the way she ran her fingers over her stomach, gently, reverently, like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Like it had finally hit her, too.

Belle caught his reflection in the mirror and startled. “God, Max—say something before you scare me to death.”

But she didn’t move to hide.

Didn’t reach for a robe or yank down the hem of the tank top.

And Max… Max couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t know it was like this already,” he said quietly.

Belle turned toward him, one hand resting low on her belly. “It kind of… popped overnight.”

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When he stopped in front of her, his hands came up automatically — one to her cheek, the other hovering just above her bump.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Belle nodded, her eyes warm.

He placed his hand against her skin. Warm. Soft. Alive.

A small intake of breath escaped him — almost a laugh, but softer. “You’re really in there,” he murmured.

Belle smiled, tired and radiant all at once. “Surprise.”

He kissed her, slow and steady, his hand never leaving her stomach.

When he pulled back, his voice was a little rougher. “How long until you can’t hide it anymore?”

She exhaled. “A few weeks, maybe. Less if they keeps growing like this.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Do you want to keep hiding it?”

Belle leaned into his chest, resting her forehead there. “I don’t know. Part of me likes having it just for us. But… part of me wants to stop hiding. Stop pretending nothing’s changed when everything has.”

Max nodded slowly. “We don’t have to post anything. Not unless you want to.”

She looked up at him. “Would you be okay with the media knowing? With the fans knowing?”

“I’m okay with them knowing we’re building a life together,” he said simply. “They’ll say things. They always do. But they don’t get to have this. Only see it. And only what we give them.”

Belle’s throat tightened. “What if they say I’m just—what if they think this is why we got married? That it wasn’t about us?”

“They can think whatever they want,” Max said firmly. “But I know. You know. And this baby—” he pressed his hand gently to her stomach again, “—will grow up knowing they were born from love. Not gossip.”

Belle nodded, slow and quiet. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think…” She paused. “I think when it feels right, I want to share it. I just want to do it our way. Not through a headline. Not through some PR leak. Just… something honest. Something small.”

Max smiled. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

She leaned into him again, and he held her there — the two of them wrapped in early morning quiet, one heartbeat becoming three.

***

He didn’t mean to play for hours.

But his hands moved without thought, without permission — soft notes tumbling out one after another, half-finished melodies bleeding into each other, no structure, no rhythm. Just the ache in his chest, transposed into minor keys.

Charles stared at the keys without really seeing them.

Everything since the Spanish Grand Prix had felt like that. Blurred. Half-lit. Shame washing over him in waves until it was hard to tell what day it was.

Fred’s voice still rang in his head.

"He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters."

It should’ve made him angry. Months ago, maybe it would have. But now?

Now it just made him tired.

The front door clicked open quietly.

Charles didn’t stop playing.

Alexandra stepped into the room, keys in hand, sunglasses pushed into her hair. She paused just beyond the piano, watching him. Listening.

He shifted into something sadder without realizing it.

She said nothing for a long time. Just let him play.

Finally: “That’s new.”

Charles nodded, fingers barely brushing the keys. “I didn’t write it down. I won’t remember it.”

Alexandra sat on the armrest of the couch across from him. “That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer.

Alexandra watched him a beat longer. Then: “You haven’t said anything since Fred tore into you.”

“He was right.”

That surprised her.

Charles didn’t look up. “He was right about everything. About Belle. About Max. About me.”

Alexandra folded her arms, softening slightly. “Charles—”

“I forgot her birthday,” he said, voice flat. “I forgot where she lived. I didn’t know she moved. I didn’t know she quit her job. And I found out she was married with the rest of the world.”

A pause.

“I used to be the person she told everything to.”

His voice cracked on used to.

Alexandra shifted closer. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” His hands stilled. “And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s your sister.”

“I forgot how to act like her brother.”

It wasn’t said for sympathy. It was just… fact.

He pressed a key. Dissonant. Hollow.

Alexandra exhaled. “You know what I think?”

Charles didn’t answer, but his silence invited it.

“I think you’re not upset she married Max,” she said gently. “You’re upset she didn’t tell you. Because it forced you to realize how far away you let her drift.”

That landed deep.

Charles looked at the keys like they might offer him absolution.

“She stopped waiting for me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“She had to stop,” Alexandra replied. “You never showed up.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Charles admitted.

“You can’t,” Alexandra said, standing. “Not completely. But you can start by owning that it’s not about you. Not her silence. Not her love. Not Max. You don’t get to demand a place in her life just because you regret not earning it before.”

That hurt more than Fred’s words.

Because it was the truth.

Alexandra stepped forward and kissed the top of his head, just briefly.

“Let her choose if you belong,” she said softly. “But maybe, for once, don’t try to race your way back in.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply.

Charles sat at the piano, still and quiet, and let the silence press in around him like a tide.

He looked down at his hands.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure they knew how to fix anything anymore.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Arthur Leclerc

Arthur: hey just wanted to check in how are you?

Belle: Hi That’s a surprise A nice one

Arthur: yeah well i figured it was my turn to show up you always did that for me even when i didn’t deserve it

Arthur: so you okay?

Belle: I’m good. Quiet days. Work. Sleep. Max. He’s home this week, which helps. I’ve been reading again.

Arthur: you always read when you feel safe i remember that

Belle: I do. Books are still better than people sometimes.

Arthur: not going to argue there i just wanted you to know i think about you a lot even when i don’t say anything

Belle: I know. I think about you too.

Arthur: and I’m sorry for forgetting the little things for thinking you’d always be there whether I showed up or not I hate that it took losing you to notice how much I missed

Belle: You didn’t lose me. You just stopped looking. But you’re here now. That counts for something.

Arthur: thanks for giving me the chance to do better i won’t waste it

Belle: I hope you don’t. Because I missed my little brother.

Arthur: still here still annoying just a bit slower to grow up

Belle: You’re getting there One awkward text at a time

Arthur: baby steps

Belle: 😉

***

They were sitting at the dining table, Belle with her laptop open and a very stubborn government website loading at glacial speed. The overhead lights were low, the cats were asleep on the windowsill, and the apple tart from dinner was reduced to a pair of crumbs and a fork that Max kept stealing bites with.

“I need to go to the town hall next week,” Belle said, frowning at her screen. “It’s ridiculous how many steps it takes to change a last name. I have to book an appointment just to show them I’m legally married.”

Max looked up from where he was balancing a spoon on his finger. “Want me to come with you?”

She smiled. “I think I can survive bureaucracy alone.”

“I don’t know,” he said, mock-serious. “You’re pregnant and emotionally allergic to slow websites.”

“Barely showing and mildly inconvenienced is not the same thing,” Belle replied, nudging his foot under the table.

He grinned, then leaned back in his chair. “We should change your credit card too. It still says Leclerc.”

She groaned. “One paperwork nightmare at a time.”

Max tilted his head, thoughtful now. “And we should probably set up a meeting with our lawyers.”

Belle paused mid-keystroke. “Why?”

He shrugged, casual. “Just to go over everything.”

“Max,” she said gently. “What kind of everything?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His fingers were still playing with the fork, but his gaze had drifted — focused, serious in that quiet way he got when he was thinking too far ahead.

“I want to make sure things are in place,” he said eventually. “For you. For the baby. If something happens to me.”

Belle’s heart pulled.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said softly.

“If something happens to me — if I crash or something stupid happens off-track — I want everything set up. No grey areas. No questions.”

Belle set the mug she was holding down carefully on the table and turned fully toward him.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” Max said, managing a half-smile. “But I also know how this works. I’ve seen it happen to other drivers. One second, you’re invincible. The next…” He trailed off. “I don’t want you or the baby in limbo if the worst happens.”

She reached out slowly, threading her fingers through his. “You think about that?”

“Every time I get in the car now,” he admitted. “Not in a panicked way. But it’s there. You changed the way I calculate risk.”

“I’m not planning to die,” he added, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just planning in case. I want to make sure you’re protected. That the house is in your name too. That there’s no confusion. That if I can’t speak for myself, you can. Not my father. Not my mother. You.”

Belle sat very still.

Not because she was scared. But because it hit her, suddenly and all at once, how much he was already carrying — not just the weight of fame and expectation and fatherhood, but this fierce, unspoken drive to shield her from the storm.

“I married you because I love you,” Max said. “But I also married you because you’re my person. And I want to make sure you’re not left sorting through a legal mess if the worst ever happens.”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Let’s make the appointment.”

Max exhaled — a little like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

And Belle, looking at the man who had been so many things to the world — champion, rival, myth — realized that this version of him, the one quietly planning a will while stealing bites of lemon tart, was the one she loved most.

The one who knew the risks. And stayed anyway.

The one who chose her. And kept choosing her.

Even in the fine print.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Lorenzo: We need to get ahead of this before she cuts us out completely. We’ve let it go on too long.

Charles: What do you want me to do, Lorenzo? I said I wanted to talk to her. She doesn’t answer.

Arthur: Because she’s not ready. You don’t get to demand a timeline for forgiveness.

Pascale: I sent her a long message last week. I said I missed her. She didn’t even react to it.

Arthur: Because she’s hurt. Because for years, we made her feel like she didn’t matter until she disappeared.

Charles: I’m trying to make it right.

Arthur: You’re trying to make it comfortable for you. Not better for her.

Lorenzo: Okay, enough. We need to approach this like adults. Arthur, you said she talked to you?

Arthur: Yeah. Because I apologized without making excuses. Because I didn’t act like she owed me anything.

Charles: So what, we just do nothing? Sit around and hope she decides to forgive us?

Arthur: Or we ask her what she needs instead of assuming we know best. Maybe try that.

Pascale: If she’d just sit down with us—if we could talk properly—I know we could fix it.

Charles: She won’t even look at me in the paddock.

Arthur: You yelled about her being married like the whole grid personally betrayed you.

Charles: Well it felt like that.

Pascale: Can we not assign blame? We all made mistakes. I sent a message. She didn’t respond.

Lorenzo: Because your message said, “I meant to text you, but I sent it to Charles instead.” Which we all know is a lie.

Pascale: It was a white lie. I didn’t want her to feel worse.

Lorenzo: She didn’t need you to protect her feelings, Maman. She needed you to show up. That’s what none of us did.

Charles: I’m trying. But every time I think about texting her, I hear Fred’s voice telling me I don’t deserve to.

Arthur: That’s because he’s right.

Pascale: So what do we do? Invite her to dinner? Send another letter?

Charles: I could try calling again.

Lorenzo: No. No more performing care. She’s not stupid. She sees through all of it.

Pascale: We have to fix this. She’s our family.

Isabelle:  You could start by remembering I’m in this group chat.

Isabelle:  I’ve seen every message. Every strategy. Every “how do we make her forgive us” as if forgiveness is a button to push, not something earned.

Isabelle: Arthur apologized. He listened. He didn’t make excuses. That’s why I’m speaking to him. Not because he said the right thing. Because he meant it.

Isabelle: The rest of you? You keep asking how to fix me. You never once asked what I need.

Isabelle: So here it is: If you want a relationship with me again, we start with family therapy. With a neutral third party. No justifications. No guilt-tripping. No “but we’re your family.” Just honesty. Hard conversations. Boundaries.

Isabelle: You want me back? You come sit in a room and prove it. Not with flowers or dinners. With work.

Isabelle: I am not your emotional support sibling. I’m not your afterthought. And I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt just because it’s inconvenient for you.

Isabelle: Therapy. Or nothing.

Arthur: …I told you.

Lorenzo: Family therapy it is.

***

[divinit3a]

yippie ych raffle time!!!

Thank you to the folks who responded to the poll :D I wanted to do something fun, and I have been enabled... To draw Cuteness...

TO ENTER

Regular ol' Like and/or Reblog. Each one counts as an entry!

For an additional entry... add a fun fact into the tags if you choose to reblog this :o) About yourself, something you like, so on!!

(This means you can get up to Three Tickets 🎟️🎟️🎟️)

RAFFLE INFO

The raffle will last 3 weeks (up until Friday, May 23rd, 2025) and after that point, I will announce that it has ended and reach out to folks

When I reach out to you, you can choose which drawing you'd like :D choose wisely...(jk)

Please make sure that you are either accepting DMs or Asks so that I may get in touch with you! After 1 week without a response of any kind, I will reach out to someone else.

Depending on the number of entries, and my willpower to Art, I will pick 2-3 raffle winners.

ART INFO

The color palette and level of rendering will likely change for the final art pieces!

I am comfortable drawing most any kind of OC/persona/etc, so long as it is one that you own, or have permission to request art of!

You are welcome to specify the character's expression, but the general pose is locked in :o)

thank youuu, this community is Lovely 💚💚💚

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝚂𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎

My personal headcanons to how the LADS Men react to being flirted with and if you ave to step in and save them or not. [Requested by: goddessesofeverything]

Your man was perfect. A one of one without a doubt. From his character to how he treated you was immaculate. The fact that he was absolutely stunning was a cherry on top. From the slope of his nose to the strong veiny hands that handled you as if you were fine china. You could admire him for hours and never get tired of looking at him. He was a dream come true and too good to be true all in one.

However, you never doubted him or ever felt insecure in your relationship which is why seeing women constantly staring and swooning didn’t bother you. A few of them flirted from time to time and you laughed every time you watched their flirty smiles turn to shock or disgust when they were immediately shot down by your man.

Usually it only takes the initial rejection to keep them from coming back, but some are a little more persistent. So who better to save him than you.

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

acts dense when someone flirts with him

so monotone during the conversation the person flirting ends up awkwardly walking away

tells you what they said and you have to tell him “yea Zayne she was flirting with you”

the type to just walk away if he feels uncomfortable

gives you a look when you stand by and giggle while his eyes are screaming for help

the times when you step in the save him he smiles to himself with butterflies in his stomach.

the type to definitely name drop “My wife is right over there” "I'd rather have drinks with my wife" even if you're not married yet he would say this just to make your relationship more serious

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

a master manipulator right here he can play the part so his faux kindness can get taken for flirting

when you’re not around he is rude as hell

when you’re around he’s dramatic as hell with it

“My girlfriend can fight” “Unhand me!” “My girl will kill you and me so I suggest you walk away or you better get right with God because you’re about to meet him”

expects you to come to his rescue every. single. time.

the type to run and I mean literally run and hide behind you “that lady is trying to get me!” “Raf… “Don’t let me get took!”

if you don’t verbally abuse the person flirting with him he’ll bring it up any chance he gets

throws a fit when you just watch instead of helping “Why do you hate me?” “I don’t hate you” “So you just don’t care about me huh?!” “Here you go” “No no it’s fine when I get kidnapped by a crazy fan I hope you feel terrible”

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

Responds to the flirting with confusion or just stares

Brings them to you and says “Do you know her?”

Unintentionally makes the situation so awkward for them that they end up walking away

name drops if they’re too persistent “I only eat with my girlfriend and you’re not her” “My girlfriend is waiting for me”

if someone flirts with him while you’re there expect to get those big doe eyes if you don’t step in “Were you going to let her flirt with me?” “I trust you” “Save me next time”

complains to you about being tired after the encounter

doesn’t say it but deep down he wants you to be jealous like he is when some guy simply talks to you

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

9 times out of 10 he doesn’t get approached directly ; usually notes or a small gift sent his way

on the rare occasion he does get approached he’s sassy but it just sounds like they’re being scolded by their boss “You’re quite brazen wouldn’t you agree?” “Did you run through the possibilities that I'm not for the taking?”

quick to mention he’s taken and will tell you everything that she’s saying

if you are there to witness someone flirting with him he’d simply stare at you the entire time “Would you really let another woman have me?” “As if anyone can take you from me”

doing a mental happy dance when you do step in to save him from bold harlot who has the audacity to flirt with him right in front of you

will be sarcastic as hell when asking why you didn’t step in sooner “What took so long? What if she threw me in her car and drove off?” “If someone ever managed to throw you anywhere it’s because you let them” “I thought you’d grown tired of me for a minute there” “Are you done?”

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

is honestly used to having girls throw themselves at him so he’s a pro at ignoring it

wants you to step in but you never do because he’ll tease you about it later “Were you even slightly worried I'd be swayed by her?” “Let's see she’s twirling her hair in your face while you’re happily pulling mine out of your ass crack in the shower so no i'm not worried” silenced his ass

100% name drops if they’re too persistent “My girlfriend will kill you and me I suggest you back up” “I’M MARRIED!” “My girlfriend is right there”

jokes about wanting praise when he rejects someone “Don’t I get a kiss for my valiant effort?” “For doing the bare minimum?” “I wouldn’t say it was the bare minimum” “How about you just don’t say anything you're so handsome when you shut the fuck up”

[mit0bee]

ℍ𝕌𝕊𝔹𝔸ℕ𝔻!

Calling the twst boys your husband!

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

warnings: fem!reader, no beta we die like men, yuu!reader, harassment (leonas part), pre-book 7 malleus

a/n: hi im very sick take this unfinished work from my drafts (I PROMISE ILL MAKE MORE OF THIS I JUST CANT LOOK AT A SCREEN ANYMORE 💔) plz tell me if theres any inaccuracies since i do not have the energy to read it through

also it got glitched out this morning when i tried to use my phone to finish it so now theres bullet points everywhere

It wasn't actually intentional when you called him your husband, more of a spur of the moment thing.

During a (n unwilling) adventure to Sam's, a guy had come up to you. Of course, being the mysterious transfer from another world had garnered you some popularity. One such consequence were people like him.

"Hey. You're that transfer girl, right?" The boy asked. He looked like a badly designed sleazeball from a basic anime; dyed hair, quite a few piercings, and a look on his face that just screamed incel.

"Uh. Yeah." You looked between the milk you had in your hand, the guy, and Leona, who was out of earshot, eyeing a selection of meat Sam had on display. "Why?" You could practically feel the dread in your gut. He obviously wasn't trying to be friends. Or, at least, not the good kind of friends.

"I was just wondering..." Smirking, he took a few steps to close the gap between the two of you, "Some of my friends and I were going to have a little party down in the woods behind the school. We could use some entertainment."

"Er...." Your head tilted downwards in fluster. This guy didn't seem like the type to take no for an answer. Even if you tried to pull the 'I have a boyfriend', he probably wouldn't listen, "My.... husband and I had plans." You blurted out. It was a split second decision, but there was no way this guy would go after a married woman. Right?

"Oh, husband." You shot Leona a look; one that begged for help. He turned from where he had been very focused, and noticed the sleazy guy pestering you. His ears flattened against his head, and his expression shifted from curiosity to irritation. "Come over here."

The nameless guy looked very close to pissing himself when he saw just who you were referring to. The Leona Kingscholar. But he had a wife? Since when?!

"Oh. Uh. Him?" The guy asked, almost unbelieving. There was no way someone like him would be tied down. He could barely go to class, much less commit to someone!

But, as if by fate, the lazy lion gave a smug smirk and rested his hand over your shoulder. "What's up, wife?" He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "This guy buggin' ya?"

You smiled knowingly, "I don't know. Are you?" Your tone wasn't one to be underestimated. All three of you knew what was going down. The only difference between You and Leona, and the guy was that the guy couldn't do anything to refute your claim.

"N-No, ma'am!" The guy stiffened, which made Leona let out a huff of amusement, "I'll be on my way now!" He announced, running off with his tail between his legs.

You and Leona were left in silence for the next few moments, both of you not wanting or having anything to say. It was Leona, though, who broke the silence.

"Husband?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." You faced your lover with redder cheeks than before, "He was getting on my nerves, and it was the quickest way for him to leave me alone." You sighed, your eyes trailing from Leonas emerald ones to the wooden floor of the shop, "I know we haven't talked about it. Sorry..."

Leona rolled his eyes at your change in demeanor. You went from confident to bashful in only the span of a minute or two. "Whaddya talking about? I never said I wouldn't mind getting married, so don't apologize." He stated, keeping his arm around your shoulders.

"Wha...?" You gazed back up at him with shock, your mouth slightly ajar. You would accept him not wanting to get married, and it was a real possibility you had prepared for in the past. Now he's stating he might want to?

He didn't explain further, and opted to (surprisingly gently) lead you out of the store. "Let's go." He said, "I'll get Ruggie to finish the trip."

------------

"Sam. What is this?"

"It's a wedding present, my little imp!" Sam presented you with a large purple box. It had a glittery black ribbon tied into a perfect bow at its plateau. "Don't think I didn't see what you and the Savanaclaw housewarden were doing in my shop a few days ago!"

You took the box carefully. Knowing Sam, just about anything could be inside. It could be the best thing you could ever receive, but it also could be a load of crap you'd never use.

"Look here!" Sam lifted up two items from inside the box. One was an iridescent stone, while the other looked like a black ticket with gold accents. He held out the stone, "This one is a lucky charm! Perfect for newlyweds, right?" Then, he held out the ticket, "And this gets you a 1% discount at any Sam's Mystery Shop locations in all of Twisted Wonderland! Terms and Conditions apply."

You smiled, but felt the irritation in your body growing. You and Leona weren't actually getting married. It was just a topic of discussion now. But, the items might come in handy around Ramshackle, and you'd take all the help you could get. It wasn't like everything would be useless, right?

You decided to grit your teeth and bear it, "Thank you, Sam. Really." You let him place the two items back in the box, "We'll be sure to use all of this." You quickly turned on your heel to escape.

"Oh, and tell the kitty I said hi!" He called out as you left. Once you were gone, he placed a hand on his cheek with a sigh.

"Ah, young love."

Azul has a lot of business partners.

With all of those partners comes lots of exhausting meetings. His only escape from all of it is you.

Though, that doesn't mean your opposed to playing a prank or two on him to lift his spirits.

Azul dropped down onto his (your shared at this point) bed, and you couldn't help the snicker that you let out at this rare side of him.

"Rough day?" You asked. One of your hands dropped from your book to find purchase in his hair. He let out a relaxed groan, slowly moving his way from the side of the bed to lay on top of you.

"You wouldn't believe. Dozens of grown men and not even one can solve a simple problem." He sighed, remembering the horrid, stale meeting he had to endure, "They're leading me to believe most landers are like this."

You closed your book with a crisp clap, setting it on the safe right by his bed. Instead, you devoted your time to messing with his well-kept hair. "Not all of them. I'm an exception, right? As your wife?"

"That's true-" He paused, your words sinking on him like a heavy weight. His face exploded into a coral pink, and he inelegantly picked himself up onto all fours, looking into your eyes with confusion and maybe a little glee. "What...? Wife..? As in- Us?" One of his hands frantically pointed between the two of you.

"Unless you don't want to get married to a foolish lander." Pouting, you knew he'd take the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. "It's fine. I get it. Species racism, you know?"

Desperately, he shook his head. "No! That's not it at all!" He brought his face dangerously close to yours, "I just wasn't expecting it." As if realizing how close you were, he averted his eyes from yours, "...I was supposed to receive my grandmothers ring. After graduation."

After such an honest confession, you felt your resolve for the prank crumble into a million pieces. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, earning a surprised yelp from him. "Azul!" Is all you could manage to articulate.

"....Y-Yes, my love?" His voice was muffled from being so close to you, but you could still hear the worry in his tone. It didn't make you feel any more calm, though, and you squeezed him even harder.

"I think we need to get married right now."

"What?!"

-------------

The next morning was surprisingly uneventful. The only thing you could notice of slight difference was the weird looks you got from the twins, and the slightly softer way Azul treated you. It was only that evening that everything shifted on its axis.

You were waiting in Mostro for Azul to finish with some contracts. Not wanting to bother him, you waited in the main dining area, lone in a booth. Only lone for a while, though, as the aforementioned Leech twins came strolling up with knowing smirks.

"So..." Floyd started, "Miss Ashengrotto, huh?" He sat right next to you, "You apparently had a whole spectacle last night. Very romantic."

"Just make sure you both don't forget us as newlyweds." Jade engaged in the teasing too, but didn't sit nearly as close. "We'd be very lonely. Right, Floyd?"

"Yup. Anyway. Baby names."

"Huh?!"

"Floyd Junior has a nice ring to it."

"Or Jade Junior."

"What are you three talking about?"

"........"

"We should leave. Come on, Floyd." Jade stood up, taking Floyd by the arm and dragging him out of the booth.

"Yeah. Have fun, lovebirds."

"So..." You smiled sheepishly, "How is my fantastic husband doing?" You said, just loud enough for anyone in the immediate vicinity to whip their heads around and gawk.

"Please." Azul chuckled, "I'm good. How is my beautiful wife?"

"Ready to give you a baby." You whispered.

"Slow down!"

on one of the rare times idia actually went out of his room, it was for this limited deluxe edition of a game he had been waiting for for months.

problem was, it was an in-store only promo. if he wanted the game, he'd have to endure the stress of other people.

if only to make the trip a little less painful on his cortisol receptors, he decided to invite you to join him.

the store was packed. like the only reason the two of you got in was because you had waited there for at least five hours before it opened.

even then, it took another hour or two to actually get to the checkout with two copies of the game in hand.

it was at the checkout that the incident happened.

after being out and waiting for almost half your day, you had obviously gotten bored.

and what better cure for your boredom than to play a silly little prank on your unsuspecting boyfriend?

"You two excited for the release?" The clerk asked. He looked obviously exhausted, but kept a weary smile and his tone light. "I hear this ones better than the prequel. Bugs and cheeses have all been patched."

You nodded enthusiastically, deciding that now was the time to enact your totally thought-out plan, "Yup! My husband and I are going to have a little gaming date. Right, Id-" You turned to your boyfriend, stopping your sentence midway through. He looked like his entire brain shut off, hair lit up a bright pink and his face dusted with a blush to rival even the reddest tone. If he was a cartoon, he'd have steam coming out of his ears and the top of his skull would come up like a geyser.

"I- Um- My-" He couldn't even utter a single sentence. "My wife-" He gestured to you. Eventually, he gave up on even trying to articulate himself, slammed the required thaumark bills on the counter, and made his way out of there as quickly as he could. Unceremoniously, he shoved you (with surprising gentleness considering how clumsy he was being) into the passenger seat of his rarely used car, and quickly turned to book it into the drivers seat.

The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two. His expression was unreadable, and you couldn't tell if it was upset, excitement, or anxiety.

He finally broke the silence with a mumble. ".... -married?"

"I couldn't hear you, hun. What'd you say?"

"I said.... -get married?"

"My love. Please speak up."

"I SAID, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GET MARRIED?!"

"......."

"........"

"What...?"

"You know. Because I'm not very marriage material...?" His statement was more of a question, and he turned away from you in shame, "I mean, there are all of those princes at NRC. SS+ level otome MMC's."

"Idia."

"I was just thinking you'd rather them."

"Idia."

"I mean, there's, like, a million of them." He fiddled with the bottom hem of his hoodie in embarrassment. God, if he could just hide in a hole forever-

"IDIA!" You snapped, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at you, "I don't want them. I want you." Putting on your best comforting smile, you leaned over the gearbox to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I woke up at five A.M. for this. If that doesn't make it clear that I'd want you and only you, then maybe me saying it to your face will."

If it was even possible his hair got even wilder and even pinker. It was a miracle it didn't set everything in the car on fire. "A-Are you sure...?" He half-whispered, half-squeaked.

You nodded, placing a hand on his cheek. Your other hand rested on the gearbox so you could lean closer to him. "Dead serious."

Idia's cheeks lit up pink, and all of the blue that had been slowly returning to his firey hair vanished, being replaced by the previous pink once more. "L-Let's just get back to NRC..." He managed to mumble out.

Malleus wasn't the most expressive person. When a simple upset could smite an entire family, the benefits of feeling anger or ecstasy paled in comparison to the concequences.

That wasn't to say he didn't have his moments, though.

Your plan was simple; when Malleus least expected it, you'd call him by the sweet nickname, and watch his head explode. Or, at least, show some more feeling than slightly pleased or slightly upset.

The two of you were walking the halls of NRC almost ritualistically. It had become a routine for Malleus to meet you outside of your classes and escort you to your next one. He was so dedicated that not even most urgencies could prevent him from seeing you. You had asked him a few weeks prior on why he was so devoted, but he only responded with a cryptic 'it's my duty'.

Arriving at your classroom, you leaned up and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. "Thank you, husband." You whispered. You expected him to react in a giddy manner, but quite the contrary, he only reciprocated your smile and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"You're welcome, my wife." He smiled just a little more than he usually did. "I must get to my own class. I'll see you afterwards." And with that, he waved off a confused you.

He didn't even seem to be bothered by the nickname. What's more, is that he called you his wife! Last you checked, you weren't married! Was he just playing along? Or was he trying to retort your prank in his own way? You were supposed to be pranking him!

-----------

Your mind raced with possibilities for the entire time you were in class. It got so bad that Trein had to reprimand you in front of all of your peers. But, in your defense, how were you supposed to focus?! The only solace you got was the dismissal bell, knowing you'd be able to see your fae lover once more.

When you exited the class, Malleus was waiting in front of the door as per usual. He unconsciously and unintentionally was splitting the student body in half like a stone in a river. They avoided him as best they could, knowing full well he was here for you.

"My beloved." He strode his way up to you, the black current of people moving in reaction, "Was your class satisfactory?" He took your hand in his. The two of you had a little extra time now in your schedules due to your paired spare periods (courtesy of the oh-so generous Headmage Crowley. He was definitely not intimidated by a certain dragon fae into it. No sir, no ma'am).

"Mhm." You peered into his eyes thoughtfully, trying to read just what exactly had happened earlier. If it had been a prank on his part, surely there'd be some evidence of amusement, right? You stared like this all the way into the courtyard, where he finally noticed with a furrowed brow and slight pout.

"Something is troubling you."

Oops. You were caught, "It's nothing. Really." You tried to soothe his worries, but your attempts were in vain and only made him worry more.

"You're lying to me." He stopped in his tracks, causing you to turn to face him. He crossed his arms in an almost childlike fashion, "You shouldn't be trying to suffer alone. As your husband I have a duty to help you, do I not?"

With his final sentence, you couldn't help but sigh. You obviously wouldn't get answers from him by just staring. He was as straight faced as a stone cold killer.

"....Can I ask you a question...?" You requested hesitantly. Maybe it was just nothing. If the two of you were just in an unspoken prank war, it might be best to not bring it up.

"Yes." He answered instantaneously, almost before you got your question out. "Anything."

"Are you calling me your wife as a joke?" You blurted out the entire question at once. Luckily, the courtyard was mostly empty to protect you from your blunder, but it was nonetheless embarrassing, "I mean, I was doing it as a silly little prank. Then you did it too. You sounded so serious when you said it, too." You averted your gaze, wanting to look anywhere but at your lover. In your peripheral vision you saw him grow more confused than worried now. Rather than his brow being furrowed in concern, it was furrowed in thought.

It took a moment for him to speak. He tilted his head, as if it would help in deciphering the code you just tossed in his face, "We are betrothed, are we not? We haven't had a wedding yet, so we aren't in technical terms husband and wife. But, you have begun to call me your husband. In turn, I assumed you wanted me to refer to you as my wife."

You froze. He thought you were what? As far as you could remember, he didn't give you any indicator as to being engaged up until now!

"Hold on." You were so confused and shocked that your embarrassment ebbed away quickly. You looked him up and down. Were cameras going to pop out from behind a bench? A tree, perhaps? "I wasn't told anything about being engaged. When did this happen?"

His tone only grew more confused now, "A few weeks prior. You were accepting my courtship advances. The necklace you received was one of betrothal." He stated simply, "It was one from my personal collection, and you accepted it. Is that not a common proposal where you're from?"

"NO?! Malleus, where I'm from, people propose with a ring and ask if they will marry them!"

".....I see. This is quite the conundrum." He placed a hand on his chin, "Am I to cancel the wedding plans, then?" He looked almost sad at the prospect. You could tell immediately that this was something he had been planning since that night he gifted you that silver necklace.

You sighed again, this time bigger and heavier, "....I mean..." You didn't want to let him down, but it all felt too fast! "Maybe don't cancel them persay..." His mood drastically improved at your words. Optimism was a powerful tool, and he was using it right to his advantage.

"Maybe we can do things from my culture now?" You continued, "Once you propose in the human way, then we can start planning our wedding together." You thought this was a fair compromise. He already proposed with fae customs, but you weren't exactly ready to rush into a wedding dress. If things could be held off for at least a few more months, you'd have time to adequately settle into the reality.

Your words didn't come close to deterring Malleus. He nodded with more enthusiasm than ever. "I shall dedicate myself to the education and study of human ways. I will plan out a human proposal posthaste." He looked at you with a fire in his eyes. One you hadn't seen too often, but enough to recognize, you knew what it meant. He only got this look when he was so hellbent on succeeding that it'd take all of Twisted Wonderland to prevent him from reaching his goals.

You'd let out a monster, and you knew it. All you could do now was pray for your survival.

------------------------

A few days later, you were chatting casually with your regular quartet of Ace, Deuce, Grim in the cafeteria. But, your comfortable conversation was abruptly interrupted by a scream.

"HUMAN!!!!!!" You jumped at the sound, immediately recognizing it to be only one person.

"Sebek? Is something the matter?"

"MY LORD HAS DECIDED TO PROPOSE TO YOU ONCE MORE!!!!" He exclaimed, his volume far too high even in the large room. "YOU MUST LOOK THE PART WHEN HE APPROACHES YOU!" Without a second beat, he started dusting you off, nitpicking your appearance down to the lint on your shoulder.

Being friend with Sebek long enough had let you into his mind. You knew he was happy for you, and just expressing it in his own unique way. He had long since come to terms with your relationship, and had even come to support it (again, in his own way).

"Hold on..."

"No way..."

"Huh?!"

All three of your friends in front of you had gaping mouths, utterly shocked. They all yelled at the same time, their tones fearful and confused.

"My henchman..."

"You, of all people..."

"Prefect is...."

"GETTING MARRIED?!"

Oh lord. This'll be fun to explain.

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Who's So Used to Being Betrayed, They Expect It From Everyone

Trust issues aren't always loud. Sometimes they show up in quiet, brutal little habits that scream, "I don't believe anyone actually has my back." It’s not drama. It’s survival.

They assume every compliment has a hidden insult stapled to it. You say "You're amazing," and they hear "for now" echoing in the silence afterward.

They never believe good news at face value. Promotion at work? Must be a setup. Someone loves them? They're just saying that to get something. They treat joy like a suspicious email from a Nigerian prince.

They constantly have backup plans. Backup friends. Backup escape routes. Backup excuses. You think they're chill on that coffee date, but mentally, they've already figured out how to bolt if things go south.

They apologize before anything even happens. "Sorry if this is annoying!" "Sorry if I'm being weird!" "Sorry if existing is a burden!" They’re trying to soften the blow they’re sure is coming.

They test people—subtly. Saying something half-vulnerable just to see if you’ll use it against them. Canceling plans last minute to see if you’ll still call. They don’t even know they're doing it half the time.

They make self-deprecating jokes before you can. If they call themselves trash first, it won't sting as bad when you inevitably agree. (Their logic, not reality.)

They hesitate before trusting anyone with even small things. You ask "Hey, want me to grab you a coffee?" and they look at you like you just offered them a cursed artifact.

They act like they don't need anyone. Rugged Individualist vibes. But it’s a costume. Underneath, they’re just someone who got tired of needing people who didn’t stick around.

They overthink every interaction. You took too long to reply? You hate them. Your text was shorter than usual? You’re planning your exit strategy. Trust is a game of walking on knives blindfolded.

They expect betrayal so hard that when it doesn't happen, they almost don't know how to exist. Happiness? Stability? Kindness? It feels fake. They're waiting for the other shoe to drop—except it's not a shoe. It's a whole goddamn meteor.

[inseobts]

hiiii! first of all, i love your fics sm!! i love the way you write Law 💙 can i request a fic with BIG LOSER Law? lmaooo like, maybe they go on their first date and he's so awkward and nervous. he has everything planned out but nothing is going according to plan so he's stressing constantly, or the crew is watching him trying to flirt w reader and they get second hand embarrassment (tbh anything you want to write is fine, just make him suffer a little bit bc i think it's funny)

Captain Loser

law × gn!reader

a/n: I tried my best to keep him in character — I hope I did a good job!

words count: 3.5k

tags: fluff, humor, awkward first date, loser law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Law is calm during battles.

Law is calm in surgeries.

Law is not calm when you say, “Sure, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

And now, he’s pacing in his room like a man being hunted.

“Captain,” Bepo says gently, poking his head into Law’s room “You’ve been… changing your coat for the past 15 minutes.”

Law stops, eyes wild “Which one makes me look more—” he stops. Then corrects himself “Never mind.”

Bepo blinks “More what?”

“…Like I’m not dying inside.”

Bepo nods solemnly “Go with the dark one, it's your color.”

The “date” starts with Law arriving twenty minutes early. Not because he’s eager, of course (he is.)

You show up with a smile, looking relaxed and easy-going, and Law immediately forgets how to stand like a normal person. He moves like someone’s remote-controlling him from across the street.

“You look good” he says.

You blink “Thanks! So do you.”

He dies.

Inside.

Law has a plan. It’s written in his notebook.

Literally.

He wrote a plan.

Phase 1: Get snacks from that café in town.

Phase 2: Walk by the docks.

Phase 3: Compliment them. Not weirdly. Normal compliment.

Phase 4: If going well, offer to take them stargazing. If rejected, die.

Simple.

Except that phase 1 explodes immediately.

The café is closed“Temporarily for repairs” the sign says.

Law stares at the sign like it personally betrayed him “This wasn’t in the plan” he mutters.

You peek over his shoulder “We can just get something from a stall?”

He hesitates. That’s not in the plan. That’s not in the plan.

But you’re smiling, so he nods “Right. Improvising. Yeah. I can do that.”

(He can’t do that)...

Meanwhile, across the street Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo are hiding behind barrels. Watching.

“He’s sweating” Shachi whispers.

Penguin squints “Can he even sweat? Is that medically possible for him?”

Bepo sighs “I don’t think he blinked in five minutes.”

Back on the date, Law is now trying to eat takoyaki. He stabs one with a stick, offers it to you, and then, mid-movement, panics.

“Wait—are you allergic to anything? Shellfish? Octopus? Gluten??”

You laugh “Nope. I’m good.”

“…Okay.” He hesitates “Do you want this one, or should I—”

“I’ll take it.”

Back behind the barrels, Penguin falls to the ground “I can’t watch this.”

By the time you’re strolling along the docks (Phase 2 is back on track!), Law is a wreck. Internally. Externally he still has that serious Captain face on.

“You don’t… date often, do you?” you ask, amused.

Law’s steps falter.

“…Is it that obvious?” he mutters.

You bump his shoulder lightly “Just a little. But it’s cute.”

Cute..........

You just called him........ cute.

Someone please sedate him.

He clears his throat “You’re… uh. You’re not bad yourself.”

You laugh “Was that a compliment?”

He looks away “Kind of.”

You grin “I’ll take it.”

Behind a stack of crates, Shachi is losing his mind “SOMEONE PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY.”

“HE SAID ‘NOT BAD YOURSELF’—WHO EVEN SAYS THAT?!” Penguin wheezes.

Bepo watches calmly “I think it’s going well.”

“…Are we watching the same date?”

You’re sitting on the dock now, feet dangling over the edge, watching the sky turn orange. The date hasn’t gone the way Law planned.

Which is exactly the problem.

He stands next to you like he’s guarding treasure. Except he’s not relaxed. He’s tense. Like he expects an ambush.

From the moon.

“So…” you say, glancing up at him “You always this quiet?”

Law hesitates “I’m… thinking.”

“About?”

“…Phase Four.”

“Phase what?”

He freezes “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes “Law. Did you… plan this date like a battle?”

He clears his throat “No.”

“…You definitely did.”

He changes the subject. Badly “Do you like… stars?”

Meanwhile, behind a crate about 50 feet away, Shachi has his binoculars out.

“They’re sitting. It’s happening. Phase Four is happening.”

Bepo nods, whispering, “Do you think he’ll kiss them?”

Shachi nearly drops the binoculars “No way. No way. He’d combust.”

Penguin has snacks now “What if y/n kisses him first?”

There’s a beat of silence.

They all go, in unison: “He’d die.”

Back at the dock, you lean back on your hands “Stars are nice. But I like hearing you talk about things you like.”

Law blinks. That wasn’t in the plan.

“…Like medicine?” he asks cautiously.

“Sure.”

“Anatomy?”

You raise a brow “Within reason.”

He exhales slowly “What about… the ocean?”

“See?” you say “You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head “Are you nervous?”

“…Extremely.”

You smile.

That’s when you both hear it.

“PENGUIN, GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY HEAD—”

Law stiffens “Wait.”

There’s rustling. A loud clunk. Then “SHHHHHHH!! THEY CAN HEAR US—”

Law turns slowly. You follow his gaze.

A barrel tips over.

Three grown men—one bear, two idiots—collapse into the open like spilled groceries.

“…Oh my god,” you whisper “Were they SPYING on us?!”

Law’s eye twitches.

Shachi pops up “Captain!! Don’t be mad!! We were just—uh—moral support!!”

Bepo waves sheepishly “You were doing great until now!”

Penguin gives you a thumbs-up from the ground “You’re really cute together!”

Law looks like he’s going to murder someone.

You, meanwhile, are wheezing.

“They were there the whole time?!” you gasp, laughing “How long have they been WATCHING?”

Shachi: “Since before the takoyaki.”

Penguin: “Since coat number three.”

Law: “…I’m going to kill you.”

Bepo: “But gently, right?”

You stand up and tug Law’s sleeve. He glances down at you, still visibly unamused.

“I thought it was cute” you say “Your plan. The awkward flirting. All of it.”

He stares “Even this?”

You grin “Especially this.”

His ears turn pink.

Later that night…

Law storms into the crew quarters.

“Meeting. Now.”

They scramble to attention.

He points at each of them “You are banned from surveillance. No more binoculars. No more hiding behind barrels. If I see a single one of you during a private moment again, I will operate your limbs off and sew them back wrong.”

Shachi gulps “Got it.”

Penguin: “Totally fair.”

Bepo: “What about just listening—?”

Law: “Bepo.”

“…Okay. Sorry.”

He turns to leave, coat flapping dramatically—until Shachi calls out “Wait! Did you at least kiss them?!”

Law pauses in the doorway. Silent. Then closes the door behind him.

In the hallway, alone, he leans against the wall, covers his face, and mutters “…Next time.”

Breakfast on the Polar Tang is loud.

Penguin and Shachi are fighting over eggs. Bepo is carefully peeling an orange like it’s surgery. The table’s full—shoulders bumping, chopsticks clattering, someone laughing every five seconds.

You walk in, hair still messy, and Law is already seated at the end.

He looks up the second you enter.

“Morning” you say, rubbing your eye.

He nods, quietly “Morning.”

You take the empty seat beside him.

On the other end of the table, someone yells, “Hey—who took the last piece of cake?!”

You glance up. Sure enough there’s one perfect square of fluffy, cream-filled strawberry shortcake sitting on a plate near the middle. Or rather was sitting.

In one clean, lightning-fast movement, Law grabs it and slides it across the table.

In front of you.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain. Just keeps drinking his black coffee like he didn’t just commit pastry theft.

You stare at him.

Then at the cake.

Then back at him.

“You like it” he says again, like that explains everything.

Which… it does. Kind of.

You blink fast and look away, trying not to smile too hard. He’s always the type to do something so sweet.

But then he notices your cup’s empty and, without saying anything, reaches over and refills it from the kettle. Still not looking at you. Still completely casual. Like it's just part of his morning routine.

Your brain short-circuits.

...And it gets worse.

A piece of hair falls into your face. You're about to push it back, but he does it first—absentminded, fingers brushing your temple like it’s nothing.

Like it’s normal. Like it’s just something he’s allowed to do.

You stop breathing for a second.

Law, meanwhile, is already slicing into an omelet, entirely unaware that he’s killing you one tiny gesture at a time.

You take a bite of the cake, cheeks warm.

It’s perfect...Of course it is.

Later, as you’re both standing up to clear plates, you bump shoulders.

“Thanks” you murmur.

“For what?”

“The cake. The tea. The hair thing. All of it.”

He looks at you for a second but then his gaze flicks from your eyes to your mouth and back again.

“…Wasn’t a big deal.”

“It kinda is.”

He blinks. Tilts his head a little.

You smile “You’re a lot cuter when you’re not trying so hard, y’know.”

He frowns “I wasn’t trying before.”

“Exactly.”

You pat his arm, grab your dish, and head toward the sink.

Behind you, he stands there, stuck in place.

Then mutters to himself “…Cuter?”

After breakfast you’re chatting with Bepo about the latest island rumors, sitting at the mess table again. Law’s standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to read a report. But he keeps looking up every time you laugh. Every time you tilt your head, or say his name, or look like you might say something else.

He’s not subtle.

Not even a little.

You don’t call him out for it. You like it. The fact that he’s choosing to just be around you, even if he pretends he isn’t.

He’s calmer now than he was on your first date. Less fidgety. Less stressed. And way more dangerous because of it.

Like right now, he glances up from his report, sees you rubbing your shoulder absently, and immediately sets the paper down.

“You okay?”

You blink “Yeah, just slept weird.”

He steps behind you and before you can ask what he’s doing his hands are on your shoulders.

Firm, careful pressure. His thumbs move in slow circles against your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. (He does. He’s a doctor, after all).

Your body goes very still.

The crew goes even stiller.

Across the room, Shachi drops a wrench.

Penguin inhales a peanut and starts coughing.

Bepo covers his mouth like he’s watching a sacred ritual.

Law doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t care.

He just mutters, “Tell me if it hurts” and keeps working the muscle.

You swear you might dissolve on the spot.

Later that day, you're walking down the hall toward the storage room when you hear it “DID YOU SEE THE MASSAGE?”

It's Shachi. His voice echoes off the metal walls.

“That was intimate, right? That wasn’t just medical. That was spiritual.”

Penguin: “I choked on a peanut for a reason. That was fate.”

Bepo, calmly: “I think they’re in love.”

You peek around the corner.

They’re in a triangle of chaos. Whisper-yelling. Flailing. Dramatic hand gestures.

You clear your throat and all three freeze.

You raise your eyebrows.

“…We were just talking about the weather” Shachi says, very seriously.

“Peanut forecast” Penguin adds.

Bepo bows slightly “I fully support you and the captain.”

You blink “We’re not even dating.”

There’s silence.

Then, in unison “YET.”

You walk off, red in the face, trying not to laugh.

You don’t see Law leaning in the next hallway, arms crossed again, listening to the whole thing.

He exhales through his nose, quietly.

Then mutters to himself “…Idiots.”

But his lips twitch. Just a little.

Law finds you on the deck in the early evening.

You're sitting on a crate, swinging your legs, watching the lights in the distance as the town starts to glow with festival lanterns.

He approaches, hands in his pockets.

“Hey” he says.

You glance up “Hey. Festival looks nice.”

He nods.

There’s a pause.

You look at him, expectant.

He shifts his weight, like he’s debating something. Then “…You wanna go?”

You blink “To the festival?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, eyes on the horizon “Figured if I ask without writing a five-step plan first, I might not almost die.”

You snort “So this is you asking me on another date?”

He glances at you “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you say yes.”

You grin “I do.”

He exhales “Cool.”

You both try not to smile too obviously.

The festival is chaos but in the best way.

Kids dart through the crowd with candy in both hands. Music plays from a group of locals with hand drums. Lights swing overhead like constellations. There’s food everywhere.

You’re walking side-by-side, not touching, but close enough that your arms brush every now and then.

It’s comfortable.

It’s easy.

You pass a game booth, some kind of target shooting with cork guns. Law glances at it, then at you.

“You good at that?”

You shrug “Mediocre. You?”

“…Surgical.”

You grin “Prove it.”

Ten minutes later, he’s won you a stupid plush seal.

Not by being cool... no. He misses the first two shots, scowls at the gun like it insulted his ancestors, then mutters something about "cheap manufacturing" and *then* gets serious.

Tongue between his teeth. Narrowed eyes. Absolutely committed to this ridiculous task.

When he finally hits the last target, he looks so smug that you burst out laughing.

He shoves the plush into your hands “I said I’d get it.”

You’re still laughing “You’re so dramatic.”

He watches you, something soft in his eyes “…You like it though.”

You pretend to examine the seal “I mean, the craftsmanship’s a little off…”

He bumps your shoulder with his.

You both smile.

Later, you stop for shaved ice, sitting together on a low wall at the edge of the square.

You’re halfway through your dessert when Law quietly says, “This is better.”

You pause “Than what?”

He looks down at his cup “Last time. When I was trying too hard.”

You tilt your head “You were cute then, too.”

He huffs “I was malfunctioning.”

“You were. But it was cute.”

He glances at you, eyes a little narrowed “You call me cute one more time, I’ll—”

“What?” you challenge, grinning.

He leans in. Just a little.

You freeze.

“…I’ll get you a second plush” he says, flatly.

You burst out laughing.

He pulls back, lips twitching. He’s definitely not immune to how red your face is right now. And he likes it.

The sun dips lower, the festival softens. Lights blur a little more golden, music slows down, and kids start tugging tired parents toward "one last game."

You and Law are still wandering, side-by-side, when you pass a booth with a simple ball toss game, rings over bottles.

There's a kid already playing. Small. Serious. Determined.

Law stops. Watches.

The kid notices.

Their eyes lock.

You can feel the energy shift.

The kid slowly, silently, picks up another ring.

Law crosses his arms.

You look at both of them “…What is happening?”

Neither answers.

The kid tosses.

Hit.

Law steps up, drops a coin in the tray without looking away from the tiny opponent.

He tosses.

Hit.

It’s on.

The next few minutes are dead silent, deadly focused, and weirdly intense. Ring after ring. Perfect aim. Small frowns. No smiles. Just raw, quiet competition between a six-year-old and a warlord of the sea.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh you’re shaking.

Eventually the kid lands the final toss. Clean. The biggest bottle. Fireworks go off behind them (perfect timing), and they just nod like, obviously.

Law misses his last ring by a centimeter.

The kid walks over to the prize wall, selects a plush shark... huge, bright blue... and struts back to you.

Holds it out.

“For you, princess,” he says, with perfect, practiced swagger “I’m way better than him.”

You blink.

Law blinks.

The kid walks off without another word.

You look at Law.

You cackle.

Like, actual, doubled-over, wiping-your-eyes laughter.

Law is standing there in stunned silence like he just got outplayed in flirting by a child.

“Did he just—”

You nod, wheezing “He did. He called me princess. Did you hear that delivery?!”

Law glares at the shark plush like it insulted his honor.

You’re still laughing when he says, “It was rehearsed. He’s done that before.”

You lean against the booth, catching your breath “Oh my god. You should’ve done that on our first date.”

He mutters something about “not stooping to plush-based mind games” but he’s definitely not as grumpy as he pretends to be.

And when you nudge him, smiling, he just mutters “…I still won the seal.”

The walk back to the ship is quiet.

The streets behind you still glow with festival lights, but out here, closer to the shore, it’s all stars and sea breeze. A little cooler. A little slower.

You and Law walk side by side. No need to talk. No need to fill the silence.

You’re holding the dumb blue shark and the seal.

He hasn’t teased you about it since the kid incident. Maybe he knows you’d win. Or maybe he’s distracted.

You glance at him. His eyes are soft tonight, not sharp like they usually are. He’s not analyzing anything. Not overthinking. He’s just here with you.

“I had fun” you say quietly.

He nods “Yeah.”

You wait a second... “…That all you’re gonna say?”

He looks over “I didn’t almost die of embarrassment this time.”

You smile “True. Growth.”

A pause.

Then he says, voice lower “I liked being with you. Not just because it went better. Just… because it’s you.”

You stop walking.

He does too. Turns to face you fully.

The wind lifts his coat slightly. The moon lights the water behind him. His expression is unreadable for a second—then shifts.

Softer. Realer.

“I don’t really do this kind of thing,” he says “Dates. People.”

“I know.”

“But I want to try. If it’s you.”

Your heart stumbles.

You step closer “I was planning to kiss you tonight.”

His breath hitches, just a little “Oh.”

You grin “You okay with that?”

He nods once “Yeah.”

And that’s all you need.

You lean in. Your hands brush his coat. His breath catches. Then you kiss him. Slow. Steady. Warm.

He kisses you back like he’s memorizing it.

One hand rests on your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you pull back, you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then he murmurs, barely audible “…Better than a plush.”

You laugh against his chest.

He doesn’t say it, but he holds you a little tighter and that actually says everything.

It’s late, the crew mostly asleep, lights dimmed, the ocean calm. You’re in Law’s quarters now. It’s neater than you expected, but still has that lived-in look. Folders stacked in perfect piles. Books arranged by subject. A single mug half-full of cold tea.

You’re curled up on his couch. Shark plush tucked under one arm. Law’s sprawled next to you, boots off, coat hanging on the back of his desk chair.

His head’s resting against the back of the couch, eyes half-closed. He looks tired. In that good way. The kind that comes after laughter and a kiss and not needing to pretend.

You shift a little and his hand finds yours without looking.

Fingers laced. Easy.

“You’re quiet” you murmur.

“Still processing.”

You glance over “The kiss?”

“No. The shark.”

You snort “Jealous?”

He opens one eye “Of a six-year-old with good aim and terrifying confidence? …Yes.”

You laugh, soft and warm.

Law’s watching you now, really watching you, and this time there’s no hesitation. No second-guessing.

He reaches up and brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. Slow. Gentle. Familiar now.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I want this.”

You nod “Me too.”

He shifts closer “You staying?”

You lean your head against his shoulder “Unless you kick me out.”

“…I’d operate the door shut before I let that happen.”

You smile into his shirt.

The next morning you wake up warm.

Wrapped in a blanket, shark plush tucked under your arm, head resting on something solid. And breathing.

You blink.

It’s Law’s chest.

His coat is draped over both of you like some makeshift shield. One of his hands is still loosely around your waist. The other is on his face, like he's already regretting waking up.

You smile.

“Morning” you whisper.

He groans into his palm “No.”

Then there’s a knock... or more like a bang.

“CAPTAIN!”

Law tenses.

You sit up, hair everywhere, still holding the plushes like a shield.

“Captain, are you—” Penguin bursts in and freezes.

Shachi appears behind him, sees the situation, and gasps like someone got stabbed.

Bepo peeks in last. Quietly says, “Told you they were in love.”

Law is already covering his face again.

Penguin: “Are these TWO cute plushes?!”

Shachi: “DID YOU SLEEP IN THE SAME ROOM?!”

Bepo, sincerely: “Did you cuddle?”

You blink at them.

Law doesn’t move.

You clear your throat “Morning.”

Shachi leans in “Good morning to you, power couple.”

Penguin: “So? You guys kiss last night? You kiss? You totally kissed, right?”

Law finally lifts his head.

Dead-eyed. Voice flat.

“Out. Now.”

The crew flees like rats.

You’re left half-laughing, half-horrified.

Law exhales deeply “I should’ve locked the door.”

You lean against him again “I think it’s cute.”

He stares at you like you’ve said something illegal.

You grin, plush squished between you.

“You’re really soft when you sleep, y’know.”

He closes his eyes “I’m moving out.”

[yueichihara]

A date with Mephisto

Our little pretty crow was feeling down for being left behind on Sylus' birthday! So I thought about taking him out for a date.

cw: major fluff | yearning looks | Sylus x MC |

word count: 1,656 words

“I’m pretty sure there’s no need for this.” 

You don’t need to turn around to know Sylus is still lingering behind you, his arms crossed and one brow arched as he shaked his head. “I am sure I need to do this.” 

It had been about a week and a half since Sylus’ birthday, and Mephisto had yet to forgive you both for leaving him behind. Again. This wasn’t the first time you two went on a date alone, but it seemed to have been something he had been expecting to be allowed to tag along to. According to Sylus, he’d been pouting since that day, following instructions but refusing to get closer to you like he always did. You’d tried luring him out with snacks and shiny things, but he’d only let out a noise that resembled a snort and turned his head away. 

You’d come to the conclusion that there was just one option left: a date with him. Of course, it wouldn’t be something you’d usually do with Sylus, but you needed to get his trust back. Both of you. So you’d go with this: Mephisto and you would go on a date, visit a few places, go for dinner by the beach, and Sylus would stay. Mephisto had cawed with an eager flap of his wings when you’d presented him with the idea, turning to look at Sylus with a smug glint in his eye, earning a glare from his boss. 

You were currently in Sylus’ garage, looking for a bike to use as tonight's vehicle. Sylus had not been pleased with the idea, immediately refusing to stay behind and let you two go out alone. He’d only backed down when you’d teased him about Mephisto being more charming than him and taking you away. He’d laughed mockingly and closed the distance, lifting your chin with one finger as he leaned down. His voice was low, almost a whisper “Sweetie, I don’t think anyone else is ever gonna be able to satisfy your desires.” and then he’d kissed your cheek, his lips lingering more than necessary, before pulling away.

Now you turned to him and couldn’t help but snort, all that sass had suddenly turned into some kind of uneasiness, trailing behind you and still trying to dissuade you from going.

Narrowing his eyes, he walks closer “Care to share the reason for your good humour?” 

Not letting him have his way, you walk away from him towards the bike that had caught your eye, acting unimpressed at his attempt to corner you. “My humour is good because I get to have a date with the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.” You take your helmet that had been hanging from your elbow and put it on as you settle yourself over the motorbike. You’d agreed to drive to the entrance of the base and get Mephisto from there. The garage’s door opens in the distance. “I am the ruler of this place and you find him more interesting?”

Smiling at him, you put your visor down and start the bike, making the engine roar to life. “It’s because you rule over this place that you’re not, mafia boss.” You don’t let him react to your teasing before driving away.

Mephisto lands on your shoulder as you take off the helmet, leaving the bike parked near the beach. There was a gathering of people in the distance, a band playing indie music was giving a free concert at the fair according to your research. It was a warm summer night, you’d worn a light dress and shorts beneath it for the ride, your make up matching the pink of your dress. It didn’t matter that it was Mephisto, you wanted to give a good impression to your date companion. 

You wandered in between stalls, looking and enjoying yourself, talking to Mephisto about trivial stuff, him cawing in response every now and then. He nipped at your neck when you passed in front of one specific stall, filled with handmade jewelry and exquisite sea themed gems. 

“Oh those are so pretty, Mephi!” You exclaimed, leaning closer to get a better view. “Tell me which one you want, I’ll get it for you.” Beaming with energy, he nuzzles against the side of your face before jumping on the table. “Careful!” You send an apologetic smile to the vendor. 

“Oh don’t worry, I can see your buddy is eager to get something nice. Here,” He says, offering a box that was stashed away “these are the ones I save for people who have a good eye.” 

Mephisto peeks into the box and uses his beak to rummage inside, looking for something that might catch his eye. You see movement from the corner of your eye a few stalls away, but when you start to turn towards it Mephisto caws at you, signaling that he’s made his mind and grabs the gem with his beak. You help him choose a matching chain before paying and heading towards the restaurant you’d made the reservation at. Wind was starting to rise this close to the sea, and you make it a point to dress better next time you came regardless of the season. You rub your arms as you curse at yourself for leaving your jacket inside the bike’s compartment. 

Mephisto looks at you curiously and you smile at him, changing the topic. Announcing yourself at the door, the staff guides you to one of the outdoor tables where the view of the sea was stunning. The lights from the boats drifting in the distance contrasted with the darkness of the water, the stars shimmering in the midnight sky. Some of the other customers looked at you weirdly but you paid it no mind in favour of enjoying your company.

One of the waitresses brings over the menu, looking at Mephisto with curiosity but saying nothing about it. You’d obviously mentioned your companion for the night when making the reservation, and the staff had been kind and open about it. A sudden cold breeze makes you shiver, wondering if it would be worth it to change this beautiful scenery for a table indoors. But as soon as you see Mephisto watching the waves and the reflection of the stars in the water, as if they were pearls drifting away, you decide not to. 

The smile vanishes from your lips the moment you feel a touch on your neck, your body tensing and readying for battle. Mephisto looks over and tilts his head, his eyes gleaming.

“Aaand… you’re dead, sweetie.” With an irritated sigh, your body relaxes as you turn to look at Sylus, his expression relaxed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You shouldn’t get your guard down just because you’re having fun.” He puts a jacket over your shoulders -your jacket-, before sitting before you on the empty chair. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, but your words lack curiosity or bite, already knowing he’d been tailing you since a while ago. 

He points to Mephisto with the tip of his chin “You should ask him that, he’s the one who called me over, kitten.” 

Your eyes narrow on Mephisto and you playfully pinch his beak, your eyes then softening as you proceed to pat his head. “If you wanted us both to come, you should have said so, Meph.” 

“Caw” He flaps his wings and motions to Sylus and you with his beak. “Caw”

You laugh looking over at Sylus, his gaze warm as he watches the two of you. Your eyes meet and you stay like that for a while before Mephisto nudges your hand. 

“Caw” He says and points to your purse. 

“Right! You want to give it to him now?” Reaching inside, you take out the necklace with the gem you’d bought before. “Here.” He grabs it with his beak and jumps over to Sylus. “What is it?” Sylus says, trying to sound annoyed but failing completely. “Oh. Is it for me?” 

“Caw” You see as Sylus’ gaze softens surprisingly more as he takes the necklace offered from Mephisto’s beak, with a gentleness that leaves your heart aching.

“You should have seen the glint in his eye while he rummaged through the gems. He found something that goes with your aesthetic.” You lean your elbow over the table, your chin on your hand as you watch Sylus examine the gift. It is a deep red translucent gem, shaped like a natural heart. A delicate golden metal thread framed it, as if it were veins. The golden chain you’d chosen matched it perfectly. 

“Thanks.” Sylus says looking at Mephisto, patting his head. “You, too.” He smiles at you and you grin at him. The sea’s icy breeze disappears as your dinner unfolds, lighthearted chat and laughs filling the space around you.

When dinner’s over, the three of you head over to the shore, few people around now that the stalls have started closing down for the night. Sylus holds your sneakers with one hand, the other firmly clasped in yours, fingers intertwined. You feel the sand between your fingers, still warm from the afternoon’s sun. Mephisto suddenly flies overhead, perching on a rock further away, giving you both space. You feel Sylus’ thumb softly stroking the back of your hand before he speaks. 

“I initially refused, you know.” You look at him, knowing he’s referring to Mephisto’s invitation. He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a kiss. As he puts it down again he looks back at you. “But he told me I shouldn’t be missing out on how beautiful your smile looked today.”

Your heart fills with warmth as you look over at Mephisto, his eyes locked on the moon. Looking back at Sylus, you say, a wide smile tugging at your lips “See? He is the most interesting character in the N109 Zone.”

[ama3003]

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,�� you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

[thequietkid-moonie]

Desperately trying to make you feel at home (because of a misundertanding)

[ PLATONIC HEADCANONS ] [ All NCR students ]

[ Twisted Wonderland ]

Im just messing with Crowley and my other favorite characters, lets not let Crowley bribe Grim with tuna to give us work extra!

I think this is one of the longest work i have done so far, im sorry but, like, i tried to mention as much characters as posible (i think mentioned all the student 💀)

Ever since you came to Twisted Wonderland you were being pretty much at Crowley's mercy, he was the one providing you with what you and Grim needed to survive along with letting you stay in Ramshackle in exchange of helping with his work, however the real deal wasn't fair in the slighlest, no matter how much Crowley claimed to be oh so kind and always looking after the prefect he was constantly forgetting about you and even going as far as trying to manipulate you into accepting do even more work in exchange of a bit extra resources (that, honestly, are things that should have been fulfilled long ago)

After a while of having to work for Crowley and assisting to the classes you grew more comfortable with everything, at first you accepted since you were depending of him but by now you knew him too well and grow comfortable enough at his side to try to get in his good side, after everything that have happened you run out of patient for the headmage actics, fine! If he wanted to play dirty to make you overwork then two could play this game!

You learned that for Crowley finding a way to send you back home was the least of his priorities, so you take that for your plan! Everytime he came to ask you to do more work when you already had your hands full you smiled at him before bringing the topic of your home, asking how his investigation was going, any progress? Crowley was quickly taken off guard, he needed to find an excuse as quick as posible and you just kept pressuring him until he was too awkward that he needed to run away, leaving before even saying anything about the work he wanted you to do

At first you just did it for when he was putting too much work on your hands to do, you didn't wanted to keep overworking yourself and you needed to caught up with the classes you were taking! After all you were a student too! But, at the end, it started to work so well and having free time to just rest was feeling a bit too good, so you keep pressing as much as you wanted. With new confidence you started to talk to Crowley, rubbing his ego about him being so kind just before strike the argument of your home, slowly scalating things from asking about his investigation to even start telling him how much you missed your home!

Ranting about how much you missed your old life, the things and people you missed so much and even started to use the excuse of festivities and important dates back in your world! There was something so important in your world that you just couldn't celebrate here, you can't help but wonder if your friends and family won't miss you so much that they couldn't enjoy this joyful times neither! You were just feeling so sad and homesick that this way you wouldn't be able to get the work done! You didn't knew if it was true concern or just awkwardness but it was working, Crowley was trying to make it up and giving you more free time ever since you started to use your home as excuse

The real problem came when your friends started to heard you talking about your home. It started with Grim, since he was constantly dragged to do the job with you he was there when Crowley came to give you more work, and was the one hearing you talk about how much you missed your home with Crowley, at first he didn't thought much about it since the headmage promised you to find a way to send you back, but the more time passed the more you talked about you home to Crowley, and Grim started to actually grow worried, does his henchman really misses their home that bad? He didn't noticed! But, of course, Grim was a too prideful to ask so you didn't explained that most part of it was just an exageration to mess up with Crowley

Once Grim had enough of being worried over it he ended up telling about it to Ace and Deuce (being the ones who are always stuck at your side), soon tagging along Jack, Eppel, and Ortho, after all this was serious and they wanted to do something, after all you were the prefect and their best friend! You were always there getting involved in problems that had nothing to do with you, even when you were magicless you always did your best to help them because they were your friends, and never even asked for something in return! You have done so much for them and they couldn't even help you feel at home! They felt terrible, guilty even

It was hard to hide how bad they were feeling but even if they tried to don't talk about it when the others asked it was after a moment of hesitation they started to talk about what was bothering them so much to the rest of your friends, and between misundertandings and gossips the fact that the prefect was suffering in silence for missing their home so much quickly became an open secret, somehow still being able to hide from you that they knew (even when they were acting way too suspicious when you were around)

Your friends weren't too discreet when trying to do things for you or paying more attention, you could catch their nervous smiles as they attempt to discreetly provide comfort, wich just lead them to be awkward, it was truly weird but you decided to leave them be (or tease them, whatever you were up to), suddenly the free time you managed to get thanks to the excuses you were giving Crowley were fully occupied by your friends

You were constantly invited to Unbirthday parties and simple tea parties in Heartslabyul (wich wasn't too weird by now) but suddently the tables had a lot of pastries of your favorite flavors and even the table you were in was filled with your favorite pastries, personally baked by Trey, and there was enough tea of your favorite flavor to get drown in it. Suddently Riddle was calmer when you accidently broke a rule, simply making you a almost scary kind reminder, and even if it wasn't werid for Carter to constantly take photos with you at his side, suddenly the number of post about you two and what you were doing increase a bit too much, tagging you as his bestie

Also, you found yourself hanging out in Savanaclaw more often than before thanks to the incredibly subtle invitations from Ruggie and even Leona himself to just hang out in the louge and relax, after all the place was perfect to just lay down and take a nap. And if that wasn't enough they were also more willing to talk to you in the hallways (or between Leona's naps) not that they were mean to you before but getting out of their way just to say hi was quite weird, also it may sounds like you were going crazy but you were left with the impression that they were being slighly more clingy, Leona was now the one making you do errands for him (just a few times) along with Ruggie, who always seem to know how to start the conversation that would lead about your really funny time in school, or sometimes Leona simply finds some not so good excuses to keep you at his side while napping

No matter how much Azul wanted to play it off as simple an oportunity of bussiness it was still quite suspicious that he was suddently inviting you over to Octaville out of nowhere, he was asking a bit more about what your world it was like and what you were used to eat, saying that special plates from literally another world would be great for Monstro Lounge it was still quite suspicious, specially when he allowed you to be the first one to try the new plates, he and Jade insistes that it was because you were the only one who could tell if it was perfect (wich it was surprisingly right, it was quite the pleseant surprised to eat something at least a bit similar to what you used to eat back in your world), but for their insistance it felt like they had a hidden motive, and it didn't help the fact that Azul and Jade had to constantly interrupt Floyd before he told you that they were doing it because they wanted to make you feel less homesick

As if Unbirthday parties weren't enough Scarabia suddently started to have more parties! And parties in your honor! Kamil was far from being good at being discreet so he ended up confessing right away that Scarabia was holding parties specially to thank you for all you have done, not just for him and Jamil but for everyone! It, honeslty, took all his willpower (and Jamil's help) to don't just end up apologizing in tears for not making you feel at home and how sorry he was that you were missing your home so much. And while Jamil was quite annoyed for suddenly have so much extra work he allowed himself, for once, to relax just enough to be a little more sincere at your side in an attempt to make you feel at home, to show that he was being sincere with what he was saying (taking you out of guard when he smiled sincerely in the process, and not with his usual smirk)

You know Rook is quite inpredictale and sneaky but you can swear he has being even more weird than normal, after all lately he has appeared out of nowhere just to say hello, inside and outside of Pomefiore, giving you a few compliments in his usual extravagant way to speak before leaving. In the other hand, Vil didn't went out of his way (or at least pretended that he didn't do it) but he did gifted you some of his personal skin care products out of nowhere, after all Ramshackle was far from the ideal living conditions and you should take extra care of yourself, taking a moment to remind you with that strict side of him about how important it is to take care of yourself before reminding you that being the prefect it isn't just a meaningless title, everyone apreciate you and what you have done (you swear in your life Vil was being sincere, that smile didn't looked like the perfectly calculated smile he gives to the cameras)

Being dragged to Ignihyde wasn't really rare for you by now, Ortho wasn't only excited to have an amazing friend like you but also wanted his brother to befriend you too, but right now there was something off, you were dragged more often just to hang out, you were suddently invited a lot more to just have some movie nights and gaming sesions with Idia, it wouldn't have been that suspicious if it wasn't because Ortho was more insisting than usual and even Idia was doing efforts to get out of his room to meet you, hopefuly you don't notice how much data Ortho is collecting of your preferences to make sure you feel comfortable or how he is constantly checking on you to make sure you are truly happy and don't continue suffering in silence (like how everyone now think you have been)

One of the only ones who doubted slighly the situation was Lilia, thinking that maybe between the gossips the situation could have been exaggerated, still he reminded you that you were always welcome to pass by Diasomnia if you wanted, no matter what they may said everyone in the dorm appreciate your presence, still his doubts doesn't stoped him to give some advices when Malleus asked about how to help the child of man with their homesickness, using the oportunity to help him get closer to his little friend, for what Malleus was actively trying to get closer and even inviting you for night walks whenever he passed around Ramshackle (sometimes passing around was just the excuse), and while Silver took things more calmly, just like his father, he still left clear that since you two were friends you could just vent with him, he promise to try his best to stay awake and even if you wanted to talk about the world you come from he would be happy to heard you

Not just that but suddenly your friends from the first year, the ones who you were closer to and even share classes were paying you visits at Ramshackle more often, somehow having the permision from their housewarden to return a bit more late than usual or directly spend the night with you for a sleep over, as well to have more study sesions with you and constantly asking how were you doing and making sure you were fine

It was good gestures but it was incredibly suspicious since it was almost all the students now paying you attention (you started to wonder if this was a bad omen or something) and when you managed to gain the courage to ask what have gotten into everyone lately they were reclulant to talk, but at end (just like how it started) it was Grim who explained that he saw you crying to Crowley because you missed your home and he couldn't let his henchman suffer like that (he was already too convinced that you were suffering a lot after telling how he saw you talking with Crowley about your world over and over one, being the main reason why this situation was already out of control), quickly followed by the rest of your friends who, after having to hold back and being worried sick for you, couldn't help but tear up a little while expressing his worry and how sorry they were that you were feeling that way

At the end you didn't knew if you should just laugh or start crying of embarrasement, sure, you missed your world but all those times you talked to Crowley were just exaggerations and excuses, you didn't meant for you friends to even know about this, let alone to worry so much that you would have your friends suffocating you in a tearful hug now, but you couldn't say you don't appreciate the gesture and how much they truly worry for you

[kaelor0409]

This seems like a really great way for GMs to have to come up with and describe every crack and crevasse in every possible environment, and for players to have to spend an entire session bored out of their minds trying every kind of search technique possible on every single room.

I am not a master detective, or a skilled tracker, or a trained scientist. I don't know what I should be looking for, but my character does. That's what the "+6 Investigation" (or whatever) on my sheet means! The point of roleplaying is that you are playing a role. Your characters may be able to do things you can't. Likewise, while you may know everything there is to know about looking for signs of dry rot in wood, your lunkhead barbarian might not.

Furthermore, just because someone could perceive something doesn't mean they will. How close do you have to be to smell the scales of the basilisk waiting in ambush? I don't know! What's the wind direction? How sensitive is an elf's nose compared to a dwarf's? Have you worked up a sweat? What's in your pack? Did you fully rinse off the viscera from the last fight?

Rolls are abstracts for narrative and chance. TTRPGs aren't video games. Someone rolling a two on a search check doesn't mean the secret compartment they were looking for magically became invisible. It means that perhaps they were distracted at a key moment. Perhaps the shadows fell in such a way as to mask the hidden seam, or the panel is sticky so the searcher assumed it wasn't moveable.

Likewise, a high roll is a chance for fun comedy. We've all seen it before: a bumbling or otherwise unobservant character just happens to lean on the right section of wall, revealing a hidden passageway.

Eliminating rolls turns everything into a binary contest. Players are rewarded for thinking exactly like the GM, and punished if they don't come to the same conclusions. A lot of it will come down to GM calls on what people can and can't perceive, based on personal opinion. This can create hostile environments very quickly if players feel cheated by descriptions they didn't understand, or if they get jumped because the GM decides they didn't hear/see/smell something.

The only advantage to this approach is that it rewards player creativity, and you can do that without turning your entire game into a point-and-click adventure. If a player thinks to measure the depth of a drawer to check for a false bottom, then maybe they find the secret compartment without having to roll. If a suspicious player thinks there might be bandits in the trees, maybe they get a bonus to their roll against the bandits' stealth. If they don't, their characters' skill or dumb luck might carry them through anyway.

-

A similar comparison is social rolls. Why have social stats at all? It's a roleplaying game. Don't have "Persuasion" as a skill, make players can convince the GM in-character!

...except not everyone is a slick salesman or stone faced gambler. Doing away with social skills is effectively punishing players for not being as charming or stoic or intimidating as the fantasy characters they are playing. Some interactions can also go into bad territory if pushed too much. Trying to seduce a guard can be a fun narrative idea, but forcing your players to flirt with you (or forcing a GM to roleplay as the target of endless seduction attempts) may cross lines. In safer territory, not everyone wants to sit through an hour of haggling and contract negotiations.

If a player gives a stirring speech, persuasive argument, or clever gambit then absolutely they should be rewarded. But don't make it so players have no choice but to come up with a passionate monolog on the spot if they want to inspire the local troops.

-

Skill rolls exist for a reason. They provide streamlined abstraction, impartial arbitration, and the ability for people to play as a character with skills they personally might not have.

If you want to solve puzzles with your friends, say so. Go do an escape room, or play a mystery game. Or if everyone is onboard, make a house rule that you will use roleplay instead of skill checks for things like searches. But this isn't going to work unless everyone is enthusiastically on board, and certainly doesn't work as the baseline for all TTRPGs.

If there was one thing I could retroactively erase from existence in the entire history of the tabletop RPG medium it would be the concept of using "perception checks" or "investigation rolls" or any similar mechanics in dungeon-crawling RPGs to determine if the PCs can see a detail in their environment.

"A DC 15 Perception roll is required to see..." "A DC 20 Investigation roll will reveal..." no. Shut up. If the thing is in plain sight or can be perceived with the senses by simply existing in this space and taking a look around then the PCs are perceiving it and describing it to the players is part of your role because you are their source of sensory information about the in-game world.

And if it's not in plain sight or deliberately concealed in some way then they simply DON'T perceive it but can reveal it by narratively interacting with their environment until one of their actions undoes whatever's concealing it, not rolling a die to see if they can Perceive Hard Enough to reveal it.

[trampleddoves]

bad idea right

Holiday break with your new stepfamily gets more interesting when you catch your stepbrother's lingering glances.

Pairing: afab!reader x stepbrother!Spencer Content: angst + slight smut, 2.7k words, DDDNE, no kinks, but Spencer is your stepbrother (set just before-s1), reader is a college graduate and mentioned to wear dresses and makeup, reader gets tipsy, complicated family dynamics and unhealthy coping mechanisms, making out, dry humping.  Notes: MDNI. I do not condone the choices of the characters, this request truthfully just brought to me a fully-fledged idea that I could not ignore. Once again, scroll away if this isn’t your cup of tea. Title is indeed from the Olivia Rodrigo song, which I extensively listened to while I wrote. This isn’t even that smutty, but I really enjoyed exploring ideas of resentment simmering beneath the surface. I suppose this affirms a previous anon who accused me of being a freak—evidently. Of the highest order. Welcome. I bear cookies and milk. They’re poisoned.

Winter break. The chill wraps around the air like an overbearing mother—inescapable, looming in corners you wouldn’t suspect—although Spencer Reid wouldn’t know what having an overbearing mother entails. Diana Reid had never been overbearing even in her lucidity but the comparison seems apt. A certain foreboding attitude hangs over the house. Gathering here, with his father’s new family, a measly, pathetic attempt to be closer. 

He’s never particularly gone through the usual sulking phase of adolescence. Too busy growing up, being good, working hard to hide how he’s splintering at every corner—a young boy burdened by the weight of his genius and a mother absent from reality. A life without the support of a father. 

A father who is now desperately trying to reconnect, accepting him—forcibly, under the guise of love—into the fold of his new family. It’s all so performative, but then again Spencer knows all about performative. Having spent years trying to seem okay, like his mother isn’t rapidly deteriorating, hiding the fact that she’s unfit to be his guardian behind clean, well ironed clothes and his remarkable academic performance. His entire life is a laughable farce, so he sees through everything—the perfect spread of Christmas dinner, being forced to open presents in the morning together—they’re all facades precariously balanced on everyone’s cooperation. 

He'd played the part, baring his teeth as a way of smiling—he's never quite properly learned how to smile, having little cause for the action—posing for pictures, thanking his new stepmother for the new copy of Foucault’s Madness and Civilization. 

It’s a good gift, even though he’s already read the material. Shows that she made an attempt to know about him. Spencer could admit that the woman is kind, thoughtful, stable, he could see how his father would fall in love with her. But there's the underlying implication—she's nothing like Diana Reid. 

He decides he hates her the day after Christmas. He decides William Reid doesn't deserve her either. 

It feels like now he’s getting his life’s worth of teenage angst. After Christmas is over, he locks himself away, talking only when talked to. His father and stepmother are gone today, attending a fancy brunch with their shiny new friends, so Spencer ventures out of his room cautiously. His quiet footsteps are simply manifestations of his unease. Trying to create the least amount of noise, take up the smallest space. He does not feel welcome here, and he doesn’t want to.

Winter break. The chill insists upon invading the house, despite the heater. 

Yet you’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of cereal in nothing but a slinky, emerald green slip. 

You. The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

His stepsister. 

He pauses at the doorway, mouth dry, eyes trained on the way the fabric falls over your body, reflective silk casting shadows and highlights and making every single curve seem so supple and soft and oh so tempting.

He clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” you look over your shoulder to regard him. He’s found that you’re even more displeased by this arrangement, this quick merging of two families. Traditional holiday festivities ring hollow now, obviously ornamental to make the marriage seem less dismal. Your way of showing your displeasure is the exact opposite of his. Instead of holing up in your room, you’re always outside if you can help it. He’s not sure where, but it’s obvious that neither of you are happy.

He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He’s finally reached a point where college graduates are age appropriate enough to be considered his peers. No longer the youngest person in the room. But at this point, his social grace is completely in reverse to his intellect. That is, nearing zero. He has no idea how to talk to you.

“I’m gonna meet a couple of friends for lunch,” you say, lifting the spoon to your mouth. His gaze follows, before he finds clarity and looks down.

“That’s good,” he mumbles, walking to the fridge and finding the milk carton.

“You wanna come?”

“Not really.”

He sees you shrug from the corner of his eye. Part of him wants to retract his rejection, but you’re already rinsing your bowl. Soon you’ll flounce off, and he’ll be alone. Good, he decides. It’s better off like this, holding you at a distance. He doesn’t need more fuel to add to his inappropriate attraction to you.

Leave it to him to mess this up. He doesn’t even want this new family—he’d much rather spend Christmas in Nevada. A small room he rents near Diana’s sanitarium, so he could spend time with her whenever he can. Still, he can’t believe he’s committing to this cliche. Nerdy step brother ogling his beautiful step sister. It’s as if he carries some permanent malady, inflicting it upon everything he touches.

“I’ll see you later then, Spencer.” your touch on his arm makes him flinch. 

He ducks and nods, hiding away from the odd look he’s sure you’re giving him. A look everyone gives him, even his mentor, the only man who could ever keep up with him. Weakly, he answers, “Yeah. Later.”

Later turns out to be way past dinner; Spencer is alone for far longer than he anticipated. His father and stepmother return around dinnertime, the woman drunk and stumbling about. William Reid pats his son on the shoulder, before quickly retiring to the master’s bedroom, “We’re both exhausted, Spencer. Make sure your sister gets home at a reasonable hour.”

What constitutes reasonable? He’d never gone out and partied when he was studying—or after, if he’s being completely honest. Still, he nods at his father, deciding there’s really no harm waiting up for you. 

It is quiet when you stumble into the house, but there’s a light in the kitchen that makes your heart rate spike. Your mother? William? Are you in trouble for staying out? Can you even get in trouble when you’re an adult? What are the rules for adults still living with their parents? You’re unsure. There’s no curfew, but the presence of the light reminds you all too well of past conversations when your mother had caught you sneaking back in.

It’s easy to regress back into the habits from your earlier years when you’re around her. Locked in this perpetual dynamic of mother and child—mother and daughter, which is arguably even worse—where you’re meant to forever stay young, her baby as she likes to say, with a beaming smile as if that would soothe the sting of having to move back home after college. 

Tail tucked between your legs, accepting defeat. You had plans of making it in a big city—didn’t everyone? But money and luck and a whole other host of factors are not on your side, so you’d begrudgingly accepted her offer. Come live with me until you get your feet solidly planted on the ground, she had said. Conveniently leaving out the part where she remarried. But you didn’t want to be homeless, so you had smiled through gritted teeth and moved back in, accepting William Reid as your new stepfather, as if your old, real father wasn't buried six feet down the ground only eight months ago.

It’s his son now that’s waiting in the kitchen. Spencer. Scrawny, bug eyed. Your mother had gushed about him in the past few weeks—apparently, he’s finished three PhDs., and is being considered for the FBI even though he’s technically too young to even apply. He’d never be like you, struggling to get past the first interview. No, he’s too brilliant for that.

He looks up from his book as you pad through the halls. Dim light softens the gaunt angles of his face, making him almost handsome. He smiles, and the illusion is gone, replaced by the reality of what he is: a boy still fumbling about how to be a man. 

“You’re back,” his voice is soft as he closes the book—some Italian writer you remember reading for a literature class.

You walk past him, grabbing a glass. “Yeah. Why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, training his eyes on the floor, but not before you catch his gaze lingering at your bare legs. “It’s so quiet around here.”

Right. He still lives in the city where, even in the dead of night, there’s an undercurrent of sound. Still accustomed to the slight hum, the pulse that lets you know there are other people awake around you, doing night shifts, or partying, or making love. Here in the quiet suburbs, with the strict homeowner’s association, a car revving down the street would be the cause for a noise complaint.

“Hm,” you gulp your water, “Should’ve come with me.”

“I didn’t want to intrude on you and your friends.” he replies, eyes flickering back to you. Clear amber, even in the dim light, “I hope you had fun, though.”

Try as you might, you can’t hate the guy. He’s much too earnest, too bumbling to ever be of any real danger. Besides, he’s stuck here just as much as you are, into this stupid tableau of family values your parents have forced upon you. Your resentment would only be wasted on him, especially since his resentment is just as obvious.

So you flash him a smile, lips reflective and mimicking wetness thanks to the lipgloss, “I did, thanks. How’s your book?”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes trained on your mouth. 

“Spencer?”

“Oh, it’s good,” he turns his gaze back to his copy, old and worn, with papers sticking out of them, “I’ve read it before, I’m just reading through my annotations.”

“Ah,” you nod. Of course he’s the type to annotate. And reread said annotations. You walk closer, leaning against the table beside him. The way his eyes dart down your bare legs, not in full display, within touching distance, fills your mind with dangerous thoughts. So you steer the conversation that way, pressing his buttons ever so slightly, “Sorry you’re stuck here by the way. Could’ve been out getting laid at D.C.”

He shakes his head, a self deprecating smirk tilting at his lips. “I’m not—that’s not really my thing.”

“No?”

“Girls don’t really find me appealing.” he mumbles, risking another glance at your legs. You wait for the usual self pitying speech, the one with underlying anger and misogyny, but it doesn’t come. He simply looks wistful.

You find yourself filled with genuine intrigue, “No?” 

It’s interesting how the same word could carry such a different meaning with the slightest shift in inflection. Spencer seems to pick up on the softness of your voice.

“No, I don’t really—I spend most of my time reading.” he tells you.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your time holed up in isolation,” your finger touches his chin, tilting it up to meet you. A strange sense of power fills your stomach as you watch his pupils dilate. “You’d find someone.”

You have a plethora of fucked up things upon which you can place the blame for why you do the next thing—your life not going the way you want it, the growing resentment for this entire holiday, your alcohol addled state of mind. That’s a problem you’ll figure out in the morning. Right now, you’re leaning in to kiss him. Your lips are sticky against his dry ones, palms cupping his jaw as you move your lips gently.

For a moment, you’re afraid you’ve misread the signals—he’s rigid, as though frozen by the permeating frigidity of the house. You consider pulling away, but then he is kissing you back. Slowly, at first, matching your pace, but then your tongue darts out to drag across the seam of his lips, mouth parting, and suddenly he’s moving with desperation. Kissing you as if he intends to meld your mouths together, making the prettiest little noises from the back of his throat.

There’s little time to think, not when there’s so much resentment and frustrations pouring out of both of you and into the kiss. He’s trying to keep up with your anger, but inexperience makes him uncoordinated. It’s sloppy and just on the edge of painful, clashing teeth and tongues poking harshly into crevices, not with the intention to explore but to take. 

When you tug at his pants, he pulls back, holding onto your hips like you’re some sort of lifeline. “W-we shouldn’t,” he pants.

“No?” you press your palm on his crotch, raising a brow at the obvious erection hiding beneath the fabric. 

He moans, eyes squeezing shut. “This is wrong, you’re drunk and—and my step sister.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumble, moving to straddle his lap, dress hiking up to your hips and giving him a full view of your legs. Your cunt goes directly over his crotch. Only a few scraps of fabric separate you, and the thought makes you moan, makes you nip at his lower lip. He stiffens in response, face bright red.

“At least deny the step sister part,” he complains, resting his forehead against yours.

You don’t have anything to counter it, at least not with words, so instead you move your hips over the spot where you’ve settled. A moan trembles from his lips as you grind on his crotch, seeking friction from the growing bulge. You swallow the sound with another kiss, and this time he doesn’t fight it. 

“It doesn’t count,” you say in between kisses, hands tangling in his hair, “If we don’t actually fuck.”

He laughs, breathless and disbelieving, his breath warm on the skin of your jaw where he’s begun trailing kisses. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yes, it does.” you insist, grinding your hips on his crotch, moaning as the thin lace of your panties grow soaked with your arousal, making the friction feel that much sweeter. “Makes perfect sense. Perfectly logical. It’s just masturbating then.”

Spencer is whimpering into your neck, large hands holding your waist to keep you balanced on his lap. “That’s still wrong.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you haven’t been jerking off to the thought of me.” That’s a risky sentence; you’re not actually sure. But with the way his hips jerk up into you, you realize he has done it. Lowering your voice, you lean in and bite his ear, rocking your hips into a rhythm that mimics the movements of sex. “You have, haven’t you? That’s why you spend all that time alone in your room?”

“I—fuck,” he groans, nails digging into your hips as he ruts his hips up to match you, “Yes. Yes, yes, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Spencer.” you moan, arms wrapping around his neck. “God, this feels so good.” Pleasure courses through your veins, heightened by the alcohol and the fact that neither of you shouldn’t be doing this. Beneath you, the chair he’s sitting on scrapes on the kitchen floor, creaking slightly from your rocking bodies.

“Yeah,” he groans, teeth clamping around the sensitive part of your throat. You hiss at the sting, grinding down on his erection harder, an action that sends his body into a fit of tremors, stiffening and then shuddering as he muffles his moans against your skin.

He’s coming, you realize, and the fact makes you go harder, eager to chase your own orgasm. His length is still rock hard, easy to rub your sensitive clit on it to find stimulation, and soon, you’re quivering on top of him as the pleasure finally snaps and overtakes your body.

He holds you tightly to him, arms around your waist as you try to regain your breaths. “W-we can’t do this again.” he whispers, voice hoarse, arms trembling despite their tight grip on you.

“Right,” you murmur, gingerly climbing off his lap, “Just this once, never again.” 

His arms linger, wanting to keep you against him longer despite every brain cell yelling at him about goodness and morality and legal complexities. Reluctantly, he lets go.

You regard him, strangely sober after such a high. Cheeks flushed, a stain at his crotch, the very picture of ruin. With a smile, you bend down and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Keep this between us?”

“Of course.”

You make two promises that night. Only one of them is kept.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x reader, established relationship, Fluff (maybe some NSFW)

Imagine Remmick and reader enjoying each other’s company while laying together. Soft kisses, nails lightly raking through hair, and soothing touches.

Perhaps teasingly reader lightly bites Remmick’s neck, since he always does this to reader they wanted some payback. Might or might not have known that it would rile him up.

(Would love to see some feral softness from Remmick if that makes sense lol)

Gender neutral pronouns please :)!

Have a great day/night!

P.s glad to see my request/asks are enjoyed! Love your work :D

Drunk on you||Remmick x GN!reader

Summary— reader and Remmick are obsessed with each other.

Word count-1180

Warnings-Explicit sexual content Mutual masturbation (gender neutral reader x male character) Bloodplay-adjacent themes (post-feeding cleanup, references to blood) Vampirism (turned!vampire reader) Established relationship Oral teasing and heavy kissing Soft domination tones (gentle aftercare, power dynamics rooted in emotional trust)Reader is described with fem anatomy Semi-public setting (clearing in the woods, but secluded)

A/n — this can be read as male,female and gender neutral.

A/n#2– oh yes anon I love it when you’re in my inbox!!!

The forest still thrummed faintly with the echoes of the hunt moonlight threading through the trees, the air rich with the scent of blood and pine. The adrenaline had faded, but a different kind of hunger lingered in its wake.

You leaned against a moss-covered boulder, cheeks flushed, laughter bubbling out of you in lazy bursts. The blood was still tacky at the corner of your mouth, but you didn’t care. You felt wild. Sated. In love.

Remmick watched you from a few paces away, one hand braced on his hip, the other dragging a cloth slowly over his jaw. There was something dangerous and stupidly tender in the way he looked at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. Like the sight of you drunk on blood and moonlight knocked the wind out of him.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” you teased, eyes half-lidded as you sauntered toward him, hips swaying lazily.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured. “Like you just remembered how much you love chaos.”

You laughed and slipped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. “No, not chaos. Just you.”

His breath caught as your lips brushed against his blood-slick and soft and your body pressed flush to his. “You made me. Isn’t that the same thing?”

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t let go, his hands settling on your waist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Drunk,” you corrected with a sleepy smile. “On you.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue slipping against his with a faint metallic tang still lingering. He groaned into it, fingers tightening just enough to make you whimper.

Eventually, he pulled back. “Come here,” he said softly, guiding you to the old blanket spread near the fire he’d built. “You’re still a mess.”

You sat down without protest, your body humming, eyes glassy and soft. Remmick knelt in front of you with the cloth again, warm now with water from his flask.

His touch was almost reverent as he cleaned your blood from your jaw, your collarbone, the smear on your neck. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face.

“You always do this,” you murmured. “Clean me up like I’m something precious.”

“Because you are,” he said simply, voice rough. “Because I remember what it was like right after I turned you. You were fire. You were fury. I didn’t know if I’d get you back.”

You cupped his face gently, thumb tracing over his lips. “But you did. I came back. I chose you.”

He kissed your palm, then your wrist, slow and deliberate.

The tension shifted between you then not urgent, not frenzied. Just heat and safety, blooming slow and low.

You pushed him gently back until he was sitting against the base of a tree, and you crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. The kiss that followed was softer, your fingers threading into his hair, hips rocking forward just enough to make you both gasp.

“Touch yourself,” you whispered against his mouth. “Wanna watch you.”

His eyes darkened. “Only if you do too.”

You nodded, lips parted as you reached between your legs, hiking your skirt just enough to slip your hand beneath. He did the same, dragging his belt loose with a soft groan, pants undone just far enough for his cock to spring free already hard, leaking at the tip.

You both moved slowly at first, hands buried beneath fabric, matching pace and rhythm. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the fire crackling nearby, the trees your only witnesses.

Watching each other, teasing touches, shared gasps there was something sacred in the act, something unspoken and deeply yours. His eyes never left yours as you rubbed lazy, wet circles over your clit, back arching, while his fist tightened around himself, hips stuttering.

You leaned your forehead to his, breath ragged. “Love you. So much it hurts.”

His other hand gripped your waist, steadying you as he groaned your name. “You’re mine,” he rasped. “Always.”

You both came within seconds of each other soft cries swallowed in kisses, bodies trembling, breaths shallow and fast.

Afterward, you stayed curled up in his lap, limbs tangled, your cheek against his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest.

“You gonna clean me up again?” you mumbled, half-asleep.

He huffed a laugh, already reaching for the cloth again. “Yeah, sweetheart. Always.”

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

(Trigger warning: allusions to non-con, mentions of overstepping/ignoring boundaries. Nothing explicit or detailed but I still want to put warnings just in case it's triggering to anyone. Putting it under a read more to be extra careful. I just needed to vent a bit because this has deeply upset and infuriated me)

Made the mistake of opening my Twitter tab (I try to stay away as much as possible b/c I am wary of Valleydream Bloom spoilers) and the first thing I saw was a screenrecording of a café interaction where Sylus explicitly says that he isn't into choking. Which doesn't surprise me personally since, you know... this exists

He very clearly does not play about this shit. And rightfully so. His boundary just got crossed, and he doesn't tolerate that even from the person that he has longed for in his dreams. Which, again, rightfully so. No one has the right to overstep a person's boundaries no matter who they are to that person.

I figured that Sylus not being into being choked was common knowledge. Like yes, Sylus has kinks. And he is into BDSM. But that doesn't mean that he likes everything under that umbrella nor that he doesn't have explicit boundaries or limits, which some (mostly Booktok) seems to believe is the case with anyone being into BDSM or being kinky in general when that couldn't be further from the truth.

Anyway, boy was I wrong in my assumption. The reaction this "revelation" has garnered from a number of people is both surprising and disturbing tbh. It's one thing to be surprised but to say shit like "He's lying" or "Maybe he doesn't like it right now but I can change his mind" is just wild and frankly disgusting. On a number of levels.

First off... calling Sylus a liar. You know, the same man who literally never lies. Not even once throughout his relationship with MC. One of his core traits with her is that he is always genuine with her. He may evade certain topics like telling her explicitly about their past but he doesn't lie about it. He doesn't pretend they don't have a past together or that MCs visions aren't real. He has never lied to her and I highly doubt he ever will. It's not in his character. Never has been. And no one who cares about or understands his character would claim differently.

But most of all it just baffles and upsets me how quick and eager some are to dismiss Sylus' boundaries – Sylus, who is fundamentally a character all about autonomy and agency and consent. Who is celebrated for respecting MC's. And yet when it comes to his own? A lot of people like to act like he doesn't have them or that they can be tweaked. And I'm not just talking about the comments on this specific post, but in general I've seen kind of a lot of people adamant about controlling Sylus, or that claim that he would do literally everything MC would want. Even if it makes him uncomfortable. Which would be OOC for both characters.

Another reason why this is so upsetting to me and that I've talked about before is that Sylus is a character who's agency was forcefully – brutally – stripped away from him at a young age and for literal millennia. He has spent a good portion of his existence sealed away or locked up. That's a major reason why having autonomy agency and control is so important to him, and why he sets such clear boundaries for himself. Which MC would never cross because she loves and respects him as much as he does her.

And actually, I think this part about being treated brutally in the past is a major reason why Sylus is very cautious about being touched in certain vulnerable areas (neck, chest, head). He is just so used to being attacked and treated in a violent manner. Which breaks my heart.

Anyway, vent over. I just needed to do make this post for my own sake.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

cute j word stuff 😳

J WORD LITERALLY HASN'T GOTTEN AN EVENT SSR SINCE THE FIRST HALLOWEEN EVENT IN OCTOBER 2020 🤡 (and even then, his role in that event wasn't massive; Twst was still trying to iron out its kinks in event stories back then).

i'M SO HAPpYN THAT HE FINALYLR GETS TO hAVEQ ANTOHER EVENT SSR aND HAV EFUN ANd bE SO sdORDADlBLE IN ULTRAMARINER TOWN fwgvkjwvkwi3qrt463t87pteqgadgnafho OTL It feels like forever since he last got this much delicious new content…

Here’s a list the things J word did and/or said in Eternity Float that I found really cute. This is in no particular order; just consider this a stream of consciousness!! This also only covers episodes 1-3 of the event; the rest of Eternity Float doesn’t come out until May 5th so I may make a separate post for that.

Bro calls it FATE when he pretends to run into Yuu and Grim at Ramshackle. F A T E.

When Jade asked if Yuu and Grim would like to go to a wedding with him, the phrasing was such that he could easily be mistaken as inviting them to HIS wedding. Did he ask it like that on purpose just to mess with them 💀

Jade witnessing an Eternity Float as a child and loving that he got to see the desperate bride and groom screaming as they clung onto their rowboat for dear life… Of course he’d want to participate in one himself, JUST TO SOW MORE CHAOS.

NOT HIM LOW-KEY MAKING EVERYTHING A COMPETITION. Racing to be the first to a bench, catching two crabs AT ONCE in the water instead of crabs skittering on land, suggesting rock, paper, scissors to settle who will be the person to go without crab for dinner…

ALL THE MIND GAMES???? Manipulating Riddle and Malleus (and Rook, but Rook basically needs no convincing to go along with Jade’s invite) by using their weaknesses—Riddle’s wish to maintain the dignity and honor of a dorm leader, Malleus’s desire to be invited and included in group activities—against them… Bro fr played them like fiddles 🎻

CALLING US HIS ���close friends”????????? Idk y’all, do you boot your “close friends” out of their home while you hold their house hostage OTL

Jade bluntly telling his mom “Azul did not wish to see you, mother” AnD THEn ALSO HAVinG THE AUDACITY tO ENCOURAGE HER TO TAlK WITH AzUL AS MUChsAS ShE WANTS NEXt TIME THEY vISIT HOME… Azul, Jade is NOT on your side for this one.

He’s absolutely killing that outfit 😭 GOOD JOB PICKING IT OUT FOR HIM, LEECH MAMA

HUMBLE BRAGGING ABOUT HIS CRAB-CATCHING SKILLS

Clowning on Grim for “using himself as [crab] bait” 🦀 (Rook’s the one who was concerned for Grim, Jade just smiled at Grim’s suffering…)

Him casually mentioning that the Mostro Lounge’s tuna sandwiches use the tasty canned tuna from the Sunshine Lands… Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Azul clapping for this free ad placement.

Calling a stray cat a DOG.

Not only acting out for the puppet show but putting forth the extra effort to use different voices for the different characters (INCLUDING barking for Max the dog). This makes me feel like Jade would be really great at reading picture books to his (hypothetical) child or children!! Or even reading to a whole group of them at like a library event or something.

Buying souvenir puppets for Azul and Floyd!! And then inviting their peers to a puppet show at the Mostro Lounge to pressure Azul to fulfill a promise. That means, in just ONE, Jade has invited Malleus go TWO things: the wedding and to a puppet show at a later date. Jade’s literally breaking all kinds of records here.

Eating his portion of crab VERY conspicuously, just to subtly rub it in Grim’s face 💀

Jade knowing so much about Ultramarine City, even though he wasn’t born there. (I barely know anything about the place I was born in, so this is really impressive to me.) True, he did visit quite often to learn about and prepare for life on land, but I think it’s great that he’s consistently curious and wants to keep learning new things all of the time.

Georgina telling us more about Jade as a little kid 🥺 how he and Floyd would always be in sync when it came to mischief, even if their interests differed and they often spent time apart…

Learning that Jade manifested his magic in his last year of elementary school, two months after Floyd!!

He gets to eat his favorite food… octopus carpaccio… and he gets to enjoy mushrooms (porcini orzo) too!! I’m so happy seeing that he’s eating well

Intentionally slicing the prosciutto pizza into slices of different sizes SO HE CAN WATCH HIS CLASSMATES FIGHT OVER WHO GETS THE BuGGEST PIECES. He would have gotten away with it too, were it not for Rook intervening—

Teaching Riddle and Malleus how to row the boat!! Jade is actually a really good instructor.

Giving a big, dramatic speech about how they should absolutely obey his every word (because the sea is so dangerous, and one wrong move could mean death)… only for him to use this as a pretense to absolve himself of suspicion when he fucks with them 💀 LIKE HE SORTA ShAMES THEM WhEN THEY QuESTION WHY HE DIDN’T CORRECT THE DiRECTION THRY WERE SiTTING TO ROW.

TRICKING RIDDLE AND MALLEUS INTO SHOUTING “Fight on, fight on!! Go, go!!” AND ALSO SING WHILE THEY ROW while having completely serious facial expressions… and getting Yuu to record all of this silliness for posterity 😭

He taught Riddle and Malleus how to row in a straight line but not how to get back… and let them row so far out that they struggle to hear his other directions from the pier.

aHHHHHhHHhhHGgggghhhhhhHHHHHHH J WORD ROWING THE rOWBOaT FOR US IN THE RHYTHMiC, THE KISS THE GIRL RHyTHMICCCCCCCC 🙂‍↕️ HE’S PriNCE ERIC, HEm’S pRINCE ERiCING SO HARD RitFHT NOW 🗣️ (Yuu has a dialogue option after the Rhythmic; YOU CAN CALL YOUR EXPERIENCE “romantic”, THIS IS NOT A DRILL)

Jade speaks Italian this event!!! It’s not full sentences, mostly just short phrases (primo piatto, secondo piatto) and words (ristorante, taverna, names of dishes, etc.) dhshwjdvkekw BUT I STILL FIND IT CHARMING, OKAY.

The way Georgina comments that Jade has gotten very good at using cutlery?? Implying he used to be so much clumsier?? Yeah, I know we all start off with no knowledge but this is significant because his twin, Floyd, just wings everything and can do so well with minimal effort sometimes. Floyd is a genius—but Jade is not. Jade has to work hard to be good at stuff, it doesn’t come naturally to him—and I think that’s really admirable.

Some of his responses to Yuu dialogue choices are cute 😭 Some standout moments: 1) if Yuu says they didn’t recognize Jade with his new hair, he says he must have Yuu get to know him better 2) if Yuu is successful at catching a crab, Jade suggests that they go after bigger game someday do you count as bigger game, Jade—, 3) if Yuu expresses hesitation to dance, Jade essentially replies with, “Not to worry, I will take the lead. No matter how bad you are [at dancing], I will support you.” STONE COLD backhanded kindness 🫣

Jade gets nostalgic seeing all the townspeople dancing in the plaza… It reminded him of when he was clumsy with his feet. Watching those mesmerizing movements gave him the motivation he needed to keep practicing walking and then eventually running. Again, another example of Jade having to work really hard to get to where he currently is!!

Georgina calling her own sons [name]-san (an honorific usually for strangers or to indicate politeness) kills me every time 😂 ShE’s WVEN MORE FORmAL ThAN JADE. I wonder if he intentionally tries to emulate her mannerisms???

Practicing pushing his hair back/styling it for this very event 😭

My favorite moment in this event (so far) is during the dance in Port Inn Plaza. The locals see the NRC students dancing and begin to join in the dance!! Jade smiles to himself and says that this feels so exhilarating; it’s something he couldn’t ever have imagined in the past. “Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful memories.” *SLAMS HEAD INTO THE WALL* ARE YOU kliDDING ME???!!??!!!!!??????? OTL J word, this conniving liar and manipulator, ACTUALLY BEING sENTiMENTAL AnD EARnEST FOR ONCE?????? YOU MIGHT As WELL KiLL ME NOW, TGAT WOULD cAUSE mE LESS EMOTIONAL DiSTRESS.

He’s having so much fun and living his best life out here, it’s great seeing him being in his full element 😭

[spookyoffduty]

most earnest interaction in the whole game, i love frank sm 🙌🙌 read @evilwetbread's interpretation of their interactions the other day and i HAD to draw the razing the roofs scene

the idea that ena doesn't respond because she's speechless at frank's genuine and kind words is so fitting to her treatment so far. only a sinner can recognize another's attempts to become better, he's literally praising her determination and acknowledging how tiring her efforts might make her, while other characters just doubt her methods and intentions needless to say he's one of the characters i hope to see more of in future chapters (especially with his apparent relation to piero) ALSO HIS THEME IS A BANGER I WANT IT ON SPOTIFY🗣️🗣️🗣️

btw he's bowing if that wasn't clear, that's why he's shorter than ena

also a version without background cause i kind of like it more i'm still getting the hang of backgrounds, especially buildings, for now it's pretty random strokes