#i sent them an ask about how they put together words and metaphors and they actually responded it was super nice and helpful

[lizord-lord]

hyperspecific agony of the day: Want to Write About The Character, do not actually have anything coherent to say. Want To Read About The Character, but keep getting sidetracked wanting to write more. There is so much in my brain and yet I feel like it’s locked in a room somewhere I cannot find or, perchance, an imaginary rock in my shoe. I should PROBABLY just go to sleep but have you considered: The Character

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

[carlossainzlusciouslocks]

It’s you.

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: You yell at a stranger at a party. That stranger happens to be Formula One driver, Lando Norris.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Possible angst (not really though!), swearing

Note: No use of Y/N or any pronouns for the reader.

This was based on the poll I posted a few days ago!

This fic was not supposed to be this long. I got a bit carried away when writing but I hope you all enjoy reading it! As always, I would appreciate any comments, criticisms or suggestions for new fics! And I apologise for any mistakes in the fic.

Lando Norris. The man that was currently all over the media.

Lando Norris. The man who, at 25 years old, has announced that he is retiring from Formula One after the 2025 season.

According to the ever reliable source of Sky F1’s David Croft (aka Crofty) Lando was leaving F1 due to the mass amount of hate he was receiving from fans as well as the overwhelming amount of harassment he was also receiving from the media.

Now, you didn’t actually know Lando Norris but it felt like you did with how much your coworker, Julian, talked about him.

"Ahh you just don’t understand! He is amazing. He is definitely a future world champion. I don’t understand why he would give it all up!" Julian would say.

Thanks to Julian you know Lando’s birthday, when his F1 debut was and the fact that he was in a drivers championship battle against Max Verstappen in the 2024 F1 season.

Which is why when the marketing firm you worked for was asked by Formula One driver Charles Leclerc to help with the launch of his new ice cream brand, LEC, Julian jumped at the opportunity to work with said driver, in the hopes of getting in contact with Lando. Julian was convinced that if he met Lando, he could convince him not to leave Formula One. You weren’t so sure.

"No! No! Absolutely not! Julian I’m not going. Please don’t make me." You said, turning your back to Julian in hopes of reinforcing your point.

"Oh come on! Lando Norris might be there! Lando mother fucking Norris. Please please please!" Julian pleaded, clasping his hands together in a prayer like motion.

"For the last time, I am NOT helping you with this launch event. I have so many things to do. I’ve got clients that are coming in for a meeting on Monday and I have no idea what I’m going to pitch to them." you say, a sense of finality in your voice.

"It’s Friday! Loosen up! You’ve got the whole weekend to think of something. Come on! We have literally been invited to a Formula One driver’s brand launch event. Well, we weren’t ‘invited’ invited. We will be working but still!" Julian was practically begging you to help him at the launch event.

Just as you were about to decline once again, your boss, Sylvie’s voice rang out. "You will be helping Julian with the event. I sent you an email last week informing you of this". She gave you a very pointed look as she spoke, clearly leaving no room for discussion.

A full 26 hours later, the launch event was in full swing. Julian had booked out a club in Monaco for the launch. There was an ice cream bar full of Charles’ own ice cream brand. There was also a table full of toppings that people could put onto the ice cream, and, arguably the most important thing, there was also an open bar. The open bar meant that the launch, as the night progressed, turned into a full on party. People drunk on the dance floor and puking in the bathrooms.

As soon as you arrived you had immediately been accosted by some of your other colleagues. They dragged you around the entire party making you put out all of the metaphorical fires that they didn’t know how to deal with. After saving multiple celebrities from PR nightmare after PR nightmare, you finally managed to escape the clutches of your coworkers. You set out to find Julian, who personally introduced to Charles Leclerc and his girlfriend, Alexandra, as well as a handful of other people who’s names you didn’t care to remember.

An hour, and about a million alcoholic drinks later, you started to get sick of listening to Julian point out famous celebrities and decided that you needed some air. Desperately.

You quickly went in search of a balcony or a window, just something that would separate you and Julian freaking out over the famous people you were surrounded by. This was not as easy task due to how much champagne you had consumed throughout the evening in an attempt to make Julian’s fangirling a bit more bearable. Eventually, you stumbled across a balcony. One that overlooked over the Monaco skyline. You stumbled out onto the balcony but instead of the peaceful, and much welcomed, alone time you were expecting to get, you saw another person stood there. Another person who had a somewhat recognisable physique. But the alcohol you had consumed left you completely puzzled as to why you recognised this person. It’s not like you knew anyone famous enough to be invited to this brand-launch-turned-party.

"Oh sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was out here" You rushed to say, averting your eyes. You turned to leave but the stranger’s voice stops you from doing so.

"You can stay. I mean, if you want." The man rushed to say. He turned his head slightly in your direction. Only enough for you to see the outline of his side profile against the glorious night sky.

"Thank you" you said in an almost whisper. You made your way over to the railing of the balcony and leaned your forearms onto it, looking out over the city.

After a few minutes of quiet, you feel the skin on your face start to tingle. You turn your head slightly and find the man’s eyes glued to your face. You turn your head more towards the man, hoping you would be able to see his face more clearly and figure out who he was.

Oh.

Oh.

It was him.

Lando Norris.

He catches your eye and you quickly turn your head back so you were looking out at the city once again, knowing he had just caught you staring at him. You hear a deep chuckle from the man beside you. You feel him move closer to you. Slightly.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?”

He was flirting. He hadn’t even seen your face properly and he was flirting. Badly. But still, flirting nonetheless. You weren’t going to lie, it did boost your ego just a little to know that a Formula One driver was willing to flirt with you. But it did make you think that these F1 drivers will flirt with anything that looked at them for long enough.

“Wow! Smooth.” You said sarcastically. Cautiously.

“Shut up.” He joked.

“I just needed some air.” You answered.

He hummed softly.

“The party is good. Busy. The music is good too. I would have been a much better DJ though” You both laughed. The two of you spent the next 5, or so, minutes talking. Neither of you failing to make the other laugh. Both of you inching closer and closer together the more you spoke.

You thought back to what Julian had said to you about Lando. ‘He is definitely a future world champion. I don’t understand why he would give it all up!’ The alcohol in your system had clouded your judgement. You felt as though you had to ask.

"Can I ask you a question?" You blurted out just as he was about to speak again. He was probably about to make some flirty, jokey comment about how you should go home with him.

"Oh. Of course. Yeah. Sure" he said, taking a step away from you, picking up on the change in tone of your voice. He was clearly expecting you to disappoint him by asking for a photo or signature or something he didn’t have the energy to give. Both of your faces turned to, once again, look over the Monegasque skyline.

You clear your throat. "What do you want?"

"Excuse me?" He asked, obviously taken aback by your question.

"You heard me. What do you want?" You repeated.

"Oh… Ermmm. I- ermmm" He said. Unable to form a clear sentence, a clear train of thought.

"Do you want people to take pity on you, beg you to stay? Do you want people to feel bad for how they treated you, how the media treated you, how ‘fans’ treated you? Because they won’t. You have to be naive to think that they will."

His brows furrowed at this.

"Do you want to throw away an entire career just because the media has turned people against you? A career that you have worked so had to achieve. A career that your family worked so hard to help you get and excel in." You turned your whole body to face him now. He didn’t dare look at you.

"Are you just going to give up because it’s no longer fun? Because you are no longer a ‘fan favourite��? Because people, the media, the fans, everyone is ‘out to get you’? Is that what you are going to do with the rest of your life, give up when things get hard, when people turn against you?" Your voice was starting to get louder and louder the more you spoke. "What about the fans that love you? What about all of the people that you have inspired and are inspiring? What about the fans whose lives you have saved?" You couldn’t help yourself, you tried to stop yourself from saying all of these things but you just couldn’t. You wouldn’t dream of saying any of this sober. But right now you were anything but sober. Tonight, right now, was the only time you would ever see him and you felt like you should say something. Him leaving Formula One felt, to you, to everyone, like a rash decision, one that he was bound to regret once the season was over.

"You are acting like a Zayn Malik when you need to be acting like a Nico Rosberg." His eyebrows raised so high that it was almost comical. He was snapped him out of the shocked and, quite frankly, offended trance that he seemed to be in for the entirety of your speech.

"What? What does that even mean?" His voice going up an octave.

"What-I- what do you think it means?! It means that you are just leaving when you should be fighting to prove the people who are doubting you, the people who are sending you hate, wrong. And you do that by winning a world championship, which I know you are capable of winning. And if you still want to leave after that then you leave on a high. You leave on a win." You say, as though it was obvious.

"First of all, we don’t know each other, I quite literally don’t even know who you are, w- ah- are you an influencer or some shit? God I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight. " He said the last part under his breath.

"Look, I don’t know what makes you think you can go on a whole rant about my decision to leave F1. It is my decision, not yours, not anyone else’s, mine and mine alone so I think you just need to BACK OFF! I don’t know what makes you think you have the right to lecture me or make me feel bad about my choices. Secondly, that metaphor was completely lost on me and quite frankly kinda outdated. You saying that Zayn "just left" is undermining what he actually when through and what actually happened. That’s not even the point!" He shook his head.

"The point is, you need to mind your own and get the fuck out of other peoples business" With that he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the party.

The next few weeks were hectic for you at work. Once people were made aware of the success of Charles’ brand launch, more and more people, who had seen how well the brand launch went, had been wanting to get your companies help with their branding.

It all came to ahead when Julian came to your desk one morning and shoved his phone into your face. You took the phone from his hands and read the article he had pulled up.

‘Lando Norris not leaving Formula One next year’ the headline read.

"Can you believe it?! This is amazing! He has apparently made a statement on his Instagram saying that he has decided to stay in Formula One! I’m actually so happy! What do you think caused him to change his mind?"

"I don’t know" you said with a nervous laugh. It was all coming back to you now. Everything from that night at the party.

‘Do you want people to feel bad for how they treated you, how the media treated you, how ‘fans’ treated you? Because they won’t. You have to be naive to think that they will.’

You cringed as you remembered what you had said. In your defence you were incredibly drunk, don’t tell Julian or Sylvie. But that doesn’t still excuse what you did. You felt terrible for what you said to him, you really didn’t mean to say it. You really didn’t want to say it.

For the rest of the day you replayed your interaction with Lando over and over again in your head. Every time you thought of it, you felt guiltier and guiltier.

It only made you feel worse when a few days later a familiar face walked through the doors of your place of work.

"Bonjour. Welcome to MARKETING COMPANY NAME. Have you got an appointment?" You heard Gen, the receptionist, say.

You didn’t think much of this interaction. Clients come and go from the office all of the time.

"You do. That is amazing. What is your name?" You heard Gen ask.

"Lando Norris."

You froze.

No.

Please. No. This could not be happening.

"I’m actually here to see-"

You didn’t hear what name he said. You didn’t need to. You knew he was there for you. You kept facing your computer. You kept your back turned away from where he was stood. You prayed that he didn’t see you.

He did.

Of course he did.

He had spotted you as soon as he walked into the office.

You felt him tap your shoulder. Reluctantly, you turned around. He looked good. He looked different to how he looked at the party. He looked determined. Lighter. You, on the other hand, looked sheepish, embarrassed.

"Hello. Can I help you?" You said with as much confidence as you could muster.

"It’s you."

Shit.

"Erm- I- erm- I don’t know what you mean" your false confidence faltering.

"From the party. Charles Leclerc’s party."

Oh no. He was here to confront you.

You couldn’t have stood up from your chair fast enough.

"Oh god. I’m so sorry about that. Seriously, I was so drunk and I know that’s not a good enough reason but I-" He hugged you. You didn’t know what to do. Your hands hovered over his back. You were about to hug him back when you heard

"OH MY GOD. IS THAT LANDO NORRIS?!" Julian. Of course it was Julian.

Lando pulled away quicker than you thought was humanly possible.

"Could I talk to you. Somewhere more private?" Lando whispered. Your faces were still incredibly close to each other from the hug, noses almost touching.

"Yeah. Of course." You grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards your bosses office. She was in a meeting so you just let yourself in.

"I’m-"

"I just-" you both started speaking at the same time.

"No you go first" You said, ushering your hands forward.

"Okay. I just wanted to say thank you for yelling at me. You were right. I was letting what other people thought of me and what they said about me, cloud my judgement. I don’t know if you have seen it but I decided to stay in Formula One and you are the reason why I changed my mind. You really knocked some sense into me I guess" Lando looked bashfully at his feet.

"Oh… I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t really know what to say. Erm. Your welcome. I think?" Your brows furrowed in confusion.

"Wait how did you even find me?"

"Oh that. I asked Charles who planned the party and thought if I showed up at the marketing company he said was involved, I might see you. And I was right"

"Oh. I really don’t know what to make of that. This is all so weird. I thought you were here to yell at me." You said shaking your head in disbelief.

"Me? Yell at you? Never. There was another reason why I wanted to come here in person though." Lando said, a faint blush on his face.

"Oh" you enquired.

"Yeah. I was also wondering if I could get your phone number?"

"My phone number? Oh. Wait. Why? Oh my god are you going to sue me or something?! Oh god no please don’t. I literally don’t have any money. I’m literally poor as shit."

He laughed. Hard. Like a knee slapping-ly hard kind of laugh.

"Sue you? Why would I do that? I’m trying to ask you out!" Lando said, out of breath from laughing so much.

"What? Ask me out? But I yelled at you? We don’t even know each other. I could be a serial killer. We literally met at a party." You were seriously questioning if he had hit his head on the way to your office.

"Yeah but we’ll get to know each other. You haven’t answered my question. Can I have your phone number? You yelled at me so basically, you owe me." He said hopefully.

"Oh. Yeah of course" You fumbled to get your phone out of your pocket. You handed the phone over to him and watched him put his number into your phone. He then sent himself a text from your phone so that he could have your number too.

"Okay cool! I’ll call you.” He turned and started to walk away. He stopped suddenly and turned back to you

“Please don’t yell at me down the phone when I call" He joked, turning, once again, to walk out of your bosses office. Leaving you gobsmacked at his comment.

As you were walking back to your desk, you looked down at your phone, blush covering your face.

You sat back down at your desk feeling giddy. Just as you were about to log back into your computer, your phone lit up.

Lan🧡

Thank you.

You shook your head, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Shy. Just as you were about to put your phone down, another text came through.

Lan🧡

Btw you looked really pretty today 💕

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 6- "you're blushing"- alpha and omega.

As usual thank u to @forlorn-crows for the prompts

And thanks to @ghuleh-recs for the divider!

No warnings apply, just 750 words of alpha and omega flirting (:

“Papa would never say that omega” alpha snorted

Omega chuckled to himself as he wiped the rim of a golden chalice with a cloth, setting it neatly in its place on the table.

“He did! Best guitar player in the entire ministry. Said he wouldn’t have wanted to summon anyone else”

Alpha set down the matching plate in his hands, giving omega a side glance. It was barely effective through the thick mask that adorned his face but he hoped omega had gotten the point anyways. He pulled the tablecloth free of any wrinkles as he took a look over the communion table one more time.

“Papa has threatened to send us back to the pits for spilling a drop of wine on his precious tablecloth, there’s absolutely no way he gave me a genuine compliment.” Alpha turned to stare at omega through his own mask, seeing as his eyes crinkle in what he can only assume to be a wide smile. “Besides, if you wanted to tell me how talented I am then you’re more than welcome to. No need to hide behind the excuse that papa said it”

Cleaning the chapel after mass was always a lackluster duty. Mostly sniffling from the dust that never seemed to dissipate, and making sure everything was to the ministry’s high standards of organization. It was always alpha and omega who were forced to stay an extra hour or two to wipe everything down and put things back in their places. The roles of being the right hand men of papa would be nice with their high ranking, but more often than not it meant they were sent to do boring monotonous tasks together that papa had deemed important.

“Oh I never need an excuse to compliment you, just don’t know if you can handle it” omega teased. A goading tone to his voice.

“You don’t affect me as much as you think you do, you’re only fueling my ego. But if that’s your intention then please do go ahead”

Omega stood to lean against the podium, an almost challenging look in his eye, practically asking if alpha truly meant what he said. It was a stupid stand off admittedly, more for alpha to metaphorically flex his muscles and stroke his ego than it was to really prove omega words couldn’t get to him. Or if it was purely for alpha to hear omegas sweet thoughts about him, then that was his business.

“Have I really never told you how talented I think you are? That you continue to impress me with how fast you learn the songs?” Omega said, crossing his arms in front of him

“Yeah I’m sure you do” alpha rolled his eyes, “probably because if I didn’t papa would have my head, we can’t all be favorites around here”

“You’re my favorite if it’s worth anything”

Alpha tried to look like that didn’t immediately make his chest constrict. A stupid tight feeling that he got whenever omega acted like he did like him beyond their stupid jokes and banter.

“Well I’d hope so. We are together constantly, didn’t think it would be earth or something” alpha played off like he expected that kind of answer.

“I just think that under your massive ego you’re actually really kind, I know how gentle you actually are alpha” omegas voice softened in a genuine, comforting way. He stepped away from the podium, instead making his way slowly towards alpha, who seemed to fumble at watching omega step towards him.

“Just not a complete evil bastard, is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean it’s not hard for me to believe at all, you’ve always been a sweetheart, to me at least.”

Alpha fiddled with the cloth under his hands as he tried from some leverage on the table. His eyes darted around, a horrible attempt at looking inconspicuous while also not looking omega in the eye.

“And that’s not even all of it. You’re so handsome under that mask, it’s such a shame papa makes us wear them all the time, would love to actually look at you while we work”

“Shut up” alpha choked

“Why? Are you blushing? You seem really flustered” omega chuckled, continuing to move forwards while alpha tried to subtly move backwards.

“I’m not blushing you asshole”

“Oh really? How about you take off the mask then”

“You just want to see my face since you love it so much” alpha tried to play off. He turned his face towards the floor, even the idea of omega seeing his eyes was more than a bit overwhelming as his face heated.

“Maybe I just want to see you blush for me”

[o-uncle-newt]

I guess the only person who can really be trusted to describe the greatness of Agatha Christie is Dorothy L Sayers...?

A while back, the always-sharp @thesarahshay sent me an ask that caught me up on something that I'd carelessly written in some tags- I said that Agatha Christie was good at writing romance into her detective fiction, without really elaborating. I then spent multiple paragraphs attempting to elaborate, I'm not sure with how much success. Essentially, and you can click above to see for yourself, my thesis was that while Sayers was a much better literary stylist (and certainly better at writing romance) than Christie, when writing a detective novel, her seams show; Christie had a natural talent for knowing exactly what belongs in a detective story and creating and fitting all the right pieces together that create a seamless detective story, including motivations drawn by romance (though I think the actual romances are among the weaker elements- still MUCH better than those written by most of her peers, for the record).

I'd had trouble putting into words what I wanted to say (there was a convoluted metaphor about Barbies and Lego in there), and I'm not sure I was too convincing; but turns out that the person who said what I wanted to say the best was, in fact the great DLS herself.

There's a fabulous book that I 100% recommend called Taking Detective Stories Seriously, which is a compilation of about two years' worth of detective story reviews that Sayers wrote. I hadn't heard of most of the authors, and even when I had heard of the authors I'd rarely read the books, but it didn't matter, frankly. She's just such a great writer, so thoughtful and incisive and passionate about both the genre and good craftsmanship (not to mention good English), that everything she has to say including on novels that haven't been in print since the 30s is worth reading. She has generally great taste, though she has a much higher opinion of Margery Allingham than I do and doesn't like Ellery Queen's The Siamese Twin Mystery as much as I'd thought she might (though the fact that a character in it insulted Unnatural Death may not have helped lol); but she also likes, to pick two very different writers who I too enjoy, HC Bailey and Mignon G Eberhart, and so she clearly has a good eye. (It's also entertaining to see her slowly force herself to admit that she likes Perry Mason...)

BUT ANYWAY.

She has three reviews of Agatha Christie books in the volume: Murder on the Orient Express, Why Didn't They Ask Evans, and Three Act Tragedy. She reviews all of them very positively, but it's her review of Three Act Tragedy (in my opinion, funnily enough, the weakest of the three) that she really gets to the core of Christie's genius. And it's actually fitting that it's for a book of hers that's on the more meh end of the scale- because it just shows how even meh Christie has an element of genius that other authors have to work hard for even in their best works.

She says:

Some time ago this column contained the statement that Hercule Poirot was "one of the few real detectives." It was a well-sounding phrase, and I have no quarrel with it, except that I am not quite clear what it meant. What I meant to write and what I thought I had written and what I now propose to write clearly with no mistake about it was and is this: Hercule Poirot is one of the few detectives with real charm. Plenty of authors assure us that their detectives are charming, but that is quite another thing. I don't know that Mrs Christie has ever said a word about the matter. She merely puts Poirot there, with all his little oddities and weaknesses, and there he is- a really charming person. And it is true, too, that he is "real," in the sense that we never stop to enquire whether his words and actions are suited to his character; they are his character, and we accept them as we accept the words and actions of any living person because they are a part of himself. Le style c'est l'homme. Indeed, when Mrs Christie is writing at the top of her form, as she is in Three Act Tragedy, all her characters have this reality. She does not postulate a character- retired actor, West End mannequin, family retainer- and put into its mouth sentiments appropriate to its station in life. She shows us character and behavior all of a piece. However surprising or enigmatic the behavior, we believe that everything took place just as she says it did, because we believe in the reality of the people. Poirot is charming, not because anybody says so, but because is is, and all her other people exist for us in the same objective manner. This is the great gift that distinguishes the novelist from the manufacturer of plots. Mrs Christie has given us an excellent plot, a clever mystery, and an exciting story, but her chief strength lies in this power to compel belief in these characters. [emphasis mine]

Sayers then proceeds to compare another author (or rather authors, the husband and wife pair GDH and M Cole) to Christie in this regard, moving on to another review. But in these three paragraphs she has, I think, said it better than anyone- that Christie's skill is in her naturalness, and how that naturalness compels us to believe in and immerse ourselves in her world. She is effortless and seamless.

To be clear, Sayers praises a lot of people in this book, and a lot of people's writing; but mostly she is praising their skill and ability to create what they have created. Here, she isn't quite praising that- she's praising the fact that the final product is so good that you can't even see the craftsmanship behind it, and that's, I think, what separates Christie from her peers. It's a power, and not one that can be broken down by a critic. She just has it.

I've said before that I don't think Sayers had this as a mystery writer, and I think she'd probably be the first to agree with that assessment; she certainly had a seemingly effortless skill as a prose writer (as these reviews show), but as a novelist she took construction seriously and wanted us to know this. That said, another person who I don't think has this, who I mention because he's someone who a lot of people compare Christie to (often negatively), is John Dickson Carr.

I've seen plenty of people say that Carr is a more sophisticated version of Christie, not just in mystery construction but in writing style, and equally prolific, creative, and versatile. I don't agree with this on most counts, but I think, honestly, that Carr is fine- but you can see the seams easily. He might have been prolific but his formulae are visible and his writing required intentionality on his part. By which I mean- Carr when he's trying to be funny is generally hilarious. Carr when he's trying to be scary is generally spine-tingling. But Carr when he's just trying to get to the next good bit is dull and mechanical. He needs to be paying attention and making an effort in order to be good, and we notice him doing this. Christie never has this problem; even when the actual stuff she's writing isn't high quality, she's never dull. Everything feels purposeful and organic, somehow.

Obviously, all of this is fundamentally subjective, and if there's one redeeming element it's that an incredibly smart lady agrees with me (by my interpretation, at least) and says it extremely well. But I'll be holding on to this one, if nothing else.

[yanderes-of-inkwell]

Tower, Magician, temperance and Empress for Anthony? Tarot asks are my favorites! Are they open?

Sidney the Snout - The Tower, The Magician, Temperance, & The Empress

Note: Just a heads-up for anyone new: the requests for the Moonshine Mob were sent in prior to the reveal of their canonical names, so I apologize for any confusion seeing two different names in the asks and in the requests themselves may cause. Word Count: 0.5k Warnings: Brief description of gore, mentions of violence, mentions of organised crime, obsessive behaviour, overprotective behaviour. Prompts: Can be found here.

The Tower - If this yandere saw their darling in danger, how would they respond/react?

"Hit first, ask questions later," has always been Sidney's instinctual response to danger, even in childhood. The threat in question doesn't even have to be physical. Just the knowledge that his darling isn't completely safe is enough to put him on the defensive, puffing up in aggravation as he curls his snout around them.

He prides himself on his competency as a protector, and if anyone so much as attempts to lay a harmful hand on them, they'll have him to answer to. If his darling doesn't step in, he'll often go overboard in defending them, rendering whoever it was that threatened them a mess of bloodied chunks of flesh and crushed bones.

The Magician - How would this yandere use their abilities/status on their darling?

The most obvious answer is intimidation. With his sheer size and strength, there are very few Inkwell residents capable of taking on Sidney, which allows him to scare away anyone he perceives to be a threat or rival.

When it comes to his darling, however, he much prefers pulling strings behind the scenes over using his intimidating physique to frighten them. His role in the Moonshine Mob and good working relationship with Harold make this easy, granting him influence over things such as their occupation and financial stability, which he can use to bring them closer to him.

Temperance - What made this person yandere for their darling?

If asked directly, Sidney would claim that he wants someone like him: a hard-headed individual who can hold their own in a fight and isn't afraid of getting their hands dirty.

And while this answer isn't a flat-out lie, in actuality, he is much more likely to fall for someone more meek and kind-hearted, as embarrassing as he finds it to admit. A part of him desperately wants to place practicality over preference, but he can't help himself. His darling's sweet nature draws him in like a moth to a flame, and he is powerless to stop the obsession that takes root and spouts from his heart soon after.

The Empress - Would this yandere want to have children with their darling in the future?

Yes, although he's hesitant. While not the brightest bulb in the mob's metaphorical house, Sidney isn't as dense as he makes himself out to be. He's fully aware of the dangers that come with his lifestyle, and how even those outside the criminal underground can get roped in by having a loved one with ties to it.

Thus, the thought of starting a family is enticing and nerve-wracking in equal measure. On the one hand, he often daydreams about it: living a calm, quiet life with his darling, bringing up their "little ankle-biter" together, or perhaps even several. But on the other, he doesn't want to risk something happening to them. His darling is vulnerable enough as is, and adding a child to the mix would only complicate things further.

If left to his own devices regarding the matter, Sidney would likely end up in a years-long mental war with himself, debating the pros and cons until it's too late and the chance to have or adopt a child has already passed him by.

However, he can be persuaded. If his darling truly wants one, he will cave, but this decision comes with them being stripped of their freedom and much of their autonomy, all in the name of "protecting their family."

[sasheemo]

okay time for some praise for some specific passages because you word things so beautifully. “her tone drops, low and velvety, her words wrapping around you like a silk ribbon pulling tight.” -nnmgfnnffffmnn. oh. oh my god. yeah. agatha wrapping you tight in ribbons. likely thing for her to want to do. also please, metaphorically or literally,,, i need that.

“the haunting sound of her pleasure echoing in your mind as you retreated to the guest room to lose yourself in your own.” - so good and it feels like a deeper reflection of chapter 1’s description of how she leaves behind. others could smell her expensive perfume or hear how she hums, sure, but getting to hear the way she loses herself to pleasure?? she only imprints that on a handful of lucky minds.

(- friday thoughts rambles anon) also last one for now even though there’s SO MUCH i need to talk about for ch4, because i need to sleep :/

This is my very long reply to just one of the four amazing messages sent by the sweet “- Friday Thoughts Rambles Anon” about Chapter 4 of Friday Thoughts. It’s equal parts writer ramble, thoughtful reflection, and a sprinkle of behind-the-scenes insight. I absolutely love getting anyone’s feedback, or honestly any message/ask, so feel free to drop into my inbox anytime 💜

First of all, good morning and thank you again for (re)reading and loving the story—and for taking the time to put together such a thoughtful (and honestly, very flattering) analysis. Now, let me ramble a little myself and share some insights from the writer’s perspective while responding to your lovely essay in one go.

I’ll admit, there are aspects of this story that don’t perfectly align with my idgafer Agatha headcanons. Some of the small cracks in her composure, the softness in certain moments—like holding Reader’s hand after all that kitchen sex spiciness—the patience she shows overall, and the fact that she outright admits to waiting her for so long… BUT. I think that for this Agatha in this story, it works. Because at the end of the day, it’s all about you not believing it could ever be real, and her waiting, like a predator biding its time for the perfect moment to pounce.

Reader, on the other hand, isn’t actually all that far removed from Agatha morally—she just doesn’t realize it yet. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it until reality smacked her in the face. I mean, objectively speaking, who in their right mind would genuinely believe without a second thought that Agatha Harkness has a crush on them?

At the same time, I see Reader, being Nicky’s babysitter, as someone Agatha has grown used to having around. She helps with one of the most important parts of Agatha’s life, she’s a regular presence in her home, and for reasons even she might not fully understand, she intrigues her. Maybe it’s the sinful nature of the connection, the thrill of corruption, or simply the way she makes her feel at ease—the way her bond with Nicky warms her cold, sarcastic heart.

I wanted to play on the edge of moral boundaries and self-doubt because I personally think, when it comes to power dynamics and age gaps, those are the two core elements that create realistic tension. I wanted there to be a push and pull not just between the characters, but within them, especially in Reader. It’s that mix of naïveté, denial, and constant excuse-making that drives Agatha absolutely mad. The fact that, after all this time and all the neon-flashing signs, Reader chalks up Agatha’s behavior to the freaking wine? Oh, that’s enough to make her feral. Nothing could ever dilute or erase the deliberate intent behind Agatha Harkness’ actions—or deny her the power to claim them unapologetically.

I really tried my best to create a realistic plot with well-defined characters within the span of just a few chapters. I’ve always been a firm believer in the “less is more” approach, and with this story, I was absolutely terrified of overloading the mix—of throwing in too many elements and ending up with something messy and incoherent. My biggest fear was crafting a story where the characters’ intentions and motives weren’t clear, so I’ve tried to stay focused with every decision and stick to it throughout it all.

I have to admit tho, I almost regret limiting this story to just 5 chapters, because the deeper I go, the more I realize the possibilities for plot development are literally endless. Of course, a lot has been carefully packed into these chapters to create an arc that feels plausible and satisfying within the limited span, leading to a closure that (hopefully!) makes sense. The final chapter will be all about tying it together—clarifying what’s happened in the weeks leading up to that conversation they’re about to have at the end of Chapter 4. And, of course, hinting at what’s in store for them moving forward.

So, to wrap this up: thank you again for not only reading but for absolutely diving headfirst into this chapter and sharing your thoughts with me in such an amazing way—I’m honestly blown away by how much detail you picked up on. Writing this story has been such a rollercoaster, and knowing it resonates this deeply makes every bout of overthinking and every late-night writing session feel completely worth it. I hope Chapter 4 was a delightful little gift to unwrap on Christmas Eve, and here’s to Chapter 5 hopefully leaving you just as unprepared as Chapter 4 did. 💜🎁

[nehswritesstuffs]

One Piece Rare Pair Week 2025 - Pride Edition - Part 1 of 7

Someone said it was Rare Pair Week so you know that I, a mod in a Discord server dedicated to exactly that, was on it.

832 words; I love Yamato bc he is such a himbo it’s delightful; this is one of the cutest and fluffiest pieces I’ve done in a bit; if anyone is here to argue about Yamabro’s pronouns they will get jettisoned into space okay thanks

[FFN]/[AO3]

Day One: Stargazing | Rain - YamatoHiyori [832 words; G]

It was after twilight as Yamato found himself spreading a blanket out on the grass, Hiyori holding a picnic basket and lantern next to him. He wondered why they were there as they slipped out of their geta and sat down.

“Isn’t it a bit late for a picnic?” he asked. Hiyori put the lantern down on the blanket and gave him a soft smile.

“Not entirely,” she replied, a light chuckle on her lips that put him at-ease. “There are wonders to be had at night as well as the daytime.”

“People from the Flower Capitol sure like to do things different,” he shrugged. Yamato leaned back, looking up at the stars. “I don’t think I’ve had a picnic this late before.”

“Not even to see fireworks?”

“Ha—you know who my dad is—fireworks weren’t exactly when I was having fun.”

“I see.” Hiyori began to occupy herself with the contents of the basket, pulling out a pair of cups and the thermal flask gifted by one of their foreign allies before their departure. Once the tea was poured, she laid out the bentos before taking one for herself and beginning to eat it. “Well, then let me warn you: while you are Wano’s guardian deity, my brother and I shall expect you conduct yourself accordingly. You are truly of Wano now, and her people enjoy dates under the stars.”

“D-date?!” Yamato panicked, sitting straight up. “I… uh…!”

“What did you think this was?” she asked, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“I dunno; I’ve never done this before.” He opened his bento and saw the carefully-filled compartments filled with tasty things that made his mouth water. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I learned during my time in hiding; the ability to make one’s own food is invaluable when it comes to both blending in and avoiding poisons.”

“Oh… never thought about it like that; thanks for the meal.” Yamato ate some of the food and it sent a shiver up his spine—it was so yummy! “I don’t know if I ever stole stuff this good when I lived on Onigashima!”

“I know the feeling.”

Feeling even more out-of-place than before, Yamato picked at his tempura. He was really awkward, wasn’t he? Kaido had tried to set him up with people since he was eighteen, but between him trying to run away and how boring or weird they were, nothing stuck. He would have never considered them dates, and yet now… he was on a date! Oh, he was on a date and they were having homemade bento under the stars… he was stupid for not piecing it together beforehand! Stupid, stupid, stupid…! He went to reach for his tea, only for Hiyori to place her hand on his so that they both held the cup. She took advantage of the fact it froze him and leaned forward, pressing a light, chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Oh! Uh… you are bold, Hiyori-san.” He took his tea and drank some, leaning back out of her reach. “Isn’t this awkward?”

“Now why would it be awkward?”

“I dunno… maybe that I’m Kozuki Oden…? You know… your father…?”

“You might have inherited my father’s will, but you are not him, and that is a good thing.”

“…but, I want to become like Oden some day!”

“I’m sure you will, but do remember that Oden was made to boil; like any good dish, it needs to be prepped as well.”

“Huh…?” Yamato blinked. “What do you mean…?”

“Oden is comprised of many things to make the dish,” Hiyori explained. She smirked as he gaped at her, unsure where the metaphor was going. “That was my father’s secret: he wasn’t Oden because of anything he did, but was only truly Oden when he filled his life with kind and loyal friends, like a chef making oden out of the finest master stock and ingredients.”

“I already have amazing friends—how could I possibly improve on that?”

“Let’s just call it a woman’s intuition.” She kissed him again, this time pressing their lips together. Yamato’s face flushed deep in blush—oh, it made his stomach flutter—and he tried to act cool, only to fail miserably and freeze up again as he mentally processed it. “Great things are in your future; I can feel it.”

“Y-Yeah…?”

“Of course.” Hiyori turned her face up towards the sky, taking in the stars above them. “Only someone great can inherit my father’s will, and my brother is not yet ready for it. That leaves only you, Yamato, and you have done an excellent job thus far.”

“I, uh, guess so…” Yamato looked up to see what Hiyori did and saw the heavens stretched out above them, stars scattered amongst the cosmic dust that stretched from one horizon to the next. “Maybe this was a good idea.”

“No maybe about it,” she smirked. Hiyori opened her bento and began to eat; it was a picnic, after all.

[yuseirra]

I honestly think this is undeniable...;

I mean, if Kamiki isn’t Sarutahiko Okami, then why would the word "noblilty" be used? Why do you think Aqua reacted that way when hearing the name "Ame-no-Uzume"?

If there weren’t ANY divine elements involved, I wouldn’t be saying anything; but, even in the final chapter, they mentioned that the gods probably sent Ruby, didn’t they?

The story of Oshi no Ko is an homage to the Tenson Kōrin (The Descent of the Heavenly Grandchild) from Japanese mythology.

After meeting his wife, Ame-no-Uzume(Ai), Sarutahiko(Hikaru) eventually handed over his position as the sun god to Amaterasu(Ruby). In a way, this meant that his nobility or influence somewhat diminished.

The song lyrics said that he was given a fatal flaw. Contextually, this is Hikaru’s line about Ai; after losing Ai, he developed a defect. This actually parallels what happened in the myths: he’s willing to sacrifice his "nobility" to bring Ai back.

The shrine where the main characters went to make their wishes was the shrine of Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko, and all of the wishes made there came true! I’m telling you, this is all because of Kamiki. Ai is dead! The only god left to grant wishes is this person. He's the Sarutahiko, the god of fulfilled wishes that's become fatally flawed!

This person became a deity who can guarantee results, but he’s twisted to the point of granting wishes in a distorted manner.

These kinds of interactions appear in the story! I wouldn’t bring it up if they didn’t!

Originally, he was a god who guided people along the right path! People pray to Sarutahiko for traffic safety!! But imagine him as a navigation system that takes you to your destination, but the journey itself becomes cursed with misfortune, absurdity, and irrationality now—that’s the "flaw".

That’s why Aqua put his own life on the line to stop this person, to prevent him from ruining Ruby’s and everyone's future.

Ultimately, all of the wishes Kamiki realized or perceived were granted in the end. Socially, he’s completely destroyed. Akane calls him a monster, right? How does a once "noble" person become this wrecked? I don’t get it. The more I study it, the less sense it makes. Looking at scenes where Ai and this person were together, they seemed genuinely happy with each other. In my opinion, they even stayed in touch occasionally. They couldn’t be together because they were too young, but he knew about her pregnancy and she called him on a public phone. It’s hard to believe he’d suddenly turn against her. Ai’s reactions to him were pretty neutral. It’s like Ai was always worried about Hikaru, fearing he might go astray.

Chapter 154 is seriously too genuine. I think Ai’s feelings about him are the most important thing.

She said she wanted to be with him forever...;;

And Kamiki felt the same way. Didn’t he say he wanted to feel Ai forever?

If they’re divine spouses, they’d truly be together forever. It’s really supposed be that way; they’re divine spouses at their core. What Hikaru thought in 153, that was actually what was SUPPOSED TO BE. They were originally like that as gods!!

They reciprocated each other’s feelings, both of them define each other as being the "same" as they are. And neither of them was ordinary. If you examine the lyrics, Ai is the reincarnation of a star, while Kamiki fell from grace. Given that supernatural elements explicitly play a role in the story, this isn’t just metaphorical.

Yesterday, when I talked about this with a friend, they asked,

“Why would he be considered noble? There’s no scene where he saves someone or helps others, and as a kid, he seemed "naive". But there weren't many scenes to see if he could be defined as having nobility.”

Yeah. Right? Just why include the detail that his soul was noble? I’m telling you, it’s because he’s the virtuous god Sarutahiko.

There are a lot of things in this work that can’t be explained without divine elements; that’s why I’ve researched mythology and analyzed things this way—because it makes sense with that being taken into consideration. Without these elements, the story would have too many gaps. But if you incorporate mythological settings, they fill in the blanks.

There’s even talk about shattered souls, which I can explain too! Since I started re-reading this work, the strange song lyrics gave me an inkling that something deeper was there, so I immediately began interpreting it along these lines.

Kamiki is a distorted god that became of "absurdity and irrationality"(seriously, what's been happening around him's EXACTLY that!! Even Aqua turned unreasonable!!), while Ai is "the god who loves people". They were originally divine spouses who blessed and protected the entertainment world, but once they incarnated as humans, things fell into chaos. The protagonists were born as their children to resolve this turmoil.

How else can you interpret this? If there were no reincarnation or divine elements involved, I wouldn’t bring it up. But there’s too much evidence to ignore. Besides, "love" probably held a significant meaning for those two gods.

Tsukuyomi said the entertainment world wasn’t her domain.

I’m telling you, Kamiki and Ai are the gods who oversee the entertainment industry, which is why they each took part as an actor and an idol.

But just like the lyrics, "I've forgotten who I lived as!" and "Remember who you lived with," in Mephisto, they forgot who they were and that they were spouses. Kamiki probably only remembered it after Ai’s death, which made him start searching for people with the qualities to bring light and wandering around collecting light to offer as sacrifices. Judging by the lyrics, without Ai, he'd always lack the light of love and remained extremely hollow. He could never return to the white star or have chances of it—not until he saw Ruby.

I don’t think he truly intended to kill her, but intentions aside, Kamiki has become so dangerous and uncontrollable that he needs to be eliminated. Aqua’s mission is to take him down, which is why he constantly says he’ll have to go to hell—because he has to kill someone.

These ideas may seem far-fetched, but if you put everything together, this is the most plausible explanation. There’s no other way to make sense of it based on what’s shown in the story. I’m right. How else would you explain it?

[ozfi]

for the character ask game im sending 2 cuz I'm speciallllll akagi and also solid snek

you ARE special. i do both for you OK?

Akagi Shigeru

How I feel about this character:

A NORMAL AMOUNT. one of the unbeatable characters of all time for me, easily in my top 5... a character, a metaphor, a representation, a wall, and an absence all at once? sign me up. every new realization i have makes me like him more- i know you think about him often too, but specifically the fact we get to learn so little about him as a person, what he does for the majority of his life, only seeing what others around him think of him and how they judge him... i have to reread akagi and ten its so over

All the people I ship romantically with this character

kaiji literally no question. Now i wont post our manifestos or anything but the short version for others is that akagi and kaiji may have opposite problems aside the ganbles but they cover each others bases really well- theyre well balanced opposites. kaiji is sociable or at least more "normal", akagi is quiet and in "normal" situations a lot more reticent. kaiji is, to put it kindly, in denial about a lot of her problems, where akagi is way more self aware. they both understand what the other is going through but the impulsivity on one side is managed by the stability of the other, the understanding and lack of judgement can help bring someone down from dangerous places, etc etc... There's so much potential here id like everyone to see it

My non-romantic OTP for this character

this is hard to say. i like akagis dynamic with a lot of people in the sense that i like seeing how akagi is seen from the outside's bias compared to what the person is actually getting from him. from nangou's immediate child endangerment to ichikawa underestimating him, his coworkers' problems and akagi literally having to be dragged back into gambling bc his reputation. washizu and osamu are kind of two different sides of the problem distilled into singular people- washizu moreso chases after akagis gambling, osamu gets entertainment out of akagis failure in normal life. this is reminding me to reread for a refresh but so it goes

My unpopular opinion about this character

akagi would not be abusive. akagi is not a "sociopath", whatever people think that word means. akagi is not having the time of his life at all times. akagi is a depressed as shit young autistic adult growing up in the aftermath of a world war with no support systems surrounded by adults who take advantage of him .

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

if i accept the narrative decision to hide akagis personal life from the reader and dont get to see him do normal things like fishing and generally existing or whatever. show me the transition between the normal outfit and the tiger print shirts .

Solid Snake

How I feel about this character

i like solid snake a LOT... obviously i think mgs1s main idea of being more than ones dna is a solid (ha) one but actually im gonna talk about the fact that i like these two being sent together especially because both their lives have been heavily impacted by war and its aftermath. neither of these characters know how to live like "real people" and to a degree barely see themselves as such, having to almost die to feel alive, literally feeling their best on their own respective battlefields with the brink just a teeter away. obviously theyre both autistic, but the image of the soldier remains powerful in both of them in this way ... an interesting coincidence.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

otacon? LOL. im a bit less attached to it than most other mgs fans but i know its there and i do see it and have eyes. i think (SIGH) contrasting otacons lack of media literacy bright-eyed idealism and desire to do something good with science and davids life on the battlefield being nothing but this exploitation and tragedy by virtue of having been in the military. i think otacon wising up a bit and snake softening in response is good... well what can i say

My non-romantic OTP(?) for this character

i dont knowwwwww id like to see snake and raiden a la mgs2 ending more maybe, the idea of making yourself a new life and making choices to become a new self chosen by you instead of beaten into you by the military/world around you. their endings obviously play off each other well and i like foils

My unpopular opinion about this character

mgs1 touched me the most in regards to snavid so i kind of zone out a lot of the other stuff's canonicity when it comes to his story .

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

let me see his bar mitzvah from before he joined the military

[meowdei]

hiiiiii i just wanted to come gush about your wriothesley fic because it was just so beautiful 🥺 i really really loved how you included common teyvat plants all throughout the story, it just felt so interactive in a sense!! also, that part in the last scene about the romaritimes and dendrobiums and the other flowers andddddd the part about naku weeds surviving thunder? i had to individually go look up the lore of all those plants (i mean this in a good way) and you incorporated them saurrrr beautifully ohmigosh :0 i was especially impressed by the dendrobium metaphor it twas beautiful, and it honest to god fit so perfectly with wrio and his backstory. my favorite favoriteeeeee part is how you balanced his vulnerability with his strength. idk idk idk!!!! me just thinks it was a very perfect mix of him being open and “weak” in front of someone but still maintaining that strong aura about him that he has. i’ve never read a wriothesley characterization that was so vulnerable yet felt so real and true to his character so kudos to you you’re amazing 😣 anddddd you’re talented beyond belief i hope you know your ability to put words together is wickedly impressive okie??? so you have my thanks for giving us such a great read🫰🏼mwahmwahmwah 😘

HI i haven’t answered this in a timely manner i know, but that is because i wanted to give you a proper response besides saying “you’re so sweet i cry” LOL <- even though that is a very accurate representation of how i feel. i love flower shop au’s but teyvat plants are actually really interesting some of them have some really cool lore drops and especially dendrobiums i’m sooo glad you liked that part because i find dendrobiums to be the most fascinating flower of all the ones i used. but also tysm for saying you enjoyed the way i balanced wrio’s characterization!!!! that means so very much to me i had never written a long fic for him before this one so it was honestly a very experimental (???) experience for me. i had to really sit and think on a lot of the dialogue so i hope it felt true to his character!! i am honestly so emotional over this ask omg you made my whole night when you sent this the other night i’m sorry i’m just now getting to it but i appreciate you so fiercely 🥹💖 please take this kiss as a token of my gratitude 😚💖