#i think the good and bad balance each other out for the most part

[alexanderwales]

"I don't think I could have the relationship with you that you have with me," she said. She was very casual about it, and I was immediately on the defensive.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

She put the book she'd been reading down. "It's just, the way you've described it, and the vibe that I get, I don't think I could do it how you do it."

"I still don't know what that means," I said.

"You're always doing this like ... micro calculation thing," she said. "You weigh your words. You try to time things. You have never once called me up while I was at work, or asked me for something when it was inconvenient for me, and you check and double check that you're not being a nuisance."

"And ... that's bad?" I asked.

"No, I love that about you," she said. "It's very kind and considerate. I know that if I tell you I'm not in the mood to hang out, you'll apologize and not push it. If you suggest that we get pizza and I say I'd rather have Korean BBQ, you fold instantly and we get Korean BBQ. I like that. I get the things I want. But it seems like an exhausting way to deal with people."

"I want you to be happy," I said with a small voice.

"I am happy," she replied. "You're great. You remember when we first got together I was like 'hey, look, if you want pizza, we can get pizza, it's just not what I'm in the mood for', and you kept insisting that you didn't care, that you would rather have me follow my needs? And I just thought, 'you know, maybe I should just trust that's what they actually feel'. And it is, as far as I can tell. There's not some secret part of you that wants me to break your way."

"You think I'm ... a simpering coward?" I asked. Even as I said it, it felt too accusatory, the wrong thing to say in the situation.

"Whoa, no, not at all," she laughed. "I think you do all that stuff because ... I don't know, you want to? Because otherwise why would you do it? It's how you are with every aspect of your life, you're a tryhard. I mean you said to me that you wanted to reclaim the term. Your relationship with me is that you're a tryhard (affectionate)."

"And you're ... not?" I asked.

"I'm not that way with anyone," she replied. "You know why I hang out with you so much? It's 'cause I like you. Most days, I am very much in the mood for you, and if you ask for a meetup, I'll say yes, and if you don't ask for one, then I'll ask you first. And for you ..."

"What?" I asked.

"It's like ... you're keeping track," she said. "You want to make sure that you're not sending me more messages than I'm sending you. You're balancing social micro stuff that I don't pay attention to. You're consciously monitoring how much each of us has said and making sure it's the right number of words or whatever."

"It's really not about the number of words," I replied. "It's more ... making sure that social and emotional labor is equitable, that there's a good rhythm to the conversation. I don't think you'd get good results by tracking word count."

"But see, I don't do any of that," she said. "I talk because I feel like talking. I listen when you need to vent because I like you and it feels good to give you an outlet. I mean you are undoubtedly putting in a bunch of work, and for me, there's no work. That's all I meant, really."

"You've thought about it," I said.

"Oh, I'm just reading this book, and there are two characters like us in it, and I was like 'yes, exactly', and then 'that would not work for me'." She shrugged.

"And if I stopped 'putting in the work'?" I asked. "Would we still be ... friends?"

"See, I don't know," she said. "Because that's never who you've been. You're asking me if I would still be friends with you if you changed your personality and how we interact with each other. Maybe? Probably? Who knows? Maybe we'd be better friends somehow. Maybe we're just two basically compatible people, and every time you've ever worried about anything it would actually have been completely fine."

"Or maybe it's load-bearing," I said.

"Maybe!" she replied with a smile that slowly faded. "You okay?"

"I'm thinking," I said. I didn't know if I could verbalize what I was thinking in a way that would be palatable.

"Do you not like being this way with me?" she asked. "Because I have never asked you to. I've made my preferences known, but if you've been bending yourself into knots and feeling a burden, then ..."

"No," I said, because I knew it was what she wanted to hear. "No, I like the way things are between us."

"Good," she smiled. "I do too."

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 09. Oh no!

PREV PART Trigger warning: (past, current) mental + physical + emotional neglect, (name) pretends everything is fine, talking down of oneself, Reader isn't out towards the batfamily yet, mental gymnastics, disabilties are finally talked about, guilt, I think this is my longest chapter yet, pls tell me if I missed any warnings main m.list        series m.list

When you woke up your body felt sluggish as you try to remember what happened, you must have a fever, why else would Alfred be at your bedside sleeping. Seeing him there reminds you of the times your heart ached for his comfort, for the times you wished he would finally stand up for you. But he didn’t, he never takes your side.

Their reaction to you passing out must’ve been extreme, because the moment you tried to manoeuvre past Alfred Dick was there, standing in front of your door with a panicked expression. “You shouldn’t get out of bed,” he says with an attempted smile. It just makes you narrow your eyes and spitefully stand up. You ignore how the room spins and how your pain spreads to your neck and fingertips. It’s almost as if Dick can sense your discomfort (it would be a first) because the moment you lose your balance he’s there to keep you standing straight. “you really are stubborn.”

His words weren’t meant to make you flinch, but they still did. You don’t trust him, and you might never, anything negative from him puts you on edge (even if his statement is true). You never know how any of your siblings will react, and quite frankly you always found Dick the most difficult from all of your siblings. Impossible to read and always wearing that fake smile, he always used that smile when he interacted with you, keeping his real smiles for his true family. “Don’t touch me,” you hiss, raising your voice enough to wake Alfred up and enough for Dick to step back.

“(name),” he whispers as he moves towards you, checking your temperature with his hand not allowing you to flinch away from him. “Good, no fever….” Yet your eyes look anywhere but at his.

“Now that you’ve done the bare minimum to keep yourselves from wallowing in guilt,” you start, ignoring how Alfred’s face falls, how Dick’s breath becomes ragged and uneven. “I want you both to leave, I need to change for school.”

“You don’t seriously think you are going to school,” Dick says as his eyebrows furrow, his arm crossed on his chest. “not after passing out like that.”

You laugh, you couldn’t help it. Now they want to care for your health. “Didn’t you guys not send me to a hospital after I was viciously beaten and possibly had internal bleeding?” you shot back, and finally they look guilty. Their guilty faces and nervous ticks make you smile, finally you feel heard. “I pass out quite often, especially since then, I am going to school so get out, I’m going to be late.”

“At least let me drop you off,” Dick says before Alfred can protests. “it would make sense, Damian’s classes are in one of your school buildings today.”

You laugh. “Oh, he doesn’t want to be seen with me. Don’t you know?” But when you see Alfred’s nails digging in his palm you start to feel guilty. Perhaps Jason’s right and you are being a piece of shit. “But fine, I suppose, just get out I need to do my hair and put my uniform on.”

They listen, but once you close your door Alfred and Dick stare at each other. Having a conversation with each other with just their eyes. You are hiding something about your health, and they’ll force to the doctor if they must. “I’ll brief Damian of the plan,” Dick tells Alfred. “I’ll try to get more information out of them.”

Alfred nods and sighs; “Duke has been helpful but evasive, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust us.”

Dick nods, and he can’t help but think; ‘Who would? If they knew what we did?’

“He’s honouring (Name)’s autonomy,” Dick acknowledges as he brushed his hair back with his hands. “more then we have ever done…”

Awh, the poor bats are becoming self-aware, and guilt is weighing heavy. Too bad that it isn’t enough to compensate for your pain.

You, who had quickly done your hair (honestly you tried, it looks terrible but it is too much for you to handle right now, so it’s alright) and put on your uniform, was now in the kitchen, grabbing a quick bite to eat and make some lunch. It was important to nourish your body after such a health incident. You need to take care of yourself, alright? Otherwise Maria and Duke would absolutely hound you on this. You just wish Cassandra wasn’t here, analysing your every move. “You’re in pain,” she says simply. “you have been for a while.”

“Wow,” you say without thinking, looking over your shoulder slightly amused. “you’ve only noticed now?”

“I’m not talking about mental pain,” she says, and that makes you freeze, dropping your lunch box in your bag and you couldn’t be more glad about getting one with an extra safety lock. “you are ill.” You chuckle, you couldn’t believe it. Cassandra knows, and she has known for a while. “Is it because of Jason?”

You turn around as you place your back on the counter. “What has Duke told you?” you aren’t angry with him, no, whatever he told them, it doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to help. “Or is that just a small personal theory?”

“A theory, Duke has been evasive with his answers,” she admits, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read your body language. But it comes up the same as always, on edge, in pain and angry. “said that he wouldn’t break his future sister’s trust.”

“Huh, so Brucie is adopting him,” you comment.

“But he has told us the full story about what Jason did,” Stephanie says, coming into the room pretending as if she hasn’t been eavesdropping from the moment she realised Cassandra was trying to get answers out of you. “I’m sorry, if I knew-”

You scoff, cutting off her sentences. Your eyes watering, you always wanted acknowledgement of what happened. You wanted these girls to tell you what your family did was wrong. But it’s too late now, and Cassandra could read that. She could see your shoulders tense, biting your lip as you try and keep your breathing steady. You feel unsafe, and she wonders if she didn’t ignore your pain. If she realised the damage they were doing to you, would you be happier? Would you be healthier?

Oh, having a moral compass can be quite difficult, can’t it?

“I don’t want none of your apologies,” you tell them, your eyes look dull and they feel lifeless. Something Stephanie often saw with the victims her father created. Is she just as bad as her father? At this point she would say to a degree. And if you will allow her to, she’ll do anything to make it right. But there is no time for that, Dick is here to drive you to school. “and our conversation is done, Cassandra, be sure to keep your mouth shut.”

While Stephanie hasn’t heard the whole conversation you two had (and could you really call it a conversation?) Cassandra obviously asked something about your health. Something that you have hidden from them all, even legally.

Well illegally, seriously, how did you perfect replicating Bruce’s signature? Even Tim couldn’t replicate it to that degree, if he were to compare your falsified signature with one of Bruce’s actual signatures it barely has any differences (Barbara would love to learn from you). The ink only looks thicker on your falsified one, Bruce always kept his pen-strokes light and precise.

But there is no time to ponder about that right now, they need to focus on you actually getting into Dick’s care. He bugged it with one of his earpieces so that the bat-family could analyse you interacting with Dick and Damian. The two you always interacted with the most before Jason’s attack, but even that was limited.

When you got into the car, you notice how Damian was sulking. Something you’ve never seen him do, besides that one time that Bruce scolded him loud enough that you could hear him from your room. You ignore him and buckle yourself in, joining him on the backseat. “Don’t you want to sit in the front seat?” Damian asks confused, and you shake your head. No way in hell are you sitting next to Dick.

“I don’t like the passenger seat.” Liar, liar pants on fire~!

Damian’s eyes narrow and scratches the skin under his nail. ‘huh,’ you think, absentmindedly. ‘we have similar anxiety ticks.’

With that Dick drives away, trying to build up a conversation. But truly, you couldn’t give a shit. You’re texting with Duke, you have chemistry the first hour, and you want to make sure that he knows that you don’t blame him for letting Bruce adopt him and such. That you just hope that he would keep your back and stay close to you when he joins the family.

Truly, aren’t you embarrassed by this? How insecure can you be?

‘Ofc, I won’t! I swear I’ll explain everything once B signs the papers. Thank you for not being mad :)’ The text makes you smile, once Duke swears something, he keeps that promise. He’s more trustworthy than your mother, she always had her fair share of secrets.

‘I could never be mad at my favourite brother, and you didn’t out me so that makes me not being mad a lot easier /hj’ you sent back before closing your phone, closing your eyes in as you feel stress leaving your body. You’re excited to see him again, you can’t wait to tell your friends about Duke joining your family. It would make your time left there a lot more bearable.

The thought of not being alone withyour ‘family’ anymore made your frown disappear. But it returned the moment you got closer to school. “Drop me off here,” you say, ignoring how Damian’s hand itches. Clearly wanting to grab your uniform jacket. “my friends are waiting for me.”

Dick nods, knowing he shouldn’t push you. You’ll just shut down even more, and it would become even more difficult to re-connect connect with you. He could feel bile rise in his throat the longer he thought about what he has done, about the behaviour he has been complicate in. Oh, but how can he make you see that it was all for the best? How can he make himself see that it was all for the best?

He can’t, he should be on his knees begging for your forgiveness, but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. He just doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know where he went wrong.

“That was a disaster,” Damian says when he can see you running up to your friends. Dick sighs, but he agrees. Damian knows it, he can see the disappointment on his older brother’s face, it makes him angry at you. But at the same time, why was he angry at you for their behaviour? Why did he give up your love for Jason when he was clearly in the wrong? Is it because of his time in the league, or is there still hatred in his body for you just simply existing?

Oh, what can the bat-family do when all they’ve done is estrange themselves from you? Can they redeem themselves, or will Duke take their place? Will your friends take their place besides your side?

With Duke you would still be apart of their family, but if you were to estrange yourself further from them, go no-contact and acknowledge your friends as your family and only allow Duke in your life they would have no excuse to try and make you understand their side. To try and get you to forgive them.

Because if they right their wrongs, you’ll have to love them. Right?

NEXT PART well, I am using this chapter as a distraction, my grandpa is getting better already tho! And I'm allowed to visit soon, so he's out of any danger zones, if you have any feedback do tell me. I have too many ideas of how to transition to the full yandere part and my brain needs to slow down fr.

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[ajdrawshq]

i finished 7th dragon a lil while ago n some of the worldbuilding is so funny i cant stop thinking abt it. why is the lost city of atlantis populated by catgirls

[ochibrochi]

spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬

I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!

I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??

By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).

I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.

Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.

I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").

The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.

Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.

Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).

If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?

Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.

I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)

Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[cyberm4n]

alastor and lucifer sharing you

alastor x reader x lucifer headcanons

pt2

cw: 18+, semi explicit smut? dom! alastor, dom! lucifer, alastor basically pitches a hinge relationship

■ alastor and lucifer had known this was a long time coming.

■ between the gifts lucifer makes you and the little friendly affections alastor only gave you, it didn't take long for either of them to realize the predicament.

■ at first, neither want to share, and neither are entertaining the idea of the other having you.

■ however alastor gets an idea as lucifer is arguing he'd be the most likely to please me the most

■ alastor has never been a fan of touch, not that he would deny intimacy with you, but he definitely doesn't prefer it.

■ but standing infront of him is a man who prides himself on treating his partners well, both in and outside of the bedroom.

■ i imagine in this scenario alastor is less concerned about being your partner but more about making sure lucifer can't have you all to himself

■ alastor doesn't like to share, but if it means he gets to have possession of you without the intimacy, he's going to take it.

"maybe there's a simple compromise here after all" alastor says, looking down at the man standing before him, lucifer sighing in frustration.

"oh really? and what would you propose?" he says with snark, not expecting what alastor suggests even a little.

■ it's a simple arrangement, really.

■ lucifer gets to do whatever he wants, gets to have you, but alastor gets to watch and maybe occasionally participate

■ but of course, they have to convince you too.

"i— you guys want to what?" you'd say, they'd both approached you while you were in your room. you sat on the small couch while they sat across from you on the bed.

"darling," alastor would tut, giving you a look "it's a simple question. yes or no" he says, and it's getting harder to ignore the hand lucifer had placed on your thigh, slowly working it's way up.

they'd started out this conversation by explicitly stating if you were uncomfortable at all, everything stops no questions asked.

but they wanted to hear you say yes.

■ i think they'd be like "good cop, bad cop"

■ lucifer, who's been between your thighs for what feels like hours, cooing such sweet praises everytime he coaxed an orgasm out of you.

■ alastor, who's sitting behind you, leaning against the headboard as he cradles your head in his lap. giving condescending comments as you go numb in their arms.

■ they balance each other out and it works pretty well tbh

■ oh, it's going to be a long night.

this was kind of rushed and im not 100% happy with it but i had to stop the brainrot about those two

part two maybe??

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[habken]

Habs I want your 36 hour long YouTube analysis on bnha including thoughts on the new info from the fan book SO bad the toga stuff has me biting holes into the walls

Okay, it’s long:

First, stuff I liked:

Deku:

Good to see deku stocks rise, they doubted my nephew but he always comes out on top 🙏🙏

Circling back to 431, I don’t think it was all bad and I don’t hate it like some people do. I like that it shows us how passionate he is as a teacher and that he was able to carve out a path for himself outside of hero work. I think people were quick to judge him and make assumptions about him after declining Katsuki’s sidekick proposal, and it was Rough having to see Deku get bashed for it for months. I’m so happy that the new info shows that he didn’t give up on those heroic dreams, he just had to find the balance between teaching and being a pro.

I’m over the moon that he’s #4 and that Katsuki’s ranking bounced back too to #5 as a reaction to Deku being back on the hero scene, this is what I wanted so much from the ending, the two of them fighting neck-in-neck, competing for forever, teasing each other and being in each other’s lives… it’s perfect :’))

I think it’s so cool that apparently Deku was still placing in the top 100 despite being retired because of the extended requirements on the hero ranking, but I think that info should have come up in 430. The epilogue suggested that hero charts were going to be restructured or done away with entirely, and I think it’s silly that it’s only vaguely touched on in an art book lol. That should’ve been part of the main ending.

Streets are saying Deku did not get a degree before he started his teaching career… I’m electing to ignore that because I really want to imagine him in uni. I think it’s fair that UA wouldn’t have traditional standards for teachers… but let my boy get some certification before putting him in charge of a class c’mon.. But also this could be a bit of a misinterpretation considering there’s no official english translations out yet.

Also I’m so glad that it’s confirmed the suit mimics the ofa quirks !! I was worried that wasn’t gonna be the case and I was gonna end up disappointed but I can rest easy!

Bakugou:

I talked about him already kind of but the thing I’m happy to learn the most about from the art book is that supposedly older pro heroes have a soft spot for him. I think there’s something really endearing about that, and I feel like despite having a “bad attitude” he’s such a sentimental and sweet character and he’s grown so much from the middle school punk from chapter 1. He’s got this blunt but genuine quality to him and I think that’s what older characters would latch onto.

I am such a big fan of his friendship with todorok and love what they said about it in the book under todoroki’s section. Also a big fan of the tidbit that monoma tried to get close to him after the war, the guy saw him die right, and there’s something very touching about him trying to reach out and check up of katsuki and worm his way into his life because of that trauma idk. I want to make something about their friendship maybe.

Eri:

IThe information that jirou helped eri with guitar lessons fills my heart with so much joy :’)) I love that Eri has so many older siblings who all love her and want to teach her stuff and be part of her life and cheer her on

I really like that she’s pursuing music! I know some people wanted her to go down the hero path too, but I think it’s really nice that she was able to carve out a path that makes her happiest. It’s what first brought a smile to her face! When class A performed! And seeing her be able to live that dream is so nice :’))

Deku and mirio being her biggest cheerleaders also makes me so happyy. Those are her older brothers frfr.

I’m really glad the one shot was focused on her, very great thag we get to see her relationship with aizawa and the teachers, and learn about her life now. I was so worried about what the extra pages were gonna be about and it was such a pleasant surprise lol

Things I’m… less of a fan of:

Uraraka:

It’s genuinely criminal that the art book doesn’t touch on her reformed quirk counselling programs at all. To me, this was one of the most interesting tidbits of info we got from class 1-A in 430, and something I really wish we’d been able to learn more about.

It’s very clear that her character’s potential was tossed aside the entire story, and honestly her relationship with deku was too. I’m not really a fan of izuocha, but I am a lover of character relationships and the lack of growth the two had together throughout the series was very disappointing to me. I think the idea of romance between them and horikoshi’s aversion to writing it got in the way of their actual relationship and it stayed stagnant for too long — which is why 431 feels so disappointing in that regard — because they should have gotten closer in the actual story instead of in an add-on epilogue chapter.

All that to say, from what I’ve seen from the artbook, her info section is taken up mostly by things that relate to izuku, all we really learn is her parents don’t use the money she sends them LMAO. It’s just so strange for her to be both disregarded as a character and labelled the “Love Interest” when it comes to talking about her as her own person, but yet not have really any development alongside the character she’s supposedly going to end up with in the actual story.

She’s apparently there to cheer deku on, that’s the role they want her to have. They don’t care about who she is outside of that even though her entire character is a separate person with a life and a story beyond having a crush on a boy. It’s misogyny lol.

Toga and the LOV:

Speaking of misogyny… Toga’s death :( Learning that there were other options for her is upsetting. The artbook has really reopened my feelings about all the endings for the LoV members.

In my mind toga had the most satisfying ending, but that’s really not saying much. I don’t think she should’ve died, I don’t think her “facing responsibility/taking accountability” had to mean the only ending for her was death. She was a kid, she was mentally ill, she wanted love and to be loved and to me, her death being off-screened and used as canon-fodder for uraraka’s feelings and to be pushed towards izuku was so upsetting.

Idk it just feels like a habit for the female characters to be sidelined and for their sacrifices and deaths to be pushed to the side, it’s aggravating.

With the lov in general, it just seems like the overall message is there’s no real path to redemption, that the only way they could find it is to die. For a story that seems to want to highlight the fact that everyone can be saved, and that things aren’t so black and white, and that it’s the fault in society that drove these “villains” to where they are, it really does treat them as if they’re completely and utterly irredeemable and there was never any hope for them. That they are a product of their nature/nurture and cannot escape it any way but through dying. It’s not even tragic, it feels lazy and unsatisfying and feels like it goes against whatever the message of the story was supposed to be.

Idk I’ve defended mha a lot, and I think there’s a lot of positives in it. I think it does have strong messages that no one person can fix issues that are societal in nature, and that real change comes with forming community and being there for those around us. Etc etc. But I’m disappointed that a lot of the themes of mha fell flat and don’t go deeper than surface level.

I’m upset that horikoshi has made these compelling and very human villains, and shown us their stories and that they’re not all evil at the core, and then decided that their arcs all had to end in pain and suffering.

The one who upsets me the most is Tomura. He’s been one of my favourite characters since the beginning, and I think his ending hit me the worst. To me it felt like he was right on the cusp of something and then afo came in and told him his whole life was a lie, that he was groomed to be an angry man with half a quirk that could only destroy, and every choice he’d ever made was directly under afo’s influence. That he never had any free will, he was always meant to go down this path. I thought for sure the final battle with deku and afo would have shigaraki fighting back against the possession, and I was disappointed that his final moments were barely anything at all.

Learning about his original quirk and the original plans for his ending, it’s made me angry about his arc all over again. Thinking about how things could’ve been, and that there were other options for his final moments, I’m frustrated.

I hate that the villain’s are used as emotional canon fodder, to serve as character development for the heroic main characters, when horikoshi made us so invested in their stories as well. You just end up wanting to root for them, not in a “I want them taking over the world” way, but in a way where they find some sort of happiness. And we kind of maybe get that from toga, but to me all their endings just don’t hit the mark. They feel cheap and unsatisfying, and this art book drives a lot of that home for me.

Anyways yeah. I’m gonna stop myself here before I go crazy lol. Hope this made sense

[bewitched-hours]

I wanted to ask if you could make more of the yandere Noli and 007n7 thing. Something like they got into a fight and they’re all just fighting like children or just anything!

I just love that au ^^

Gonna be honest- I don't think I remember which one you mean but I'll gladly make more of them? I'll just try to come up with something new and hope it works but it'd be great if you could use a link to it if you make a new request so I know what you're looking for because I've done a lot at this point with Noli and 007... And not just one with them as yanderes-

Let's say reader gets She/They?

You've learned not to question your circumstances anymore...

It all started out fine when you agreed to team up with Noli and 007n7. Hell, you were giddy to work with other exploiters and you guys helped cover each other's tracks to hide from admins.

You were quick friends and had your own little base for just you three. A place you were most proud of even though you'd do most of the decorating. They didn't really seem to care much as long as it wasn't an eye sore or one simple colour.

No, you combined all your guys' colours together to make the best decorative palette ever!

You weren't into decorating even half as much as you seemed when you all moved in together at first. But turns out you were actually pretty good at it.

You got comfortable... Perhaps too comfortable...

You were blinded by the bliss of this new life and the comfort of your new home made you ignorant to the fact you were basically isolated.

Sure, you were part of a trio that caused chaos so who would wanna be associated with you but you wouldn't even get so much as a chase with some poor fellow who saw you and could report you. It was almost boring how little fight there was for you but you shrugged it off as bad luck.

Of course you wouldn't know that you were trapped because you flew into the cage first.

You wouldn't know that they intentionally kept you away from prying eyes and planned out where to send you in your chaos to get you away from people subtly. In a way that wouldn't have you suspect a thing.

But you only needed to see the truth once. They needed luck everytime they hid the truth from you.

One slip up was all it took.

One mistakenly placed box was all you needed when you got home after a shopping trip in your disguise.

They weren't home for once and you figured they were off causing chaos somewhere else, only causing slight envy to rise in your chest as you wondered why they couldn't wait for you.

But slamming the door caused a box to lose balance in the messed up pile of packages and you could only groan as the fact you now had documents to pick up and put back.

Except it wasn't documents... It was plans.

Papers that were left in the trash pile that would detail things they've done to keep you to themselves without raising suspicion which made the cogs in your head click together.

They were head over heels for you but in a way that made you cringe just a bit. A messed up part of you wanted to see how far they'd go and before you knew it, you were sat with the plans on a coffee table and curled up on the couch whilst reading through their strategies.

You had to admit, they were smart for playing you like they did but you still felt betrayed and confused.

Why? Did they think it was fun? Did they worry you'd try to run? Maybe they thought you could betray them?

Ugh, the more you questioned it, the more you wanted to find them and just ask. You weren't even that upset over it because of the life they gave you but...

Actually, maybe you were a bit upset. What if they used this life to lure you further in? It wasn't like you regretted being part of this trio...

You were growing drowsy when you heard the click of the lock that made you jump back awake in seconds. They were back and there was no hiding anymore. You had to quickly gather your courage and confront them.

They had been joking around until they turned the corner to see you calmly get up, papers in hand and giving them a cautious look that was even worse than when you had first met them. And even back then you've been cautious because you had no choice but to assume the worst from them.

It made their smiles turn to slight frowns. Only for Noli to start smirking again. Though he didn't say anything.

"I'm not gonna scream. I'm not gonna pretend to really be upset or any of that shit." You started, refusing to act like some movie main character. "But I just want to know why. Why did you need any of these plans and why would I be worth such a hassle???"

Your confusion only seemed to amuse them as they stepped closer. You let them because their plans did mention not letting you be harmed.

"Would you believe us if we said you were divine?" Noli's teasing tone made you cringe at such words but you chuckled lightly. "What? Don't act like you're obsessed now..."

"But we are." 007's firm tone made your gut practically scream.

There was no way this was happening...

Stepping away from them, you dropped the papers and shook your head. "No no no- I'm not about to let my whole life be controlled-" You were chuckling nervously, though a blush crept over your face.

Were you enjoying this? Maybe. But it didn't stop them from teleporting behind you to hold you in a loving embrace that had you more confused than anything.

"You're not being controlled~ We're just making sure to set a fair ground between letting you be so beautifully chaotic and independent and guaranteeing you'll never want to leave." Noli held held you from the front while 007 stopped you from behind.

You were effectively caged between them and the heat building in your face betrayed you. "... So you promise not to tie me up or anything to keep me at home, right...?" You muttered, biting your lip as you mentally cursed yourself out for letting them see you like this.

"How would we be able to see you laugh or smile otherwise?" 7n7's voice was quiet but you felt his head rest on your shoulder.

Great... You were essentially giving in.

"Well... I guess I shouldn't be complaining then... If everyone benefits..." You hesitated to raise your arms but Noli made sure to grab one of your hands for himself when you finally did. The other hand just went to feel 007's hair for a moment.

It was surprisingly soft...

"That's our little harbinger of chaos..." Something about those words felt... Right...

Honestly I feel kinda bad for not knowing what to give you for this one-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[cloud9dreamer]

hiii how are you ^^)/ could I ask for headphone jacks for pomefiore (separately ^^) with a female reader who is very good at dancing tango~ since it is a dance from her country :')) thanks in advance<3

Great how are you bb! I didn't really understand what you meant by headphone jacks but I got the pomfiore part. Hope you like it!

Edit: I literally finished this and went to publish it and it got deleted. Kill me.

🍎 Epel Felmier

🥧The first time he sees you dance, he’s shocked. Epel wasn't expecting much when you told him you can tango thinking you where tooting your own horn. But when he gets hit with pure dance power, sensuality, and body control his jaw genuinely drops.

🥧Blushes like crazy. Tango is intimate, and you’re bold with it. The way your body moves confidently as you slowly inch closer makes him redder than a freshly picked apple. He tries to play it all cool and bad, but the tips of his ears betray him.

🥧Eventually seeing you dance made him want to learn tango for himself under the condition that he does it "his way" not Vil’s dainty schmainty version. He wants to be the masculine lead, full of grounded steps, strength, and presence. Or as much presence you can have when you look like the tooth fairy and a bunny had a baby(LMFAOO) . He’ll stomp and grumble through practices until he finds his rhythm—then suddenly, he’s magnetic.

🥧Expect him to get competitive. If another guy tries to dance with you, Epel will sulk. Maybe even throw a tantrum like a real bunny if he's feeling sour enough. “Tch. Bet he don’t even know how to pivot right.” He’ll work even harder just to prove he’s the only one worthy of your trust on the floor.

👑 Vil Schoenheit

🪞Instant Approval. That's it, youre one Vil’s good graces from now onwards. Albeit it doesnt show on his face. To the untrained eye he seems indifferent maybe even bored. But all the pomfiore students can clearly see the look of silent reverence on his face. Grace, discipline, tension, flair? You check every box. “Flawless,” he murmurs, already envisioning you in custom couture for a spotlight gala. You don't know, he might even get you a gig.

🪞As a dance partner he is strict but passionate. He will critique your footwork if it slips even slightly (bitch). He’s not cruel—he just knows you’re capable of perfection. “Again, but this time... feel it in your spine.” he rasps into your ear as his hands glide down to the small of your back almost like they belong there.

🪞Publicly showcases you, he wants the entire world to see you. He'll choreograph a duet where both of you embody elegance and dominance in equal measure—like twin flames circling each other on stage. Every step is deliberate. Every glance is art.

🪞Oh he'll FREAK OUT over every detail of your dress, down to the very thread color and rhinestone arrangement. He’ll custom commission your tango outfits, Think slit skirts, silk gloves, Swarovski crystal accents. “Your movement deserves couture.” And he means it.

🏹 Rook Hunt

🌳Absolutely enchanted by you. Mutters “Merveilleux...” The first time he sees you tango, even gasps as you dance. Not just because you’re good—but because your movement speaks of danger, desire, and a hunter’s focus. To Rook, that's the most poetic form of seduction.

🌳He'll analyze every step you take, asking questions like, “Why did you flick your leg just then? Was it instinct or strategy?” Rook isn’t trying to be annoying—he’s just utterly fascinated by how your soul speaks through motion.

🌳Constantly challenging you. He’ll appear behind you stalker out of nowhere, hand extended: “Shall we dance, belle chasseresse?” He keeps you on your toes, literally and figuratively. He tests your speed, balance, instincts—he lives for the tension between you.

🌳Whispers in your ear during the dance. As your bodies glide close, he’ll lean in and murmur, “Your heartbeat is racing. How exquisite.” He thrives in the heat between you—to him it's more thrilling than any hunt.

[ellswritings]

In My Corner

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4), (Part 5), (Part 6), (Part 7), (Part 8), Part 9, (Part 10)

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Lots of flashbacks in this bad boy, Punk says lots of steamy things, but other than that I think that’s it.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling, @scream4mami, @mandmilovehim, @dummylovewp, @insomnia-bookworm

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Phil Brooks wasn’t one for doomscrolling. He didn’t check his feed every hour. He didn’t care what the fans were posting. Most days, he didn’t care what anyone was posting.

But tonight? Tonight, something made him look.

He was sitting in the dark, hoodie on, thumb tapping absently at his screen. The hum of the space heater was the only noise in the room — soft and steady, unlike the pounding in his chest the second his eyes landed on the photo. Grainy. Poorly lit. Snapped from too far down the hallway to be clear.

But the moment? Undeniable.

Y/N, half-tucked into Colby’s chest, fists curled into the front of his jacket like he was the only thing holding her to the earth. Her head tilted, lips pressed to his in a kiss that looked like it meant something — long and slow, like the rest of the world had fallen away and she hadn’t even noticed. Phil’s jaw twitched.

The caption from the fan account didn’t help either:

wrestlechicx: And there it is. The kiss heard ‘round the world 👀🔥 Looks like Y/S/N and Seth Rollins are OFFICIAL. Thoughts??

📸: VisionaryVixen_

❤️ 119k likes_

He didn’t even know when he opened Instagram. He didn’t remember clicking on the post. But suddenly it was in front of him. Huge. Unavoidable. Mocking him. Phil stared at it, unmoving. There was a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite name. Not just jealousy — no, jealousy was too simple. It was… frustration. Regret. A thousand buried emotions digging their claws into his ribs all at once.

They weren’t together. Hell, they weren’t even friends. Not anymore. But the image of her smiling into someone else’s kiss — Colby’s kiss — lit something in him that felt dangerously close to fury.

He squeezed his phone, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Colby fucking Lopez. Of course it was him. Golden boy. Darling of the company. Always smiling. Always adored. It made perfect sense that he’d be the one she let in.

Phil exhaled sharply, tossing the phone onto the couch and pushing to his feet. He started pacing. The living room was dim, barely lit by the screen of the paused TV. He hadn’t even bothered turning the sound back on after her match. He had watched it — of course he had. And when she’d hit the stomp?

He’d felt it. In his gut. In his teeth.

The crowd had exploded. Commentary had gone wild. Kevin Patrick practically shrieked. The camera even cut to a kid in the third row with his hands over his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.

Phil could.

He remembered the day he taught her that move. Back when they couldn’t stand each other. When she used to walk into the gym in tiny shorts and a scowl and challenge him to spar like she had something to prove. She always did.

He remembered adjusting her form — the curve of her spine, the placement of her heel. He remembered brushing his lips near her neck and pretending it was about balance. It wasn’t. Not really. He remembered the way she smiled when she got it right. And now she’d done it. On the big stage. At the top of the company. And she gave him the credit without saying a damn word.

That should’ve felt good. But all Phil could picture now was her curled up in the arms of a man who didn’t deserve her. A man who hadn’t been there for the grind, the wars, the evolution. A man who didn’t bleed beside her in the indie circuits. Who didn’t push her in training rings with stained mats and no cameras.

Phil ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavy. He’d reached out at Christmas. Called her. Said “Merry Christmas” like it didn’t still hurt. Like the silence between them hadn’t stretched so long it had its own name now. Like he hadn’t blamed her — still blamed her — for not following him when he walked. But maybe he wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t followed him because she loved this. Because she was built for this. And damn it, he loved that about her too.

But Colby? That made his skin crawl. Not because he was a bad guy. But because he was the safe option. The one who could stand beside her in press photos. Who made fans squeal and bookers smile. He was the nice guy.

Phil had never been the nice guy.

But he was the guy who loved her before the crowd did. Before the title runs and the main events and the viral clips. He was the guy who saw her. And now he was just… what? Angry? Bitter? Jealous?

His eyes fell back on the phone. A notification blinked. New reposts. New comments. Thousands of fans buzzing about the kiss. Screaming. Shipping. Making edits. Phil didn’t realize how hard his fists were clenched until his knuckles popped. He shouldn’t care. He wasn’t supposed to care. But he did.

He did care. Because some part of him — the part he thought he buried the day he walked away — still ached for her. Still remembered the way she laughed with her whole chest, the way she used to mock his music taste, the way she told him not to flinch when she stitched his eyebrow up herself in a hotel bathroom at 2am.

She was the only woman who’d ever matched him shot for shot, ego for ego. And now she was kissing someone else like it was nothing.

Phil sat back down hard on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Didn’t know how he’d earn her trust back. Or if he even could. But he knew one thing with a clarity that sliced through the fog in his chest.

He wasn’t going to watch her fall into Colby’s arms without a fight.

He’d made peace with losing a lot of things in his life. He wasn’t sure he could stomach losing her. Not again. Not like this. And for the first time in years, the chip on his shoulder cracked just enough to let something through.

Resolve.

He didn’t know where this road would take him. But it was time to stop pretending the fire had gone out. Because it hadn’t. Not even close.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The crowd was still buzzing as Y/N stepped through the curtain, adrenaline pumping through her limbs. She could still feel the heat of the match in her bones — a mixed tag against a smug heel duo that had gotten under both her and Phil’s skin backstage for weeks.

But that wasn’t what was spinning through her head. It was what Phil said on the mic after the final bell. It hadn’t been scripted. He’d turned toward the hard cam, sweat soaking into the collar of his shirt, microphone gripped too tight in his hand. “You know what the problem is around here?” he’d snarled. “It’s not us. It’s not the so-called brass in the back either — no, the problem is that we keep pretending this is still wrestling. When the truth is, this place has become nothing more than a circus with billion-dollar blinders.”

The crowd had roared — but Y/N had stiffened beside him, eyes flicking toward the production crew like a warning. He’d just torn open the curtain, even if only a little.

And Vince would’ve seen it.

Now, as she peeled her gear gloves off backstage, she realized Phil was nowhere to be seen. She turned quickly, scanning the crowd of staff, crew, and talent funneling back to catering or locker rooms. No Phil.

“Hey,” she called, grabbing the arm of a production assistant hustling by with cables in hand. “You seen Punk?”

“Uh…” the guy blinked, then winced like he knew something she didn’t. “I think he got called into the production office. Vince asked for him. Right after the segment ended.”

Her stomach dropped and without another word, she took off. Her boots echoed down the concrete hallway as she power-walked past catering, past the locker rooms, past the cue cards taped on walls and clusters of backstage agents whispering about what just happened. Her chest tightened.

When she reached Vince’s office, the door was cracked just enough for her to hear raised voices inside. “You think this is your personal soapbox?” Vince was barking. “You think you can just hijack live air with your little martyr monologues? This isn’t your show, Punk. It never was.”

She didn’t even knock. She pushed the door open hard enough to make it slam against the wall. Phil stood stiffly near Vince’s desk, jaw tight, arms crossed, his usual bravado replaced with an eerily still kind of rage. Vince looked furious — face red, hands gripping the desk, a folder pushed aside like it had been thrown. Y/N didn’t wait for an invitation. “If you have something to say to my tag partner,” she said, loud and steady, “then you can say it to me too.”

Vince looked up, irritated. “This doesn’t concern you, Y/L/N.”

“With all due respect,” she said sharply, stepping further into the room, “the second you summoned him here because of a segment I was part of, it started to concern me.”

Phil’s eyes flicked to her, something unreadable behind them. “I didn’t ask for backup,” he said, but there was no real bite in it.

She ignored him. “You want to lecture him about calling out hypocrisy? Fine. But don’t pretend he said anything people in the back haven’t been thinking for years. Hell, you should be thanking him. At least he still cares.”

Vince stood up straighter, like a storm cloud thickening. “Watch your tone.”

“No,” she snapped. “No, I won’t. Because I’ve sat through enough meetings where you’ve nodded and smiled at the yes-men while ignoring the people bleeding on your canvas every night. The only difference is that Phil finally said it out loud.”

Vince’s lip curled. “You think loyalty gives you a pass to disrespect this company?”

“I think honesty should. And if you respected us even half as much as you expect us to respect you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

There was a beat of silence. Phil hadn’t moved. Vince’s hands twitched, as if resisting the urge to throw something. “You’ve got guts,” he muttered. “But don’t think they’ll keep you employed.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then fire me.”

Phil’s eyes widened slightly. Vince flinched. “I dare you,” she said. “Go ahead. Fire the woman who’s been co-main eventing pay-per-views for the last year. Fire the only person in this building who actually keeps up with him.”

She jerked a thumb toward Phil, whose lip twitched at the praise. Vince didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.

She smiled, cold and steady. “Thought so.” With that, she turned, grabbed Phil by the wrist, and walked them both straight out the door — the tension snapping like a wire behind them. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall again that she finally exhaled.

Phil had been silent. He kept walking beside her until they reached a quieter corner near a storage area, where crates and lighting rigs were stacked. Then he finally stopped. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, voice low.

She turned toward him, defiant. “Probably.”

“You just challenged Vince McMahon to fire you.”

“I did.”

“You don’t—” He ran a hand over his mouth, pacing a few steps before turning back toward her. “You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

She raised a brow. “I didn’t do it for you.”

That surprised him.

“I did it because you were right,” she continued. “And because no one else ever will. And because if I’m gonna be in this goddamn tag team with you, then I’m gonna back you.”

He stared at her curiously as she went one. “I meant what I said in there,” she added. “You and I? We don’t need their approval. We just need each other.”

That silenced him. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just looked at her — really looked — like he was seeing her for the first time, not as a tag partner, not as a performer, but as someone who had just willingly burned bridges for his sake. His chest rose slowly. “You keep this up,” he murmured, “and I might actually start to like you.”

She smirked. “You already like me.”

He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t deny it.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Phil sat alone in his Chicago apartment, the low hum of the city outside barely penetrating the silence within. He rested back in his worn-out recliner, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The memory of that day—the confrontation with Vince, Y/N’s fierce defense, and the fire in her eyes—played over and over in his mind like a loop he couldn’t turn off.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples, trying to push the swirl of thoughts away, but it was no use. That moment had always stood out—the first time she’d truly put herself on the line for him. Not just as a tag partner, but as someone who cared enough to risk everything for him. For a guy like him, who barely let anyone in, that had meant more than she ever could have known.

Phil’s jaw clenched. He’d been angry back then, sure. Angry at the company, at Vince, at the pressure they both faced. But mostly at himself—because he had let pride and stubbornness get in the way of what mattered. And Y/N? She never walked away. Not really. She had stayed, even when he pushed her away, even when he was impossible to reach. That fierce loyalty was something rare, something he’d taken for granted.

He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Hell, I was too damn blind,” he muttered, voice rough with frustration. “Expected her to carry all the weight when I wasn’t even holding up my own.” There was a pause, the weight of years settling over him like a heavy fog. He thought about the others—April, the fleeting flings, the distractions—but none of them had lasted. The only constant had been Y/N. The one person who’d seen past his walls, even if he never fully saw hers.

Phil flexed his fingers, biting the inside of his cheek, the familiar sting grounding him. He hated feelings. Always had. They made things complicated— messy. But right now, in this quiet apartment, the feelings were impossible to ignore. A stubborn ache that tangled pride, regret, and something dangerously close to hope. He wasn’t ready to admit any of it aloud. Not yet. He was still mad—mad that she hadn’t followed him out, mad that maybe she could’ve done more. But beneath that anger was the flicker of understanding. Maybe he’d expected too much from her. Maybe the blame wasn’t all hers.

“Damn it,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

His eyes fell to the phone on the table, silent and still. The call he’d made to her over Christmas—the first in years—had been the first step. A shaky, uncertain step, but a start nonetheless. Phil knew he’d have to fight harder. Not just for his career, not just for the wrestling world’s expectations, but for the fragile thread between them. To earn back her trust. To untangle the mess they’d become. And maybe now that he had learned from his mistakes, he wouldn’t let her go so easily this time.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s life had been completely turned upside down in the last twelve hours. The moment she and Colby stepped into her hotel room, their phones started blowing up. They don’t understand how it happened so fast, but a photo of them kissing had already started circulating the internet. They were tagged in posts, fan reactions, edits, all of it. Both of them were in shock. They hadn’t seen anyone in the hallway. It was late. No one should have been out. It should have been safe. But it wasn’t.

Someone caught an extremely vulnerable moment and capitalized. They couldn’t even be mad about it. They were in a public place and there was no thought put into the kiss. Y/N just felt with her heart instead of using her head for once, and this is what came out of it.

She didn’t regret it. God knows she would do it over and over again if she could. Especially when glancing over at a sleeping Colby as they fly to New York for her interview. He wasn’t supposed to, but he insisted on accompanying her there. That way they could deal with the chaos unfolding together.

His lips are parted, allowing little snores to puff out periodically. He looked so peaceful. She just wishes she could calm her mind enough to allow her to sleep for even just thirty minutes. But the way their lives had just blown up kept her awake.

Nobody from corporate had called yet. Truthfully, she had expected a call from Paul the second the photo came out. But there was nothing. The waiting for what everyone was going to say at work was worse than what the speculations were online.

Everyone has already made their assumptions. That they’ve been dating, it was for a publicity stunt, a momentary lapse of judgment, a soft launch, all of it has been said. But none of them were right. Mostly because Colby and Y/N still didn’t know what it meant.

Her stomach twists in knots, knowing her interview is now going to be surrounded around this. She just hopes that she doesn’t lose her job over this stupid scandal the world has managed to blow out of proportion.

“Have you slept at all?” Colby’s groggy voice pulls her out of her thoughts. His hair tied up in a man bun, back arching as he stretches off his exhaustion. His brown eyes are soft, gazing at her with a twinge of concern.

Y/N smiles softly, admiring how handsome he looks even when waking up. “No, but I’ll sleep later after the interview.”

He sits up, a frown covering his lips at her words. “You really haven’t slept at all?”

“Colbs, I’m fine,” Y/N assures him. “I’m not even that tired.”

“Yes you are,” he counters with a sigh. “You’re just too anxious to fall asleep.”

He always knew the truth even when she didn’t want to admit it. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, slumping further down into her chair. “I’m not trying to be…” she mumbles.

Colby glances back at her, “I know.” He can see how worried and tired she is. It makes his heart clench seeing her like this. Her mind has always run too fast for her to catch up. He reaches over and grabs her hand, “It’s gonna be okay, Y/N/N.”

“I just wish I knew how everyone was reacting,” she admits, fidgeting with his fingers that are now laced through hers.

“And you will,” Colby tells her. “I’m sure the moment we land, your phone will be loaded with texts and calls.”

Y/N groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t know if that helps or makes it worse.”

“Exactly,” Colby leans over on his arm rest, his face only getting closer to hers. His smile makes her stomach flutter. He gently brushes a strand of hair out of her face, his thumb grazing her cheek gently. “No matter which way you think about it, it’s gonna make you anxious. And nothing’s gonna soothe it until we get back on the ground. So why don’t you do yourself and me,” he grins, “a favor and try to at least sleep for the last thirty minutes of the flight?”

Y/N did feel extremely tired. Her eyelids only grew heavier as time went on. A small sigh escapes her lips and at that point, Colby already knew he won. She tilts her head towards him, “Can I at least lean on you?” She asks quietly.

“You could completely sit on me like a koala bear if you wanted to,” Colby kisses the side of her head before sitting up straight so she could lean on his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before she finally fell asleep. It was only thirty minutes, but thirty is better than nothing. Especially since she’s been spending the last six to seven hours silently panicking. He knew she was protecting his feelings by keeping it all inside. In his head, he was aware that she wasn’t ashamed of what happened. Her mind just immediately went to the effect it would have on their careers.

Much sooner than he would have wanted, the plane lands. He watches as her chest rises and falls gently, her lips puffing out small gusts of air. He doesn’t want to wake her. If he could carry her through the airport and to their rental car so she could remain unconscious, he would. But she would be furious if she woke up and found out he carried her and their luggage through a crowded New York airport.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers next to her head. His lips graze her forehead softly, pressing a delicate kiss to help wake her up. “C’mon beautiful… we’re here.”

She groans but nonetheless stretches her arms upward. It wasn’t a long nap, but it was a much needed one. She doesn’t lift her head from his shoulder though. She simply wraps her arms tightly around the one she’s laying on, pulling him as close to her as she can.

“I don’t wanna,” she mumbles.

“Well, we gotta,” he chuckles at how cute she sounds. “You’ve got an interview in two hours. And I know you want to check your phone.”

Y/N hides her face in his bicep, “I changed my mind. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“If I could hide you until you were ready, I would,” Colby helps her stand from her seat, grabbing their carry ons from the compartment above. “But you and I both know you don’t run from your problems.”

Y/N yawns, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she takes her bag from Colby. The two of them start walking up the aisle and towards the exit. “Well, there’s a first time for everything…” she grumbles. “What if I do run from this one?”

Colby grinned, watching her shuffle beside him down the narrow plane aisle, still groggy and pouting like a child dragged out of bed. Her oversized hoodie hung loosely over her frame, her hand curled into the strap of her bag, and even half-asleep, she looked good enough to ruin a man’s day. "You're not gonna run," he teased softly, bumping her shoulder with his. "You're too stubborn to let anyone else control the narrative."

Y/N gave a half-hearted glare, lips twitching despite herself. “Tell that to my nervous system.”

He leaned in close as they stepped into the jet bridge. “When have you ever let anyone write your story for you?”

That earned him a sideways glance, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly. They walked in sync, shoulders brushing, steps light but tired. The airport buzzed with activity, but to them, it felt like a bubble. Just the two of them for a few more seconds before reality caught up. Just as they turned the corner toward the car service pickup, her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She fished it out, screen bright with an incoming call from: Paul Levesque.

“Oh shit,” she muttered, pausing mid-step.

Colby looked at her. “Who is it?”

“Paul,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “It’s Paul.”

He winced, doing a dramatic little shake of his shoulders like he was shaking off a ghost. “Oof. Game time.”

She sucked in a breath and answered quickly. “Hey, Paul.”

There was a pause, and then that familiar voice rumbled through the speaker, low and calm but direct. “Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied, clutching the phone tighter.

“Just landed?”

“Yeah, just stepped off a few minutes ago,” she said. “Still at the airport.”

Another pause. Then, like he already knew the answer: “Is Colby still with you?”

Y/N blinked, feeling the heat crawl up her neck as her eyes darted toward him. He was watching her with raised brows, chewing his gum like he knew exactly what was being asked. She cleared her throat. “…Perchance,” she said meekly, lips twitching.

Colby grinned and leaned toward her with a smug little hum. “Perchance? That’s how you’re claiming me now?”

Y/N swatted his chest with the back of her hand, and Paul chuckled on the other end.

“Put me on speaker,” Paul said.

She sighed and did as told, tapping the icon. “You’re on.”

“Colby,” Paul greeted.

“Big Papa Paul,” Colby greeted back with a dramatic flare. “Lovely way to start a morning.”

Paul let out something between a grunt and a chuckle. “I’m going to cut to the chase. You’ve seen the photo.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen it,” Y/N said before Colby could offer a clever retort.

“Alright, then you know the internet is spiraling and every news outlet from TMZ to Sports Illustrated wants a piece of it,” Paul continued. “So before anything else happens, I want to know—what’s the situation? Are you two together or was it just… heat of the moment?”

Y/N hesitated.

Colby, surprisingly gentle, answered for both of them. “It was a moment, Paul. No stunt. No planning. Just… a moment.”

“But a good one,” Y/N added quickly, voice soft.

There was silence on the other end for a beat too long. Then Paul exhaled through his nose. “Okay. That’s what I figured. You looked too caught up for it to be fake.”

Y/N blinked. “You saw it?”

“I’ve seen it edited into TikToks, set to Taylor Swift, and reposted by three gossip blogs,” Paul said, amused. “Of course I saw it.”

Colby couldn’t help himself. “Which song though? If it wasn’t ‘Enchanted,’ I’m offended.”

Y/N elbowed him again. “Behave.”

Paul sighed. “Look, I’m not mad. No one’s dragging your names through the mud at corporate. You’re adults. Shit happens. But right now, eyes are on you, and we need to control the story before it spins out of your hands. That’s why I’m calling.”

She swallowed. “Okay…”

“I’m sending Colby to the interview with you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Paul assured. “But the interview’s going to be ten times harder if it’s just you trying to explain away a viral kiss. The audience wants to see you both. It makes it more authentic.”

Y/N frowned. “But I can handle it—”

“I know you can,” Paul interrupted gently. “You’re a pro. That’s not why I’m doing it.”

She pressed her lips together, glancing at Colby. His head tilted slightly, clearly listening in, the corner of his mouth twitching. Paul continued, “This is about optics. Storytelling. Publicity. If you two are already showing up together, looking like the next power couple, we might as well ride the wave. You don’t have to lie. Just own it. People like honesty.”

Colby slid his sunglasses down his nose. “So… let me get this straight, bossman. You want me to sit next to the hottest woman in wrestling, talk about a real kiss we actually shared, and not get yelled at for it?”

Paul sighed again. “Just be respectful.”

Y/N groaned. “That’s gonna be the hardest part for him.”

“Hey,” Colby looked mock-offended. “I can be classy.”

“You wore leopard print to a wedding,” she pointed out.

“Exactly. Classy,” he grinned. “Fashion-forward and fabulous.”

“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “Just… keep it clean and make sure you both get across the same message. Honesty, mutual respect, and no drama.”

“Got it,” Colby said. “No drama. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“Not officially, but I could have been.”

Paul chuckled. “Alright. I’ll let you go. The car should already be waiting for you. You’ve got an hour to get to the studio.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Y/N said genuinely. “For not freaking out.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “Wait until you see the fan signs on Monday.”

The call disconnected and Y/N slowly lowered the phone. They stood in the middle of the airport, bags at their feet, both of them exhaling like they’d just defused a bomb. Colby leaned toward her, his breath warm against her cheek. “So… wanna rehearse our answers? Or should we just improv it and watch the internet combust again?”

Y/N snorted, pulling her hoodie over her head a little more. “Improv feels more authentic.”

“Perfect,” he smirked, tugging at the strap of her bag to pull her close. “Then get ready, baby. We’re about to go viral again.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips wouldn’t leave. Neither would he.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Backstage in the heart of Manhattan, the buzz of studio lights and shifting camera equipment echoed quietly behind the curtain. Y/N adjusted the strap of her top, nerves crawling just beneath the surface. The lights were hot, but not as hot as the pair of eyes tracking her every move. “Stop staring,” she muttered under her breath, barely biting back a smirk.

Colby leaned against the wall beside her, one brow arched with unfiltered amusement. He was dressed sharply—tailored black slacks, crisp shirt slightly undone at the collar, gold watch glinting on his wrist. He had no business looking this good for a press interview, but of course he did. “Can’t help it,” he drawled, eyes dipping shamelessly over her frame. “You make anxious look sexy.”

Y/N tried not to react, but her knees almost buckled. She turned her head away quickly, hiding the grin that crept onto her face. “You’re an idiot,” she murmured, biting her lip.

Colby leaned in closer, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of cologne on his skin—something woodsy, dangerous, stupidly intoxicating. “Maybe,” he whispered, lips brushing just beside her ear, “but it seems like this idiot is exactly your type, huh?”

Before she could think of a reply—or do something very stupid and kiss him right there—the stage manager’s voice interrupted, calling them forward. “And we’re live in five… four…”

Colby just smirked, cocky and charming as always. “We’ll finish that thought later.”

Y/N blinked the heat from her cheeks and followed him out, the bright lights swallowing them as the two stepped onto the sleek set of the talk show. The host, a stylish woman named Dani Rivera—sharp, respected, very New York—greeted them warmly. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she beamed to the camera, “please welcome the reigning World Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins and the longest-reigning Undisputed WWE Women’s Champion in recent history, Y/S/N!”

The crowd roared. Y/N smiled with practiced ease, her title glinting under the studio lights, while Colby tossed his arms up, basking in the adoration with his signature grin. They took their seats, close—maybe too close, knees brushing, the energy crackling between them.

“So,” Dani started, “I feel like we need to talk about the elephant in the room.” She turned to the screen behind her—and there it was. The infamous photo. Y/N and Colby. Mid-kiss, her hand tangled in the fabric of his shirt, his fingers curling behind her neck, the hallway dim but the moment electric.

Y/N kept her smile, just barely. Colby laughed lightly though. “Gotta say, not our finest angle. I usually dip better than that.”

That broke the tension slightly. The audience chuckled.

“Public display of affection aside,” Dani continued, “how did that come to be? Are the rumors true? Is this the real deal?”

Y/N didn’t even flinch. “Rumors are always gonna fly. I kissed a man I trust. That’s not a scandal, it’s a Friday.”

Colby nodded. “We work together, we fight together, we travel together—tension was bound to break eventually.”

Y/N side-eyed him. “That sounds like a tagline to a bad action movie.”

“Hey, I’d watch it.”

More laughter. They were a storm of charisma, and Dani was eating it up. “I mean, considering you’re in the Bloodline and Seth’s very… not,” Dani added with a glint in her eye, “it adds an interesting layer to things. Any fallout yet?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “I may belong to the Bloodline, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.” She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t need permission to make a choice that’s mine.”

“And how’d you forgive him?” Dani asked, catching Colby slightly off-guard. “Y’know, for the betrayal. The Shield fallout. That was personal.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve never been one to hold a grudge.” Her eyes flicked to Colby, playful and dangerous. “Especially when they’re as lethal and pretty as him.”

Colby chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m gonna quote that for the rest of the week.”

They moved into talk about WrestleMania. Seth spoke about defending the World Heavyweight Title with fire. Y/N spoke about how she wasn’t letting go of the title she bled for, not when Bayley and Iyo were still circling like vultures. It was electric.

And then Dani struck. “I think we’ve all seen this before…” she said, clicking a button.

The screen shifted. It wasn’t Colby this time. It was a different hallway. Different year. A younger Y/N, still in her early twenties. Her arms looped around a man’s neck, his hand cradling her face. The kiss wasn’t desperate—it was slow, soft, like the kind that said everything you were too scared to say out loud.

It was her and Phil.

Colby tensed beside her, and her stomach dropped. “This image resurfaced recently,” the host said casually. “Can you give us any context, Y/S/N? You and Punk were rumored to be involved years ago.”

Y/N froze. She felt it all at once—the dizzying weight of memory slamming into her like a freight train. The hallway had been dim, quiet after a promo segment. They’d just won a mixed tag match. She remembered the feel of his hands on her waist, the familiar rasp of his voice teasing her about her win streak. And then, he kissed her.

Not for show. Not for anyone watching. Just for her.

It wasn’t their first kiss—by then, they’d been sneaking around for months—but it was the first time it felt real. The first time he looked at her like maybe she wasn’t just a partner in the ring. She remembered the flash of the camera. A stagehand. Young, new, stupidly excited. She remembered the rage in Phil’s voice when he found out—how he stormed down the hallway and told someone they had ten seconds to fire the kid before he did it himself.

They’d gotten into a fight about it later. Not about the kiss—about what it meant to have a secret turn public. About what they were, or weren’t.

Her eyes softened despite herself. She could still feel how warm his lips had been. How his thumb traced her cheek after. How his lip ring had felt cool against her now bruised mouth. How she’d smiled against his lips and whispered something dumb—something like, “I should probably punch you for that.”

Phil had grinned. “Then do it again so I can make it worth the bruise.”

She blinked and looked at the host. “That’s… a throwback,” she managed, voice tighter now.

“Care to comment?” Dani asked, eyes gleaming. “Was it serious?”

Y/N breathed out, leaning forward. “I don’t kiss people I don’t care about, Dani. But not everything that’s real is meant to last.”

The room shifted. Even Colby tilted his head slightly, studying her. She moved on fast. “The past is the past. I’m focused on WrestleMania now.”

“Which brings me to my last question,” Dani said, smiling. “What’s the road to Mania look like for both of you?”

Colby jumped in first. “I’m walking in with the World Heavyweight Title, and I’m walking out with it. Whoever thinks they can step up to me is more than welcome to try. Whether they win the Rumble or Elimination Chamber—I’m not backing down.”

Y/N smirked. “Iyo. Bayley. Bianca. It doesn’t matter. I’ve beaten all three of them, and I’ll do it again. My title’s not going anywhere.”

“And the Bloodline?” Dani pressed, “You think they’ll be happy seeing you cozying up to the man who turned on Roman Reigns?”

Y/N smiled dangerously. “They don’t have to like it. I’m not in the Bloodline because I play nice—I’m there because I’m the deadliest woman in this division. I don’t need protection. I am the protection.”

The interview ended with applause. But as they walked offstage, Colby stayed silent a moment too long. She noticed his change in demeanor. “What?” she asked him softly.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

But the look in his eyes said otherwise. He had seen the way she froze. He had seen the way she remembered. And deep down, he didn’t like that Phil Brooks still had that kind of hold on her. Not one damn bit. Especially not when Colby had only just gotten his first taste. And he wanted more.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The ride back to the hotel was mostly quiet, the air still buzzing from the interview. Y/N was leaned against the window of the SUV, scrolling through her phone with her lower lip pulled between her teeth. Notifications were endless—tweets, reposted clips, articles, a million and one fan reactions. Some positive. Some cynical. Some asking about her and Colby. Some asking about the photo of her and Phil. She didn’t know how to feel about any of it yet.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, but this time it wasn’t another notification. It was Paul.

She answered quickly. “Hey, Paul.”

Colby looked over at her from the other seat, adjusting his jacket and waiting patiently, though he couldn’t help the small smile on his face when he heard who it was. “Just got done watching,” Paul’s voice came through, sounding equal parts impressed and relieved. “You two killed it. Professional, charming, intriguing. Flirted just enough to set the internet on fire without giving away anything real. Honestly? That’s how you do it.”

Y/N breathed a soft laugh, her nerves finally starting to settle. “Glad we didn’t crash and burn.”

“You didn’t,” he said firmly. “And I want you at Raw on Monday.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “Raw? For what?”

“There’s tension building—between you, Colby, the Bloodline, everything,” he said. “We might not have planned it this way, but we’d be idiots not to lean into it now. I want you in Portland. Let the fans simmer all weekend and then walk into Monday like fire.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll be there.”

There was a pause, then Paul sighed. “Also… about the Punk question.” Her eyes flicked to Colby, who was watching her carefully. “That wasn’t cleared. I had no idea they were going to pull that image.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said, maybe a little too quickly.

“It’s not,” Paul replied. “But the way you handled it—with grace, with composure… you showed them who’s in control. I know it hit a nerve, but you didn’t let it break you. That’s what champions do.”

Her throat tightened, but she pushed the lump down. “Thank you, Paul.”

“You’re welcome, champ. Get some rest. Monday’s a big one.”

She hung up just as the car pulled up to the hotel. She glanced at Colby as they stepped out into the cool New York night. “He said we handled it perfectly. Wants me at Raw.”

Colby smirked, clearly not surprised. “Guess we make a good team.”

They headed through the lobby and into the elevator, the quiet hum of tension filling the space once more. It wasn’t until they reached their shared room and the door clicked shut behind them that the silence stretched too long. Y/N tossed her phone onto the bed and rubbed the back of her neck, her muscles tight from hours of stress, attention, and pretending like the world wasn’t watching her every move. Colby shut the door behind them, flicking on one of the dim bedside lamps and tossing their bags into the corner. He didn’t speak at first. He just studied her — the way she stood stiffly, staring out the window with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“You okay?” he asked finally, voice low and casual — but laced with something deeper.

She nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Liar.”

She turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not tired,” he said, stepping closer and peeling off his denim jacket. “You’re overwhelmed. You’ve got that look. Same one you get before a big match — where you try to act calm but your fingers keep twitching and you’re biting your tongue so hard I’m surprised it’s still intact.”

She huffed a short laugh. “I do not do that.”

“You do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and sat down at the edge of the bed. She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling crawling up her spine. “It’s just… a lot.”

“I know.” Colby sat beside her, hands planted behind him on the mattress. “But you handled it like a champ.”

Y/N gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Wanna talk about it? Or do you wanna pretend everything’s fine and keep dodging the thing we both know is eating at you?”

She went quiet. And then, without looking at him, she mumbled, “That photo. It just… it messed with me.”

“I figured.” His voice stayed even. “It’s not just that it was shown. It’s what it pulled up.”

Y/N sighed. “We were a ‘thing’ I guess for six months at that point. It wasn’t public. Hell, it wasn’t even properly defined. But it mattered. We mattered. Or at least I thought we did.”

Colby stayed quiet, waiting.

“When that picture showed up... it felt like getting punched in the chest. All those memories just... snapped back.”

“What kind of memories?” Colby asked, his voice softer now, less teasing.

She swallowed thickly, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. “I remembered the night it was taken. We were backstage, messing around after a dark match. I don’t even know what I said that made him laugh, but he kissed me. Really kissed me. And I kissed him back. We didn’t know someone had a phone out. That stagehand got fired the next day for taking it. But the damage was done.”

She shifted, rubbing her hands over her thighs. “We ignored it after that. Pretended it didn’t mean anything. But it did. And now? Seeing it like that… it just reminded me of everything we never said.”

Colby didn’t say anything right away. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you still love him?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you.” She exhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever did. Not really. But I think I could’ve. And that’s worse.”

Colby turned toward her fully now, legs slightly parted, his voice low. “Let me ask a different question then.”

She blinked. “Okay?”

“Do you want him back?”

Y/N hesitated. Her throat tightened. She didn’t know how to answer that.

“No.”

Colby’s expression didn’t change, but something in his body language softened.

“Because I don’t share, sweetheart,” he said, voice dipping just enough to pull a chill down her spine. “Not something I want.”

Her breath caught. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he leaned in, his hand brushing against her knee, “you’ve been trying so hard to make sense of what that kiss with Phil meant that you haven’t stopped to think about what this means. You and me. Right now.”

She held his gaze, heart pounding. “Colby…”

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, eyes burning into hers. “But don’t think for one second that I don’t want you. That I don’t think about what would’ve happened if I kissed you first. Or second. Or every damn time since.”

Y/N’s throat dried. Her legs pressed together, the tension sparking like a live wire between them. His hand was still on her knee — not possessive, but grounding. She could feel her body lean closer to him without thinking. Everything in her buzzed.

She hated how easily he undid her.

“You’re not playing fair,” she whispered.

Colby smirked, leaning in close enough for his lips to graze her ear. “I never play fair, baby. Especially not when it comes to something I want.”

That did it. Y/N couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She just moved. She reached for him and crashed her mouth against his, hands curling into his shirt. His fingers immediately tangled in her hair, lips moving over hers with a mix of heat and something dangerously close to relief. Like he’d been holding back just as long.

When she pulled back, breathless, Colby’s eyes were already darkened with that signature, cocky glint. “Took you long enough. Been waitin’ all day for that.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, shoving his shoulder — but she was grinning.

He caught her hand before it fell away and brought it to his mouth, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “I would’ve dipped you better, you know.”

She blinked. “What?”

“In that picture,” he said smugly. “Punk didn’t commit. Weak dip. I would’ve made it better.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes — but something warm bloomed in her chest. Whatever this was… it wasn’t simple. But it was real. And right now, it was exactly what she needed.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The hallway outside the locker rooms was dim, nearly silent now that the final bell of Money in the Bank had rung. The crowd was still buzzing inside the arena, but back here, it felt like time had paused. Y/N’s skin was still slick with sweat beneath her gear, adrenaline still humming under her skin. She paced slowly, trying to come down from the high. From the way she felt after the win. From the way he had looked at her when she pinned their opponents for the three-count.

“You always walk off alone when you win,” Phil’s voice came behind her, smooth and low.

She turned, finding him leaning against the concrete wall with his arms crossed — his dark hair damp, his taped fists flexing slightly. He looked tired. Dangerous. Hot in a way that had her heart doing flips in her chest. “Only when I need a minute to remind myself that I’m not dreaming,” she replied, tucking her hair back. “Besides… I figured you’d be off somewhere basking in the cheers.”

He pushed off the wall and started toward her. “I don’t need cheers. I already know I’m the best in the world.”

“Oh, is that so?” she teased, raising a brow. “Your ego’s going to pop that pretty little head of yours one of these days.”

“I could say the same for you, sweetheart.” He stopped just inches away. “You soaked up that crowd like it was your own personal drug.”

“I’m allowed to. I’m the one who got the win.”

Phil tilted his head, smiling like he knew something she didn’t. “You really wanna go down that road?”

“You afraid I’ll win that one too?”

His eyes darkened. “I think we both know what happens when you start talking like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard. The tension between them had always been there — electric and dangerous, sharp enough to cut with. But lately it had morphed into something hotter. More unstable. They’d been playing with fire for six months, ever since Christmas. Dancing the line between friends with benefits and something more, and now…

Now the air between them was thick with it.

Phil stepped in until her back met the wall. His hand came up beside her head, palm flat against the cold concrete. “Y’know, I’ve been trying real hard to behave tonight,” he murmured, eyes flicking from her lips to her throat and back. “Trying to be the good guy. Celebrate the win. Go home like a professional.”

“Didn’t take,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, voice a little rougher. “No, it really didn’t.”

He dipped his head, letting his nose brush along her cheek, lips hovering right over the shell of her ear. “You keep looking at me like that, Y/N…”

“Like what?” she asked, breath catching.

“Like you want me to take you right here in this hallway.”

Her stomach dropped. Heat pooled low in her belly. She swallowed again, mouth dry. “You say that like it’d be a bad thing.”

Phil chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight through her. “You’re dangerous when you’re confident,” he murmured, his hand trailing down from the wall to brush her hip. “And I can’t decide if I want to shut you up or let you keep talking just to see what you’ll say next.”

Y/N leaned in, lips a hair’s breadth from his. “Maybe I just like the way you look at me when I talk back.”

He groaned softly, his restraint hanging by a thread. “God, you’re such a goddamn brat.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.”

Phil’s hand slid around her waist, fingers tightening slightly. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

His forehead touched hers. The tension between them was unbearable now, smoldering. His other hand ghosted along her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. His breath was ragged.

“You gonna kiss me or—”

This time, she didn’t get to finish. He crashed his mouth against hers. It was bruising. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and raw need. He tasted like sweat and salt and something darker — something she couldn’t name but had craved for months. Her fingers clawed at the back of his neck as his hand slid around to her lower back, pulling her into him like he wanted to mold their bodies together.

Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, threading through his hair, tugging gently until he hissed through his teeth. He kissed her again, slower this time — like he was trying to memorize the curve of her mouth, the sound of her moan, the way her body melted against his with every second.

And then—

“I think I love you.”

The words left her mouth before she realized she’d even said them. They were raw and real and stupidly honest, tumbling out into the space between them like glass shattering on the floor.

Phil froze. He blinked. Hard.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say that again.”

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding like she’d just taken a bump off the top rope. “I think I love you.”

He stared at her.

And then he kissed her again.

This time slower. Deeper. More careful. His hand cradled her face like he didn’t want her to go anywhere. When he pulled back, his eyes were softer — just for a second. “I think…” he started, then paused. His lips twitched. “I think I might love you too.”

Y/N smiled — wide and real and terrifying. Neither of them noticed the soft click of a camera shutter from down the hall. They didn’t hear the quiet shuffle of a stagehand disappearing around the corner.

They were too wrapped up in each other. Too tangled in something that felt dangerous and important and terrifyingly new. But the moment — caught in grainy lighting and bad angles — would circulate online hours later. A blurry photo. Her back against the wall. His hand in her hair. Their mouths locked like the world had melted away.

It wasn’t meant to be seen. But it was. And everything would change because of it.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The video played on a muted loop at the bottom of Phil’s screen. A still from the interview. Then the photo. That photo.

Phil hadn’t gone looking for it. He didn’t have to. He’d been tagged on Twitter (he refused to call it “X,” it was too stupid for him to bother with) by at least two dozen wrestling fan accounts.

“CM Punk’s name gets dropped & Y/S/N straight glitches?? 👀👀”

“Nahhh the way she looked at that picture? Punk, I know you see this.”

“You fumbled bro.”

He should’ve ignored it. But curiosity was a sick thing, and it had always gotten the better of him — especially when it came to her.

So, against his better judgment, Phil clicked the link. The interview was slick, polished. The usual PR dance. Y/S/N and Rollins playing it off like pros. Bantering like they hadn’t been caught sucking face in a hotel hallway.

He rolled his eyes, arms crossed as he leaned back in the stiff chair of his Chicago apartment. The cat leapt onto the windowsill behind him, utterly uninterested.

But then…

Then the interviewer brought him up. Not by name at first, but Phil could hear it coming. Like a damn freight train. And when that picture hit the screen — blurry, dim lighting, the unmistakable capture of their kiss, his hands tangled in her gear, her clutching the front of his shirt like he’d just given her oxygen — he saw it.

He saw her.

And she froze.

Phil sat up straighter. Rewound. Watched again.

There was no mistaking the look on her face. It wasn’t just surprise. It wasn’t embarrassment.

It was her look.

The one she used to get when they were alone, when the walls came down. The look she gave him after matches when they crashed onto a couch together, bruised and breathless. The one right before she whispered things he wasn’t ready to hear — and said them anyway.

It sucker-punched him. He hadn't seen that look in… God. Years.

His thumb tapped against the edge of his coffee mug as he watched her quickly school her expression and deliver some half-clever, deflecting line. Classic Y/N — sharp tongue, steel armor, heart hidden behind bulletproof sarcasm.

But it slipped for just a second. And he saw it.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. The ego in him — the part that always needed to be right — felt smug. But the part of him that didn’t like feelings? That part hated this.

She still felt something. And that something had nothing to do with Rollins.

The knock came a few hours later — a soft rap of reality in the form of a digital schedule emailed to all top talents for Monday Night Raw. The kind of email he usually skimmed at best.

But this time… her name caught his eye.

Y/S/N: Confirmed Appearance – Portland. Monday.

Phil sat back, staring at the screen like it was a trap. He even clicked to enlarge it. Double checked. There it was. Clear as day.

She was going to be there.

For the first time since everything exploded — the outburst a month or so ago, the kiss photo, the interview, the silence that followed — she would be in the same building. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, that made something buzz under his skin.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her. Hell, he didn’t know if she’d even talk to him. The way they’d been handling things… hadn’t exactly been friendly. Or gentle. He’d lashed out. She yelled. Shut each other out. Walked off and closed the door behind them because it hurt less than staying.

But now? Especially after the phone call from Christmas. Maybe he’d have a shot.

Because now she was crashing into his life again, unannounced, like she always did. Through a goddamn screen. With his name on her face.

Phil smirked to himself, biting the inside of his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart.”

There was a twinge in his chest he didn’t want to name. He stood, stretching out his arms, trying to physically shake it off. Feelings weren’t his strong suit. Jealousy? Sure. Anger? Always. But whatever this was? That lingering warmth under the surface? He didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. But he was going to see her. And he was going to figure out just what the hell that look meant. Even if he had to drag it out of her himself.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

If Y/N had forgotten how wild Raw was, tonight was the loudest possible reminder.

Not even an hour into arriving backstage, she was already being pulled in three different directions — everyone wanting a piece of her, whether to gossip, hug her, or throw a microphone in her hand. She hadn’t even seen Colby since he left to change, and honestly? She was thriving.

She was halfway through sipping a smoothie — bless whoever stocked the catering fridge — when a voice purred behind her like velvet.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t my only competition in this business back on our turf.”

Y/N turned with a sly grin just in time for Demi to saunter up, black tank top clinging to her tattooed frame like it was custom-made to ruin lives.

“Demi,” Y/N said, holding her arms out dramatically. “God, you’re even hotter than I remembered. Is that legal?”

Demi’s grin grew, dimples on full display. “Depends on the state.”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “Then lock me up, officer.”

From somewhere behind them, Luis audibly choked.

“I take back everything I ever said,” he said, walking up with a hand over his heart. “This is who I should’ve been worried about.”

Josh — Jey Uso in all his chain-wearing, hype-filled glory — trailed behind, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone. “Nah, Luis was all cocky two minutes ago until Y/N looked at Mami like she wanted to—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll superkick your jaw loose,” Demi warned, but she was smirking too. “Don’t act like you both wouldn’t fold for her either.”

Y/N raised her brows. “I didn’t see a folding offer on the table, but I’m not opposed.”

Josh hollered. Luis held a hand up. “I need everyone to calm down. Seth’s not even in the ring yet and this girl’s already breaking hearts.”

Josh pointed between them. “Y’all really letting her play the whole locker room like Uno cards.”

“I’m just friendly,” Y/N shrugged, mock-innocent.

“Friendly?” Luis barked a laugh. “You just offered to get arrested by Ripley.”

“I’m nothing if not supportive,” she said, grinning.

Demi winked at her. “And I appreciate that, babe.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “You know what? Fine. I’ll sit in the corner and reevaluate my life while Mami and chaos incarnate flirt like it’s Pride After Dark.”

Josh crossed his arms. “Y/N, be honest… if it came down to it — me, Luis, or Demi — who would you pick?”

“Demi,” Y/N said instantly.

The boys groaned in unison. Demi cackled and threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulder like she’d just won a damn championship.

“Not even hesitation?” Josh asked, clutching his chest.

Y/N just sipped her smoothie. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Joshua.”

Luis shook his head. “Colby’s somewhere out there lacing his boots, and this woman’s out here building a harem.”

“Tell him to lace ‘em tighter,” Y/N winked. “He’s got competition.”

Josh was mid-wheeze when a production assistant passed by, holding a headset and calling out down the hallway. “Everyone get your finishing touches done— ten-minute cue!”

Y/N’s grin faltered for just a second, her stomach fluttering with anticipation. She was here to support Colby. It was the whole reason Paul asked her to be there.But she hadn’t expected to have this much fun backstage. Not after everything that had happened lately.

Luis called after her, voice teasing. “You’re gonna save his ass out there tonight, aren’t you?”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Only if he bleeds pretty.”

Josh cupped his hands around his mouth. “SIMP!”

“Say it louder!” she threw back with a laugh, already disappearing around the corner.

But as her laughter echoed down the hallway, there was a flicker of something underneath — something almost soft. Because as much as she was living for the chaos, she couldn’t deny it anymore: Raw felt right. She loves her family on SmackDown, but this just felt natural. She felt free. And for the first time in a long time… she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N stands in Gorilla, a playful smirk on her face as Seth’s entrance echoed throughout the arena. The audience had no idea she was even there. Seeing her go out there to protect him would make everyone lose their minds. It makes her smile just thinking about how loud the reaction is going to be.

Seth walked out with his belt wrapped around his waist, strutting around with that never ending cockiness that she loved to see. He did his infamous character walk, strutting down the stage and towards the ring as he obnoxiously interacts with the fans.

He looks good. He always does. Even though his outfits have always been deemed dramatic, she loved the eccentricism. He could pull off the most ridiculous things. He could wear a feather boa and somehow manage to make it look sexy.

She knew some people were watching her while she was watching him. Everyone seemed much more attentive about how they act around each other after their kiss. Like they were searching for the romance that was clearly brewing between them.

She smiles as he soaks in the voices that are singing his song. He climbs into the ring with practiced ease, directing the audience like a band director. He does another little dance, grabbing his microphone as his song starts to fade out. The audience still continues to sing even after his entrance theme stops. Y/N shakes her head with a small chuckle at the arrogant smile on his face. It only grows with his ego.

“PORTLAND OREGON!” He screams into the mic, prompting more screams from the crowd. It’s almost immediate, many members in the crowd start chanting her name as well. A blush rises to her cheeks backstage but Colby manages to keep it together.

“Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” They still echo his last name even though the show is about forty minutes from its end. He still manages to hold their attention like it’s the very beginning of the show. “I am a visionary. I am a revolutionary. I am your world heavyweight champion,” he prances around the ring, patting the belt like it’s his child. “Seth!” He holds the microphone up in the air, prompting the audience to finish with:

FREAKIN’ ROLLINS!

He laughs, “Oh–ho–ho Rip city, you have done it again, man.” The crowd screams again, appreciating the praise he so openly gives them. “Ah… But Portland, we are in the home stretch now with the Royal Rumble just a few weeks away. After that, we are on the road to WrestleMania!”

“Now, now my WrestleMania track record, pretty good, pretty good,” he gives himself his flowers. “I’ve won a couple of titles. I had a little cash in. But Portland, there is actually one thing that I have never done when it comes to WrestleMania…” He points down at his belt, “I have never taken a world title in to WrestleMania. I’ve never been the headline. I’ve never been in the marquee. But that all changes this year, because this is the year of Seth Freakin’ Rollins!”

Seeing him speak with such conviction makes Y/N suck her bottom lip between her teeth. Confidence has always looked good on him. Watching him accomplish this new feat in his career was something she couldn’t have been prouder of. She’s had the opportunity to carry a title into Mania, so she’s absolutely thrilled to see him get to do the same.

“I worked too hard, I worked too long. I took a title that a year ago did not even exist, and I turned it into the most important prize in this industry.” Everyone cheers in agreement as he continues. “And I did it the way I said I was gonna do it. I was gonna be a fighting champion and I was gonna be a workhorse champion. But Portland, the work is not done. No, no, no, no, no, ‘cause I’ve got one little question. Who am I going to beat at the grandest stage of them all?” He pauses, allowing the crowd to scream their own opinions into existence.

CM Punk’s name is the clearest one. Seth smirks, but there is a little twitch in his jaw. “In his dreams maybe,” he says mockingly with an airy chuckle. He points backstage, “Because that Raw roster is so loaded from top to bottom, and there are so many super sta–”

That’s when Jinder Mahal’s music starts to play. Y/N has to hold back a laugh at the look on Colby’s face when Jinder walks out. His head tilts to the side, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open, but not in a shocked way. No, more like in a “I’ve never been more lost in my life” way. Almost like he completely forgot Jinder was supposed to come out in the first place.

Jinder takes his time strolling to the ring. Seth turns and asks the commentators if they knew about his appearance. When he makes it to the squared circle, he snakes a microphone from a stagehand before turning to the audience and mocking Seth. He moves his finger like an orchestrator, the same way Seth does when people sing his song. The audience boos in retaliation.

Jinder raises the mic, “Of course you’re out here singing your own praises,” he chastises. “Ladies and gentlemen, the revolutionary, the visionary.” He rolls his eyes as Seth continues watching him, completely perplexed. “How is it that last week, within five minutes, I was more of a revolutionary than you’ve been in the past five years you’ve been calling yourself that?”

That enticed more sounds of disagreement from the crowd. Y/N had to give Jinder credit where it was due, he makes a great heel. “Your only purpose is to entertain these clowns and further push this agenda of degeneracy.” He gestures to the audience who are growing more and more impatient with his antics.

“You think I’m lying, Portland? Take a look around!” He shouts. “Take a look around. Take a look at your city. Degeneracy at every street corner.” The people roar angrily as he continues to berate their home, while Colby just stares off into the distance for a moment, not interested in hearing what he’s saying. “Am I lying?”

“The world heavyweight champion,” he turns his attention back to Seth, “The man with the platform. Yet you instill no change, you speak no truth. You sing, you dance, you dress up.” Seth glances down at his own outfit, nodding with a small smirk. He’s proud of how crazy his outfits are. “You bring no value. You throw childish temper tantrums when things don’t go your way, when the show goes off the air. But I digress, I digress.”

“You pride yourself as a workhorse, a man who provides opportunities, except to a tenured, decorated, deserving former WWE champion.” He points to himself. Seth’s lips are pursed in annoyance as he continues to let Jinder go on his rant. “You have the audacity to overlook the modern day Mahraja. You have the audacity to overlook me!” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Let me remind you, I beat Randy Orton, the greatest of all time, and I did it with ease.”

Y/N glances over at the sound guy and he nods at her, putting up a two with his hand. She smiles and sends a thumbs up in response. This venting session is dragging on a lot longer than she thought it would. Relief floods her when she realizes it’s almost time for her entrance.

“Yet you disrespect me, you overlook me! This disrespect will not be tolerated. And Seth, I’ve known you for a long time. I see through this facade, this charade. I see through it all.” Jinder gestures up and down Seth’s form. “But for the first time, Seth, look me in my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I have your attention.”

Jinder continues smirking as Seth starts scratching the back of his head. He looks as though he’s trying to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter. He raises his mic to his lips, “Jinder, I may say something that might surprise you right now, but you’re right. You’re right, we have been overlooking you.” He turns to look at each and every audience member. “We have been overlooking Jinder Mahal, but Jinder, um…” he trails off, shrugging with mock sympathy. “That– that wasn’t an accident, we’ve actually been doing it on purpose.”

Y/N has to slap a hand over her mouth as she involuntarily snorts. His delivery and facial expressions never fail to make everything ten times better. “Yeah, for years, man, we’ve been trying to forget you until last week when you showed up and The Rock put your balls in a vice.” He throws his hands up, saying that he really is only telling the truth, and the audience goes absolutely insane. They cheer loudly, enjoying watching the Visionary put Mahal in his place.

“But– but– but here’s the thing, Jinder, I gotta admit, guys, I admire the fact that after The Rock fried him last week, he showed back up. He stood back up, he got back up. I appreciate that, I respect that. What I don’t respect is you coming out here and ruining our party and gettin’ in my face!”

Seth steps up, shoulders squared as he returns the favor, getting in Jinder’s face. “So yeah, you got my attention, Jinder. You’re sick of being overlooked.” He takes his belt off, tossing it to the side. “You wanna do something that these people are gonna remember you forever for?” The crowd screams once more as Seth takes a step back, urging Jinder to come at him. “Take a swing, Jinder. Take a swing, Jinder!” Seth continues antagonizing him, “Come on, Jinder, take a swing! Come on, I’m right here! Do it, swing on me, Jinder, swing!”

When he doesn’t, Seth just chuckles with a cocky smile. “That’s what I thought… Same old, Jinder.” He mockingly taps Mahal’s chest with the microphone before turning around. The moment Seth turned his back though, Jinder struck.

A brutal clothesline leveled the World Heavyweight Champion, dropping him like a sack of bricks. The crowd erupted into furious boos as Seth hit the mat hard, the mic bouncing across the ring. Jinder didn’t stop—he immediately pounced, raining down hard stomps to Seth’s ribs, his back, his chest.

Jinder raised a knee, catching Seth’s midsection, and the Visionary rolled over in pain, coughing. Mahal circled him like a predator, shouting something inaudible over the boos of the crowd. He grabbed a fistful of Seth’s hair and wrenched him upright—

And then the arena exploded. Y/N’s music blasted through the speakers, and Portland nearly blew the roof off the arena.

Michael Cole's voice shot over the pop. “Wait a minute—WAIT A MINUTE! It’s Y/N! Y/N is HERE!”

“Things just got very interesting,” Wade Barrett added, his voice practically vibrating. “And if I were Jinder Mahal, I’d be rethinking my life choices!”

Out from the curtain, Y/N came storming down the ramp, her boots pounding the steel with purpose, her body low and dangerous like a wolf charging the hunt. Her eyes were locked on the ring. On Jinder. He barely had time to react. He turned, shocked, as she slid into the ring and launched herself at him with zero hesitation.

She speared him to the mat and the crowd went nuts. Y/N wasted no time—her fists rained down on him, wild but calculated, each punch finding its mark. She didn't even give him a second to breathe. She mounted him and drove her elbow straight into his collarbone. Jinder’s hands flew up defensively, but it was too late. She had snapped.

Cole practically lost it. “Y/N is absolutely unloading on Jinder Mahal! She’s not here to talk—she’s here to fight!”

“She’s protecting Seth Rollins,” Barrett added. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this vicious.”

Jinder managed to roll out from under her, crawling toward the ropes like a wounded animal, but Y/N grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. He twisted and tried to kick her, but she dodged, grabbed his leg, and dropped him with a dragon screw that left him shouting in pain.

Then she stood—and the entire crowd saw it. The fire in her eyes. The rise and fall of her chest. The tension in her jaw. She dared Jinder to come back.

He didn’t. He rolled under the ropes and dropped to the floor outside, clutching his knee and looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Boos rained down on him as he stumbled toward the barricade, one hand outstretched as if begging for the chaos to stop.

Back in the ring, Seth was slowly getting up. One hand braced on the ropes, the other pressed to his ribs—but he never took his eyes off her. Not once. The way she stood there… the command in her posture, the heat still simmering in her gaze, the way she exhaled like a dragon just learning how to breathe fire—Seth had never seen anything so devastatingly hot in his life. And he’d seen a lot.

She turned toward him, her face softening just a little when she saw him watching her. She stepped over, hand outstretched, but he didn’t take it right away. He just looked at her. Like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like she had just rewritten every definition of the word loyalty.

And then he smiled—wide and whipped. “I always knew you had my back,” he said, voice low enough just for her to hear.

“You doubted I would?” she teased, quirking a brow.

His lips curved into something half-cocky, half-worshipful. “Didn’t doubt it. Just wasn’t prepared for how good it would look.”

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes as she helped him the rest of the way up. The crowd cheered as she looped one of his arms over her shoulders, supporting him as he leaned into her. And just when it seemed like things were calming down—Seth leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Remind me to get jumped more often if it means you’ll show up looking like that.”

Y/N elbowed him in the ribs—again. He winced, but he grinned. The commentary team couldn’t contain themselves. “There is something brewing here, folks,” Cole said, “and after the interview, after that kiss, I think it’s safe to say—Y/N and Seth Rollins are not just coworkers anymore.”

“If this is what the road to WrestleMania looks like,” Barrett added, “I’m all in.”

Seth raised his belt again with his free hand, but this time, he didn’t celebrate alone. Y/N stood by his side, one hand resting on his shoulder, the crowd screaming their names in equal volume. She saved him. And the audience would never forget it.

The second Y/N and Seth stepped past the curtain, Gorilla erupted into quiet applause and knowing smirks. A few producers nodded in approval, and one of the writers mouthed, “That was fire.”

Seth—still buzzing with adrenaline—spun toward her with a grin that could have lit up the entire backstage hallway. He didn’t even bother slowing down before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in close, his forehead briefly pressing to hers.

“You’re insane, you know that?” he said, breathless with awe. “And I mean that in the hottest possible way.”

Y/N laughed, heart still racing from the run-in, her hands resting lightly on his chest. “You looked like you were holding back a scream when Jinder started talking.”

“Because I was,” he grinned, hands not moving from her waist. “But then you came out like an absolute beast and—” He whistled, leaning back just enough to look at her fully. “Portland’s gonna be chanting your name for weeks. You owned that.”

Her cheeks flushed. She hated how flustered he could still make her, even when she was riding the high of beating someone down. “Thanks, Lopez. Try not to get too obsessed.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” he teased with a wink. “I’d kiss you right now, but if I don’t go change, someone’s gonna throw a headset at me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smirking. “Then go. But don’t take too long or I’ll start charming someone else.”

He leaned in again, his mouth hovering just beside her ear. “I dare you.”

With one final, knowing smirk, Colby jogged off toward the locker rooms, turning back to give her a once-over before disappearing around the corner. Y/N watched him leave, smiling to herself… until a familiar voice broke her out of her daze. “Well, well, well. Look who’s living their main character era.”

She turned to find Cody Rhodes walking toward her, a teasing grin pulling at his lips and that signature sparkle in his eyes. He opened his arms and she instantly stepped into the hug, wrapping her arms tight around her longtime friend. “Hey you.”

“You just speared a man twice your size and made it look easy,” he said as they pulled back, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “And you’ve got Seth Rollins looking at you like you invented sliced bread.”

Y/N laughed, elbowing him lightly. “Shut up.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Cody grinned. “You look happy. And that’s not something we’ve always been able to say about you, especially not this time of year.”

She paused, heart warming at the sentiment. “Thanks, Cody. I... I think I actually am.”

“You better be. Because no one deserves it more than you,” he said sincerely. “Brandi and I were just saying the other night, we haven’t seen you since before the holidays.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been meaning to come over—”

“Well now you don’t have to mean to. You just have to show up,” he cut in with a grin. “This weekend. You, Colby—if he’s around. We could use some adult company, and Liberty’s been pacing the house like a miniature boss asking when Auntie Y/N is coming back.”

Y/N’s face lit up. “You know I’ll be there. I’ll clear it with Colby, but even if he can’t make it, I’m definitely coming.”

“Good,” Cody smiled. “We miss you.”

“I miss you guys too.”

He gave her one last squeeze of the shoulder and nodded toward the hallway. “Now go do whatever it is mysterious spearing badasses do after they shake up an arena.”

She laughed again, watching him walk away, warmth still lingering from the interaction. Y/N had turned to walk away as well, but had barely been able to take a few steps down the hallway when he turned the corner.

Phil.

Time stopped the second they locked eyes. There wasn’t anyone else around, not really. She could hear the low buzz of chatter in the background, maybe a radio squawking, but none of it mattered. It was just them. Like it always had been. Like it hadn’t been in years. He was standing there, arms crossed, shoulder leaned slightly against the wall. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing faded tattoos she used to know like the back of her hand. His expression was unreadable—calm, but with something else brewing beneath the surface.

Y/N stopped walking. So did he.

A beat passed… Then another.

Finally, his voice broke the stillness. “…Hey.”

Simple. Familiar. A thousand things buried in one word. She blinked, keeping her posture calm, even though her stomach flipped. “Hi.”

The awkwardness lingered—not heavy, not biting, just weighted. Like two people trying to read each other without letting their eyes linger too long. He shifted a little, eyes flickering down the hallway, then back to her. “Did you see my segment?”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, crossing her arms to mirror his posture. “Kinda hard not to. You were halfway to throwing hands with Drew within the first three minutes.”

Phil smirked, something flickering in his gaze. “What can I say? He’s got one of those faces.”

She chuckled, quiet and involuntary. The kind of laugh that surprised her. Phil’s head tilted slightly, his eyes not leaving hers. “You were good out there,” he said, his voice low, sincere. “That spear… you looked like you’d been waiting to do that for months.”

Y/N’s brow lifted. “Maybe I have.”

There was a moment between them then, one of those charged silences full of everything they weren’t saying. His gaze dropped—briefly—to her lips. Not intentionally. Not obviously. But she saw it. “So,” he started again, trying to keep it casual, “the interview.”

“Yeah…” she exhaled slowly. “That was a surprise.”

“You froze,” he said, more observation than accusation.

Y/N stiffened slightly. “It caught me off guard. That photo was never supposed to make it out.”

Phil’s lips pulled into a crooked half-smile. “Yeah, I remember. The stagehand I got fired, right?”

“Immediately,” she nodded. “Vince was pissed.”

Phil hummed. “I was too in the beginning when it happened, but after a while I wasn’t. I like that photo.”

Y/N swallowed, eyes flickering away. “It was just a kiss.”

“It wasn’t,” he said plainly. “Not to me. And I know it wasn’t for you either.”

She looked back at him, caught off guard by how quietly honest he sounded. Phil never said things like that easily. Never without deflection or sarcasm. “You really believe that?” she asked.

Phil shrugged, mouth twisting slightly. “I’m not big on rewriting history. Especially not the parts that mattered.”

That shut her up. He let the silence stretch between them for a beat before continuing. “Listen,” he said, taking a small step closer. “At Christmas… I meant what I said. About talking. About not leaving things where they are.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, a mix of emotions running across her face. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted.

“But?” he asked gently.

“No but,” she said. “I just… haven’t figured out what I want yet.”

Phil gave a soft, dry laugh. “You never did. That was always part of the fun.”

Her brow arched. “Is this your idea of flirting?”

“It’s my idea of being honest,” he replied, tone dropping. “You think I don’t see it? You see that photo, and you go somewhere. Somewhere we never got to finish.”

That hit her harder than she wanted to admit. He stepped forward again, just close enough for her to catch a familiar whiff of his cologne—clean, warm, him. “I know I hurt you,” he continued. “I know I didn’t handle things right when it mattered most. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

“You’re still really bad at apologies,” she said softly.

Phil cracked a small smile. “I said I didn’t handle it right. That’s my version of ‘I’m sorry.’”

Y/N huffed. “Charming.”

“But I meant what I said,” he added. “Let me take you for coffee tomorrow. Just to talk. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking. If you want to scream at me the whole time, I’ll pick the coffee shops with the best acoustics.”

She almost laughed—almost. But there was still something tugging in her chest. “You sure you’re ready for that?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Hearing everything I’ve been holding in?”

Phil’s gaze was steady. “I think I deserve it.”

That stung, only because it was true. Y/N hesitated. Her heart thudded in her chest, confused by all the history, the heat, the hurt. But finally… she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Coffee. Ten minutes.”

Phil let out a quiet breath. He didn’t look smug—he looked… something else. Relieved. Curious. Maybe even hopeful. He nodded once. “Cool.”

Then he turned to walk past her, but paused just as they brushed shoulders.

“And Y/N?” He glanced back over his shoulder, voice lower this time.

“You still wear that look like a shield, y’know.” Y/N blinked, caught off guard. Phil gave her a small, unreadable smile. “Used to think I was the only one who could see past it.” Then he turned fully and walked away, leaving her standing there — still, quiet, and suddenly unsure what she wanted more:

To run after him…

Or to run in the opposite direction.

[lizpaige]

okay wait I find the TRC graphic novel major arcana tarot assignments are so interesting and I am assuming that MStief had a say in this, so let me share some quotes from her book about tarot for the individual card meanings. Tarot has all different meanings with similar themes, but I thought it'd be interesting to look at what stief thinks about these cards herself.

All quotes are from Illuminating the Prophecy by Maggie Stiefvater. I highly recommend the book if you're interest in tarot or just are obsessed with the series.

BLUE - JUSTICE "When you see the Justive card, it reminds you that you may have fudged the rules a little and got away with it, or you may have persuaded others that your dubious choice was a correct one, but the universe believes in an absolute right or wrong, and you will get what you deserve based upon that. This card is also a reminder that your reward or punishment is often unseen. A bad turn performed on someone else will haunt you years later, and likewise, an unnoticed kind event will create its own reward inside you. At the end of it, you will become the product of these actions: you are the Justice. There's an intense comfort to knowing that you have this control, especially if you feel your good intentions are being taken poorly." - pg. 41-42

ADAM - THE MAGICIAN "Regardless of who or what you believe in, the Magician is an extraordinary master of all trades, and he is resilient because no matter what the world throws at him, no matter how much he loses, he will always have the most powerful tool at his command: himself." pg. 21-22

GANSEY - THE CHARIOT "The duality that the Lovers card mutters about becomes a proper problem by the time the Chariot shows up in a reading. There are two sides to you, seemingly opposite, and you keep being thrown from one to the other. In many decks, this card depicts two beasts of different color pulling a chariot; when they agree on a direction, the chariot moves forward swiftly. When they disagree, the chariot grinds to a halt. You've ground to a halt... "The chariot's not moving because you can't figure out how to get yourself in line. You can't figure out which you you want to be. The Chariot isn't really about choice, though. It's about balance. You aren't cutting one of the beasts free so that you can move on without it. The chariot will move with only pone of them, but not as fast as if you found a way to make them both move in the same direction. The Chariot tells you that there is a way to satisfy the warring parts of you. Find your self-control, embrace your dark and light sides, and enjoy the ride." pg. 33-34

RONAN - THE LOVERS "This card can represent actual lov ers, and when it does, the love pictured is epic - the pairing pof two souls so complementary that it seems obvious that some greater power has designed them for each other. But it can also represent a duality inside you, and the complementary pairing it refers to is your inner self and your outer self. Just like in a great love affair, everything is perfect when both sides of you are working in harmony. And just like in a great love affair, the world crumbles when you war with yourself. The card speaks to the power of wholeness and knowing yourself." - pg. 31-32

NOAH - THE HANGED MAN "The Hanged Man is all about sacrifice - not a martyr's sacrifice, but a scholar's sacrifice. He goes not only willingly, but pleasantly toward his hanging, certain that the time spent in agony will be worth it... When this card shows up in your reading, it's a sign that whatever answer you seek is not going to simply be handed to you. You need to level up in some way, and it's going to require a genuine effort on your part. It doesn't mean that it requires hard work or a huge sum of money... It requires you to literally prostrate yourself on the altar of wisdom, holding yourself vulnerable, looking deep inside yourself for answers. You've got to let go and be willing to let knowledge and transformation take you." - pg. 43-44

[yoroshiu]

Kingdom Hearts and the Cost of Empathy

While making yesterday's post I was reminded of this other topic that had been giving me brainworms lately. And I was going to do this on another day but the thought bugged me constantly so I'm just gonna let this out now.

Part ??? of Yoroshiu just reiterating obvious points that have been chewed on a billion times

Kingdom Hearts presents empathy as a means to have characters connect with each other in both the emotional sense and as a literal ability of sorts. If someone is happy, that joy is shared, and if someone is sad, then it's felt on a visceral level.

We've had three characters be confirmed literal empaths:

Sora, Xehanort, and Baldr

And if you know, you know.

It says a lot that 2/3 ended up being antagonists and when we look at the events that shaped them, we see how Kingdom Hearts handles the negative effects of being that exposed to others emotions, especially when put it certain circumstances.

(I didn't really want to use screenshots I used in my last post but these two shots and the following one are important here, even moreso than in the previous one LOL)

In Dark Road, Baldr was shown to be attached to his sister, Hoder, because she being a heart of pure light made him feel safe as, the screenshot shows, he was sensitive to others' hearts. That's part of why it makes Hoder's death so devestating for him.

And for Xehanort, he was able to take in his caretaker's memories and felt a personal and genuine connection with Player and their friends. It's partly why the events of Dark Road hit him so hard. Baldr states that Xehanort shares the same dynamic with Eraqs.

And even for Sora, our current hero, we've seen this Empathy be harmful to him as well. He's felt echoes of the heartache of his Heart Hotel residents (KH2, BBS, etc.) and you can assume how difficult it is to have to handle multiple people's most intense emotions.

And what happens when these characters hit their lowest? Especially when it's in tandem to this Empathy?

They break down, they fall apart, their hearts get wrapped in Darkness.

And what's the factor that turns empathy, the means to bring people together in understanding, into a force that drives people into despair?

Isolation.

If there's one consistent pattern with these characters is that being alone ends up contributing to the downfall.

Baldr falls apart because he's completely isolated from his friends in a completely white room with no windows for SEVEN DAYS. How did Odin think this was a good idea?????

(Day 1 vs Day 7)

Xehanort is a person who prefers doing things on his own. This is what makes him use others and even other versions of himself as tools for his plan. He gets wrapped up in all his plans and essentially becomes a more refined Baldr by the end.

Sora is someone who's tied to a lot of different people and their hearts. This contributes to his heart being broken down and made vulnerable to Darkness, especially with how he was kept alone in his dreams, led further and further away from Riku trying to wake him up.

(Sora being mostly alone in the new saga is going to be interesting. Strel is there but there's probably going to be an effort to isolate him again.)

Being left alone with all these emotions, with no proper way to process it—empathy becomes the most destructive force.

Despite what the mainstream might think, Kingdom Hearts has always believed in the proper balance between Light and Dark, Good and Bad. Empathy is good, it connects hearts together, but at its most extreme, it poses a danger. It can overwhelm a person and make them expel it to the world in the worst way possible.

Being completely alone with no forms of support turns compassion into despair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Making Kingdom Hearts Stuff Until KH4 Comes Out (Day 66)

[lunarriviera]

everyone's straight bestie tao ran

i know i yell a lot about the mains in jitd, for obvious reasons, but i feel i must take a moment to praise the work of 刘一宏 liu yihong, playing tao ze. i've never seen him in a single other thing but HE IS A PERFECT TAO RAN and has 100% become him, now, in my brain.

(why is he going through it here? not telling, you'll have to watch.)

an actor has to be a lot of contradictory things, to be tao ran, but mostly he has to be the literal straight man to his friends' weird banana men: serious, cheerful, calm, sane. liu yihong has figured out how to balance all this. he's openly affectionate to fei du yet keeps him at the appropriate distance; he and lwz work so well together and so visibly, obviously trained under the same shifu that it's a little uncanny; and he's also very good at depicting tao ran as completely bewildered by his two friends, who have always been at each other's throats and are now, suddenly, bizarrely, flirting. is the world ending? is he imagining things? does luo wenzhou have a concussion? he doesn't have too much time to think about it, though, bc crime.

(since when are these bickering mortal enemies making slutty EYES at each other?!? why does lwz keep SMILING LIKE THAT????)

i really hope liu yihong gets better work after this, bc he truly brought his A-game to a role someone else might have found pro forma, even boring, and just phoned it in. it's one of those parts that seems basic yet is genuinely challenging—tao ran has to run the gamut from "babbling incoherently when he talks to girls" to "staunchly devoted to his hotheaded gay best friend who's also his boss now" and, maybe the hardest of these, "fiercely competent cop," which means a metric FUCK TON of police dialogue (nearly as bad as scifi gabble, for most actors), but he makes it all look natural and easy.

also he's a good scene partner; he works so well with both mains, it's seamless. plus he gives one hell of a reaction shot—look at him here, realizing things! figuring shit out, in real time, with a camera looming approximately 18" from his face! that is NOT easy to do; good job, sir.

some of the most difficult, challenging material still lies ahead, obviously, but i'm completely confident he's got this. he clearly read the novel, like the others, bc he's sensitive to where its emotional beats should fall (and so is the director, but more on him later). so thank you, liu yihong, whose name i just learned today. things are about to be very-not-great in the world of tao ze, but fuck it you ball.

PS both @bladedweaponsandswishycoats and i were super sad he didn't get one of his most hilarious lines from the novel, the deadpan "by process of elimination, the mole can only be me." maybe he'll say it later? he also didn't get to nearly bite his tongue off when lwz blurts out, "he's my lover," and he would have done so well with that—

[clericofgale]

The stars will be our bed

I'm seeing a very popular narrative that asking for physical sex during Gale's act 2 scene is better for his character development, and the astral scene is bad for him. Or at least not as good. While I do prefer the astral version more, I disagree with the notion that either one is better for Gale's plot development. I've done both options depending on the what felt right for that specific Tav at the time. As always, if that's the narrative you want to build, there's nothing wrong with it.

For me personally I think both are narratively sound for his character development. Yes Gale needs to know he doesn't need magic to be loved, but Gale also loves magic. It's his life, his passion and his artistic medium of choice. What he needs is balance, not total rejection. You want the man, and the magic.

"Tactful, Bowing to the player's desires"

If you insist on regular sex, that's the devnote that's attached to it. Gale is acquiescing to what you, the player wants. Gale wanted to share his magic with you, but you refused. He doesn't care either way, as long as he's spending the night with you. The approval numbers are the same. He obviously prefers the astral sex because it's what he's used to and confident in, but either is fine.

One thing we have to remember is Gale also uses magic to find connection. In the act 1 weave scene, Gale and you share thoughts over the weave. It's exactly what he's trying to do in Act 2 as well. It's a mind meld sequence using the weave. I don't think Gale is trying to use magic to as a front in this scene, despite the "I can wow you" sentence if you refuse. I think he's trying to share his inner self with magic as the canvas, and connect with you in this most intimate way. It's akin to Fane's scene in DOS2 where you share Source with each other and also mind meld.

Gale wants to distill a lifetime's worth of affection into one night because he feels he will die soon. The scene is his "Last Night Alive". Gale, the artist of the weave puts on his final and private show for his beloved. He weaves stars and invites light to the land of shadows. He's prepared for days for this whole sequence, and you only need to trust him.

If you do he leads you into his innermost world. First, where he feels safest, and the balcony that brings him comfort. Then the book of a thousand days and nights filled with his love for you. The amount of time he wishes he had left to show you his affection, physical or emotional.

But he only has one night.

"There are endless worlds out there. Countless ways to declare love. Infinite ways to express it. Too much for one night.. but we shall try."

The astral scene is him trying. He multiplies as he refuses to let go your hand. He caresses every part of your mind, body, and soul. Gale tries desperately to sear every fiber of your being, of the one he loves onto his own soul. He wants to feel everything you do, and the weave is capable of that.

"Your bodies and minds weave together in a masterpiece of intimacy. Never have you felt such wonder, such love - as vast as the universe itself, and just as heavenly. "

You are one and the same that night. Where Gale ends and you begin is a mystery; he is lost in you and you in him.

"We are all sensual vessels. Illusory magic lets us sail farther, and feel more deeply."

The scene is beautiful, both narratively and visually. This is not a man trying to use magic to demonstrate his worth so you won't leave him. This is a man trying to use magic to weave a tapestry from two spools of thread in one night. It's ok to let him do so. It's also ok to remind him he doesn't need to. Whichever feels right in that moment is the right choice.

They all end in giving Gale renewed hope. Magic was merely the medium on which it blossomed and thrived. Whether from a bed of stars or a bed conjured under it, your love is what gave it life.

Thanks for reading this way too long cold take.

[dandelioncasey]

(I need everyone to know that this entire ramble was inspired by the last few paragraphs because I am a petty bitch who loves a callback - it's never gonna happen but honestly this concept is living in my brain rent free and I might just write another six versions of this lmao)

Okay so picture this:

Eddie comes back to LA and so Buck moves out to give Christopher his home back (Eddie doesn't notice that Buck never says where he's going, he just gives him a week to clear out so that Christopher will have somewhere to sleep, but it's fine, he's just got a lot on his mind, right? He definitely cares, right?)

And so Buck, with his bad credit and nobody willing to rent to him, ends up sleeping in the Jeep (not acknowledging the truck, he still has the Jeep to me), or in a shitty pay-per-night motel type situation (but he tries to avoid that and he definitely never leaves his stuff there, not that he has much anymore - he left most of what he bought for the house for Chris and Eddie, and it's fine, really, where would he put it anyway?)

He starts withdrawing from the team, both because he's embarrassed about his situation and because some tiny part of him is angry that none of them ever asked - they know Eddie's back in the house on South Bedford Street, so they must've figured it out all on their own, look at Buck being an adult, he'll be fine, right??? We're all just glad you're back!

Time passes and that anger is getting louder and harder to ignore. Buck mostly just hangs out with Ravi on shift and then goes 'home' (to his Jeep) alone. He showers at the station or in crappy motels, he cooks too-big meals with Bobby's recipes (which nobody will eat) so he can maybe sneak some of the leftovers (he has money but nowhere to cook, but Bobby's lasagne is just as good cold, right?), he signs up for every extra shift he can, not for the money but because he doesn't want to be alone

Nobody has noticed his housing issues except for Eddie complaining once that he keeps accidentally getting some of Buck's post (it's not an accident, you took his home and left him with nowhere to go and no postal address, you didn't even say thank you to the man who wrecked his credit for you before you handed down a verbal notice period)

One night, as Buck is sleeping in the back of the Jeep, he gets carjacked, someone drives off in his car with him still groggy in the back, he wakes up fully to the sound of police sirens and he manages to sit up, but this startles the driver and the Jeep ends up balanced on the edge of a cliff

Now in precarious situations like this, air rescue is the only safe option, and who should show up but Tommy and the 217? (because as we all know, there's all of three cops, two firehouses, and one helicopter pilot in all of Los Angeles), and the medics get the driver out and then they notice Buck in the back (nobody knew he was there, he couldn't get to his phone)

They try to set up a way to get him out without tipping the car forward and over the edge, but Buck just tells them to go, it's fine, nobody will notice anyway. And then the radio that one of the rescuers is carrying crackles, and he hears Tommy's voice telling him that 'i'd notice, Evan, I always notice you'

They get Buck out, and the Jeep falls, and Buck is just empty (that's all he had left, everything was in his Jeep and now that's gone too), and Tommy is the first person in months to ask Buck if he's okay rather than just assuming he is because clearly trying to help others means you're over losing the only good father you've ever known, right?

More time passes, nobody except Ravi has noticed that Buck's Jeep is a different colour (and model), or that he filed a change of address, or that he's smiling more and cooking less, they're all supporting each other and everyone thinks Buck is talking to somebody else so it never comes up

Eventually we come to a mirror of Buck finding out about the party and the job offer from El Paso from Ravi, instead of from anyone who should have told him - Ravi asks Hen and Chim when they're arriving at the party that's happening during their four days off

Party? What party, did we forget someone's birthday again? Well, it's a housewarming party for Buck, because he's been crashing with Tommy and Tommy finally agreed to let him pay into the mortgage, so it's officially their house now

Obviously everyone is shocked by this - did you know they were dating again? Why didn't he ask for help moving? Buck shows up and Hen, Chim, and Eddie start throwing these questions at him, and he just blinks at them and says that he didn't want to make it all about him, because they're all busy and grieving and suchlike

What do you mean, make it all about you, of course you moving is all about you! Awkward glance at Eddie, and Buck explains that he didn't really have much that needed moving anyway, certainly nothing that he needed help with

Ravi mentions that Buck moved out of Eddie's house (it wasn't Eddie's it was his but none of you noticed why didn't any of you NOTICE??) months ago and just moved in with Tommy last month after 'the whole Jeep thing' (what happened to the Jeep, it's right there? No, that's a different Jeep, it's not even the same colour!),

And someone (probably Hen lbr) finally notices that hey, that math ain't mathing, and it all comes out that not only did Eddie kick out his so-called best friend without so much as a thank you but also nowhere would rent to Buck with his credit in such a state so he was homeless for months and nearly died and NONE OF YOU NOTICED

I just love the parallel of Buck finding out about Eddie's job offer through hearing about the barbecue to celebrate it and the rest of the 118 finding out about what Eddie did and what Buck has been through by hearing about a housewarming party, and both times it's because the rest of the team are supporting and talking to each other and not Buck (who has been told over and over that his help isn't wanted)