#i was always curious to know how that went

[xunyicaos]

take my breath away 

lads sylus x afab!reader (18+)

word count: ~ 1.6k

content: pre-established relationship (admittedly obsessed with husband!sylus), not proofread, corn without plot, breathplay, pet names (kitten, sweetie, cutie), needy!reader, overstimulation, unprotected sex, p in v, reposted my old work from diff fandom

when you gasp it's like something snaps. 

your whole body quakes as euphoria floods through you, high-pitched cries tumbling from your lips and your nails leaving pretty red patterns all over your husband’s back. sylus is a pro at many things, but he's especially talented at hitting that delicate spot inside you for the third time tonight, flipping the switch in your brain that turns off all the thoughts focused on anything but him. 

you don’t remember how this started, whether you had a bad day or he did, or what precisely it was that has you a fucked out doll at his disposal. shit, you’re not even sure how your day went at all right now, but you aren’t complaining. 

on the contrary, you’re begging. your hole is sensitive, that's an understatement, but it’s still drinking in his fingers desperately. it's so good, so addictive when sylus fills you up, whether it’s his long fingers or his cock, your pussy craves more each second. 

but now sylus isn’t moving and your recovering walls feel neglected without his fingers massaging into them. “no, no,�� you whimper, lightly smacking at his arm. “need more… wanna cum again.”

your hiccups seem to grab sylus's attention again, his crimson gaze heavy yet curious. somehow, even in your pleasured haze, you recognize the expression. he wants something from you and, of course, you automatically want to give it to him as soon as he tells you what it is. He pulls his fingers from you with a sloppy wet sound that has your eyes rolling, your hole clenching as though begging to be stretched again, needing to be filled. 

“sweetie,” sylus slurs, his voice intoxicatingly deep with a tempting lull to his words. “will you make that sound…” his voice catches, tense with his own growing arousal that's evident in the way his brows furrow as he tries to find his words. “make that pretty noise again for me.”

your brows furrow for a moment and you think you notice him using his wet hand to push his boxers down, the other traveling up to the base of your neck. he presses gently, tentatively, a tender massage that eases your breath, makes you comfortable enough to find your voice and ask, “what n—?”

the question catches in your throat, breath hitching beneath his palm as he squeezes. your eyes widen, an internal scream of I can’t breathe! causing your heart to skip a beat. but sylus’s grip loosens just before the panic fully manifests and oxygen floods into your lungs, the relief racing both up to fill your head and down to pool between your thighs. 

“that.”

oh. your thinking is still cloudy, sentences not linking together properly, words not articulating, but you think you know what he’s talking about. how fitting.

sylus fucking likes the sound of you choking, the melody of you gasping and whimpering, even more vulnerable at his hands than you already are. and, honestly, it works out, because you love the way it feels when he chokes you. you know he's at war with himself internally, weighing out his own pleasure and your comfort. always so thoughtful. you respond with your own hand resting gently on top of his, squeezing it as if to urge him to continue. 

sylus seems a bit relieved and he leans down to press a hungry kiss to your lips, catching your lower lip between his teeth before swiping his tongue over it and pulling back just enough to whisper, “so you like that, kitten?” he sounds a bit hopeful and if you could think properly, you’d say it was cute. 

“yes,” it’s a blend of a hiccup, a sob, and likely a deranged giggle. your hand flutters on top of his, pressing it down into your neck. 

that’s all he needs to hear. 

it’s as simple as a flex of his perfect fingers that gets you to keen, your movements in tandem with his as you hook your legs around his waist. your expression, the beautiful sounds leaving you, and the steady stream of bliss dripping from your hole—it has him hard and throbbing as he positions himself between your legs. 

you’d whine if you could, but your voice is hidden behind sylus's giant hand, your breath shallow. you see stars when he slides into you, the stretch making your mouth fall open in a stifled scream, drool trickling from the corner of your lips. you’re unable to take the breath you usually would, to steady yourself, to keep yourself from unraveling then and there. no, now you’re only able to clench, to grip him with your needy walls. your mind is melting and his oh-so-intoxicating voice only adds fuel to the fire. 

“you’re so beautiful, sweetie. always, but especially when you’re like this,” sylus groans, his hips rocking into a pace that has you silently sobbing, the pleasure overwhelming. it’s like both of you have forgotten the level of your sensitivity, your orgasms in the past hour brushed aside. the focus is on how badly you want more, more, more right now. 

sylus is creating a pattern, lightening his grip on your neck only to slam into you right as you’re trying to recover with a breath. “you like it when you’re fucked stupid, huh?” he pants between thrusts. “my kitten just wants to be full of my cock?” 

your acquiescence is broken up into too many syllables, otherwise reduced to gasps and fluttering lashes. your nails dig pretty red crescents into his arms, tears spilling from your eyes as your lungs are tempted again and again, the rush of air being abruptly stopped and sylus pounding into your pussy enough to drive you crazy, if you aren’t already. 

sylus is equally drunk on your pussy; the way it pulls him into your heat, how your walls massage his cock each time he slams into you. it always feels like he’s reminding you that your pussy is all his, just for him. it's always been his goal; by the end of these late nights all you can remember is him, his cock and how nothing will ever fill you as perfectly. 

“aw, my needy little kitten, can’t think of anything but how good you feel right now, hm?” you think you nod, your teary chin hitting the back of his hand as his grasp tightens again. “there you go, sweetie,” he groans, his half-lidded gaze drinking up your tears and gasps. “feel so good you can't stop crying, hm? oh you’re so beautiful. so beautiful and all fucking mine.”

maybe it’s something about the way your eyes roll back, your lips parted in a suspended gasp, the rosy flush that’s filled your cheeks—whatever it is causes sylus’s hips to stutter, pushing into you at a depth that, if you weren’t already suffocating, would take your breath away. 

he lets go, his hand moving to brace himself through his own climax as it mixes with yours and you break down into delighted gasping sobs. “sy,” your voice is hoarse, broken, but the way your fingers trail up and down his forearm proves that it’s all in bliss. “holy shit, you're so—so good, it’s so… it feels so good.”

sylus chuckles breathlessly, the rough pads of his fingers going to draw soothing circles on the reddening skin of your neck. “you’re too perfect for me.” he hums and trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, finally ending at your lips.

his kisses are soft, far more tender than the roughness of his fingers around your throat, each one planting seeds of reality in your thoughts, slowly bringing your vocabulary back together in a way that makes sense, but not enough to draw you out from the pleasure that still has you shivering. “you did so well, sweetie,” he soothes into your lips, taking your weary giggles into his adoring kiss. “you’re absolutely amazing.” 

there’s a beat of hesitancy and Sylus takes the time to slowly pull out of you, trying to keep his eyes away from the way your hole tenses, a milky stream being pushed out and drawn back in with every pulse. He settles next to you and pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair and steadying his breathing to help inspire yours to calm. 

“sweetie?” he starts and you can barely place the discomfort in his tone. “that wasn't…” his brows furrow as the words escape him and he almost looks sheepish when he meets your gaze. so out of character, yet so endearing. “i didn’t hurt you… right?”

the laugh that leaves you is a bit more stable, genuine in its amusement. words are still proving to be difficult, due to both the mental toll and the physical pull on your throat, but you think you can get the point across when you kiss him. “no... didn’t hurt. i liked it—really liked it.” 

relief fills sylus’s sigh and he kisses your forehead, a small smile on his face when he pulls away to look at you. his eyes scan your equally red neck and you absently doodle invisible patterns on his bare chest, peeking up at him through your lashes. 

“what is it, cutie?” sylus asks in that irresistible timbre as he studies your needy expression. He knows what you want, but he’s fully prepared to keep you in his arms for just a bit longer and, thankfully, you’re in agreement. 

“need… a lil’ break…” you admit, nuzzling into his chest with a soft sigh. “but…” you peek up at him again with an adorable amount of playful shyness that makes his heart skip a beat.

“i can go again.”

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Please could you write more Caitlyn (arcane) x Reader?!? Omg I loved that fic, but Idk if you still wrote for arcane

Social Events

|| Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, drunk sex, top Caitlyn & bottom reader, reader receiving, breast play, fingering, praise kink, orgasm, finger sucking, good girl use

|| Summary; when reader and Caitlyn meet at a social event, things get heated pretty quickly. With the help of a few drinks.

Requests closed!

Started; November 11th

Finished; November 11th

~~~

Social events. They were never really your favourite, but you had to represent your family. Being the eldest daughter and all. For the wealthy, it was pretty common for them to have gatherings and socials. Just keeping up to date in each other's business. Because the upper classes of Piltover didn't know how to stay out of each other's shit. You tried your best to keep to yourself, occasionally engaging in conversation when someone would approach you. Or the rare time you found someone interesting enough to talk to.

There was one girl whose eyes you kept meeting. Every time you did, she would send you a smile. God, she was stunning. You couldn't keep your eyes away from her. It wasn't often you found someone interesting enough to just stare at them. Like some weirdo. But you couldn't help it with this girl. You thought you recognized her, Cassandra Kiramman's daughter maybe? That was your guess. Though you weren't 100% sure.

Well, no time like the present. You decided to walk over and try and start conversation. Maybe flirt a bit if you were lucky. "Hey, Cassandra's daughter, right?" You asked, silently praying you weren't wrong in your assumption. Otherwise that would make this incredibly awkward.

The girl nodded," It's Caitlyn. But, yes." Caitlyn held her hand out to you and you gave it a gentle shake. The smile never leaving your lips when you heard her talk. Damn, that accent was going to be the absolute death of you.

"Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself go her and Caitlyn raised a curious eyebrow. You were part of the L/N Household? She's heard many things about your family. Your family was more wealthy than her own, it would've been nearly impossible to have not heard your name before.

"Is that so?" Caitlyn looks at you with new found interest. Before, when your eyes kept meeting hers she thought she'd recognized you. Somewhere, somehow but she couldn't put her finger on it. Now Caitlyn knew why. She's always been rather found of you from a distance, your morals were something she could agree with. That was getting rare in Piltover. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." You replied. After that, conversation between you and her flowed easily. As did the drinks. And before you knew it, Caitlyn was pulling you away from the social event. Not that you had any complaints, of course.

Caitlyn got you to her room, where she then closed the door before pushing you up against it. You grunted as you felt the wood suddenly behind you. Smirking as you met her eyes once more. Caitlyn looked into your own for a brief moment, before her lips were on yours. Hand cupping your cheek and bringing you impossibly closer. You kissed back with ease, as though you'd kissed her a million times before.

When her lips left yours, she bit your bottom lip. Getting a small sound of you. Your hand then intertwined with hers and Caitlyn pulled you over to her bed. Pushing you into the sheets as she got on top of you. Your hands went to her hips, pulling her down until she straddled you. Caitlyn laid herself across your body. Kissing at your neck as she worked to get your top off. You tilted your head to the side, giving her more access to your neck. She placed one hickie, then another before pulling your top over your head.

Caitlyn took a moment to just admire your breasts. Then her lips latched the nipple, sucking and rolling it between her teeth. With every suck, a moan left your lips. Your back arched into her touch as her hand slid down your stomach slowly. Brushing against your abdomen with her thumb while her hand moved aside the rim of your pants. Slipping through and past your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt her graze your clit, smirking against your skin. Caitlyn let go of your breast with a pop, a small gasp leaving your lips.

"F-fuck-" You muttered when her fingers applied gentle pressure to your clit. Rubbing and rolling it between her fingers in a soft massage. Your head fell back against her pillows and all you could do was moan when she pushed a finger in you.

She certainly didn't go easy on you. The moment Caitlyn knew you'd adjusted, she added in a couple more fingers. Pumping relentlessly until your stomach twisted in knots. Your moans got louder, back arching further into her touch. Trying to get more. Fuck, more.

"You're doing so good," Caitlyn whispered, but loud enough for you to hear her over your moans. Your leg twitched and flicked, nearly kicking her. Your grip on the sheets tightened. She just laughed at that and held your leg down. "Shh, just relax your body."

That was it. The extra touch on you. You were already sensitive as it was with how hard she was fingering you. You cummed on her fingers, practically screaming out.

"Ah- Caitlyn- fuck!" You screamed her name as she helped you through your high. When you finished, she slowly pulled her fingers out and into your mouth. You happily sucked them, looking into her eyes as she gave you an encouraging nod.

"Good girl." She murmured. Fuck, you hoped that wasn't the end of it.

Thankfully, it seemed to only be the beginning.

[itneverendshere]

Hii i love the bitchy!pogue!reader series and i would love to know how they first hooked up again, like what led them to keep going after their first night together. That's all, thx in a advance if you do it, i love your writing

the way i ran to write this lmao, thank you for the request ❤️ let's just say it wasn't planned at alll....it was fate👀

in spite of myself - drabble

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you swore the first time was the last.

you were simply… curious. you wanted to figure out just how far you could push his buttons without him taking it out on you.

you got your answer. you went to that party with the sole intent of pissing him off, but you hadn’t planned on ending up in his bed—not that you’d ever complain. but that was it.

you’d gotten your taste, of course you weren't expecting to run into him so...soon.

you’d learned to play along for these little trips into kookland. your cheap dress, bought solely to get you through the gates, hugged you a little too close—but that was the point, wasn’t it? you made a show of adjusting the neckline, scanning the room with that perfected boredom.

the moment you spotted him across the room, you nearly snorted, because of course he was here.

rafe, in all his buttoned-up glory. hair slicked back like he’d asked his barber for the "douchebag deluxe," wearing a shirt that probably cost as much as your entire car. he looked so at ease among his kind, you wanted to pat him on the head and give him a treat.

bingo.

he was pretending not to see you, standing there with some stuffy old kook in khakis so aggressively white they probably had a staff meeting dedicated to their upkeep.

but you could spot it: the clench in his jaw, his fingers twitching around his glass.

honestly, it was too easy. you’d barely taken a few steps in his direction, and his grip tightened like he was trying not to crush the glass just at the sight of you.

aww. you hadn’t come here for him, but the opportunity was irresistible, how could you say no to that face?

you took your time, internally giddy at how his stiff he looked the closer you got. you let out a soft, exaggerated sigh as you finally slid up next to him at the bar, taking your time, letting your eyes glide over his shoulders and back down to those broad, broad arms.

god, look at those arms, you thought.

this idiot must curl yachts for fun. absolutely absurd.

his gaze snapped to you, “what the hell are you doing here?” he gritted out, sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

poor thing, always so snappy.

you brought a hand to your chest, going for maximum innocence.

“who, me?” you blinked, leaning in with a soft, honey-dripping sigh. “just networking with the local elite. isn’t that what i’m supposed to do if i want to ‘rise above my station’?” you savored the horror flashing across his face.

rafe looked personally offended, like you’d just announced you were taking up golf, while you let your eyes drop to the line of his shoulders, lingering just a little too long on his chest before dropping.

slowly, slowly.

his face twisted like he was in pain, and he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting himself from the way you were very clearly undressing him with your eyes.

“cut that shit out,” he ground out, “i know what you’re doing.”

you raised an eyebrow, “doing what?” you shot him a wide-eyed, who, me? look, letting your gaze dip again. “i’m not doing anything.”

his face flushed as he hissed, “you’re doing it right now! act normal for once.”

he pulled away from you as if your pogue germs might rub off on him, but you’d seen that look on his face before.

“honestly, if you didn’t want attention cameron, maybe don’t wear that. kind of a slutty choice, don’t you think?”

his neck flushed deep red as he scowled. “excuse me?”

you shrugged, “just saying. last time, you had a lot to say about my outfit, didn’t you?”

“you’re fucking insane. leave me alone.”

you smirked, leaning closer, “oh, baby, i’ve already got what i wanted from you,” you purred. “unless, of course, you’re offering again?”

his jaw tensed, and he looked away as if even looking at you would ruin his day. but he was still here, wasn’t he?

“don’t flatter yourself. i’m done with you,” he muttered.

you shot him a wicked grin, “flatter myself?” you let out an exaggerated laugh, turning heads nearby. “i’m here on a date.”

rafe’s smirk dropped, and he cast a quick, possessive look around the room before moving his attention back to you.

“a date?” he repeated as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

you nodded as you pointed toward the back, where your ���date”—some poor kook with a summer tan and daddy’s credit card—stood waiting near the hors d’oeuvres table, oblivious.

“did you think i came here just for you?” you tilted your head, letting the words sting. “i don’t do repeats, country club. got what i wanted, remember?”

he looked like he was about to set the place on fire, blue eyes narrowing as he glared at your so-called date. you could sense the gears turning in his head. god, this was just too easy.

“maybe you should run along, hmm?” you said, your voice light and mocking. “can’t imagine what your country club buddies would think, seeing you all worked up over a pogue.” you flashed him a dazzling smile before tossing a wink, then spun on your heel, leaving him there seething.

you could feel his stare burning into your back as you sashayed over to your “date.” this was way too fun.

lunch was mind-numbing, but free, so you were perfectly okay tolerating the “date”—or, as you preferred to call it, the idiot with a wallet—while he droned on about his family’s fleet of yachts or some bullshit about generational wealth. you nodded along, not listening as he bragged. as if you even gave a fuck.

when he finally paused to shove more overpriced pasta into his mouth, you decided you needed a break from the snooze-fest.

“excuse me, i’ll just pop to the ladies’ room,” you murmured, batting your lashes like the good, sweet little pogue he thought he’d bagged for the afternoon. as soon as you were clear of him, you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

the second you got into the quiet of the bathroom, you let out a dramatic sigh of relief, shaking your head.

what a fucking bore.

you’d honestly rather be anywhere else—well, except maybe with rafe, since he’d probably drag you back to the ninth circle of pogue-hating hell.

as you were checking your lipstick in the mirror, the door swung open, and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“um, excuse you?” you snapped, eyebrows shooting up. “i know you have a thing for following me around, but the ladies’ room? have you lost your fuckin’ mind?”

rafe didn’t answer.

he stalked forward, looking pissed as he backed you up against the sink, boxing you in without so much as a second thought. there was something about the way his forearms flexed when he did that.

ridiculous, he most likely got pumped up just pouring a glass of water.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he growled, his voice dripping with disdain.

a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. oh my god.

you clamped a hand over your mouth, but the sound came anyway, echoing off the fancy-ass tiles. “oh my god, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

he leaned in even closer. “you think this is funny?”

“funny?” you snorted, crossing your arms. “it’s hilarious. i’m here for lunch. you know, food? the stuff people eat? he offered, and i like free shit. it’s that simple.”

“you’re doing this just to piss me off,” he accused.

“oh, get over yourself,” you scoffed. “you think i’m obsessed with you or something? i wasn’t even thinking about you until you came barging in here like a lunatic.” you leaned back, giving him a brazen, challenging look. “can you move, by the way? i was enjoying the break.”

his nostrils flared, but you didn’t even care. if he wanted to lose his shit, fine—he was the one who walked in here. you stared him down, totally unfazed, holding his gaze until he broke it.

“careful,” you added, your voice mocking and low. “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you were jealous. because, i gotta be honest, you look like you’re about two seconds away from—”

“shut up,” he growled, his face inches from yours, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “you show up here, flaunting yourself like you don’t remember exactly how last week ended, like you weren’t begging me to—”

“oh please,” you interrupted, ignoring the pleasure that traveled up your spine. “let’s not rewrite history.”

his hand gripped your cheeks, blunt nails pressing in from either side as he pulled you close, capturing your jaw to hold you still. the pressure of the squeeze pulled your pouty lips together, forcing you to look up with wide eyes.

“stop talking."

you tried to smirk around his grip, feeling the bite of his fingers, but your words came out muffled.

“what’s wrong, country club? can’t handle a little conversation?”

“just can’t help yourself, can you?”

you could hardly nod, your eyes gleaming with defiance as you let out a small, mocking hum of agreement.

his hands slid down from your cheeks to cradle your jaw, fingers firm as his mouth pushed against yours. you giggled into the kiss, entirely too pleased with yourself as you tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling until he groaned.

“this is the last time,” his voice was ragged against your lips, but the words sounded half-hearted, he was trying to convince himself.

you smirked, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, tilting your head to test him, see if he’d let you go. instead, his hand was already sliding up your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your lips, holding you right there.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he whispered, breathless. “think you can just look at me like that, say whatever you want…”

“who says i can’t?” you purred, lips brushing against his as you taunted, “if you don't want this, maybe you should go.”

his grip tightened, a curse slipping past his pretty lips, streaked with the deep red of your lipstick, glossy with both your spit.

and fuck, did he look good like that—disheveled, unguarded, his face painted with your lipstick like a silent confession of just how far he’d let himself go with you despite his fucked morals.

rafe let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as he muttered, “last time, swear to god.”

[eu-nicola]

the finish line part 4

and final - part 1 part 2 part 3

summary: you are the girlfriend of Lando Norris, Max Verstappen's rival with whom the tension between the two is undeniable.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 4264

author's note: english is not my first language

tags: @a-beaverhausen @maluzets55

The last few days of vacation had been anything but peaceful. It wasn't just Max's attention that weighed on you, but also the curious glances of others. Every time you went out, whether alone or in company, you felt like everyone was watching you, as if they suspected something beyond what was evident. Although you tried to remain indifferent, the pressure was beginning to affect you.

Max, for his part, seemed to handle everything with the same confidence with which he drove on the track. However, not even he could escape the public eye. When the vacation finally ended and the drivers returned to their routines, the questions at the press conferences began to take on a more personal tone. Instead of focusing solely on his recent championship, the journalists wanted to know more about his life off the track.

"Max, after your victory, you were seen celebrating intensely. Can you tell us more about that?" asked one of the reporters with an insinuating smile.

Max, sitting with his usual confident expression, just raised an eyebrow. “I celebrated like any champion would. It was a special moment for me and my team. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The answer was direct, but not enough to divert attention. Another journalist intervened, this time with an even more incisive tone.

“There has been a lot of talk about a certain company during those celebrations. Any statement on that?”

Max smiled, although his eyes showed a glint of irritation. “My private life is just that: private. I’m here to talk about racing, not rumors.”

While Max dealt with the media pressure, you faced your own battles. Social media had become a minefield. Comments about you began to appear, some insinuating that you were too close to Max, others criticizing you for not always being by Lando’s side at the most important moments. There were those who said you were seeking attention, that you liked drama. The words hurt more than you wanted to admit. You tried to ignore them, but it was hard when every time you opened your phone there was something new waiting for you.

Lando, oddly enough, seemed to enjoy it all from a distance. Even though he had been your boyfriend for so long, his attitude was almost indifferent.

“What did you expect?” he said to you one night while you were talking on the phone because he had called you. “You’re in the public eye now. This is what happens. You should get used to it.”

His tone was so carefree that it infuriated you. Get used to it? To people questioning your loyalty, your feelings? While you dealt with the pressure, he seemed to enjoy his freedom, attending events and meetings without worrying about what they said about him.

“You know what, Lando? It would be easier if you at least seemed to care a little because you caused all of this,” you finally blurted out, your voice thick with frustration.

“I do,” he replied with a sigh. “But I also know that you can’t control what people say.”

The conversation ended, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Max, on the other hand, seemed ever-present, even if it was silent. You knew that if you texted him, he would respond immediately. But after everything that had happened, you resisted.

One afternoon, though, after a particularly rough day on social media, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

“How are you? I’ve seen what’s going on online. Don’t let it get to you. People always have something to say.”

His message was simple, but comforting. For a moment, you felt like you weren’t alone in all of this, that someone actually understood what you were going through.

The days followed, each bringing their own set of challenges. You tried to focus on your own things, but it was impossible to completely escape the whirlwind that had formed around you.

The weight of exposure began to become more than just an inconvenience; it felt like a constant burden you couldn’t let go of. Every time you opened your phone, every notification, every comment, every message seemed to add a new layer of self-doubt and anxiety. No matter how hard you tried to focus on your own life, your own projects, the shadow of social media and criticism was still there, haunting you.

One night, as you sat on the bed in your hotel room in Spain, you stared at your reflection in the dead screen of your phone. How had you gotten to this point? What had once been exciting—standing next to one of Formula 1’s most promising drivers—now felt like endless exposure to judgment and misunderstanding. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to breathe deeply, but even the air felt heavy.

You and Lando had officially broken up a few weeks ago. It had been an inevitable breakup, a step you both knew you had to take. There were no big arguments, no shouting, just a mutual recognition that things were no longer the same. Lando, for his part, seemed to have moved on without looking back. His social media showed photos of him at events, smiling with friends, enjoying his uncomplicated life. And you... you felt trapped in limbo.

Your relationship with Max, on the other hand, was in uncertain territory. There were no clear words, no labels that could define what you had, but there was something palpable between you both. Every message from him, every look, every conversation was imbued with a latent tension, a connection that seemed to go beyond the physical. You were on the verge of something, and you both knew it.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, breaking the silence of the room. You took it without looking, half expecting another critical message or a sensational article, but seeing Max's name on the screen, something in your chest momentarily eased.

Max: "Are you okay? I saw Lando uploaded something new, but he didn't mention anything about you. Do you need to talk?"

For a moment, you stared at the message. How did he always know when you were at your limit? You didn't know if it made you happy or upset. With shaking fingers, you started to type a reply, but you deleted the words before sending them. You didn't want to seem weak, even though deep down you knew Max was probably the only person at the moment who could understand what you were going through.

Minutes later, another message came through.

Max: "I'm here if you need to vent. You don't have to carry it all alone."

That simple statement broke down your defenses. You felt tears build up in your eyes, but you refused to let them out. You had endured so much, trying to be strong, but the emotional exhaustion was too much. You finally wrote:

You: “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Max. It all feels too much… The pressure, the comments, the exposure. Sometimes I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Max’s response was not long in coming.

Max: “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’re stronger than you think, but I understand that this is all a lot. I want to see you. Let me help you carry this.”

Your heart was pounding as you read his words. There was something about his way of saying things that always managed to calm the storm inside you. The thought of seeing him, of being able to talk face to face, felt like a necessary balm. But there was also fear. Fear of what it would mean to take that step, to cross a line that already seemed so tenuous.

After a long silence, you finally wrote:

You: “I’m not ready for everything that comes with this, Max. But I want to see you too."

A little while later, you received a call. It was him. You hesitated for a moment before answering, but finally swiped your finger across the screen.

"I knew you would answer," Max said in his calm, confident tone. "I'm going to Spain this weekend. Because of you."

"Max, I don't know if that's a good idea," you whispered, though your voice betrayed your true feelings.

“It is,” he replied without hesitation. “Because this isn’t just pressure or exposure. It’s about us, about who we are when no one else is looking.”

His words resonated with you. Maybe you didn’t have to face it all alone after all.

The weekend came quicker than you expected. Max had kept his word and was in Spain, ready to see you. The first time you met him was in the lobby of your hotel. He was dressed in his usual laid-back style: a simple t-shirt and jeans, but there was something about his presence that always managed to capture your full attention.

When his blue eyes met yours, the air seemed to stand still for a moment. Max walked toward you with a determined stride, without any hesitation. Before you could say anything, he wrapped you in a firm hug, one that offered not only comfort, but also a silent promise: You are not alone.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice deep but gentle. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed in his arms for what seemed like an eternity. All the weight you had been carrying, all the pressure, slowly began to fade away. When you finally pulled away, Max looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen, completely.

“Max…” you began, but he shook his head before you could continue.

“I don’t want you to worry anymore about what people say. We don’t owe them anything,” he stated, his tone firm. “Let me carry some of this burden with you. I won’t let outside pressure get to us, I won’t let this tear us apart.”

The determination in his voice made you feel a strange mix of relief and apprehension. You had been so used to dealing with everything alone that the idea of ​​allowing someone else to carry some of your worries seemed almost foreign to you. But Max wasn’t just anyone. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he was present, that gave you a security you didn’t even know you needed.

“What if we can’t handle it?” You asked, letting out one of your biggest insecurities.

Max took your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours. “We can,” he replied with unwavering conviction. “Do you know how many times I’ve been told I couldn’t accomplish something? Every time I’ve gotten in the car, I’ve had to prove them wrong. This is no different. We’re no different.”

His words stayed with you, offering a hope you hadn’t allowed to blossom until now. The idea of ​​facing all of this with him, together, suddenly didn’t seem so impossible.

For the rest of the day, Max remained by your side. Every time you saw a phone being raised to take a photo or heard a murmur as you passed, Max squeezed your hand lightly, as if reminding you that it didn’t matter what the world thought. He was there, with you.

That night, as you both sat in your room, Max leaned back on the couch, watching you with a calm smile.

"You know, as much as I love winning championships, being here with you feels like a different victory," he said, his tone lighter now.

“I didn’t know you had such a romantic side,” you joked, trying to lighten the tension in your chest.

“Only for you,” he replied, his gaze sincere. “And if you let me, I’ll prove it to you every day.”

You couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

Days had turned into weeks, and your relationship with Max seemed to grow deeper with every moment shared. He was your refuge, your calm in the midst of the storm that continued to rage on social media and in the media. Yet as hard as you tried to stay strong, the persistent criticism was beginning to wear you down. Every article speculating about your life, every cruel comment you unintentionally encountered, made you feel more vulnerable.

The stress was building up. There were nights when you could barely sleep, your mind stuck in an endless cycle of questions and doubts. Was it all worth it? Could you continue to face constant scrutiny? Even though Max was doing his best to reassure you that you were in this together, a part of you was starting to wonder if it would be better for both of you if you stepped away.

One night, after a long day where Max had had multiple media engagements, you found yourself alone in the hotel room in Bahrain where you had flown to join him. The city lights shone through the windows, but they offered no comfort. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared at your phone. Notifications kept coming in: messages, social media mentions, articles with sensational headlines.

You sighed and turned off the screen, setting the phone aside. You couldn’t go on like this.

When Max returned, the first thing he noticed was your expression. He immediately came over, sitting next to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You looked up at him, and in that moment, the words began to come out unfiltered. “I don’t know if I can go through with this, Max. The pressure, the media, the comments… It feels like I’m losing control of my life.”

He frowned, his eyes reflecting both understanding and frustration. “I knew this was hard for you, but you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here, and you know that.”

“I know, Max,” you replied, a lump in your throat. “But I can’t help but feel like by being with you, I’m only making things worse. I don’t want to be a burden on you, or your career.”

Max took your hands, his grip firm but comforting. “You’ll never be a burden on me. And if you think walking away will solve anything, you’re wrong. People will always talk, no matter what we do.”

“What if I decide to walk away?” you asked quietly, fearing his reaction.

Max took a deep breath, processing your words. “If that’s what you need to feel better, I’ll respect that,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed his internal struggle. “But I want you to know that I’d rather face this hell with you, than be without you.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. He always found a way to break down your defenses. But the doubt was still there, fueled by fear and insecurity.

That night, as Max slept beside you, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The decision to walk away wasn’t easy, but perhaps it was the only thing that could bring you some peace. Could you give up what you had to protect yourself? Or could you find a way to endure together, like he wished?

The night progressed slowly and silently. Even though Max slept beside you, you lay awake, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. The dim glow of the city dimly illuminated the room, but offered no comfort. You turned slightly, watching Max's relaxed face as he slept. There was something almost innocent about his expression, a calmness that contrasted with the storm inside you.

You tried to close your eyes, but the weight of your doubts was still present. You didn't know how much time passed before you felt a slight movement beside you. Opening your eyes, you realized that Max was also awake now. His blue eyes, still heavy with sleep, looked at you with a mix of concern and tenderness.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly, his tone laden with a care that only he could offer at this hour of the morning.

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Max sat up slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched you closely.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he insisted, gently caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You took a deep breath, trying to contain the flood of emotions. But his eyes kept searching you, offering a reassurance that only he could provide. Finally, you decided to speak up.

“Max, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “This whole world, the constant attention. And the last thing I want is for it to affect you, too.”

Max remained silent for a moment, processing your words. Then, he sat up fully, turning to face you.

“You know something?” he began, his tone firmer now. “Ever since I started in this sport, I’ve always been surrounded by people who admire me for what I do on the track. People who celebrate my victories and forget about me as soon as the season is over. But you… you’re different.”

You were surprised by the intensity of his words, and he continued before you could respond.

"You're the only person who truly sees me, beyond the driver, beyond the titles and the races. With you, I can be myself. I don't have to prove anything, I don't have to win to feel like I'm worth something. And that, to me, is everything."

Your heart skipped a beat, and Max moved a little closer, taking your hands in his.

"Without you," he said with an honesty that took your breath away, "this all becomes meaningless. Every time I cross the finish line, every trophy I lift, even before you were with me, before Lando stole you from me... it wouldn't mean anything if you weren't there for me."

The tears you'd been holding back began to fall silently, but Max didn't look away. Instead, he squeezed your hands tighter, as if to assure you that he wasn't going to let you go.

"I need you by my side," he confessed. “Not just because of what we share, but because you are my balance. You are the person who reminds me why I do what I do, and who I really am when everything else shuts down.”

You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. You had underestimated how important you were to him, how much you meant beyond the insecurities and doubts that plagued you. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and honest, made you realize something: you weren’t alone in this. It wasn’t just your struggle; it was both of ours.

“Max…” you began, your voice shaking slightly. “I need you too. But this is all so hard. I don’t want the pressure to destroy us.”

“It won’t,” he replied determinedly. “Together we are stronger. It doesn’t matter what people say, what they think. The only thing that matters is what you and I feel. And I feel like we can handle this. If you’re willing to try, I’m not going to let anything or anyone tear us apart.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and hope. Max pulled you close to him, wrapping you in a warm, protective embrace. You stayed like that for a long moment, finding comfort in each other's closeness.

The next day was not really just any other day, after weeks of preparation and nerves, the first race of the year was finally here. Nerves ran through the paddock, and the usual bustle of competition filled the air, but there was something different this time. You had come, as always, to support Max, but this time you would do so in an even more visible way, closer to him than ever.

Max, with his relaxed but focused attitude, was ready to prove that, despite the rumors and criticism, nothing could stop him. He had told you about how he wanted to start the season with a win, not just for himself, but also to show the world that he was at his best, that nothing the media said or speculated could tarnish his success. He looked at you before getting into the car, his eyes shining with fierce determination, but also with a special warmth just for you.

The race was action-packed, as you would expect. Max stuck to his strategy, fighting for every position with that mix of precision and bravery that characterized him. Every lap was a mix of excitement and anxiety, not just for him, but for you, who were watching from the pits. You knew how much this victory meant to him, and as you watched him outpace each opponent, the tension took hold of you.

Finally, the checkered flag fell, and Max crossed the finish line in first place. The sound of the engine fading as he celebrated the victory made your heart skip a beat. As soon as the race was over, all eyes turned to him: the champion, the favorite, the icon.

You ran to him as soon as you could see him, where you found him surrounded by his team. You couldn’t help but smile in happiness for him, but also at the feeling that, in that moment, everything that had happened between you had come to this point, to this victory. When Max saw you in the crowd, his face lit up. There were no words needed; he just ran to you, wrapping you in a hug so tight you almost felt like he was lifting you off the ground.

After the anthems and champagne, trophy in hand, Max stepped up to the camera for an interview that was, of course, going to be broadcast live. What happened next surprised everyone. Instead of going on with the typical answers about the race, Max took a moment, with a smile full of pride, to talk about you.

"I want to dedicate this win to someone very special," he began, his words laden with sincerity. "To my amazing partner, who has been with me through the toughest times, when I needed it the most. I want everyone to know that without her, this win wouldn't have the same meaning. She is my support, my strength, and my love."

Your heart was pounding, but what touched you the most was his next statement.

“She’s the person who makes me feel the happiest I’ve ever been, and I can’t imagine my life without her. My love, you’re the love of my life.”

The cameras focused on your face, and even though a torrent of emotions washed over you, you couldn’t help but smile shyly, a little embarrassed by the sudden attention, but deeply grateful for his very public support. Max hadn’t just won a race; he’d done something much bigger: he’d opened his heart in front of millions of people.

The moment became more intense when the crowd applauded, and some began to cheer for you as well. Even though you knew that not all of Max’s fans would be happy with his statement, something in the air had changed. The media had tried to paint you in many ways, but in that instant, it didn’t matter. Max’s victory, the way he had publicly defended you, was a clear message: you were together, no matter what anyone said.

As the days passed, something unexpected happened. Amidst the criticism and speculation, you began to notice a change. The comments started to become kinder. At first, some of Max's most loyal followers were still hesitant, but as time went by, their support for you began to grow. Photos of the two of you, the photos that Max shared of you, in which you looked so happy and peaceful together, began to appear on fans' profiles, and words of support began to outweigh the criticism.

You were surprised to see how many people were willing to embrace your relationship, to understand that behind the image of a successful driver, there was a real person, someone who also had the right to be happy and to love. Some of the fans, even the most skeptical, began to comment positively on the posts, talking about how beautiful you looked together, how genuine your relationship was.

One night, after a race, while you were sharing a quiet moment with Max, you received a message from one of Max's most loyal followers. They said something simple but profound: “We are glad to see you so happy with Max. You deserve all the good that is to come.”

That night, as you went to bed, Max came to you, smiling with that familiar calm, and whispered in your ear: “See? The rumors don’t matter anymore. What really matters is what we have built together.”

And finally, after so much effort, so much sacrifice, you knew that you were both ready to face the future, not just as a couple, but as an unstoppable team. Together. And perhaps in the future, as a family.

[all3-stxr]

silent hill

the trees stretched up above the horizon, making this town feel all the more suffocating, paired with the thick fog as dazai wandered the forest. the trail felt much longer than he remembered, though he hadn’t been in here in the last three years, so he couldn’t say much, even as he approached a clearing to a well that he was sure wasn’t there before.

a faint red light emits from the bottom of the well, a pretty shade of crimson dancing across the underside of the roof, like the reflection of water. curious, he leaned in to see inside, the red light casting shadows across his face as he gazed downward.

a sudden pain shot through his head and he grimaced, taking a few steps back in hopes that putting space between him and that light would help. “god, it’s like someone’s groping around my skull.” he rubbed his temple, the pain slowly beginning to subside a few seconds later.

he shook his head, eyeing the well one last time before following the trail in the opposite direction. he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that washed over him with every step he took, like if he ventured too far, he’d find something he didn’t want to see.

but he couldn’t let that hold him back. he was determined to find you, and he’d do just about anything to do it.

he paused, looking up at the tall gates leading into a cemetery. could this be the way? he didn’t know.

dazai didn’t know a lot of things since you died. life felt empty, hopeless as he trudged about, going through his job only to come back home to an empty house.

he missed your hugs, those sweet little kisses you’d give him before he went to work and right when he came home. those little visits when he would forget his lunch even though he told you he wasn’t hungry, you’d always come just in case. how you asked what he wanted to eat every day despite him telling you that you didn’t have to cook, that just you being with him was enough.

he missed you.

pushing open the gates, he glanced around aimlessly until his eyes fell upon a figure hunched over before a gravestone, wiping away at the dust in a futile attempt to read its owner's name.

he tentatively reached out a hand, grasping their shoulder. “excuse me. . .”

he was greeted by a sharp gasp, and the stranger quickly stood up, stepping back a few paces. it was a boy with choppy white hair and large, heterochromatic eyes, his face pale and his eyes sunken, like he hadn't slept in a few days. “i’m sorry, i- i was just. . .” he raised his hands swiftly, regaining his composure as he took a deep breath.

“hey, it’s okay,” dazai interjected, “i didn’t mean to scare you.” he took a step back, giving the boy his space. “i’m kind of lost.”

 the boy closed the distance dazai just put between them, his brows furrowing. “lost?”

“yeah, i’m looking for silent hill? is this the right way?”

he gave him a once over, nodding. “um, yeah.” holding a hand up, he pointed off somewhere in the distance. “it’s hard to see with this fog, but there’s only one road. you can’t miss it.”

“thanks.” dazai hummed, turning on his heel to leave.

“but. . .” the boy hesitated, taking an unsure step forward, prompting dazai to turn around. “i think you should stay away. this, uh. . . this town,” he glanced away nervously, as if sensing the other’s confusion. “there’s something wrong with it. and it’s not just the fog either.”

“is it dangerous?”

he fiddled with the ends of his gloves. “maybe. . . it’s kind of hard to explain, but. . .”

dazai waved him off. “i’ll be careful.”

“i’m not lying!” the boy insisted, raising his voice slightly.

“no, i believe you. it’s just. . .” he paused, thinking about how to phrase it right. “i guess i don’t really care if it’s dangerous, or not. i’m going either way.”

“but. . . why?”

“i’m looking for-” he hesitated, his eyes falling to the ground for just a moment. “. . .someone. someone very important to me.”

the stranger’s eyes widened a little. “me too. i’m looking for the headmaster. i mean, my father.” he corrected himself quickly. “it’s been so long since i’ve seen him. i thought the other kids were here, but i can’t find them either.” he looked around, eyes taking in all the gravestones, wondering if they were the ones six feet deep, but he shook his head and turned back over to dazai. “i’m sorry. . . it’s not your problem.”

“no, i. . .” he smiled. “i hope you find them.”

“yeah, you too.” the boy returned the smile, gradually shifting his focus back to the gravestones.

the fog seemed to grow thicker as he approached the town, the trees growing sparse as he followed the road. silent hill was just how he remembered. . . almost.

cafes and shops at every corner - small businesses that you’d never recognize the names of unless you live there - the many houses lined up along the road, and those few streets that if not for the fog, you’d see the other end of town. but something was amiss, something that any one person would recognize almost immediately.

it was dead silent.

though in its name, silent hill was never usually this. . . silent. the population was around 2,000 - people usually walked the streets, and few cars would pass by every now and then. there’d be greetings, gossip - in a small town like this, everyone knows everyone. but there wasn’t a single soul wandering about.

cars littered the streets, both in the middle and parked along the sidewalk, some windows broken and smashed in, tires deflated and paint rusted. it was like everyone just went up and left, leaving the town in complete disarray.

dazai clutched the map in his hand, glancing from side to side as he took in the mess. was this really silent hill?

it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. it’s as if this place died with you. like the moment you breathed your last breath of air, the town did too, and you both fell together.

he shook his head, trying to convince himself of happier thoughts. you were here. you had to be. even if this town had died, that doesn’t mean it took you with it. he’d make sure of it.

who else could’ve written that letter?

[fangsofdestruction]

The two girls looked excited at the idea that Mukuro would want to join in on brushing Sesshomaru’s fur, as it was an activity that they also enjoyed. Normally, those of the Jaken line were the only ones allowed that right of brushing the fur of the esteemed Inu-youkai, but when the little ones came into the picture, they kept begging him to allow them to brush his fur. Grooming fur is an important bonding activity for just about any living being with hair as it related to skinship.

“He should be coming by soon.” He often liked to bask in the sun or moonlight and lose himself in his thoughts. When the kids were out playing, he would take it upon himself to watch over the children. Their parents were normally out performing their own tasks, and they could always rest easy knowing that their children were in the safe paws of their Lord. The eyes that were watching over Mukuro and the children went away as Sesshomaru had walked into the inner courtyard.

The youngest of the trio, Kazehime squeaked and flew over to Sesshomaru, perching herself on his shoulder. The Demon locked eyes with Mukuro and nodded his head as a silent greeting as he approached and he sat atop of a large rock, his favorite that he often perched on while he basked in the light.

       ❝You’ve met the children. Hope they haven’t been a hassle for you.❞

They certainly were a lot some days, but it was his duty as the leader of his ‘pack’ to watch over the youngest and weakest members. Opting to trust Mukuro’s compliant behavior, she’d been given the permission to be around the children under supervision. It was a good show of faith on one hand, and on another hand, it was a good way for her to get used to being around more Demons. Children were innocent and curious creatures, so she wouldn’t have to have her guard up so high around them.

       ❝I see they’ve asked their fur to be groomed.❞

It was easy to tell with how much fluffier their fur was looking.  

Had the question of her wanting to stay or not been asked earlier, then there would have very likely been a different answer, but now that she had the chance to not only learn more about her fellow yokai as well as interact with these yokai children, Mukuro wanted to be around more not only to learn more but she felt like she belonged here more than she did amongst the humans。

「I will,」 Mukuro gave a small nod when Hebisuke told her that she could ask Sai for more details about past attempts on Sesshomaru。 It would be rather beneficial to hear about who had previously attempted what she had and what the outcomes of those attempts were。

Feeling the Tanuki child's tail twitch in her hand made Mukuro's attention focus back on Tama。 It was wiggled in a way that told Mukuro that she was quite agitated。 She was no doubt upset that Mukuro and Hebisuke were being a bit vague when it came to what they were talking about, which Mukuro couldn't blame her for。 She'd be quite annoyed if she were in Tama's shoes。

「Yeah, I'm done,」 Mukuro said with a smile as she released Tama's tail, 「I'd be happy to brush Jii-chan later~」 Mukuro had a feeling she knew who Jii-chan was and it sure was a bit weird to address Sesshomaru as such, but oh well, when in Rome。

[bootsukki]

inspired by an unforgettable moment of spanish television!

masterlist

the crowd roared as bokuto and the national team stood on the podium, smiles bit and bright as they placed their brand new golden medal around their necks, adrenaline from their Olympic win running through their veins. the team waved their hands towards the audience and bokuto’s eyes roamed the crowd, stopping you.

you, microphone in hand, were weaving through the press line, trying to make your way towards front row with a professional calm that almost made bokuto laugh. it was your job, of course, but bokuto knew from the way your cheeks were red and you kept moving your microphone from one hand to another that you were just as thrilled as he was.

his team made their way towards different journalists, leaving bokuto to you. finally, face-to-face, he could see the sparkle of your eyes and your beautiful smile that always made him weak on the knees.

“bokuto-san” you began, voice steady. “congratulations on winning gold! how does it feel to bring this home?”

“feels amazing!” he exclaimed, his eyes never leaving yours. he was so incredibly happy and having you here either him was everything he could have asked for. “we’ve worked so hard for this. it’s been a rough couple of months, i didn’t know if i was going to make it after my hand injury but, yeah. grateful and happy and-“

suddenly, he cut himself off, aware of your teary eyes and he smiled, placing a hand on your cheek and cleaning a tear. he knew how much you had worked to get there and how much you had taken care of him when he broke his finger and went into surgery, taking him to all his appointments, holding him when he was stressed about his future, loving him.

he took a step forward to cup your face completely, curious eyes looking at them, cameras panning towards the sweet gesture.

without thinking, he kissed you. the stadium erupted in a cheer and some of his teammates did as well. as they parted, you blushed, looking up at him, trying to find your composure but clearly flustered.

“love you. wouldn’t be here without you.” bokuto said, voice full of warmth and conviction, not caring about the cameras and how it looked like on live television. bokuto took off his gold medal and placed in around your neck, kissing your cheeks. “see you later.”

“o-okay.”

clearing your throat, you looked back at the camera, trying not to laugh at the cheering still erupting around them, at the sight of bokuto getting bombarded with questions from other press. you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, hoping your voice wouldn’t shake as much as your hands were. “well, this has been… an unforgettable post-match interview,” you managed to say, lips twitching into a flustered smile. “reporting live from paris, where the national volleyball team has just taken the gold. i think we can all say this celebration has just started. thank you for all your cheers and support during the matches. you’ll probably see more of our Olympic champions tomorrow.” you laughed softly, looking down to see the gold medal and you turned quickly to look at your silly boyfriend before turning back to the camera one last time. “thank you for tuning in and back to the studio for the weather report with yamada-san.”

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Hey! You probably have already been asked this question- and I know you’ll probably never see this- but I’ve been thinking about this and curious about this lately, uh-

What are all the things killer went through during his time under the control of his frisk? Both cannon and head-cannon? I have a few head-cannons myself but am really curious what others think and what the cannon is!

It’s okay if not answered, am just a curious soul wondering about stuff-

Well, first, it wasn’t his Frisk he was under the control of—Frisk is actually hardly mentioned in Something New outside of the first few panels of the first page of the comics, and Killer saying he misses stabbing Frisk’s face when asked if he missed Frisk.

It was Chara, and the Player—basically one and the same in Something New, even if Chara the dead child potentially wants something more. All the Player ever really wants from Killer’s existence is something new, after all. Chara’s the one who wanted a partner in crime.

As for what happened between them, the fun part is—we don’t actually canonically know. We can make guesses based on the beginning, when Killer turned on them, and some things based on after they ended—how Killer still sees them and hears them and listens to them, how he feels watched by them constantly, as if they’re living inside him.

This tells me just how codependent their relationship was—and how scared and powerless Killer feels beneath them, even as he feels he needs them and that he still has to listen to them, even if he doesn’t want to—even as he struggles to realize that he doesn’t want to, because he wants what They want.

Even if he has a new “master” now in the form of Nightmare. It tells me that Chara’s wants and priorities and needs have always taken priority over anything and anyone else—especially Killer himself.

It’s like..how a baby doesn’t realize they are separate from their mother for the first few months of their life. Except Killer never truly realized that he is separate from them. Or that they are separate from him. He has internalized them, and in many ways, has become them. Something he struggles to make sense of.

Killer doesn’t know who he is or what he is, what he wants—if he wants anything at all. He doesn’t know what is or isn’t real—why he feels and behaves about certain things. Why everything both does and doesn’t feel familiar, and yet still he is always just separate.

Chara provided directions. They represent identity and direction and stability, certainty and structure. They scare him and hurt him and confuse him, and he hates them and fears them in equal measure, but no one has understood him like them. Not even himself.

I’m sure he also didn’t use to understand why he was ever scared of or disobedient of Chara before—if something ever triggered him into Stage 1, such as his own hesitance to kill Papyrus. Stage 2 may not have held the same emotional ties to Chara that Stage 1 does or hold the same anger and hate that Stage 3 does or the fear and reverence that Stage 4 does; but it wasn’t like he knew anything else besides them with certainty.

He knew he needed them. He didn’t know fully why, he just did. He could try to explain why but it’d be through the lens of what Chara taught him: control or be controlled, the most Determined decide fate, etc.

He holds on these contradictory views and experiences with Chara, likely dissociated and compartmented into his four Stages, but all just as true as eachother.

They made him. He exists because of the Player, sure, but Chara basically raised him. The Player speaks through them, they act on our behalf. There may even be no difference between Chara and God in his mind in Stage 4.

And try as he might, he can’t pry their pieces out of him.

All of it suggests heavy levels of manipulation, conditioning, gaslighting, dependency, and abuse to me. The specifics aren’t said or shown or even confirmed, but the fact that out of all his shadowy hallucinations of everyone he’s killed—living in his head—Chara’s the only one who’s more than a shadow and has sway over his choices seems to say something about their relationship.

Anyway, a lot of things could’ve likely happened when he was with Chara. Who knows how long they were together—Killer likely doesn’t know. How many timelines they went through together.

I do like to think that there was an entire timeline where Killer and Chara overthrew Asgore and ruled the Underground themselves at some point, because Princess Killer and Killer being conditioned through royal etiquette is an idea I love. I also think he was conditioned through childhood nursery rhymes, games, gestures, and sayings that are loaded with specific meanings that only Chara and Killer themselves know. Their own little language.

I think Chara gave Killer Asriel’s golden locket, to basically make Killer into the better “Asriel.” I do believe he was often threatened and kept in line through the use of the Reset—something Killer, back when he was Sans, hated and dreaded more anything.

(And by that I mean, he was either threatened with a Reset if he didn’t do something, or forced to repeat something over and over through the use of the Reset until he either did it perfectly or without thinking or hesitation. Until any attempts to resist results in an instinctive overriding of his own will via the triggering of Stage 4.)

That original sentiment was likely twisted over time, but still present in some shape or form—such as the need for something new, and to not constantly do the same thing over and over again, even as paradoxically, Killer has a tendency to do the same things over and over again thanks to the role of the Resets in his conditioning.

I’ve made a post before about like, Chara and Killer making the killing into something like hunting games, can’t find it. But I like to think there was a punishment-reward system that Killer internalized as well, especially in Stage 4.

I’ve mentioned before how i hc that Killer and Chara had a pinky swear system that could never be broken under threat of grievous harm to whichever party breaks the promise—and as a result any promises made via pinky swears with Killer from absolutely anyone is basically the same as signing away your right to live if you ever break it.

I’ve mentioned how I think the one death Killer has never experienced before is buttercup poisoning. But basically, anything you think could happen has possibly happened, except ya know..weird stuff.

Reality is a game, and the Underground is their sandbox.

[lunarruled]

If she were in her human form Kyleigh would have giggled a bit at Caspian's reaction to what she said. Maybe it wasn't all wolves, but yes they could climb when the situation called for it. A way to get out of a dangerous situation or to just get closer to the moon. 'Yeah, it can happen. It's not something we do all the time but it's a good skill to have.' Plus she was curious to find out if her friend's wolf side was the same or different than hers. It wasn't in the front of her mind that they were heavier now that they had shifted but most of the trees on the island were pretty sturdy, at least they looked like they were. Kyleigh probably should have explained things a bit better because as soon as she saw how Cas attempted to climb the tree she internally started to laugh.

'That is one way to do it! Come on back down, I can show you.' Once he had lowered himself back down to the ground she went over to the tree and gave herself a shake. Much like she would do while in her human form Kyleigh found a low enough branch that she could jump up and grab, making sure it didn't snap as she hung on. Kicking her back legs up she used her claws to secure a hold on the trunk, then pulled herself up so that she was fully sitting upon the branch she had been hanging from. 'This was how I learned, but if you can't do it that's okay too. We can always try another time or go to this spot I know and find some mountains.'

Climbing? His ears perked. Caspian never heard that his species can climb. A soft whine escaped his throat. He stared at his friend with a confused expression. He woofed. ‘ We can climb? I didn’t know that.’ he asked with a curious wolf grin. He followed her to find the biggest tree. He decided to lead the way to find a tree that can not break. He really hoped the trees in Lupos can hold his weight. He seemed pretty heavy in this form. He then pointed. ‘ About this one?’ He asked. The trunk was a bit thick, and it looked sturdy enough. He then tried to think on how to climb.

He thought for a minute. Then he perked his ears again. He then noticed his legs were a bit longer than usual. He hunched down and he jumped. He jumped on the tree grabbed a hold on the trunk with his wolf claws. He looked around and he just hugged the tree. ‘ Is this.. good?’ He asked. He looked down and he whined. It looked high, and he never thought he’d climb trees. He looked down and he just was suddenly feeling a little too scared to climb further.

[ma1dmer]

Warhammer - Tarik Torgaddon NSFW

feel like pure shit just want him back x

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): always keeps some point of contact with you if you aren't straight up cuddling, his head on your lap or his hand on your back as you sleep on your front etc etc he is always touching you. if you need something he'll do it, but you definitely have to ask him several times to actually convince him to get up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves your voice, everything else too obviously, he'll rush to tell you, but there is something about the way you speak, the way you use his name, the way you laugh or yell or moan or whimper. he doesn't like it when you stay silent during the deed, he is loud therefore you have to be louder. if he isn't getting concerned looks after he leaves your room when you two are done, he knows he hasn't done his job right.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): he is filthy, he likes the mess, he likes to let it get everywhere, on your body, on his body, on your face, in your mouth, on the floor, he is not ashamed about it, the messier the better, he loves fucking your thighs for this reason as well.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): is it a secret if he has joked about it? probably not. he absolutely has thought about sharing you with loken. he'll ask you first, ask how you feel about loken making you almost worried that you overstepped perhaps by ogling his battle brother that one time or something, he asks for you to be honest with him, his expression grim and then just as you are about to apologise, he'll grin, immediately telling you to relax and that he was just curious. he'll start bringing loken up while he fucks you, asking what you'd do or what you think his reactions would be like, almost getting off to the idea of loken as much as the idea of you with him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): not as much as he is pretending he has, at the end of the day he is part of the mournival, his work within the legion takes priority above all else. and even so ,if you pry and ask what type of experience he has it's all mostly one sided, letting someone use his mouth or using his hands on someone else, more often than not choosing a quickie that just didn't work out for him, considering size and prep required.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): he likes to have you ride him, he sits back to enjoy the show, his big hands on your hips urging you to grind down against him every time he bottoms out, he'll also fuck your thighs this way, have you hold on as he pushes your legs together just to bounce you up and down on his lap.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): he loves to joke around with you, you bet your ass he has tried telling you that damned bear story mid thrust.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): he keeps it natural because there isn't much there to begin with, it's all very soft and the same brown of his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): even if he is more laid back than his brothers he is still equally as emotionally stunted as them, he just does a good job of hiding it all behind teasing smiles and jokes, but he has his moments, when he's been gone for a long time, when something is troubling him, when a mission went wrong etc. he's holding you a bit tighter, mumbling things into your hair as he pins your down, urging you to hold him as well, he won't tell you what is bothering him, so he hopes this makes up for it. hopes this is enough for you to understand.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): be puts on a show, slowly spreading his thighs, leaning back on the bed, uses both hands, one to cup his balls or run up and down his toned body, the other working on his cock, his hold loose enough that you know for a fact he isn't really getting off to it, it's mostly done to goad you into action, throwing his head back moaning loudly. once he figures out he can have a warm body to satisfy his needs he finds jacking off so boring and pointless, he'll do it just to tease you or if you ask him to.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): threesomes, oral fixation, cum/spitplay etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): if he knows he can get away with it, and trust that he will, he'll try just about anywhere. he finds he really enjoys places where there is the possibility of getting caught by another astartes, not so much by serfs, or other baseline humans.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): he is totally the, you look so hot when you are angry guy and it's something you sadly have to deal with.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): there isn't much out there he would be against at least trying once, especially if he sees they get a rise out of you, he is very very giving.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): ride his face, he doesn't even need to get out of his armor for this. set your own pace and don't hold back. if he thinks you are going easy on him he'll grab you to grind you on his face himself.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): fast, he isnt rough, but he is overwhelming and relentless, once he finds what spot that makes you tick he is on it with a fervor that makes you shake, he'll have you scrambling for purchase on the sheets and trying to both push off and pull his hands on you, in seconds.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): he knows they aren't convenient for multiple reasons, but he tries ,he really tries to sneak them in every so often, it's almost like a game to him. it's enough if you get off, your back against the wall, one leg thrown over his shoulder, on his knees in his armor bent awkwardly to take you in his mouth before he has to leave for a mission, it's difficult to deny him when he makes such a convincing argument.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): he is game for almost everything, it's almost a test, he wants to see what you are capable of throwing at him and what he can handle.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): he has the energy to go for a long long time but he prefers to keep your meet ups short (for him) and sweet, he claims it's to make sure you don't get tired of him and bed someone else while he is gone, you aren't sure if he is joking or not.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): not a fan of them, it comes with that space marine pride that gets oh so easily wounded at the idea of not being enough, which is frankly an insane thought.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): a big fucking tease and unrelenting at that, he'll deny you your release a million times and still remain simply unmovable and amused at your squirming, he'll keep going until you are begging or yelling at him. he'll take either option.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he talks, from filthy comments about how well you are taking him, how he is probably ruining you for any other baseline man, to fuelling your shared fantasies, to simply bringing up a story so he can watch you grow frustrated and try to struggle against him, this man does not shut up, but he loves to have you shut him up, put your hands over his mouth, pull him in for a kiss, anything like that and he throbs inside of you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he is definitely the one to go for if you are interested in exploring some different power dynamics with a very large very strong man. he might make fun of you at first, how many people would love to be ravaged by the strong and heroic astartes and yet you are here asking him to kneel and beg for you...he will definitely think about it and when he agrees, boy does he beg prettily, he seemingly gets off to his own submission more than you do.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): long and it curves up towards his stomach a bit, paler than the rest of him, more of a shower rather than a grower.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): he is not as direct as his brothers surprisingly enough, he teases you from the get go, the second you have his attention he is flirting and joking around with you and you are never quite sure if he means it or not. he actually wants to be the one to be approached by you and that little dynamic stays even as your relationship progresses. he wants you to be the one to seek him out most of the time. it really strokes his ego.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he has no qualms about falling asleep before you, he only has a few hours to properly rest, he'll enjoy them to their fullest even if you are next to him still wide awake. he is very clingy too, get's genuinely irritated with you if you move away while he is asleep.

[ninyard]

I’m really really curious on how riko saw Kevin from his childhood to “adulthood” and how did he switch to be a kinda normal kid from this, was it when he saw nathan killing someone in front of him that created that sick sort of fascination that he have toward this thing or was it another thing ?

This is such a good ask I love thinking about this!! I always wonder at what point in their relationship did their dynamic change from siblings/friends to competitors/abuser and abused. And I think if we take that Kevin’s mom died when he was that little bit older, it definitely changes how their relationship must’ve been in the beginning.

It makes me wonder how Kayleigh and Tetsuji socialised Kevin and Riko together when they were really young. Did they see each other often? Did they know each other well before Kayleigh died, and Kevin moved in?

Let’s take it that they were as close as siblings, and they might as well have been living together with the amount of time Kevin spent with him in training, or time spent together when Kayleigh went abroad for work and couldn’t take him with her. I think the shift in their relationship wouldn’t have happened until after she died, though, until Riko got the idea in his head that Kevin was his. Not Kayleigh’s, not Tetsuji’s, his.

Riko, more likely than not, probably would’ve displayed signs of being unstable in his childhood. Small things that could’ve been brushed off as boys being boys and kids being kids; he would trip Kevin up and pretend it was an accident, eyes almost dazzling at the blood that dotted his grazed knees. Riko would always take the rough play-fighting too far. He would poke his bruises harder than he should, he would embarrass Kevin in front of other people and make it look like it wasn’t intentional.

I just think of some sort of scenario where Riko takes it that step too far; ten, eleven, maybe, and they’re wrestling, rough housing like they do sometimes. Riko decides he wants to try something, he wants to see how it feels - when Kevin has his back turned to him, he locks an arm around his throat and locks him in an inescapable grip. Kevin’s anxious laugh as he struggles out of the chokehold turns into exasperated pleas to let go, this isn’t funny, I’m going to pass out. He lets him fall in a deoxygenated heap just before he passes out, and it’s a minute until he catches his breath again.

“What is wrong with you?” Kevin pushes Riko back when he takes a step towards him. “Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t think you were being serious,” he laughs, a lie, gaslighting, downplaying, whatever you want to call it. “I didn’t actually hurt you. You’re being dramatic.”

There’s other things after that, small ways he got pleasure out of hurting Kevin; at the time he didn’t know that that was why he was doing it. Maybe he just thought it was funny. Maybe he thought it was a joke. Bending his fingers too far backwards, almost dislocating his shoulder in an arm wrestle, hitting his racquet where he knows it hurts, where he knows Kevin is unprotected.

I don’t think that Nathan’s victim was the first body either of them had seen. Where or who or what they would’ve seen before that, I don’t know, but I don’t know. Maybe that body they saw with Nathaniel was the moment where Kevin realised something was seriously wrong with Riko; how he didn’t look away, or grimace, how he smiled the whole time. How his pupils widened as he watched a man being cut into pieces.

Maybe that was when he took it to the next level, when he truly stopped being afraid of Kevin bleeding at his hands. He knew how much he liked it, he’d seen it right in front of him, but maybe that’s the catalyst for when he stops holding himself back. Permission, almost. Look at what man can do. Look at what you’re capable of.

[peppymintdreams]

Memories We Can’t Recall

Elias x Barista

Stockton was never exactly a place that screamed "perfect childhood." But for Elias and Barista, the dusty streets, the sound of distant sirens, and the occasional rumble of a motorcycle gang became the backdrop of their shared memories. They met at the age of eight, in a park by the river that nobody really took care of, with its rusted swings and cracked basketball courts.

Elias had been there first, of course—his father owned half the block, or so the rumors went. He was scrawny back then, with messy hair and a bandaged knee from trying to jump off a tree branch the day before.

When Barista, shy and curious, wandered into the park holding a tattered book,

Elias noticed immediately. "Hey!" Elias had called out from his perch on the swings. "What are you doing with that thing?" Barista had looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Reading… What else would I do with it?" "Who reads at a park?" Elias had wrinkled his nose, jumping off the swing and walking over, swinging the lollipop across his mouth. That was a special detail barista could remember about him; Elias always had candy in his mouth or at least on his person.

"You’re supposed to, like, play tag. Or try to climb the trees until you fall. It's more fun." Barista had raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you fell already." They pointed to the bandage on his knee. Elias laughed, loud and bright, as if the whole world was a joke only he understood. "Yeah, well… I’ll try again tomorrow."

It all started at the park, the one by the river, where the swings squeaked, and the basketball courts had more cracks than nets.

Elias was always there first. Sometimes he’d be sitting on the swings, staring off into space, or he'd be messing around with a stick like he was on some secret mission. Barista had wandered in one day, book in hand, just wanting some peace. They weren’t expecting to make a friend—especially not one like Elias.

“Reading again?” Elias had asked, hopping off the swing like he did when they first met, and began to peer over Barista’s shoulder.

“What else would I be doing?” Barista retorted, rolling their eyes.

It became routine—meeting at the park after school, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Elias always had some kind of scrape or bruise, but when Barista asked about it, he’d shrug it off with a laugh. “Just fell off my bike,” he’d say, or, “Tried to climb that stupid tree again.” Barista never really bought his excuses, but Elias had that grin, the kind that said he wasn’t going to explain any further.

They didn’t press him. They were kids, and at the time, being friends with Elias was enough. The world was big, but their park was their own little corner of it. That was how it stayed for a few years.

But as middle school turned into high school, things started to change. Barista found themselves swamped with homework, projects, and the weight of their parents’ expectations. They couldn’t hang out as much, and Elias, while still the same reckless, wild kid, on what one could say was crack, maybe steroids, he was a crazy child who always seemed… different. His injuries became more frequent, more serious, and he started showing up less and less. Barista still saw him around sometimes, but something was always off. His smile didn’t reach his eyes like it used to, and he always seemed to be in a rush, glancing over his shoulder like someone might be watching.

Then the Fresno incident happened.

Barista didn’t understand it at first. They didn’t know the details, only that there had been a blackout, chaos in the streets, and people had died. The news was vague, but there was an undeniable tension that spread throughout Stockton. Barista didn’t hear from Elias after that—not at the park, not anywhere.

He disappeared, just like that. No explanation, no goodbye.

For a while, Barista would still go to the park, just in case. But eventually, they stopped. Elias faded into the background of their mind, becoming one of those childhood memories that you remember in flashes—the boy with the messy hair and bandaged knees, who laughed too loudly and never explained his bruises.

Years passed, and Barista forgot. Not completely, but enough that Elias became little more than a vague, distant figure in their past.

Life moved on. Barista had gone between several jobs, never staying in one, usually because it never felt right until one thing led to another, something really traumatic that caused the barista to switch tactics and they got a job at Brewhouse Café, trying to balance work and their growing responsibilities. It was routine—making coffee, chatting with regulars, living the kind of normal life they’d once talked about back in the park.

Then one day, he walked in.

At first, Barista didn’t recognize him. He looked familiar, but they couldn’t place why. He wasn’t the scrappy kid they used to know; he was taller, broader, and had a quiet confidence about him. He started coming in regularly, ordering the same thing every time. Barista would make his coffee, exchanging pleasantries, but there was always this nagging feeling at the back of their mind.

Do I know him from somewhere? They thought maybe it was just their imagination—maybe he reminded them of someone from a dream, or some random face they’d seen before. It was strange how comfortable he seemed, how familiar, but Barista couldn’t pinpoint why.

The memories of their friendship, of all those afternoons spent at the park, had blurred with time. Faces and moments had faded, until Elias was just a faint recollection, like a photograph left out in the sun for too long.

One day, as Barista handed him his coffee, they paused. “Have we met before?” They questioned themself

Elias froze for a split second, when he saw them for the first time his smile faltered before quickly recovering. “Maybe,” he said, “could it be them?” shrugging casually. “Stockton’s a small place.”

But the feeling didn’t go away. They watched him walk out of the café, the door chiming behind him, and a flood of forgotten memories stirred faintly in the back of their mind.

Maybe they had known each other once. Maybe it was just their imagination. Either way, the boy from the park was long gone—replaced by a man with secrets Barista couldn’t begin to understand. They didn’t dwell on it, not too much.

Life had moved on. And so had they.

[foodtruckery]

ive returned because your writing haunts me and i need to dig into your brain about combat baby idk how deeply youve thought about like. the whole extent of this au so if im asking about stuff that you dont want to focus on for it forgive me but im so curious how do things go down with bill?? like hes still an issue here do they just try the unicorn hair and stan scams his way through (and ford is so shocked and lowkey turned on impressed they bang after) or with everything else happening does ford (stupid genius he is) just sort of forget bill can still enter stan's dreams even if hes got the metal plate and stans like "hey why am i dreaming about a dorito obsessed with your portal"

and im guessing ford would not be down to make his home a tourist trap so do you think stan would just help with the research? or would his insecurities about being dead weight to ford push him to try and find his own way of income?

and and what about the town?? do they have to awkwardly pretend theyre father and son or uncle and nephew or something? because sure they could pretend theyre not related but they still look pretty similar. ford just looks like an older, nerdier stan so i think that would be people's first assumption (ford seething quietly as susan flirts with stan. stan just thinks fords feeling uncomfortable in town because hes a hermit until theyre alone and they have a repeat of their highschool days with ford hissing in his ear and demanding to know what he was expecting to happen with susan. stan trying to answer but hes a little distracted at the time)

and also with ford being back would they ever run into fiddleford again? either him in his cult days or maybe already halfway to losing his mind. depending on where he is mentally im sure the interaction could be either pretty hostile or sympathetic

ive grabbed you by the ankles and am attempting to shake you upside down to try and empty your pockets for scraps of this au because it consumes me

-🐶

waaaaaah thanks for being patient with me friend! you know i ALWAYS love to see you with the big fuckin questions and ideas. and i have been THINKING about this one cause, tbh, i finished combat baby in a couple of days and went “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT” and threw it at y’all and did not think much about it after that! until i came over here and started chatting with y’all at least hahaha.

the bill issue is like a whole thing right? and i was definitely wondering how the time travel on one side but not the other might impact him/slow him down. but i also do think it’d be kind of fucking hilarious if stan starts dreaming about bill but like. doesn’t say anything and doesn’t even think it’s a big deal because. you know. they’re just weird dreams. and at this point, stan’s done enough drugs and been through the ringer with stress and shit that it doesn’t even occur to him to question having bizarre dreams about some little geometric freak trying to be nice to him. whaaat? a MATH SHAPE for fucking NERDS in a gay little sweater vest BOW TIE is COMPLIMENTING him in his dreams???

as far as stan’s concerned, his subconscious got REALLY hung up on the whole “ford said some nice shit to me while we were fucking” and just hasn’t let that go yet. which i think would also drive bill up the fucking wall. like stan would have been the harder nut to crack regardless, but to keep getting accused of being stan’s mental manifestation of his brother fucking praise kink???? (which of course invites the whole question of bill going fuck it, and just leaning into that, but i don’t think he’d be as adept that mimicking ford for stan as he was at mimicking stan for ford, so)

ngl, i do love the unicorn hair play, tho. fun fact! i have no idea if i’ll actually write it or not, but i’ve toyed with the idea of doing a role reversal with ford coming back out of the portal still in this 30’s and finding stan and everything else having moved forward 30 years. and the unicorn hair felt like a good way to potentially address the Bill Issue i was getting stopped up on there! but like. i also could absolutely see older!ford convincing stan to wear a collar necklace of unicorn hair to keep bill out of his head.

but i loooooove the idea of them getting mixed up with fiddleford’s cult shit. i don’t even know wtf i’d DO with that but conceptually i love it. cause they’re starting to keep an eye on the townspeople, right? and even if stan’s come up with some kinda story to explain there being kinda sorta two of them now, he wouldn’t know not to be outspoken about the other weird shit happening in town. y’know, on top of being some of the weird shit happening in town. something something, stan getting snatched like lazy susan did over the gnome incident, but ayyye that shit hits really fucking wrong when you’ve actually been kidnapped in the past already and had to chew your way out of a fucking car to get free. i think that’s be neat!!

and especially if we consider fidds being maybe already just shade too far gone, enough that running into stan or having him dragged into the cult would confuse the fuck out of him. because that’s stanford, right? it has to be, he’s coming in and out of stanford’s house, he looks like stanford with a few questionable fashion and hygiene choices — but then again, stanford hadn’t been in great shape the last time he’d shown his face outside of the cabin, either. but his hands are wrong. his hands are wrong and he can’t be stanford but then why does he look like him? easy solution: everybody gets their memory wiped.

something something, stan may not know where the fuck he is, but he knows coming to in a room full of shady guys he doesn’t recognize is either gonna end with him losing teeth or a little bit of dignity, and he’d like to hold on to his teeth a little longer.

[hira492]

Look. That episode Mando episode.

Man, i´m not even angry, i´m just disappointed , cause I KNOW how good this show can be. Specially this season that´s, supposedly, gonna revolve around what it means to be a Mandalorian and Mandalore's history 

Din is such an interesting, compeling and complex character and he could be so much more if only THEY- JUST. LET. HIM.

They are completely misunderstanding what´s what drove people to Mando at first. Yes, it´s cute to see this bounty hunter begrudgingly take care of a jedi baby BUT the show is SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT! It was about dissecting this misterious and closed off character who´s being through so much, it was seeing how all that trauma that he has - that made him separate himself from everything and everyone - was what ultimately helped him connect with Grogu. It´s lovely to see him open up little by little knowing he shouldn't, knowing that a goodbye is imminent. It was complex, it had layers. 

And Grogu. I know everyone jokes about how he was just made to sell toys and i thought so as well before starting the show a few years back. I used to really hate him and all the fuss everyone was making around him being a cute baby, but when i finally watched the show, i sat captivated and saw it was so much more. He´s more than just cute baby, he is a survivor ,just like Din, and has lived through so many things. His story is so interesting and he could be much more than a “marketable sw mascot”, but again, THEY ARE NOT ALLOWING THEM THAT!

It´s so frustrating watching this first episode and see both our main characters being reduced to “cute baby” and “dad”. They feel as they have no agency. And damn my brain for making me think this, but i felt, watching this episode, as i felt watching the last Jurassic World movie. Everyone is a diluted version of their character, everyone moves and does whatever the plot and script needs them to do without any explanation or reason to why or HOW they did it and everything just moves SO FUCKING FAST for no reason.

The first 3 episodes of the 1st season were such bangers cause they were the total opposite of this one. They were paced so well, letting viewers experience events along the characters, they made an amazing use of Show not tell (cof cof what do you mean Grogu was away from Din for around a year, Favreau cof cof), they introduced a conflict in a natural and organic way, and most importantly, they trusted the audience to understand what was happening without having a character explain it as we were a bunch of idiots or smth. 

Think about that scene in the 3rd episode when Din decides to take Grogu back from the imperials. We, as an audience, understand (without seeing the guy´s face) what´s going on in his mind in that moment; the doubt, the regret, the decision, everything just through body language, well done cinematography and music. We didn´t need Din or someone else going “you felt bad so you went back for him”, no, we just understood, and the show trusted us to understand that, to come to our own conclussions and understanding of the scene and motivations of the characters. AND WE HAD JUST MET THE GUY.

The difference here from last episode is that they gave us something to work with and, watching the episodes, you understand Din´s final decision.

Now we just don´t know what the hell Din´s thinking, and not because of a mystery or to build tension, it just feels as if Din is a weird NPC that moves the story forward and is there only to show us cool action scenes, cameos and Mandalore lore, without relating to anything. He feels as if he´s just not thinking at all, not as being stupid, but just as if he literally had no mind of his own, no opinions,no feelings, no nothing. And Grogu is just..there, i guess. Being cute and that´s all. 

Also, not as important as the narrative and script issues i had with the episode but, when i first watched The Mandalorian - begrudgingly, i must add, as i actually hated star wars but a friend of mine kept insisting that i gave it a try - i was amazed at how detailed the effects were, how everything felt alive and lived in. I remember rewatching again and again the scene where Din lands the Razor Crest in Arvala 7 and just admire the detail of the dust and water moving with the ship´s power, the way everything felt so real. Everything in the 1st and 2nd season ( i have my issues with the effects in season 2 as well but they´re still okay, imo) felt alive, real. And wow, what a downgrade this episode was.

For a show with a ridiculous budget it´s not showing at all. The kid helmet at the start looked like a toy (i can let it slide cause it´s literally brand new so you could argue there´s no reason for it to not look all shiny and clean), the alligator was okay, i guess, but didn´t feel nearly as real as the  Krayt Dragon from S2, and the rest...to be honest, not surprised at all. I kept getting thrown off by the straight up green screen feel of the Greef vs Random Pirates scene (Also an unnecessary scene, tbh, felt like an escuse for a “cool star wars space battle ™” ). The Mandalorian castle was cool, tho, i guess.

I´m not dissing the people who worked in the show´s Visual Effects at all, btw. I know they can do amazing things, cause they have, i´m sure it was more of a direction and studio issue.

It surprised me how Mando´s episode in TBOBF felt much more interesting, well paced, compelling and true to Din´s character than this episode. 

I know it might be way too early to judge the season as we only have this 1st episode but it´s not looking too good, Mando nation.

I want to be clear, I´m not saying everything sucked, either. I´m just frustrated cause this is my favourite show, it means a lot to me and i just want it to be as good as i know it can be.

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[nyxypoo]

love hate relationship with fried fish