#i wrote this story as something personal to me

[just-watch-and-calculate]

ooh writing that is related to time loops but not conventional time loop narrative is interesting. the idea I have now is a bit of a different direction in terms of the underlying concept though

TW/CW: death (mentioned in the 2nd person, implied ending) (also a slight warning: the following is fiction written in the second person and is about being disoriented in spacetime, and about the existential dread from that; also I don't know how much other people get out of this without some rather specific physics knowledge)

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The rest of your life is ahead of you.

You get ready to end the day by waking up into the comforting embrace of sleep. This is the end of the day, right? Mind already— or still?— groggy, you are not sure. Faint recollections of today make themselves known in your mind. Recollections of one of the two ends of your life. Just whether it is the celebrated or grieved one you are not sure right now. At least you are headed away from it, right?

Thinking about that, you realize that you might be moving away from the moment you will(?) end he day by waking up. You are awake enough to notice that the phrasing of that sounds… off, somehow. The sun is still a bit away from setting— or is it rising right now? By definition the night ends with the sun rising and starts with it setting, so that is no help in figuring out which way is future and which way is past.

You remember somewhat how today went goes. And you remember a bit less clearly how tomorrow yesterday the closest day one night from now goes. That is a sign that the future is that way, right? That we know little enough about that temporal direction to think we have free will there.

But you know better than to think you truly have free will, don't you? You know that when you learn about it you are shocked. And you know that at some other point in time you are not shocked about it, at that point in time you accept that the universe is deterministic.¹

But will that be in the future, or has that been in the past? You hope that that is your future, because you remember enough to know that one direction is much longer than the other. Something goes went will go goes wrong today.

You realize that you should not have such clear memories of both past and future. Maybe that is why today has been— will be?— so confusing. You do know that it does make sense for it to be possible though: the direction of time is surprisingly ambiguous unless entropy is involved, so those memories do little to help.

Entropy! You remember: you can find out what direction is generally regarded as the future quite easily. You grab an ice cube. As you hold it you remember that you have(?) let it go right as your hand hurts slightly from the cold. It slides across the floor towards/away from you. Your hand is wet and cold from it. You know enough about entropy to know that the cube melted from holding it.

Which means that today is still mostly ahead of you. And then… nothing. Not the faintest recollection.

You feel cold panic. You are clinging on to the irrational, desperate hope that somehow you can change this. But you know that you can't. Shattered, disjointed recollections of today are burnt into you memory so much deeper than anything else.

Has some attempt to go back just reinforced fate instead? But that isn't how causality works. It shouldn't be. You hope you are not doomed already. You know you are.

Maybe— maybe your colleagues can help you. They've been working on this kind of thing for some distance time (but it's a lot less in time than what that length would be in space, isn't it?). Your research group is working with small controlled systems to better understand what time is. Most that you remember coming of that research so far only has potential for some parlor tricks, but that can change, even on such a short notice, right? (Hah! 'Short' notice, as if we all already know that time and space are not that different.)

There it is again, that irrational thought that somehow the universe doesn't work as you know it does. That things you know cannot be changed, things you know you cannot change, could be changed.

You stand at the bus stop. Why would you have to wait there if you know the bus has arrived early at its destination will be late at the bus stop?

You are on the bus. You just look out of the window disinterestedly, watching the world go by, letting distance pass like time. Is the bus driving forwards or backwards? Are you headed towards your end or away from it? In any case, part of what has you so disinterested in the bus ride is that you know it is uneventful. You have already ridden here from one of the stops you got on/off the bus at and remember that part of the drive. You also remember the other part from/to the other stop you will get on/off the bus at.

You arrive at the laboratory. "Good morning!" you respond. "Morning!" is the answer you receive from the only other person currently at the lab. You can't shake the feeling you should've responded with 'bye'.

You look at the current setup: two almost identical experiments that can run simultaneously — except one of them has opposite charges and is mirrored. And most important of all, one of them starts as the other ends — one of them is backwards. And you truly do not know which one that is anymore. (Anymore? Or will you just come to learn it later?)

It looks different from the other times you see it. "Hey, could you check my calculations? Something's not adding up, I've found a configuration where I don't know where some of the energy comes from" your colleague asks. "It's just, trying to figure it out has kept me up all night. I'd really appreciate a second pair of eyes on this."

You consider what she says: 'all night', not 'all day'. That clears up how she perceives time. It does not fix how you do though.

You remember what is written on the piece of paper she hands you as you first read it. And she is right, it should all add up, it just somehow doesn't. It is as if the Formulas just 'know' that something will be there to fix things. And if not, who knows what would happen. You would rather not know. With a sigh you say "Whatever is wrong with that calculation, I can't spot it either."

"It's alright, I already modified our setup to test this. Want to give it a try?" she responds. Not waiting for your answer in her eagerness to learn she fiddles with the controls of the experiment.

You run between her and the experimental setup. You suddenly know where the extra energy is: with you, somehow. The setup is currently powering up/down. You have to do something or you really will risk finding out how the universe deals with mathematical inconsistencies.

She calls your name, voice full of worry. You are in the experiment room. The setup is powered. You know what fate lurks here. You want to leave this room so badly.

It is too late. Your path through spacetime is not exactly subject to causality — it kind of is causality. Your path through spacetime is not something you have carved out. It just is. And here it leads you. And one of its ends is here.

You want just one more day.

The last, or perhaps the first thing you know is just how wrong you still were about how time works.

_____ ¹ I'm too much of a nerd to completely gloss over quantum randomness possibly not being deterministic, but for the purposes of this story it can be ignored.

I love time loop stories. Really, I do.

But I'd love to see a story about what happens after you emerge from the time loop.

When, after months or years of repetition, you have to learn how to live with a choice you can't redo tomorrow.

When you meet someone new for the first time and have to figure out how to navigate this brand new conversation.

When you reach for the same day's clothes and realize that you can't wear them because they got dirty. Your laundry, your dishes, your body, your teeth, all the tasks that reset with the loop are suddenly stacking up and you need to set aside time to do them.

When you reach that first weekend and your schedule radically shifts and you don't know what to do with yourself, which is terrifying but also exhilarating in ways you can't explain.

When you casually drop facts learned from those books you spent a dozen loops reading, and you realize you retained something worth keeping.

How your memory gets weirdly good all of a sudden, despite not having all that repetition to fall back on, because suddenly every experience is fresh and new.

And when the seasons change, and your hair grows long enough that you want to cut it, and when you realize it's shocking because you didn't think you'd ever see something as incredible as the passage of time.

[requiemforthepoets]

the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

YOU WERE, FAKING?

drew starkey x reader x obx cast

SUMMARY: the unspoken prank war between the obx cast finds a new pair in the lead when Y/N and Drew decide to pull a fainting prank.

based on this ask !! i hope you like it anon, and it’s more of a drabble than a full length one-shot so apologies !! :) i kinda wrote it with a gn!reader so it could be enjoyed by everyone, and it can be interpreted as platonic with drew or not, it’s up to you <3

WARNINGS: fake fainting, pure fluff (a teensy bit of angst), the obx cast being hilarious😭 (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 827

THIRD PERSON +

The Outer Banks cast was known for their wild pranks on each other. It had become an unspoken competition of sorts—who could pull off the most elaborate stunt? From fake snakes on set to airhorns hidden in trailers, the bar had been set high. But Drew and Y/N had been conspiring for weeks to deliver the ultimate prank: something serious enough to leave the cast reeling, yet harmless enough to laugh about afterward.

"Are you sure about this?" Drew asked, leaning against the kitchen counter in their shared rental. "You know how dramatic JD gets."

Y/N smirked, tying their sneakers. "That's exactly why it's gonna work. They've pulled worse on us."

"You're evil," Drew teased, shaking his head with a grin.

"Maybe, but you're helping me, so what does that say about you?" Y/N shot back with a wink.

Drew chuckled, tossing an arm around Y/N's shoulders. "Alright, let's do this. But if I get punched by Chase, I'm blaming you."

—

The cast was lounging around between scenes on set, laughing and swapping stories. Madelyn was scrolling through TikTok, Chase was attempting to juggle three water bottles, and JD was doing terrible impressions of John B. Everyone was relaxed—exactly the atmosphere Drew and Y/N needed.

Y/N glanced at Drew, who subtly nodded. The two had been practicing their act for days. Taking a deep breath, Y/N stood, pretending to stretch before stumbling slightly.

"Whoa, you okay?" Rudy asked, noticing the movement first.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm—" Y/N's voice faltered, and they pressed a hand to their forehead dramatically.

Drew was immediately at their side. "Hey, sit down. You don't look good," he said, his tone laced with concern.

Everyone's attention snapped to Y/N as they swayed on their feet.

"I... I think..." Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, and they collapsed, hitting the ground with a thud.

"Y/N!" Madelyn shouted, leaping to her feet.

"What the hell?" Chase yelled, rushing over.

JD dropped his phone, wide-eyed. "Oh my God, what's happening?"

Drew crouched beside Y/N, putting on his best panicked expression. "Y/N, wake up! Hey, hey, come on!" He shook their shoulders gently. "Somebody get water!"

Rudy bolted to grab a water bottle while Madelyn knelt next to Drew. "What happened? Were they feeling sick earlier?"

"I don't know," Drew lied, running a hand through his hair. "They said they were fine, but—" He cut himself off, looking utterly distraught.

"Should we call 911?" Chase asked, pulling out his phone.

"No, wait," Drew said quickly, holding up a hand. "Give them a second. They might've just fainted. Y/N?" He shook them again.

JD, visibly freaking out, was pacing back and forth. "This is bad. This is so bad. They're not waking up!"

Madelyn's voice cracked. "Y/N, please, wake up."

Y/N kept their face perfectly still, barely resisting the urge to laugh as they felt Drew's hand squeeze their shoulder—a silent signal that they were nailing it.

After a solid minute of chaos, Y/N finally cracked. Their lips twitched, and before they could stop it, a giggle escaped.

Drew immediately broke character, a grin spreading across his face. "No way," he said, laughing.

Y/N sat up, bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, you guys! You should've seen your faces!"

The cast froze, staring at the two of them in disbelief.

"Wait... what?" Madelyn blinked, still kneeling on the ground.

"You were faking?" Chase shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Rudy, who had just returned with a water bottle, looked at them like they were insane. "Are you kidding me right now?"

Y/N doubled over, tears streaming down their face from laughing so hard. "You all were so scared!"

JD pointed a finger at Drew. "You were in on this? You traitor!"

"Guilty," Drew admitted, shrugging. "But come on, it was good, right?"

"No, it was not good!" Madelyn scolded, but the corner of her mouth twitched as if she were trying not to laugh.

"You guys had me ready to call 911!" Chase said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, and I thought I was about to give mouth-to-mouth!" JD added dramatically, making everyone groan.

"You wouldn't have done that," Rudy shot back.

"I might've!" JD insisted, crossing his arms.

Y/N leaned against Drew for support, still laughing. "Okay, okay, we're sorry. But admit it—we just won the prank war."

Chase huffed, crossing his arms. "You didn't win. You just... traumatised us a little."

Madelyn rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. You win this round. But we're coming for you."

"Oh, we'll be ready," Drew said with a smirk, pulling Y/N closer.

As the group finally began to laugh it off, JD pointed at Y/N. "You better sleep with one eye open."

"Worth it," Y/N replied with a grin, fist-bumping Drew.

The prank war had officially reached a new level.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a bit of a silly one, and more of a drabble than a full length one-shot, but i hope you enjoy anon !! sorry this took a while, i’m trying to work through like 20 something requests XD but i’m trying my best to get most done <3

of anyone has any angst requests (w/ a happy ending) pls send them, i am in the mood for angst !!

[wcnderlnds]

home sweet home | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: after his big interview, you go over to make sure he's okay and there's a shift in the friendship. ・❥・word count: 941 ・❥・warnings: none! oh, except for kissing, i guess. ・❥・ authors note: ok im nervous about this one. i havent wrote fics for musicians, etc. in years so we'll see how it goes but im so down bad for this man

Each glance at the clock made your heart beat just a little faster, the hours ticking by slowly. If you were nervous then you couldn’t even imagine how he felt. His first interview in years — it had to be the most daunting experience to put himself back into the spotlight like that. Your foot tapped against the floor of your apartment as you waited for the clock to hit 3PM. That was the time you’d told him you’d go over to his place to check on him. His interview would’ve been over by then and it gave him some time to process things on his own. Most of the time Seung-hyun liked to isolate himself but if there was one person in the world that he’d let see him at his most vulnerable, it was you. Not like he had a choice anyway. Whether he wanted it or not, you were always checking on him. He was your nearest and dearest friend so you couldn’t let him face his demons on his own.

Seung-hyun appreciated it more than he would ever be able to explain to you. As of now, you were the only person he hadn’t shut out — his guiding light in the darkness of his life for the past few years. You were a big reason why he thought more positively these days, why he even had the courage to pick himself up and get back out into the world.

Finally, 3PM came and without hesitation, you made your way over to his place. As you raised your fist to knock, the door pulled open. There he stood, a smile on his face as his dark, floppy hair got in the way of his glasses. He pushed his hair back as you stepped inside. It really was a crime how this man could look so good at any given time. He really had been blessed with amazing genes. His hair with no product in, the glasses framing his face and the comfortable hoodie he was wearing made your heart almost skip a beat.

“How’d it go?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Okay,” he replied, his arms wrapping around you, holding you against his chest. “Scary but I did it and that’s the main thing. It’s long overdue.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you smiled. As you pulled back, you let your arms rest on his forearms, gazing up into his gorgeous dark eyes. “Baby steps, yeah? Go at your own pace. But, for now, let’s eat and you can tell me all about it.”

The dinner was spent with you both laughing, him telling stories of how the interview went, you telling him about your day — he was always so willing to listen to every word you said. The way he looked at you paired with the way he was always so attentive was any person’s dream. Seung-hyun was a catch; anyone with eyes could see that. Yours had been closed for so long but now? You were starting to realise that maybe, just maybe, what you both needed had been right in front of you this whole time.

As the two of you stood in the kitchen clearing up, you ran a plate under the sink, rinsing off the debris so you could put it in the dishwasher. Spinning around, you came face to chest with Seung-hyun who had been standing behind you placing something in the cabinet above your head. You gulped at the proximity, his fingers sliding over yours as he took the plate from your hand. It was only brief contact but it was enough to make your heart speed up.

“Here, let me do that,” he said quietly, his deep voice like music to your ears. It took him all of two seconds to reach over, bend down and place it in the dishwasher before he was back facing you. 

“Thank you,” your voice was soft, eyes locking with his as you glanced up.

Seung-hyun gently tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, his fingers skimming your cheek as he pulled back. Your breath caught in your throat. It was like time had frozen still for a moment — nothing but you and your best friend locked in this monumental piece of time where you realised this was more than friendship. Maybe it always had been. Your heart had just finally decided to catch up and realise it. From the moment you had met this amazing, incredible man, he’d had a piece of your heart. All you ever wanted to do was protect him, care for him like he deserved. The world had been cruel to him but you’d make sure that nothing would be again.

It was as if he was reading your mind, his hand cupping your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing the soft skin of your cheek. Who was going to be the first to make a move? Was it worth risking the friendship? It seemed like it to Seung-hyun as he leaned forward and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours, eyes fluttering shut. Your hands rested on his chest, lips moving together in perfect sync. Like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. You could feel him smiling against your lips, pulling back ever so slightly. Your lips parted, chest rising and falling with each breath. 

“Can I do that again?” He asked almost breathlessly. 

You didn’t even say a word instead placing your hand at the back of his neck and pulling him back down to your lips. Yeah, there was definitely no going back now.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I have been in fandom since before the internet, but I didn't know that there was a name for it before I got the internet at 14.

Sean is two years younger than me and has never been in fandom. He looked up fic as a teen and it just didn't hit him. So, he's never been in fandom.

We have VERY different experiences. We watch a show, and we can talk about what we've seen and what it means. But then I'll go, "OMG what if I wrote a fic about X" and he listens and sometimes offers interesting suggestions, but it's so clearly not what he's into. He is happy watching and experiencing and talking about the story he's watching. I enjoy all those things BUT ALSO want to go in various directions depending on what really digs into my brain.

And the thing is, the normies who have found fandom and try so hard to bend fandom to them truly do not understand fandom. It's not about looking at what you're getting from canon and sitting there and only talking and writing and accepting that. Fandom is about loving something so much you can't stop the tendrils of creativity from uncurling and reaching out. Yes, canon said THIS but WHAT IF. Hey, canon never did THIS and WHAT IF. Hey, canon said THIS but I want to do THAT and HOW DOES THAT WORK.

And the thing is, I think there are normies in fandom who aren't huge assholes about how the rest of us are a bunch of perverts and weirdos. But also, I believe the rise of normies in fandom spaces are directly related to why so many people coming into fandom think it's about convincing showrunners to do what THEY want.

When that is not and never has been and never should be what fandom is about.

Fandom is about being so interested in something you want to turn it over and over in your hands looking for all the details you can pull from it. Fandom is about loving characters and going, "But what if these same people ran a coffee shop?" Fandom is about going "Canon says they have no romantic love, but they're wrong."

And this does NOT mean normies don't have a place in fandom. But normies HAVE deeply influenced fandom by doing things like breaking the fourth wall and refusing to disconnect from canon.

I wrote exactly 1 story for Supernatural. It was Sam/Gabriel. I had Sam call Gabriel "Gabe." The reason I never posted any other SPN fic is because someone on that story got mad at me for having Sam call Gabriel "Gabe." Because it wasn't canon.

Neither was the fucking, mind you. But that person was so pissed off I used a non-canon nickname that they actually argued with someone who WASN'T ME about how they shouldn't have written that when a stranger tried to politely point out what a dumb thing that was to say about FAN FICTION. Because the complainer was so determined to be shitty about the nickname that they assumed the completely random person with a completely different handle than mine must be me defending myself. I did get into the thread and pointed out I was clearly the author, and I didn't fucking care if they didn't like it.

Looking back, I feel like I saw a very early moment of a normie in fandom trying to bend fandom to what they think fandom is. Which is a straight line extension of canon that somehow includes dudes fucking on a notably queerphobic show but DOES NOT INCLUDE A NON CANON NICKNAME.

The determination to word of god every goddamn detail of everything in fandom, the determination to demand your ship become canon, the determination that only certain ships are the RIGHT ONES because others are too weird or gross or just what you don't personally want are all connected to normies coming into fandom and expecting fandom to be normie.

Fandom should never, ever be normie. Fandom should ALWAYS be the John Waters against the British movie censors. They told him, upon reviewing Pink Flamingos, "We have no rating for intentional bad taste."

In fandom, we should all be John Waters, aiming first and foremost for our own enjoyment and delight in what we want to create. And laughing as we tell the story of the normies being so lost at what we're doing that they can't rate it at all because all they see is bad taste.

[miriadalia]

Things you can comment on the fanfics you love when you have no idea what to say

From what takes less time to what takes more

~show those writers your love, please!! They do it for free T-T and they deserve better

1. Emojis

You know the vibe of the fic you're reading, chose the ones that suit it better.

❤❤❤

💔💔💔

🙈🔥🔥

You may think this is kind of stupid, but trust me, it is NOT for the writer. It shows you've read until the end of the chapter and that you liked it so much that you decided to say it publicly. Your presence means A LOT.

Also, leaving kudos or votes takes literally just 1 second, what are you doing NOT doing that?? 🤨🤨🤨

2. Simple phrases

I loved it so much!!

Can't wait for the next chapter!!

This was just so good 😍

Amazing as always, keep it up!! 🙌🏼

Writing is a lonely work if you think about it. When I'm in a writer's block, just one sentence can hype me up for the rest of the day and give me the spirit I need 💪🏽

3. The emotions you felt

Yes, you DO matter. That fanfic author cares more about your opinion than your stupid ex so you better write to them instead 🧐

The plotwist was so unexpected, I'm shocked 😱

You can't end with that cliffhanger, how am I supposed to wait another week??

Excuse me, I will now lock into my room and cry all night, thank you 💔

I've read some people saying they won't comment how they felt because they feel ashamed or shy. Take it as if you were about to post a tweet or comment on a friend IG's story 👍🏻

4. One piece of dialogue/prose that really amazed you

Oof 🔥 this happened to me a few weeks ago and that comment still lives in my mind rent free. There's no better way to compliment a writer's work than to highlight something they wrote that left a true impression on you.

And it literally takes no time:

[Insert piece of dialogue], oh she didn't just say that, imma throw hands 🤬🤬

[Insert piece of a description], I could really see it with my own eyes, loved how you described it!

5. Hopes and wishes for future chapters

C'mon, you're going to comment this anyway with some of your fandom mutuals or friends, why don't let the writer know that too?? COPY AND PASTE IT ✍✍

I just need Chatacter A and Chatacter B to kiss, how long is it gonna take?? 😩

Watching that scene in [Canon series name] would have been awesome!! Maybe in future seasons 👀👀

I hope [Ship Name] don't break up in the next chapter, they are so cute 😭

6. Character discussion

Okay, we're entering deeper waters here.

But the truth is: if you love that fanfic that much is because the characters really resonated with you. So express your first thoughts without any fear:

[Chatacter Name] is so important to me, like you have no idea. All the things they went through... But they still manage to be a better person ❤

[Chatacter Name] was so forgotten in [Movie/Series Name], I'm glad they're getting the development they deserved here!

7. Scene discussion

Again, you might think the comment section is no place to start "fangirling" over the stuff you liked. But IT IS!! And the writer wants to know your thoughts on their work, especially if your opinion is all positive 💞

This will take more time, sure. But if you're going to write it anyways for other people, COPY AND PASTE AGAIN, hon!

8. How this story is impacting your fan life (or even personal life)

You don't need to overshare, but simple comments like:

Your fic has really changed the way I think about [Character Name]'s decisions, I feel like I can understand them better now.

This story has motivated me to rewatch all the episodes again 😢 the nostalgia!!!

What you did with [Character's situation] was incredible! I've been there myself and I could have not explain it better 😔

... They will be the ones the writer will remember the most, I can assure you that.

9. A simple THANK YOU

At the end of the day, fanfic and fanart creators only have your feedback to rely on when the block or discouragement hits... This is about showing appreciation to someone you may not know at all, but that has brighten your day with their creations and efforts ❤

[youssefguedira]

I wish you would write a fic about irreconcilable artistic differences on a movie set between Joe and Nicky.

not really irreconciliable as in not solvable at all but you know i had fun with this

Joe squeezes his eyes shut, covering his face with both hands, and leans forward. His shoulders tremble uncontrollably. He takes a short, sharp breath, and another, and another, but he can’t quite seem to get enough into his lungs. There’s a lump in his throat and a weight in his stomach. He leans forward with a low, wounded sound and–

“Cut,” Nicky says softly. Then, because it takes Joe a second to hear him: “Joe, stop.”

Slowly, Joe raises his head. Wipes at his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. Nicky’s already up, frowning ever so slightly as he looks at the camera. 

“What is it this time?” Joe manages. His voice is hoarse; he has to clear his throat once or twice. Nicky doesn’t look up. The clock on the nightstand reads 01.34, but Nicky’s changed it a few times over the course of the shoot. He has no clue what time it really is, only that it’s dark outside.

It’s just the two of them in the room. Nicky had wanted to keep this one small, just him and Joe and the camera. The apartment they’re in is nice, if a little empty, though Joe supposes that’s the point. They’re in the bedroom, Joe sitting cross-legged on the bed, shirtless, sheets bunched up over his lap, a phone lying on the nightstand behind him. One entire wall of the room is taken up by a floor-to-ceiling window which lets the moonlight in, though there’s a few low lights set up behind Nicky to send bars of silver light across the bed, because the natural light hadn’t quite been strong enough for the effect Nicky wanted. It’s otherworldly; it’s beautiful. 

Nicky still isn’t looking at him, so Joe says again, “What?” It comes out a little harsher than he means it to, but it gets Nicky’s attention.

Nicky runs one hand through his hair. Joe can’t see him well, not with the light behind him and the shadows in the room. “I don’t know,” Nicky says. “It’s missing something.”

Joe has worked with Nicky enough times before. It’s not that he doesn’t like working with him - they’re friends - but he can’t fucking read him, and so after the sixth take of the same scene he can’t help but take it a little personally. 

Joe reaches for the bottle of water hidden just under the bed and takes a long drink, mostly to keep himself from snapping. What time is it? “I can try again, but I can’t do this indefinitely, Nicky.”

“I know, I know,” Nicky says, fidgeting again with the camera, “it’s not you, it’s just–” 

“What else could it be?” Joe interrupts. He’s not stupid. This scene doesn’t work if he can’t get it right, which means the entire film doesn’t work if he can’t get it right. More than anything else, this one depends on him. No music, no camera movement, no dialogue, nothing but him and the camera. And he wants to do it right, he loves this project almost as much as Nicky does, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest and he’s spent the last however-many-hours having a near-complete breakdown over and over again and it’s still not right. And Joe doesn’t know what it is he’s doing wrong.

“I don’t know,” Nicky says quietly. Now he is looking at Joe, and Joe can’t tell if he’s disappointed, or angry, or – or what. He’s perfectly expressionless, as always. 

Joe loves this job. And he wants to get this right. But it doesn’t mean it’s not one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, and he’s tired.

“I don’t have much more left in me, Nicky,” he says, and this time he does snap. He wipes at his eyes again, can’t look at Nicky. He’s supposed to be making himself vulnerable, above all in this scene, but suddenly he can’t stand the way Nicky’s looking at him. “Pass me my hoodie.”

“Joe–”

“I can’t. I can’t keep doing this.” He kicks the sheets off and gets tangled trying to do it, grabs his hoodie when Nicky offers it, pulls it over his head in one fluid motion and gets out of there as soon as he can. Thankfully, there’s only Andy and Nile in the other room, Andy lying back on the couch with her feet up and Nile perched on the arm of it. They both look up at Joe as he enters, both look like they’re about to ask, and Joe can’t stand it, can’t be in here a second longer, can’t–

“We are done for the day, I think,” Nicky says behind him, startling Joe. He hadn’t realised Nicky was there.

Andy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. It’s already the second day of trying to shoot this scene: they’re running the risk of falling behind schedule. 

“We’ll find something else to do tomorrow,” Nicky says. “I’ll look over everything tonight. We will try this again on Monday.”

Andy and Nile look at each other. Nile shrugs. 

“Get some rest, Joe,” Nicky says. 

Joe shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t say a word.

–--------------------------------

He doesn’t get called in the next day at all, and he doesn’t interrogate it too closely. Takes the day off, pretty much, because they’ve only really got one scene left to film, and there’s not much more he can do for that. Nicky had wanted to leave it to the last, and Joe had agreed, at the time.

At about nine pm, someone knocks on his hotel room door, which is unusual on a day where they don’t have a night shoot to do. When he opens it, Nicky is on the other side. Joe lets him in without a word. 

“I wanted to apologise,” Nicky says, standing in the middle of the room and looking as uncomfortable as Joe’s ever seen him. “For last night. I was pushing you too hard, and I should not have done.”

Joe closes the door behind him. Nicky fidgets with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Sit down,” Joe says. 

Nicky does, settling himself on the edge of Joe’s bed, not quite looking him in the eye. Joe joins him, after a moment. 

“At the risk of sounding cliche,” Nicky says, “it’s not you, it’s me.”

Joe laughs, mostly because the phrase sounds so strange coming from Nicky and also because out of everything he’d thought Nicky might say, he hadn’t expected that. 

Nicky smiles slightly, too. Then he gets up and heads for the minibar. “Mind if I have a drink?”

Joe shakes his head. Nicky gets out a little bottle of wine, glances at the label, and takes a swig straight from the bottle without bothering to get a glass. 

“I can’t seem to get it right,” Nicky says. “You know I wrote almost fifteen different versions of that scene?”

The scene in the script itself is barely a page long. “No,” Joe says. 

Nicky nods. Rubs a hand over his face. “I wanted it to feel real. I thought if I could get it right, it would… help, somehow. I don’t know.”

It’s the exact same reason Joe said yes before he even read the script, when the whole thing was just an idea in Nicky’s head, when they were talking about it over drinks at Andy’s and Joe was in love with the idea almost immediately. He knew exactly why Nicky was writing it; he knows, now, exactly why it needs to be right. But at the same time – “I don’t know if that’s possible, Nicky.”

Nicky sighs. “I know.” He crosses back over to sit beside Joe again, takes another drink from the bottle. “But there is something missing, and I cannot seem to find it. And so it does not feel real. And I know this is not easy for you.”

“It’s not,” Joe says plainly. 

“But you know,” Nicky continues, “I could not have trusted anyone with this but you. If you had not said yes, I would not have done this.”

That, Joe didn’t know: he knows he’d been Nicky’s first choice, but he’d assumed that’s because they know each other well enough already. But it makes sense: the reason Nicky wrote the script is the same thing they’d bonded over. 

Even still, it’s a lot. “I don’t know if I can do it the way you want,” Joe says. 

Nicky looks up at him from where he’s been running his fingers over the label on the bottle absentmindedly. “If you want to stop, I can–”

“No,” Joe says quickly. “But I don’t think it’s ever going to be exactly the way you felt.”

Nicky looks away. “It is a lot to ask,” he says. “I know this.”

Joe doesn’t think; just reaches over and takes Nicky’s hand. “I know,” he says. “Trust me.”

Nicky takes a deep breath. Then he nods. "Okay."

[leonastarry]

Hihi! Can you make a Mafia(secret)!Sung Jin-woo x author!fem!reader? Where the reader is a famous soft hearted author who wrote many kinds of stories which attracted many attention and Jin-woo being one of her fans(in secret) holds a whole collection of her books. He sent his most trusted guards (igris, bellion and beru in human) to watch over her and keep him updated.

He never misses any of her books and is always the one who buys it first (in her official store on online) he doesn’t buy it in person since yeah his a well known mafia in the underground. But on a random Friday, the CEO name Liu Zhigang requested her to work for him as the reader take’s her time to think about it. Thanks to Jin-woo’s connections and wandering guards, he found out about this and immediately made a move, he ordered his men to sabotage Liu Zhigang’s company to keep the reader away from him.

The rest up to you of how they met. Btw his secretly obsessed with her like a yandere

[ Req 18 ] Under the Cover of Pages. ✧. ┊    mafia!jinwoo x author!reader.

The midnight city throbbed with life, its lights casting a light that could not reach the man sitting behind the vast desk. Sung Jinwoo, the most feared mafia boss in the underworld, stared at the books neatly arranged on his bookshelf. Each title belonged to a single author—you.

To others, his works were simply literary masterpieces, filled with intricate plots and heartfelt characters. To Jinwoo, they were a lifeline. Every word he wrote spoke to a part of himself buried beneath layers of power and violence. The softness, the hope—he found himself drawn to the world he created, a stark contrast to the one he ruled.

Jinwoo’s obsession was a secret he kept fiercely close. Even his most trusted men—his shadows—knew better than to doubt his dedication to your work.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Keep her safe,” Jinwoo instructed, his voice cold but firm.

Igris bowed slightly, a graceful and elegant figure. “She remains unaware of our presence, my Liege.”

Beru, always eccentric, sneered. “Her schedule is predictable. She spends most of her time writing at home or going to cafes for inspiration.”

Bellion crossed his arms. “There’s no threat yet, but Liu Zhigang’s offer might change that.”

Jinwoo’s expression darkened. Liu Zhigang was a rival, his influence was immense in the business world, both legal and underground. That man had recently approached you, offering you a lucrative contract to write an exclusive story for his company. Jinwoo couldn't allow that.

Beru's smile widened. "What should we do, my Liege? Teach him a lesson?"

Bellion frowned. "Perhaps we shouldn't overdo it. The Liu family has power, any public move might attract her attention."

Jinwoo's fingers tapped lightly on the polished wood of the desk. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed his determination. "Liu Zhigang is no match for me. No need to be tactful. I guarantee his offer will be rescinded by tomorrow morning."

The shadows bowed and disappeared, leaving Jinwoo alone with his thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the latest book you had published, the pages worn from repeated reading.

“I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Liu Zhigang woke up in chaos. His company, known for its dominance in the media and entertainment industry, was suddenly in chaos. Key investors had pulled out, and rumors of internal scandals had tarnished his reputation. Within hours, his offer to you was withdrawn with a hasty apology.

Unaware of the chaos, you read Liu’s message with mixed feelings. There was something about his offer that didn’t feel right, and you felt relieved that you didn’t have to accept it. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you, although you chalked it up to paranoia.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your favorite coffee shop, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, is your sanctuary. The hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee create the perfect backdrop for your thoughts.

As you scribble in your notebook, a shadow falls across your desk. Looking up, you see a man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His striking grey eyes gaze at you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

“May I sit here?” he asks, his voice soft and deep.

You nod, momentarily speechless.

“I’m Sung Jinwoo,” he introduces himself and holds out his hand.

Your eyes widen in recognition. “The CEO of Ahjin Industries?”

His lips curl into a small smile. “That’s one of my roles.”

As he sits across from you, the atmosphere seems to change. There was something about him that drew you in, something that held you back.

"I'm a fan of your work too," he admitted, his tone softer.

The confession took you by surprise. "You've read my books?"

"All of them," he said simply. "Your stories have a way of… reaching places most people can't. They're remarkable."

You felt your cheeks flush. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Over the next hour, Jinwoo engaged you in a conversation that felt effortless. He asked about your inspirations, your favorite authors, and even your least favorite topics. His genuine interest caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself sharing parts of yourself that you usually kept hidden.

Little did you know, Jinwoo already knew a lot of what you shared. He memorized your interviews, tracked your public appearances, and pieced together your habits. But hearing it from your lips was a different kind of thrill.

As you spoke, you noticed something strange. The way Jinwoo looked at you—it wasn’t just admiration. It was as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

That night, Jinwoo returned to his room. In his hand was the notebook you left at the coffee shop. He had no intention of keeping it—just making sure it was returned to you—but he couldn’t help but flip through the pages.

Your notes, written in neat handwriting, were filled with ideas for future stories. Jinwoo’s heart raced as he read, imagining himself in every romantic scene you described.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, the possessiveness in his voice undeniable.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next time you saw Jinwoo was at an event reserved for writers and industry leaders. You were invited as a guest of honor, and Jinwoo was there as a socialite.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, Jinwoo looked every inch the powerful CEO, but he was focused on you. As the night wore on, he found his opportunity.

“I want to return this,” he said, handing you your notebook.

Your eyes lit up in surprise. “You found it! Thank you.”

The two of you eventually left the event together, his presence a comforting contrast to the crowded crowd. As the elevator doors closed, Jinwoo turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“You have no idea how much I admire you,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could react, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. The world outside the elevator faded away, leaving only the two of you.

Hope you like it! 💗

Yipee, all the requests has been written :)

Proud of myself ✨

Thanks for loving my works, dear readers 💗💗💗

[alms4oblivion]

<-prev I think it's so interesting how there seems to be very little overlap in the Undertale and WN fandoms! I had heard of Undertale, but never of Alphyne until this poll! Here's a little summary of Warrior Nun for those who are curious.

Quick version: Warrior Nun is a Netflix series about bisexual woman Jesus coming back to life to save the world from a demonic apocalypse with the help of a secret order of black ops nuns. It has some of the best acting, directing, cinematography, stunt work, and characterization of any series I've seen. Minor spoilers below the fold.

The woman on the left is Ava Silva.

The series opens with her resurrection when an otherworldly artifact, the Halo, is shoved in her corpse's back to keep it safe. Prior to her death, Ava was quadriplegic and subject to a decade of abuse at the hands of the nuns who ran the orphanage where she lived. The series follows her struggle with how to use the enormous power of the Halo, and whether she should throw away this second chance at life for a Church that has brought her nothing but pain. Despite everything she has suffered, Ava approaches her second life with an incredible amount of joy and wonder.

The woman on the right is Sister Beatrice.

Beatrice is a lesbian who joined the Church when her wealthy, bigoted British diplomat family cast her out. She requires perfection of herself, does not handle failure well, and frequently takes a lead role in black ops missions. Though she usually conceals her emotions, she finds herself revealing them to Ava as their bond deepens. As this goes on, and as they learn more about the Halo's history, she finds herself more and more in a crisis of faith, with sometimes painful consequences.

Over the course of the series, their relationship goes from "not overtly hostile" to deep friendship, then to something more (yes, there is a canon love confession) as the two of them go into hiding and Beatrice trains Ava to fight and to use the Halo. Beatrice is deeply conflicted about her feelings, but the two of them cannot keep their hands and eyes off each other, even in the midst of combat. Beatrice would burn the world to protect Ava. Ava would die if it meant keeping Beatrice safe.

Their love story weaves through a show that explores themes of faith and science, family and duty, what we owe each other and what it means to sacrifice to protect those we love. Though these two are the core of the show, the ensemble cast is brilliant, and many in the fandom have become equally attached to other Sister Warriors, each suffering their own traumas, and each bringing their own unique skills and personalities to bear to protect the Halo Bearer.

I've watched and loved plenty of shows. I've never seen anything that inspired me like this show did. Never read a fan fic until this show. Never wrote anything until this show.

Poll aside, you should absolutely watch this show if you are able.

Top Femslash Ships Bracket - Semifinals

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with some of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement of anything included in the bracket, and refrain from harassment.

[meinkatzchen]

ur oc It just cute, really caught my attention and I'm curious now

How is kitty and strade friendship?

Friendship? Seriously, anon?- friends are not tied or kidnepped! Okay, these are all jokes, I understand that you mean their relationship :)

And in her story, In short: for her (and for Ren, actually) he became the one who took away a piece of humanity, giving something in return.

Mist is quite mediocre in many skills, if you take creative and household chores, she's just a law student who always wanted to be a lawyer for a good cause - to defend the innocent who were convicted without evidence. I think if she had said something like that in front of Strade, he would have burst out laughing and would have teased her for a long time for this thought, gradually convincing her that there is no justice in the world at all and that even he could be released from custody if he hid the evidence and paid a lot of money. It's cruel, but at least he knocked the rose-colored glasses out of her head.

But he may be curious about her, seeing that she is learning quickly, but especially trying to do everything to reduce the pain that she is having a hard time enduring, and to avoid torture: to resort to trickery; to offer to torture someone else with her own hands; if Ren decides to stand up for her someday, she will not stop him and etc - for Strade, all this may even be funny. Actually, he became the person who will gradually put the seed of a charismatic manipulator in her and allow it to develop, which will sprout in the future.

It always seemed to me that the first few months, Mist watched Strade very carefully and closely to understand his behavior pattern, to understand what makes him happy, what angers him, what leads to punishment, and what leads to gifts. In the future, such a pattern will be fixed in her everyday life, thanks to which she will gradually-gradually reach her heights and surround herself with devoted people.

If, as Gato wrote, Ren subconsciously competes with Strade in cruelty, which would really be typical for a male, then Mist does not compete, but draws on the skills of manipulation, charismatic speeches, in general knowledge from the category of "what to do to get this and that".

…But if we throw away all seriousness and return to moments of calm in the house, then he would definitely like to tease her. For example, he would take her favorite cute plush animals, which she kept at night to calm down, and do various inappropriate things with them, or knowing how much she monitors hygiene and the level of hair on her body, he would hide her razor and various soaps and shower gels. What a hog!

[inbabylontheywept]

Hi. I've been doing writing as a hobby since 09, but am still pretty shit. Do you have any advice for how to make things into proper stories? Or on how to actively improve in other ways? Or where to go to find resources for it? (Man has finding good resources gotten hard after AI slop took over google search results) I have fun writing, but can't help but feel like I want to improve and maybe write something more long-form at some point.

I don't give good writing advice. I am just now beginning to learn this. You're lucky in that you get to dodge me giving actively bad advice, but you're unlucky in that I have not yet fixed this and will be somewhat unhelpful.

I can point you in two good directions for advice though.

The first is WonderBook by Jeff VanderMeer. The same guy that wrote Annhilation. It's an incredibly fun read, it's beautifully illustrated, it contains personal notes from like, a dozen other authors, it has an interactive website, it is, bar none, the best book on writing I have ever read, and the only one I ever recommend to people. The second best book is Storyteller by Kate Willhelm, which is good, and helpful, and not harmful, which is actually a high bar for a book on writing. I still would only rate it as maybe 15% the value-add of WonderBook. That's how good WonderBook is.

(I know it will be tempting to go read more books after reading WonderBook, but I am going to say that most books on writing are actively harmful, and you should be extremely suspicious of all of them.)

(This applies to self-help books in general.)

The second place to go for advice is a local writing group. Any kind of writing. I go to a poetry group because it's near me, and it exists, which are two compelling things in small town Utah. I don't consider myself a poet, but I go anyway, and it's still great for me. I think it would work well with you too.

Wishing you the best!

Babylon

PS: ...If anyone has any literature/advice on how to give good writing critiques, I would be very interested in hearing about them. I would love to be a better editor.

[ironinc]

Drunk Confession.ᝰ.ᐟ (Pt.1)

Tony Stark x F!Black Reader. 

˗ˏˋ Your older boss invites you to his dinner party with his VIP clients, as his soon-to-be assistant you have to go. With a little liquor in his system, he gets bold enough to confess a feeling he can’t hold back anymore. 

⤷ Oneshot, slight smut, a 10+ year age gap, starts off with a steady plot. It does get a little steamy though. 

⤷ A/N: This is my first story, I haven’t wrote anything in literally three years. I honestly should’ve started writing a long time ago. But it’s never too late to try. Please let me know if you have any request and I will try my best to get them done! Enjoy this ;) It's a bit long so I split it in two parts!

⤷ A special song to add spice: Hands To Myself by Selena Gomez.

⤷ Word count: 2,138

 - Reader’s POV 

Another day, another silly run to this stupid printer. Working for Tony Stark is some people’s dream or possible nightmare. I’ve been working here for almost a year. At first, I was just an intern for one of the workers here, until Mr.Stark saw how well I was performing and wanted me to work as his personal assistant. 

Today, I donned my black pantsuit with a white trim that fit me to perfection. I paired it with my chic Christian Louboutin heels and minimal accessories. My makeup was light but striking, and my new sew-in hairstyle added a touch of elegance to my overall look. As always, I paid close attention to my outfit and accessories, ensuring that they would complement both my figure and skin tone. Fashion has always been an essential part of my life, and I have a deep appreciation for its ability to elevate my style and confidence.

After retrieving VIP customer copies from the printer, I headed back to the elevator. As it rose to the top floor, I couldn't help but admire how huge and impressive everything was. It was unlike any company I'd worked for before. My thoughts wandered to the new heels Mr. Stark had insisted on buying for me. It still baffles me how thoughtful and generous he was, and I was grateful for his kind gesture.

I felt a mix of emotions when he bought me those heels. On one hand, I was overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and generosity of his gift. But on the other hand, I couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable accepting something so expensive. I had never experienced a man going out of his way to buy me something that was 'on my level'. It was both flattering and slightly intimidating.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out. Walking down the long hallway to Mr. Stark's office, I braced myself for the conversation that was about to unfold. As I stepped into the room, I caught Happy and Mr. Stark deep in a conversation about recent sales successes.

"Here you are, Mr. Stark," I said with an upbeat tone, a small smile playing on my lips as I handed him the requested papers. As he skimmed through the papers, I couldn't help but notice the scent of his cologne filling the air around us, sending a subtle shiver up my spine.

“Thank you for getting those for me Ms.{Last Name}.” 

"Of course, Mr. Stark," I replied, my voice firm but carrying a hint of warmth. "I'm glad I could help."

He studied me with a perplexed expression, a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he noticed my new hairstyle.

"You look different today," he remarked, a small grin forming on his lips. "This hairstyle suits you."

I felt a flutter in my stomach at his words. First, he had surprised me with those gorgeous heels, and now he was flattering me. It was like a delightful rollercoaster ride of emotions and compliments.

"Thanks for noticing, Mr. Stark. I'm glad you approve.” I say with a hint of happiness in my tone. 

"I noticed you wearing the gift I gave you. You look lovely in them. How do they feel?" He stood up from his chair, his towering form making me take a step back as he moved to stand in front of his desk. His gaze remained fixed on me, expectant of a response.

Happy gave me a brief but cheery hello and left, closing the door behind him.

“Thank you for getting these shoes for me. They fit perfectly. However, I must admit that I'm still a bit confused about why you went through the trouble.”  He raised his eyebrows at my statement and crossed his arms, listening intently to what I was saying. 

"I completely understand the feeling of confusion, but allow me to reassure you that the gift is perfect for you and you deserve it after all the outstanding work you've done for the company. You've truly gone above and beyond." 

With every word he was saying his tone was so sensual yet professional. It made me eager to hear more. I smile widely not letting my gaze leave his.

"I have an important dinner tonight with my top VIPs,” Mr. Stark informed me, “And I wanted to let you know because you'll soon be my personal assistant.” 

I couldn't help but wonder what the evening held in store for me. Fancy dining and an older crowd were not exactly my cup of tea, but I was determined to handle it professionally and rise to the occasion. After all, it was part of my journey toward becoming Mr. Stark's assistant.

He had a point, I thought, my nerves mingling with a flutter of anticipation. As we chatted about the midweek event, I asked cautiously, “What time should I be there tonight?”

With a kind smile, he alleviated my concerns. “There's no need to worry about transportation. A personal driver will pick you up at 8 pm sharp. And don't worry,” he added reassuringly. “while it may seem like another tedious business function, I promise our conversations will be worth your time. Let's make the most of it together.” 

                                   Time skip ₊⊹

Time was slipping away, and I hurriedly wrapped up the last details of my evening look. I slipped into a flattering burgundy dress, pairing it with the stunning black-red bottom heels Mr. Stark had gifted me. Every accessory was carefully chosen to complement my attire. And with a final touch of glamour, I styled my hair to perfection. I couldn't help but feel a sense of confidence as I took in my reflection in the mirror, ready to step into the evening with grace and elegance.

As the car horn sounded outside my apartment, I grabbed my perfume and quickly applied it with a spritz where needed. I snatched my clutch off the nearby table and headed out the door.

The driver greeted me respectfully, opening the car door for me. “ Good evening, Ms. [Last Name],"  he said politely. “The drive to the event will be short.” I thanked him graciously and slipped elegantly into the luxurious Mercedes, ready for the evening ahead.

                               Short time skip ₊⊹ 

  - No one’s POV 

He was correct about the brevity of the ride as you arrived at our destination. 

When you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by the familiar face of Happy, who greeted you with a compliment, saying, 'You look stunning as usual, Ms. [Last Name]. I'll escort you to wherever Mr. Stark is, You know how he can wander off.” 

As Happy led you toward Mr. Stark, you noticed that he had a slight buzz about him, and his wandering gaze fell directly on your figure, lingering over the bold dress that accentuated your curves.

As he looked you up and down, taking in the sight of the elegant burgundy dress hugging your curves, he couldn't help but feel a stir of admiration. The way the fabric fits your body perfectly, accentuating all your best features, left him unable to look away. A small smile crept across his face, his thoughts momentarily distracted by the sight of your stunning outfit. He knew he had made the right decision with the red bottoms, as you truly looked breathtaking.

With a warm, almost flirty, smile, he kept his gaze towards you and said, "You look absolutely captivating in that dress, Ms.{Last Name}. It suits you perfectly."  The sight of you in that dress had a mesmerizing effect on him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

You thanked him with a soft, appreciative smile, your cheeks tinged a faint shade of pink. "Thank you, Mr. Stark," you replied, your voice filled with gratitude.

"Your compliments mean a lot to me." As he looked at you, he couldn't help but notice the subtle blush that spread across your cheeks, giving her a more charming, endearing quality. 

It was moments like these when he felt a flutter in his heart, his admiration for you growing with each interaction. The chemistry between you two was palpable, the air around them thick with unspoken tension and attraction.

That was soon cut short due to someone wanting to make a toast towards his company. Everyone sat down at their assigned table. Your seat is next to Mr.Stark and a lady named ’Natasha Romanoff’. 

Tony had recently made a life-changing reveal to the world that he was Iron Man. The stress of his work seemed to bear down on him heavily. The dinner was organized to help alleviate some of that stress. As the speaker highlighted his accomplishments, you watched as Tony finished off his scotch, his gaze distant and preoccupied.

As the speaker concluded their speech, inviting Tony to take the stage, With every step he took towards the microphone, waves of cheers filled the room. Tony took the mic, his charismatic charm oozing with every word he uttered. With a slight slur to his words, he began thanking everyone for attending, weaving in-jokes that brought laughter from the crowd. 

But as the atmosphere grew lighter, Tony made an unexpected declaration, slurring his words slightly. "You all need to hear this. This gorgeous lady that I was sitting next to, my soon-to-be assistant, is like something straight out of a dream. I find myself falling harder for her every moment..."

The whole crowd is shocked, even Natasha lets out a little chuckle at his drunken confession. 

Your surprise was genuine as Tony's heartfelt confession unfolded before you. Though he had been dropping hints for months, you never imagined it would transpire like this.

Feeling the weight of the moment, you swiftly made your way to the stage. The realization set in as the audience connected you to Tony's passionate words. With a tender touch, you smoothly retrieved the microphone from his grasp. He reciprocated by draping an arm around your midsection, pulling you closer to him as you both faced the mesmerized crowd together.

"I'm grateful for your thoughtful words, Mr. Stark," you replied, your voice carrying a mix of gratitude and playfulness. "You're a captivating presence for the audience, so let me steal you away tonight." Everyone cheered for your words. 

As you both left the stage, you intertwined your fingers with his, guiding him through the bustling room. The weight of his hand in yours was a new comfort to you. Grounding you amidst the whirlwind of the event. You led him to a secluded space, filled with a desk and chairs, where you could have a private conversation.

—

As Tony looked into your eyes, captivated by your gaze, he responded with a slight slur, his words laced with sincerity yet tinged by the effects of alcohol. "You know, my beautiful future wife, I meant every word I said. Every. Single. Word."

His voice held a mixture of vulnerability and a hint of flirtation as he broke the barrier between formal and intimate. The atmosphere was charged, the sound of the party beyond the room fading into the background. Tony's eyes never left yours, as if caught in the enchantment of your presence.

As Tony's voice caressed your ears, dripping with a sensuous undertone, you could feel a wave of anticipation building within you. The air thickened with a sensual atmosphere, charged with a tension that seemed to stretch out the time.

With a sudden and urgent move, Tony's hands found their way to your hips, drawing you closer to him. His confident touch sent sparks through your body. The height difference between you two meant you had to look up to meet his gaze. And before your mind could form any words, his lips were on yours, the kiss filled with a fiery passion that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

As Tony's arms ensnared you in an eager embrace, your fingertips trailed the length of his neck, tracing a delicate line across his smooth skin.

Tony's hands were strong yet gentle as they glided down your back, tracing a sensuous path along the length of your spine. The warmth they emitted sent tingles through you, making you shiver with desire. His touch sparked a fire within you.

The taste of his lips fueled your desire, driving your hunger for him higher. His touch sparked a fire within you, his fingertips now gliding under the fabric of your dress and caressing the bare, sensitive skin.

As your fingers continued their exploration, sliding over the fabric of his shirt, you couldn't help but admire the way his pulse quickened with each press of your touch. The sound of his breathing, slightly unsteady, added another layer to the electric air between you.

"Tony," you whispered in between kisses, "I need you, now. Here."

I'm actually so geeked out about how part two is gonna play out. SO HAPPY!!

— part two now awaits you ᥫ᭡.

[leliwardens]

#dragon age#yeah#also so tired of seeing the term media literacy overused (apologies a long rant incoming)#as if media literacy means just connecting the dots in plausibility of certain events...#and not also questioning the plot itself from both an inward and an outside angles (textually/subtextually and metatextually)#a ''neutral'' example (without spoilers): we can say Daenerys's characterization in GoT season 8 makes sense#as there is premise: we can point at certain events and sides of her character presented in the text and say that's it#but many fans would argue that other aspects of her character contradict the result we've got#and/or that her arc could go very differently / she as a character could be used to say something different#a character has several paths of development they can follow within the limits of their individuality-#-and what's necessary to change that. anyone who wrote or tried to write a story would know this#so was that a good choice? what was the point of it? was the point worth character assassination? was it fair to her character? /neu#to be clear i don't even think the point they made was bad but i'm also personally bummed because It Could Be Different.#i argued about Solas in a similar key with someone but I don't think I conveyed my thoughts well#it was specifically about the way he lies and me questioning the way his lies were written in datv (opposed to dai)#[+ generally about the usage of media literacy and how it's often dismissive and splits people into false polar opposites:#media literate and illiterate. which is hardly ever the case]#but overall Solas has been stripped of his agency and reduced to someone who only does things out of his duty to Mythal#stripped of his complex reasonings (spirits suffering due to the Veil. duty to his people. guilt for modern elves' suffering-#-and the world that vilifies magic) which were his most sympathetic sides in dai.#instead we got Solas who is simply wrong and bad bc the veil coming down is presented as inherently bad in datv and unchallenged#view Solas however you want but his moral complexity from dai that challenges the player's views and makes you ask questions-#-has been replaced with ''he's so wrong but he's so so sad guys and he regrets stuff :( do you feel bad for him now?''#and even if we take it in isolation: was it a good point they've made with Solas's storyline? let's generously assume it was#will i still infinitely be bummed about it and criticize this simplification and frankly character assassination? yeah no shit#and that's only ONE thing I'm bummed about plot direction (and simplification)-wise in datv and oh there are so many more#datv critical#bioware critical#da meta ( tags via @impmansloot )

Low key very tired of people responding to veilguard criticism with something along the lines of “lol these people have no media literacy, didn’t you understand what the game was telling you??” Yes, yes I understand what the game was trying to tell me. That doesn’t mean I have to like it or the way the writers went about it.

Also the whole argument of “well, the dragon age fandom proved they couldn’t handle xyz controversial character/element of the story so that’s why veilguard had very little references to those things” kinda grinds my gears a bit. I don’t think it can be proven with 100% certainty what writing decisions were made based on past fandom reactions to the other games, but I do think it would be an incredibly shitty move to simplify or remove complexity from a story just because there might be a portion of the audience who doesn’t get it. “The fandom couldn’t even handle Vivienne” Yeah a good amount of people dismissed her as a selfish snooty bitch, but I didn’t and a lot of other people didn’t and to remove complex and interesting characters like her on the basis that enough people “won’t get it” just feels like a disservice to all of us.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I have a writing ask for you: I find myself feeling very stubborn about conveying certain details sometimes even if they might not be very important and cannot be pointed out smoothly. Not all, but some.

How does one learn or come to accept letting go of these? Is there even such a thing? How do I not care when I do, really, no matter how petty or small? How can I communicate my vision the clearest as naturally and to as many people as possible?

Perhaps this is really specific from detail to detail, but I have too many examples in mind to pick together a coherent banquet. This ask is already getting rambly as is.

My current tactic really is to spread the mention of specific details to make it feel more natural like putting medecine in an animal’s food, but this doesn’t feel like a sufficient enough way to deal with it. What if my story is not long enough for it?

I can deal with people being wrong about something I didn’t write, because at the end of the day I do not 100% know every single intention, but the idea of a significant percentage of people being wrong about something *I* wrote personally, bothers me alot more. Even though this distant personally uninvolved audiance of a high caliber is not really a reality for me currently.

I mean hell, the length of this ask probably already tells you that I am struggling to convey a rather simple problem, and this is a trimmed down version. I feel as if I can never guess properly enough how most people will interpreet my words to a satisfactory degree so I need to clarify which gets lengthy.

The first thing you need to accept as a writer is that you have absolutely no control over how people interpret your work and even if you think you’ve made your meaning as clear as possible it still won’t 100% mean the same thing to your readers as it does to you.

The next thing is that you can turn basically anything into a quirk of your writing style.

Maybe you’re just the sort of writer that goes off on paragraphs long tangents about a bird off in the corner before returning to the plot. Or maybe you just need to write what you’re gonna write and cut out the bits you don’t need later.

I have the opposite problem where I often don’t write enough and end up having to add more back in later. We’ve all got our processes. And to a certain extent finding what your process is requires some trial and error. But if you obsess over how people are going to interpret you then you’ll never allow yourself the freedom you need to figure out your style.

[gidianthe]

Dear Lily.

All day and all night I thought about writing you this letter, saw it unfold in my mind, and so now that I am here with my paper and my ink it does not seem like a real thing, but like a task one undertakes in a dream. When I am finished I will curl this paper up and tuck it in an acorn shell and throw it through your bedroom window; I dreamed this, too, and did I dream you? Are you real? Are you anything of flesh, do you breathe?

Sometimes, when I look out of your mirror at you, I think that I am looking at a piece of my own soul, torn loose and tossed into the world. Not because you belong to me, but because you are familiar and strange at the same time. Lily, you are a person, you are a creature all in your own right – and isn’t that curious? How can something like you have come to be? I want to unpick you, like stitches, to see what makes you run – but I won’t. I will content myself with drawing your name over my wrist-bone to consider how you turn my blood into gold.

You were small when I was small. I watched you through the bluestar, through the blazing star. It was my mother warned me against you, but I heard you singing in the cinnamon fern and thought you were beautiful: a thing I could never touch. Like the crest of Orion. Like the farthest Pleiades. You wore erythronium in your hair, like your name; the yellow trout lily. Lily, lily. Sometimes I think I would eat you if I could. There is a witch in a story who ate a girl she loved, and always afterwards when she spoke, flowers fell out of her open mouth. I would swallow you up, and you would be lobelia on my tongue for the rest of my life. This is what they say: it is not uncommon for us to want to eat what we love.

But you are uncommon. Every moment we have spent together is a shining stone in the bowl of my skull. I am greedy, and so I take them out and look at them now and then, like a dragon. The day we went to the buried well and threw butterfly weed down into the black water to count our wishes. The first time you stepped out of your dress for me, gold in the sun, yellow and gold. The night I brought you into the hill, when you clung to me like lichen and in the hall your eyes were cups of firelight. The day in the rain, both of us laughing.

Dear Lily: my mother taught me many things but she did not teach me this.

Where does it come from, the thread that ties us together? Who spun it? What is it composed of, what is its matter? I have half a mind to unpick myself, to find the source; but I won’t.

That day in the field of green-and-golds. You said who are you, where did you come from. I said I came from the hill; I am the girl who does not die. You laughed, and I fell in love with you, there. There: I wrote it down, I turned it into ink and made it something tangible (but you could burn this letter and I would still love you, so it must be something beyond matter). See it here in black and white. I love you, girl from the house on the hill, girl with the hair made of sunbeams. I love you, knot in my heart. I love you, hands on my hands, hands on my ribs, mouth on my mouth. I love you, stone in my shoe. I love only you. Only you. Only ever you.

Yours always Juniper

[altraviolet]

hey so i was scrolling through the comment section of TEG and i saw a comment saying RIP TFP Ratchet?? What happened my boy? :'(

heya, he was the victim of worldbuilding, I'm afraid

cut for length!

so the logic of the comics states that 2 of the same thing can't exist in the same universe (specifically in proximity, but probably also in general). there are lot of finer details there that I could get into but basically I took that rule and put it in the fic like this:

the Lost Light cannot jump into any universe where anyone aboard who is currently living is alive. no living mech can go to a universe where there is already a living version of them.

so the logic goes: TFP Soundwave can go to 0001 because 0001 SW is dead, but TEG Rodimus cannot go to 0001 because 0001 Rodimus is still alive

because the LL successfully jumped to TFP SW's universe, the implication is that everyone aboard has died or never existed in the TFP universe. which means that TFP Megatron and Ratchet and Ultra Magnus are dead

now. did I do this purposefully? no xD and I didn't realize TFP Ratchet would be dead until I got that comment. and I went "oh. dang." because that hadn't been the intention.

when I first started the fic, I didn't have everything about jumping sorted out. I didn't even have a solution to the question "are they duplicating every time they jump?" until way into the fic. and I really was not at all concerned with any TFP character except SW, because SW was jumping onto the LL and leaving the TFP universe forever. the other TFP characters weren't relevant to anything I was working on

so yeah. I don't have an answer for what exactly happened to TFP Ratchet because it wasn't relevant to the fic. if it ever becomes relevant, I will figure it out, though

side note: this ties into "do you write the whole fic and then post" or "do you post chapter by chapter" in a way because the TEG you're seeing is the first draft. I posted chapter by chapter, and I've never gone back to make any major developmental edits

I don't know how I could've done the story without that worldbuilding rule, and I'm not sure how I could structure it so that TFP Ratchet is still alive [without some major eye rolling contrivances, like being reborn a la Megatron -> Galvatron, or something]. if it helps, if there were a way I could get around the rule and it didn't ruin the story, I'd do it xD you may have noticed from the lack of death count that I'm not really a fan of killing off the characters. it was nothing personal to TFP Ratchet u u

super side note: I feel like I shouldn't even be admitting this, but the thing where I hadn't reasoned out that TFP Ratchet would be dead when the LL went to TFP universe also happened with 2938 Megatron. when I realized that I went "oh shit" because I'd already established 2938 Megatron existed. and the little mention of him was one of those times where my brain said "hey write this, it sounds cool, and we might be able to expand on it later." I had NO IDEA 2938 Megatron would be so important to the story when I first wrote his mention. the mention was merely to bring a little extra detail to the fic and some intrigue to Mirage. my brain seeds stuff like that in the fic all the time, and then later when I need to problem solve plot stuff, it goes "hey remember Thing? connect that here." and that's what happened to 2938 Megatron. he got a cool mention, then I realized he shouldn't exist [I had Aquafend mention this in the Irradion chapters, lol, which was partly to inform readers but also partly me pointing out my own seeming-plot hole so I'd be forced to correct it later]. 2938 Megatron ascending to a godthing so divorced from his metal coil fortunately fit into the worldbuilding rule

so basically my brain does this:

-> set up a rule

-> write a bunch of stuff

-> put random details in

-> oh no problem where the worldbuilding seems to contradict the world

-> uh

-> refer back to random stuff

-> expand on it

-> tie it all together

-> write more

if you would also like to write this way, I'm afraid I have no advice other than to read a lot and practice writing a lot

so ummmm in conclusion, TFP Ratchet is dead or changed so much from his original form he cannot be recognized*, or, if you'd like to be really optimistic and out there, has somehow jumped to another dimension**. I didn't do that on purpose, but it was the natural result of the fic's worldbuilding.

thanks for the ask!

*the horror interpretation of this is really interesting actually... 👀

**I suppose another dimension hopping Lost Light, which has lost its Ratchet, could jump into TFP universe and snatch him up. I feel like TFP Ratchet wouldn't like LL Drift very much (especially since he'd be living the hell of the gray years every day in this instance) and would have a hard time adapting to the crew and new circumstance. I will write this fic for $50,000 cash sent through the mail