#keeping this here to perhaps get later…

[shiny-jr]

PLAGIARISM UPDATE!

So, maybe I should not have said: "Hopefully this will have been the last we see of plagiarizer Kristynaka1." Perhaps from the exterior it may have seemed like it's been over, but it hasn't. Again, I've tried to deal with this silently in the background. However, my hands are tied at this point and I believe it's best to go public with this once again.

Let's rewind it a bit, shall we? In order to give y'all the full picture of what is going on.

DECEMBER 26, 2024

The story containing the plagiarism is deleted. Oh, what a joyous day. I had figured that would be the end of it, as there's nothing left to do but move on. But, as usual, I was proven wrong.

DECEMBER 27, 2024

I was made aware of an announcement post the plagiarizer made which I will share here. Keep in mind, to my knowledge I was still blocked but others alerted me and shared evidence with me.

Not too long after, I receive a message in my inbox. A message that states they were a neutral user on the issue but accused me of bullying.

I was initially suspicious of this message, but I decided to take their words into consideration. I asked others of their honest thoughts and opinions, because I genuinely wanted to know if I did anything wrong. Most agreed that the user truly didn't sound like they were a neutral party, and that it was likely the plagiarizer themself or a friend of theirs.

Later, I received a dm with practically the same message.

So what do I do? I block them. Perhaps that was wrong of me, and they accuse me of doing the same that they did when they blocked me. But I ask you to consider. Why would I want to continue to entertain this notion of accusations and messages when the ordeal is supposed to be over?

It's around this point where I'm notified by others that comments are continuously being made to defend me. These comments were appearing on the plagiarizer's Wattpad profile, often arguing with the plagiarizer only to get their commented deleted or profile blocked. But it was slowly and continuous. Which is one of the main reasons I am making this post, and is something I will address towards the end in more detail.

Later, I am notified by a few people that the user seen in the screenshot above, let's refer them to as IDK, was messaging multiple users asking for help and their opinion on the matter. IDK created a post accusing me of bullying. While these are heavy accusations, I personally see no truth in them. Again, since I had asked the honest opinion of others earlier when first messaged in my inbox.

Not too long after, I receive another very similar message in my inbox from an anon user. I don't even try to entertain it. I block the user, because at this point, it has become a form of spam or harassment.

The first comment and like on the bullying accusation post was made by a user named Kryllia. Basically they seemed to support what was said in the post. I bring them up because the post happened on a profile with no other posts or visible likes or reblogs. And if you see the current comments, which I won't show here because there are too many, their manner of speech is very similar to Kristynaka's own. Which is why I believe it might be an alt account or a friend of theirs. I also believe this because this account is blocked from my view, and I don't recall ever manually blocking this user, so it must've been them who sent one of the messages in my inbox on anon.

Anyways, those that were messaged by IDK and alerted me, informed me that their own opinions did not align with this new user's claim of neutrality. The post gained a bit of attention, but I attempted to do some damage control by messaging users privately to please keep this under wraps as I didn't want this spiraling out of hand. To which they all obliged and were very respectful.

I had assumed that this would fizzle out and nothing would happen. I was wrong. Now I had users alerting me to comments being made on Tumblr and on Wattpad.

DECEMBER 28, 2024

Now is probably a good time to bring up Teenfic.net and Penana. Just to remind you all. Some research was done and we found both the user and the copied stories on these sites. DO NOT go to these sites, as they are both ridden with malware!

Teenfic appears to be a mirror site that copies stories from Wattpad, so it likely saw the story from Wattpad and copied it. While Penana is a smaller and highly suspicious website where the plagiarizer likely created an account and posted the copied story since they were banned off Quotev and the story was taken off Wattpad. I'm not too concerned with Penana, since it's also full of malware and there's hardly any traction.

I will take the time to say that if you see any stories that are highly similar to mine, please make me aware privately before doing anything else! I imagine this plagiarizer will continue to use other people's work and claim it as their own. I will bring this up again later with more screenshots.

JANUARY 2, 2025

I'm notified by others that the user Kryllia has commented on the bullying accusation post again. Now, after reading their recent comments, they sound more and more like the plagiarizer Kristynaka. However, I'll let you be the judge of that.

So from the looks of it, their plan is to get my account deleted and also to feed original work into AI and claim the result as their own work. Which is not how writing works.

JANUARY 3, 2025

Today I made the decision to finally go public with this information. However, not for the reason y'all may suspect. I want to be honest with my readers. Although I truly believe there is no reason for my account to be banned, I just wanted to put this out there in case it does happen.

Most importantly, the main reason I wanted to make this post was because I want to discourage anymore interactions with the plagiarizer or their alts/friends. Please, no more comments or posts about it. While I appreciate any attempts that were made to defend me, I would like them to stop now as this is only prolonging the conflict. However, if anything does come up, please message me privately.

I would like this to stop, and the situation to end. I realize that it may not go according to plan, but I would rather not acknowledge anything else said by the plagiarizer or her proxies anymore unless the need to arises again.

Thank you to my readers and anyone reading this post. As I said above, please do not engage in any interactions with them, and I encourage you to share this post in the possible scenario that Kristynaka really does uses AI to copy from my works or others again in the future.

[rafeskai]

Starstruck | Drew Starkey

Chapter Three

Summary: In the bustling crowd of a premiere event for Outer Banks, you find yourself caught up in a chaotic moment, lost in the sea of fans. Desperate for a way out, you stumble into an alley where fate leads you to an unexpected—and painful—encounter with Drew Starkey. What starts as a simple misstep soon spirals into something far more complicated, and your life takes an unexpected turn.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE OMG. HERE'S A LONG CHAPTER FOR Y'ALL.

Masterlist Here

The faint buzz of your phone woke you before the sun had fully risen. Groggily, you reached for it, expecting some random notification or perhaps an email that could wait. But as you squinted at the screen, Ava’s name popped up, her message in all caps: “CHECK TMZ NOW.”

You rubbed your eyes and mumbled, “What?” It was too early for any kind of drama, but Ava rarely texted in all caps unless it was something urgent—or, more likely, celebrity gossip. Your curiosity finally nudged you to open your browser and type in the site’s name.

The headline on TMZ’s homepage made your stomach drop:

“DREW STARKEY SPOTTED WITH MYSTERIOUS WOMAN”

Your breath hitched as you clicked on the article. There it was: a grainy photo of Drew and you, blurry but unmistakably you. Your heart pounded in your chest. The mask you’d been wearing at the bar covered most of your face, and the dim lighting made it difficult to make out any details. But the white tank top, courtesy of Ava’s insistent styling, was unmistakable.

The article buzzed with speculation.

“Who’s the masked woman spotted with Drew Starkey last night? The Outer Banks star was seen leaving an intimate LA hotspot with an unidentified companion. Sources say the two appeared comfortable and spent several hours together inside the bar. Could this be Drew’s latest flame? Or just a casual night out? Our team are on the case!”

Your stomach churned. You scrolled through the comments section.

“Another mysterious nobody who’ll ghost him in two weeks, I bet.”

“Imagine being her. I’d die to just breathe the same air as Drew Starkey.”

“The way she’s covering her face... suspicious much?”

“She’s definitely hiding something. Maybe she’s married?”

A few deep breaths later, you set your phone down, but the sense of dread didn’t leave. Before you could even collect your thoughts, Ava burst into your room, her messy hair looking like a halo of chaos.

“Y/N!” she squeaked, waving her phone around frantically. “You’re famous.”

You groaned, falling back onto the futon. “No, I’m not. No one even knows it’s me.”

“They will,” Ava said with way too much enthusiasm. “TMZ doesn’t just let this go. They’ll start connecting the dots—who was at the premiere, who’s wearing that outfit in public, and eventually, they’ll figure it out. It’s only a matter of time.”

You ran your hands through your hair. “I’m never wearing that outfit again.”

Ava ignored you, pacing back and forth. “Look, we have two options. One: deny everything, keep your head down, and hope the internet finds someone else to obsess over. Or two: lean into it. You’re the enigmatic mystery woman. Milk it for all it’s worth.”

You shot her a flat look. “Option two isn’t happening.”

“Fine, fine,” Ava said with a dramatic sigh, flopping onto the futon next to you. “But come on! You have to admit, it’s kind of cool. You’re the first non-celebrity girl to pop up in Drew Starkey’s dating rumors without getting immediately torn apart. That means something.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your temples, “it means I have to be extra careful. I don’t want my life blasted all over the internet.”

“Don’t worry,” Ava reassured you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. And honestly? If Drew’s as decent as he seemed, he won’t let this get weird.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that afternoon, as you sat in the corner of your room, your phone buzzed again. This time, the name on the screen made your heart skip: Drew.

Drew: “Hey, you good? Saw the TMZ thing. Sorry if this is overwhelming. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

You stared at his message for a moment, a mix of relief and panic flooding you. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down. Part of you wanted to brush it off, pretend it wasn’t a big deal. But another part of you—the one that was still a little overwhelmed by the chaos—was grateful for his words of concern.

You: “I’m fine. Just... not used to this. Do you deal with this kind of thing a lot?”

Drew: “More than I’d like, yeah. But it usually blows over fast. People move on to the next headline. If you need me to talk to PR or anything, I can.”

You winced at the thought of involving PR—public statements, press releases—it all felt too formal, too... invasive.

You: “I don’t think it’s necessary. As long as they don’t figure out it’s me, I’ll survive.”

There was a pause before Drew’s response came through.

Drew: “If it helps, you’re handling this way better than I did the first time TMZ came for me. If you need to vent or just want a distraction, hit me up.”

His offer to just talk made you smile. You weren’t entirely sure what to say back, so you typed a quick reply, thanking him for the message, and then set your phone down.

As the day wore on, things quieted down. TMZ didn’t update the story, and the internet’s attention began to shift. Without a clear shot of your face or any definitive details about your identity, people started to lose interest. But that didn’t mean it was over for you. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The day crawled forward, each passing hour a mix of relief and unease. It seemed TMZ's interest in Drew’s “mystery woman” had dwindled without a fresh lead to stoke the flames. By early evening, the frenzy online was noticeably quieter.

Still, the tension in the air lingered, like a storm that had passed but left the skies unsettled.

Ava had mercifully stopped treating the situation like a red-carpet event. She sat cross-legged on the living room floor, scrolling aimlessly through her phone while munching on a bag of popcorn. You paced nearby, trying to shake off the knot of nerves in your stomach.

Then your phone buzzed. It was Drew again.

Drew: “Can I come over for a bit? Just got done with a photoshoot and paparazzi are everywhere outside my place, and I need to lay low for a while.”

Your heart leapt at the thought of him showing up at your apartment—your quiet, nondescript little corner of the city suddenly becoming a refuge for Drew Starkey. You glanced at Ava, who raised an eyebrow as she noticed your sudden stillness.

You: “Yeah, sure. How are you going to get here without being seen?”

Drew: “I’ll figure it out. I know a back way in. Just text me your address.”

You hesitated for a moment, then sent the details. It wasn’t long before he replied.

Drew: “Be there in 15. Thanks, by the way.”

The next 15 minutes passed in a blur. You hurriedly cleared the living room of any clutter, your nerves bubbling into a chaotic energy. Ava, meanwhile, perched on the couch with a dazed grin, clearly trying to play it cool but failing miserably.

When the soft knock finally came at the door, your pulse quickened. Ava bolted upright, her excitement palpable. “This is it,” she whispered, clutching the couch cushion like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

You opened the door, and there he was—Drew, in a plain hoodie and baseball cap, looking like any regular guy. He offered a small smile, his eyes scanning the hallway before stepping inside.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem,” you replied, closing the door behind him. “Figured you could use some peace.”

Ava, standing awkwardly by the couch, let out a shaky laugh. “Hi. Um. Wow. Hi.”

Drew chuckled, clearly used to this reaction but handling it with grace. “Hey. You must be Ava.”

She nodded rapidly, then promptly sat back down, her face bright red. Drew turned to you, his smile warm but tired. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Not at all,” you said, motioning for him to sit. “Make yourself at home.”

As he settled onto the couch, Ava finally seemed to snap out of her starstruck trance—at least a little. “Do you need anything? Water? Snacks? I have... popcorn?” she offered, holding up the bag as if it were a peace offering.

Drew smiled. “Popcorn sounds great, actually.”

Ava handed over the bag, then promptly excused herself to the kitchen under the guise of making tea, though you suspected she just needed a moment to compose herself. That left you and Drew alone in the living room.

“So,” he said, leaning back slightly. “How’s your day been? Any more chaos?”

You laughed softly. “Thankfully, no. The internet seems to be moving on. I think we’re in the clear.”

“That’s good,” he said, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “I feel bad for dragging you into this.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, sitting down on the armchair across from him. “It’s not like you invited TMZ to follow you.”

He gave a wry smile. “Still, I appreciate you being so cool about it. Most people would be freaking out.”

“I think Ava freaked out enough for both of us,” you joked, glancing toward the kitchen. Drew laughed, the sound light and genuine, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the room ease.

Over the next hour, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily. Drew talked about his hectic schedule, his favorite low-key spots in LA, and a few funny on-set stories that had you laughing until your sides hurt. Ava eventually returned, having calmed down enough to join in without squealing every time Drew spoke.

As the evening wore on, the initial awkwardness faded entirely. Drew’s presence felt natural—like he belonged there, sitting on your couch, sharing popcorn and swapping stories. It was almost too easy to forget who he was, how absurd this situation really was.

At one point, Ava let out a dramatic yawn and stretched. “I’m gonna call it a night,” she said, giving you a not-so-subtle wink before retreating to her room.

That left you and Drew alone again, the apartment quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. He leaned back against the couch, his gaze soft as he looked at you.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” he said. “I really needed a break from... all of it.”

You smiled. “Anytime. Seriously. It’s nice having company.”

He held your gaze for a moment, and you felt a flutter of something unspoken pass between you. Then he grinned, breaking the moment. “Well, if TMZ ever finds out about this, at least I’ll have a great story to tell.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The evening stretched on, a slow dance of easy conversation and laughter. It felt surreal—Drew Starkey, the star of Outer Banks and Queer, sitting in your living room, eating popcorn and talking about his favorite movies like any regular person. But the longer he stayed, the more normal everything felt. He wasn’t a celebrity in this space. He was just Drew, the guy sitting across from you, making you laugh and sharing little bits of his world.

Ava had retreated to her room after her not-so-subtle hint about bedtime, leaving you and Drew alone in the living room. You didn’t mind—it gave you the space to talk without interruptions, to get to know each other a little more.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Drew said after a pause, setting the popcorn down on the coffee table and shifting slightly on the couch. “What do you do when you’re not dealing with... all of this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at the way he gestured vaguely around the room “Nothing nearly as exciting as your life, that’s for sure.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m sure that’s not true, although it’s definitely a different world, being in the spotlight like this.” He paused for a moment, his tone thoughtful. “I think people forget that celebrities are just people, you know?”

“I think people forget that about anyone, really,” you said with a shrug. “Everyone’s got their own thing going on. Whether you’re famous or not, it’s all the same. We all have our struggles, our ups and downs.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, nodding. “I think that’s what I miss most sometimes. Just... being able to go out without feeling like everyone’s watching, analyzing your every move.”

You looked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t really considered how strange it must be to live under that kind of constant scrutiny. You found yourself wanting to offer him something more than just sympathy. “You don’t have to be ‘Drew Starkey’ tonight,” you said gently. “You’re just... Drew. And I’m just me. No TMZ, no cameras, no headlines.”

His smile returned, a little softer this time. “I like that. I really like that.”

The conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another. You talked about favorite childhood memories, your go-to comfort foods, and the last book you’d both read. He listened with an openness that made you feel like you could share just about anything, and the more you spoke, the more at ease you became.

Drew revealed little snippets about his life that were both surprising and comforting. Like how he had a weird obsession with vintage comic books or how, despite being a well-known actor, he still had the same group of friends he’d had since high school. You learned he was surprisingly humble, almost self-deprecating at times, and he had this way of laughing at himself that made him even more relatable.

“You ever go to concerts?” you asked after a moment, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, I love concerts. I try to hit up a few whenever I can. Nothing like live music, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, smiling back. “There’s just something about the energy in the air. It’s like everyone’s in the same vibe.”

“I’m a sucker for the energy,” Drew said with a nod. “What’s your favorite genre? Or are you more of a ‘whatever’s on’ type?”

“Definitely more of a whatever’s on type,” you said, laughing. “I like a little bit of everything. But I do have a soft spot for indie rock. You?”

“Indie rock, too,” he said without hesitation. “I swear, I could spend hours listening to bands you’ve never heard of and not even care.”

“That’s the best part, though. The discovery,” you said. “I love finding those hidden gems. The stuff that feels like it’s just yours.”

“I totally get that,” Drew agreed, and there was something about the way he said it—like he really meant it—that made you smile. It was nice, sharing something like that with someone, especially someone you’d barely known just a few hours ago.

As the night wore on, the conversation became less about anything significant and more about just... being. The silence that fell between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happens when you’re with someone you trust, someone you don’t feel the need to fill every moment with words.

You glanced over at the clock on the wall and realized it was past midnight. You yawned, your body starting to feel the effects of the long, unexpected day.

“I think I’m about ready for bed,” you said, stretching a little.

Drew chuckled. “Yeah, me too. It’s been a long day.”

“Thanks for hanging out,” you added, not sure if it sounded too casual, but it felt right. “It’s been nice—just, you know, talking and not worrying about anything.”

Drew smiled, his expression sincere. “Yeah, it’s been nice. Really nice. I’m glad I could... hide out here for a while.”

You grinned. “Anytime.”

He stood up from the couch, stretching his legs. “Well, I guess I should let you get some rest. You’ve probably had enough of me by now.”

“Not at all,” you said, standing as well. “But I think I’m gonna crash before I regret it.”

“Fair enough,” Drew said, his voice warm. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

“You too, Drew. And thanks, again,” you said quietly.

With a final smile, Drew grabbed his hoodie and headed toward the door, turning back for one last glance.

“Goodnight,” he said, before stepping out into the night, leaving you standing there, a feeling of warmth spreading through you.

As you made your way back to your room, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed the unexpected company, the quiet conversation, the sense of connection with someone who, for a few hours, was just like you. No drama, no paparazzi—just two people talking about life.

You crawled into bed, your thoughts swirling with everything that had happened, the night’s laughter still echoing softly in your mind. And for the first time that day, you felt... peaceful.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The next morning, you woke up to a quiet, almost peaceful stillness. The events of the previous day felt like a dream—Drew in your living room, hanging out like any other person, sharing stories and laughter. The time spent with him had left you feeling light, surprisingly at ease considering everything that had happened. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spent an entire night without feeling the weight of your worries, the world of social media, or the endless noise in your head.

You sat up, stretching, and reached for your phone. The screen lit up with a message from Drew.

Drew: "Hey, hope you slept well. I know we just met, but I was wondering if you’d be up for an adventure today. I’ve got a couple days left in LA before work picks back up, and I could use a break from the usual."

Your heart skipped a beat. An adventure? Just the two of you? The idea was tempting, and, honestly, you hadn’t expected him to reach out so soon after everything that had happened. But there was something about his message that felt... genuine. Like he just wanted to spend time with you, not because of the headlines or the drama, but because you’d connected.

You chewed on your lip for a moment, debating the logistics. It was sudden, but at the same time, it felt like a chance to break away from the chaos, to have a normal, carefree day. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed.

You typed back quickly, the excitement creeping in.

You: "I’m in. What do you have in mind?"

A few minutes later, his reply came through, and you couldn’t help but grin.

Drew: "Perfect. How about we start with a hike? I’ve heard this great spot in the hills with a killer view of the city. We can grab breakfast after and see where the day takes us. No paparazzi, no drama—just a chance to be outside for a bit."

You could almost hear his grin through the text, and you found yourself feeling a little giddy. It had been forever since you’d just wandered, no plans, no expectations.

You: "That sounds perfect. What time do you want to meet?"

Drew: "How about 9? Gives us a little time to get our bearings, but still plenty of daylight. I’ll pick you up at your place."

You: "Deal. I’ll be ready."

The exchange left you buzzing with excitement. There was something about this—a spontaneous day with Drew, exploring LA without the pressure of anything. Just... living in the moment.

You quickly jumped out of bed, got dressed, and packed a small bag with the essentials: water, sunscreen, a hat—anything that would make the day more enjoyable. As you glanced in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. It was one thing to hang out with Drew at your place, but hiking? A day out in the open? You weren’t sure what to expect, but you figured you’d roll with it.

A few hours later, the knock on your door jolted you from your thoughts. You opened it to find Drew standing there, dressed casually in a t-shirt, athletic shorts, and sneakers, his hair slightly windblown as if he’d already been out for a little while. He was holding a water bottle in one hand, a wide, genuine smile on his face.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his eyes glinting with the same excitement you felt bubbling inside.

You grinned back, nodding. “I think so. Lead the way.”

He chuckled and gestured for you to follow him down to the car, where the day’s adventure would begin.

The drive was surprisingly calm, with Drew playing some laid-back tunes and chatting about random things—his love of LA's hidden gems, how he’d gotten into hiking recently, and how crazy it was that he was actually getting a few days to relax between filming schedules. You felt yourself easing into the rhythm of the day, his presence comfortable, easy.

As you reached the trailhead, you couldn’t help but stare at the sprawling view of the city below, the sprawling landscape unfolding in front of you like something out of a postcard. The hills were quiet, a peaceful escape from the noise of LA.

Drew turned to you with a playful grin. “Ready to get your steps in?”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his grin. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

And so, the two of you set off, the trail winding upward through trees and rocky paths, the air crisp with morning freshness. The conversation flowed easily between you both, sometimes serious, sometimes silly. You talked about your favorite movies, shared memories of childhood adventures, and joked about the ridiculousness of modern-day life, social media, and the constant pressure to perform.

The higher you climbed, the more the city seemed to disappear, swallowed by the dense trees and distant mountains. You took breaks along the way, sitting on rocks and chatting, letting the quiet calm of nature seep into your bones. There was something so refreshing about being away from it all, away from the spotlight and the noise, and just sharing these small, human moments.

After a few hours, you finally reached the summit. The view was nothing short of breathtaking. You could see the entire city sprawled out below you, the glittering skyline on one side, the ocean stretching off into the horizon on the other. Drew sat down on a large rock, motioning for you to join him.

You settled next to him, the moment stretching out peacefully between you. Drew glanced over at you, his gaze soft and contemplative.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he teased lightly.

You shrugged, letting the view speak for itself. “It’s just... a nice change of pace. Everything feels so loud sometimes, especially in LA, you know? But up here, it’s just... quiet.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Drew said, his voice quieter now, a touch more serious. “It’s nice to get away from everything, even if it’s just for a few hours. No expectations, no noise. Just... living.”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in days. It felt like this was exactly what you needed—a simple day of adventure, of discovering new places and enjoying the company of someone who wasn’t focused on all the distractions of the world.

After a long while, you both stood up and started the trek back down the trail, still laughing and joking, your connection growing deeper with every passing moment.

When you reached the car, Drew turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, breakfast time?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve never earned a meal so much in my life.”

“Great,” Drew said with a wink. “Let’s go get some pancakes.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The drive to the diner was easy, the calm of the road soothing your nerves. Drew didn’t put on any music this time, letting the hum of the tires on the pavement fill the air as you both enjoyed the simple comfort of the drive. It felt grounding to be out of the whirlwind, just the two of you cruising through LA, away from everything else. No flashing lights, no rumors. Just a quiet moment.

When you arrived at the diner, it was an unassuming little place on a corner, a slice of nostalgia with its neon sign flickering invitingly. The retro décor inside felt like stepping into another time, and you immediately felt at ease in the warm, cozy atmosphere. Drew led the way, holding the door open for you with a smile that made everything feel effortless.

“Welcome to the best pancake spot in LA,” he said with a grin. “Trust me, they know what they’re doing here.”

You smiled, following him inside, and the waitress greeted you both with a friendly nod before leading you to a booth by the window. It wasn’t crowded, and the faint murmur of conversations filled the background as you both settled into your seats. It was the kind of place where you could be left alone to enjoy your meal, and the thought of it made you feel even more relaxed.

The waitress handed you both menus, and Drew glanced at his for a moment before looking up at you. “So, you’ve been in LA for what, a couple of days now?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. “How’s it been? Adjusting from your small town?”

You hesitated for just a moment, taking in his question. It felt strange to admit just how big the change had been. In your small hometown, everything was familiar, comfortable, but LA was… overwhelming, in a good way, mostly. You had come here for something new, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge.

“It’s been… different,” you said, shrugging slightly. “I mean, I grew up in a town where everyone knew everyone. You can’t walk into a store without running into half the people you know. LA’s kind of the opposite—huge, anonymous. It’s been nice, but also a little isolating. That’s why I’ve been trying to make sure I don’t get stuck in my own head too much. I’ve been trying to actually explore, you know? Get out and see the city.”

Drew nodded, his gaze steady, like he was really listening. “Yeah, I get that. LA can swallow you up if you let it. But it’s all about finding your rhythm. I think that’s why I love getting out of the city sometimes, doing stuff that reminds me what life’s like beyond the buzz.”

You smiled, feeling like you could connect with that more than you expected. “Exactly. It’s easy to forget there’s more to life than all this. I’m still figuring out how to balance it all.”

“That’s the thing with LA,” Drew said with a half-smile. “Everyone thinks you’re supposed to be constantly on the go, constantly working. But sometimes the best days are the ones where you’re just… present.”

His words made you pause, and you felt like the weight of the conversation wasn’t just passing by—it was something real. For someone who had so much of the world watching him, Drew seemed to get it, more than you expected. He was speaking to something you’d been trying to figure out since you’d gotten here: what life could look like outside the noise.

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, and you both ordered your meals, Drew sticking with his usual blueberry pancakes and you opting for a classic stack of buttermilks with a side of crispy bacon. The conversation drifted for a moment into lighter territory—favorite foods, places to visit in LA—but you felt the undercurrent of a real connection building between you.

As the waitress set down your pancakes, the sun had already climbed higher in the sky. You dug in, savoring the warmth and comfort of the food. It wasn’t just the pancakes you were enjoying—it was the feeling of normalcy, the feeling of being with someone who made you forget all the distractions.

“So,” Drew said between bites, “I remember you telling me that you came out here for a change. What was it like before? Your small town, I mean.”

You glanced at him, taken a little off guard by the question. You hadn’t really talked about your past in detail, and you weren’t sure how much to share. But Drew seemed genuinely curious, and something about the way he asked made it easier to open up.

“It was a lot quieter,” you said, your voice soft as you thought about your hometown. “A lot of people stick to the same routine, year after year. It wasn’t bad, but I knew it wasn’t the life I wanted. I needed something… bigger, I guess. Something where I could challenge myself. I didn’t want to wake up in ten years and feel like I hadn’t tried.”

Drew’s eyes softened with understanding. “Yeah. I get that. LA’s definitely a place that pushes you out of your comfort zone. I think that’s what I like about it, too—if you’re brave enough, it’ll make you grow.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. “I guess I’m just figuring out what that looks like.”

“I think that’s the beauty of it,” Drew said. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. The point is just… living it, you know?”

His words hit home in a way you hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice or the ease with which he spoke, but you felt like you were hearing something important. Maybe it wasn’t about having everything lined up or planned out. Maybe it was more about being open to the journey.

You smiled, realizing that being here, right now, with Drew, was a part of that journey.

After finishing your pancakes, Drew leaned back in his booth, looking satisfied. “So, what’s next? I know you’ve probably seen all the tourist stuff by now, but I’m thinking we hit some places that aren’t on the usual list. You up for an adventure?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought. You had only just started getting to know LA, and the idea of seeing it through someone else’s eyes—someone who had lived here long enough to know the best hidden gems—sounded perfect.

“Adventure sounds great,” you said with a grin. “What do you have in mind?”

Drew grinned back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’ll see. Let’s go.”

And just like that, you were back on the road, ready for whatever Drew had planned. You didn’t know what the day would hold, but you were more than ready to find out. The city, with all its chaos and beauty, didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore. Not when you had someone by your side who understood what it meant to be in search of something more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As you and Drew cruised through the winding streets toward the beach, the excitement you felt earlier in the day had started to shift. There was a sense of unease building in the pit of your stomach, and you couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d spent the morning laughing, talking about your favorite places in the city, and getting to know each other more. But as the car neared the coast, something began to feel off.

Drew was in high spirits, excited about showing you something he loved. But just as you started to relax again, you noticed something—you hadn’t seen a single paparazzi yet. For a moment, you told yourself it was just coincidence. LA wasn’t that small, right?

Then, the first click of a camera caught your ear.

You froze, eyes darting toward the rearview mirror. Drew, blissfully unaware, was focused on the road, humming lightly to the music. But you could see them now—two cars trailing a little too closely. Paparazzi.

Your stomach dropped, and before you could say anything, Drew swore under his breath, his expression darkening.

“Shit,” he muttered, hands tightening on the wheel. “Of course, they found us.”

You started to speak, but Drew was already acting. He began weaving through traffic, trying to shake them off, but the paparazzi followed relentlessly. You felt yourself growing more anxious with each passing second, the buzz of the chase creeping into your nerves.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, glancing over at him, trying to make light of the situation. “We were just going to the beach.”

Drew’s eyes flickered toward you, but it wasn’t the same relaxed, playful Drew from earlier. He looked frustrated, panicked almost. “Yeah, well, this is what happens when you’re seen with someone like me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. You blinked, processing. “What do you mean, someone like you?”

Drew shook his head, his jaw tight. “I mean, me—a celebrity. People want to know every little thing about me. And now I have to deal with it because I invited you along. People are going to start thinking you're just another hanger-on, someone who wants to use me for the attention.”

His voice wasn’t cruel, but the implication stung all the same. It felt like he’d just dismissed everything about you—everything you were. As if your presence wasn’t your own choice but something tied to his fame, and he didn’t even see how that could hurt. You could feel the heat rise in your chest, the hurt twisting in your gut.

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped yourself. What could you say? You weren’t sure if you were hurt more by the words themselves or by the way they seemed to come so naturally to him. It felt like you were an accessory to his life, just something he had to keep in line to avoid drama. And yet, you hadn’t asked for any of this.

Before you could process it any further, Drew pulled into an alley near a side street, his car screeching to a halt as he scrambled to hide. He turned to you quickly, his eyes frantic. “Put this on.” He reached into the back seat and threw a dark hoodie at you.

“What’s this?” you asked, holding it up.

“A disguise,” he said, voice clipped. “Just do it, okay? I need you to look like someone else right now.”

You stared at the hoodie in your hands, a sinking feeling growing inside you. He was treating this like a game, like you were just a prop to be hidden away. You didn’t have time to argue, though—he was already turning the car around, trying to make his escape.

Your fingers fumbled with the hoodie as you quickly pulled it over your head, the oversized fabric swallowing you. Your mind was spinning, and you couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at you. The way he’d talked to you, the way he was treating you—it felt like he was just seeing you as a part of his world, not you. And that hurt more than anything else.

“We can switch cars with Ava.” You offered. Within minutes, you were back at Ava’s apartment, and Drew was practically dragging you inside, his eyes scanning the street as if expecting a mob to pop up at any moment. He rushed you into the apartment, clearly panicked, and you could tell his nerves were getting the better of him.

“We need to go. We can’t stay here,” he said urgently, tossing a bag into the back of Ava’s almost-broken-down car. He had barely taken a second to notice the difference in the car’s condition before he threw the keys into your hands.

You didn’t protest—this was his world, after all. You just followed him, your stomach twisting, feeling more like an afterthought in his plans. The more you saw of this side of Drew, the more you realized that it wasn’t just the paparazzi that were a problem—it was the way he expected you to just fit into it, without a word.

The car started, and Drew floored it as he raced toward the mountains, hoping to escape the frenzy for a while. The roads became more winding, the city skyline fading behind you. But the paparazzi didn’t give up so easily, and just when you thought you were free, you saw the familiar outline of the cars in the rearview mirror.

You sighed. “They’re still following us.”

Drew’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. “They can’t leave us alone for five minutes.”

In an effort to lose them, Drew took a sharp turn onto a stray road, one that seemed to go deeper into the mountains. The road grew narrower, the trees thicker, but the paparazzi stayed right behind. You felt your patience wearing thin, and as the car started to slow, Drew cursed again.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” you said dryly, looking out the window at the dense trees that surrounded you.

“I’m just trying to shake them,” Drew replied, trying to hide the frustration in his voice, but you could hear it clearly.

A moment later, the car sputtered and came to a stop.

Drew swore again, banging his hands on the steering wheel. “Shit! We’re stuck.”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “Are you kidding me? We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, and we’re lost?”

“I didn’t plan this,” Drew snapped. “You think I wanted this?”

“Obviously you didn’t think this through,” you retorted, your voice rising in frustration. “We’re out here because you couldn’t accept that people are following you. You forced me into a disguise, dragged me out of the city, and now we’re stuck in the mud!”

Drew turned to you, his face hard. “You think I wanted any of this? I didn’t ask for this either, you know. I didn’t ask to be followed around by paparazzi all the time. I didn’t ask for people like you to get involved in my life.”

The words stung, and for a moment, you felt something inside snap. “You don’t get it,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I didn’t ask for any of this either. I came to LA for a fresh start, to get away from all of that. But now I’m just here, stuck with you in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be someone I’m not, and for what?”

Drew’s face softened, but the damage was already done. You couldn’t look at him anymore. The silence between you both was deafening as you sat in the car, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

You weren’t sure what you were more upset about—the situation itself, or the way Drew had made you feel so small.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The car sat idling in the middle of nowhere, its engine sputtering one last time before dying with a sad cough. You stared at the dense forest surrounding you, the humid air creeping into the small confines of Ava’s beat-up car. Drew banged his fists lightly on the steering wheel and groaned, muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, unbuckling your seatbelt. “We’re literally stuck in the middle of nowhere because you—”

“Because me?” Drew interrupted, incredulous, turning toward you with wide eyes. “Let’s not forget, the only reason we’re here is because I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You mean forcing me into a disguise, dragging me into some wild goose chase to avoid a couple of cameras, and now stranding me in the wilderness counts as protection?”

“You think I enjoy this?” Drew countered, gesturing wildly at the forest. “You think I wanted to get stuck in mud, in a car that sounds like it might explode at any moment?”

“Don’t you dare blame Ava’s car!” you snapped, your voice almost a growl. “It’s a miracle this thing even runs, and honestly, I’d trust it over you right now!”

Drew opened his mouth, then shut it, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “We should be working together, not blaming each other.”

“Oh, now you want teamwork?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You mean after you implied I’m some leech who can’t handle your celebrity life?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Drew said quickly, his tone defensive. “I was frustrated, okay? You don’t know what it’s like having your every move watched.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” you yelled, finally stepping out of the car. The humid air hit you, but you didn’t care. You needed to move. “You dragged me into this! I just wanted a nice day out, and instead, I’m in the middle of nowhere, wearing your hoodie, and wondering if I’m about to be eaten by a bear.”

Drew stepped out of the car too, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, first of all, there are no bears here—probably. Second, I was just trying to make the day fun.”

“Oh, yeah, super fun,” you shot back sarcastically, pacing in front of him. “Getting chased by paparazzi, being forced into a hoodie that smells like Axe body spray—real thrilling.”

Drew blinked. “Axe body spray? That’s Tom Ford.”

“Whatever,” you said, throwing your hands up. “It all smells the same when you’re stressed out and stuck in the mud!”

Drew sighed, leaning against the car, his head tilted back. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

“You didn’t think at all!” you snapped, poking a finger at his chest. “And now we’re stranded, because apparently, your grand plan to escape paparazzi is to drive until the Earth swallows us whole.”

“Hey!” Drew said, his tone turning defensive again. “I was improvising. I didn’t see you coming up with any ideas!”

“Because I didn’t sign up to be part of your personal action movie!” you shot back.

There was a beat of silence before Drew’s lips quirked upward, the tiniest hint of a smirk forming.

“What?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Drew continued, leaning slightly closer, “the way you’re all fiery and passionate right now—it’s kind of hot.”

You gaped at him, utterly speechless. “Are you—are you seriously trying to flirt your way out of this argument?”

“Depends,” he said, his smirk growing. “Is it working?”

You let out a sharp laugh, more out of disbelief than humor. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Unbelievably infuriating,” you corrected, throwing your hands up. “I’m out of here.”

You turned on your heel and started walking toward the road, your footsteps crunching against the gravel. Drew scrambled after you.

“Wait! You can’t just storm off into the wilderness!” he called.

“Watch me,” you shot back, not breaking stride.

“Y/N,” Drew said, his voice dropping into a softer, coaxing tone. “Come on. You don’t want to leave me here all alone, do you?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, turning around to glare at him. “I’m sure you can charm the forest animals into helping you out.”

Drew stopped in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he sighed and threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You win. I screwed up.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Go on.”

“I’ll admit,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t think this through. I was trying to be... I don’t know, spontaneous? Adventurous?”

“Well, congratulations,” you said dryly. “You’ve succeeded in creating the most chaotic adventure of all time.”

Drew chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of guilt. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just... don’t walk away, okay?”

You sighed, the fight draining out of you as his expression softened. “Fine,” you said reluctantly. “But if we get eaten by a bear, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal,” Drew said, grinning. And despite everything, you found yourself smiling back—just a little.

© 2025 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[sgtpeppers]

"A dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record": PR, McCartney and The Beatles' Split.

“No, I wasn’t angry – shit, he’s a good P.R. man, that’s all. He’s about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job. I wasn’t angry. We were all hurt that he didn’t tell us that was what he was going to do.”

(John Lennon in Rolling Stone, 21 Jan 1971)

To cut to the chase, I want to explain why this statement from John, claiming Paul is a good PR man is wrong. Largely thanks to quotes like this from John, Paul gets painted as the Beatle with a good media strategy, the insinuation being of course, that he is disingenuous and inauthentic. I don’t believe this is true in general, but what I really want to focus on, and what John is referencing in that quote, is the publicity around Paul’s 1970 album McCartney, which got all tied up with the news of The Beatles split, and how actually, mistake after mistake was made, rather than it being what John claims - a purposeful move to get more publicity for his album. 

This isn’t a moral judgment on either John or Paul, or me saying Paul is stupid for not doing more. In fact, I think it playing out this way is far more interesting and we can gain a lot of insight about his mindset and relationships from his press activities around this time. 

I’m going to do this chronologically as much as possible, but before we dive in it will be helpful for us to keep a few basic PR strategies and tools in mind to help us understand what’s (or perhaps more importantly, what’s not) happening. So what are some things that make for good public relations? 

A clear, cohesive message. What's the story of the album? There should be key phrases that are repeated throughout press activities, and also allow an easy fall back when faced with questions that haven’t been prepared for. Broadly speaking, you want to highlight the good and ignore the bad, without lying or appearing to hide anything.

A good relationship with the press. Having even a couple of journalists on side can be a huge benefit, it makes for friendlier interviews and more forgiving assessments (which isn’t to say journalists are being fake or can be incentivised, but it’s just human nature that if you make friends, you’re going to have an easier time.) Furthermore, you want a reputation in the industry as someone that’s nice to interview, because journalists can and will talk, and if they’re going to come in with a preconception about you, you want it to be positive. 

Reactive messaging. If something comes out that you don’t want to be out, be prepared. Ideally potential problems have already been planned for. Know which journalists to reach out to, know what the story is, then be prepared to go quiet and leave things alone.

Pre-prepared Q&As or FAQs should answer more questions than they generate. They also shouldn’t require in depth answers - save that for conversations where there’s time for explanations. 

So, let’s start back in 1969. The Paul is dead rumours are in full force and Paul, Linda, Heather and Mary are living up in Scotland, trying to escape the goings-on back in London. 

On 24 October, Paul gives an interview to the BBC dispelling the rumours about his death, which goes out on 26-27 October in two parts. A few days later, Dorothy Bacon and Terrence Spencer from Life Magazine make the trip up to his farm to try and get another interview with him, for a piece they’re also doing about the rumours. 

Paul throws a bucket of dirty water at them, they get pictures, and then realising how this will look if published, Paul gives them an interview and promises to have Linda send them some family shots for the articles. In exchange they get rid of the photos they took earlier in the day.

So the first point here, that hopefully I don't need to spell out, is that you don’t wanna go throwing buckets of water at journalists. Thankfully, Paul did realise this and course corrected, but I can only imagine what the fall out would have been had he hadn’t gone after them. But what’s important for this story is that Paul is fed up with journalists and having to share his private life, he's emotional, and his instinct is to lash out.

The other thing that’s interesting here is a line that goes completely unnoticed. At this point, The Beatles split is not public knowledge. 

The Beatle thing is over. It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals, all different. John married Yoko, I married Linda. We didn’t marry the same girl.

(Paul McCartney in Life Magazine, November, 1969)

This is huge, and it doesn’t get picked up by anyone else. It’s not made a big deal of in the Life article, it’s perhaps the clearest statement we get about the state of The Beatles, and yet it flies under the radar. I’d love to know exactly what the deal is here, but there’s not much we can do about that, but what we should start keeping in mind in this: there is no plan in place around The Beatles split. There is just an agreement to not make it public yet. 

The McCartneys go back to London and Paul starts recording music with his new equipment at home. Later he books studio time when he decides he can make an album out of the songs he’s been working on. 

Some key dates: 

Paul finishes the album on 25 February.

The album is set to release on 17 April.

Ringo’s album get rushed to release two weeks early on 27 March and Let It Be is also supposed to be released in April.

On 31 March John and George send a letter, delivered by Ringo, asking Paul to delay the release of McCartney. Paul refuses and Let It Be gets moved instead. 

Which brings us to April. Prior this, Paul realised that if he’s going to be putting an album out he’s going to have to do some publicity, but the problem is… well, there’s a few; he’s never had to do publicity for a solo album and simply doesn’t have the knowledge, his relationship with Apple has completely deteriorated which includes the people who have been handling this stuff for him in the past, and lastly, he doesn’t want to be dealing with press. Refer back to him and the bucket. 

Thankfully, Peter Brown and Derek Taylor from Apple’s press office, tell him he does need to do something and to an extent, he listens. They select a handful of papers he’ll do interviews with, and Peter Brown puts together a Q&A for Paul to answer, which will go out to journalists in the press kit with their early copy of the album (x).

What I would love to do here is a question by question breakdown of that press kit Q&A but I’m conscious of how long this is already so I won’t… but before we get into that, here are a few more key events: 

7 April: The Eastmans issue a press release with news about Paul’s solo album and his acquisition of the film rights for Rupert The Bear. This is covered mostly by American press on 8 April who speculate that this could mean the end of The Beatles. (An important note here is the lack of communication between the Eastmans and Apple, not knowing what materials each other are providing is not helpful).

9 April: McCartney press kits are sent to journalists. 

9 April: Before Don Short at the Daily Mirror clocks off for the night, he is called by an Apple employee who tells him Paul has definitely quit. 

10 April: The Daily Mirror breaks the news with the headline ‘Paul Is Quitting The Beatles’. 

10 April: After doing interviews all day, Derek Taylor issues a statement regarding The Beatles. It doesn’t say much, which he acknowledges, because there’s not much he can say at this point. Another important note here, is that not even the head of publicity of Apple knew what was going on with The Beatles. There is no communication, and with no communication there can be no plan.

(Paul McCartney Project page that covers all this)

So what happened that made The Beatles split go from speculation to a certainty? It’s all to do with that Q&A. Of course, with the Eastman’s press release people were going to start connecting the dots, but that call Short got from his source isn’t presented as a rumour. 

Now, there’s a lot to say about this Q&A because Paul's answer are so unhelpful and you can feel his attitude. I think the fact this was allowed to go out is a fundamental piece of evidence of Paul’s relationship with Apple at the time. No one wanted to tell him no, and he certainly wasn’t going to give them more than the bare minimum. 

And lets be really clear here. This is a Q&A for his new album. Obviously the state of the Beatles was going to be brought up which is why Peter Brown included the questions, but the number of the questions on that topic and then Paul’s answers, make it really confusing and it’s no wonder this is what press picked up on, rather than just talking about Paul’s album. There are 41 questions in total, and 13 of them are asking him about his relationship to the other Beatles, Apple and Klein. That’s just over a third of the Q&A talking about things that he doesn’t want to be talking about. The fact he didn’t just tell Apple that he wasn’t going to answer some of the questions shows how little forethought went into this on his part. There was a much more concise way to do this, and I do not believe for a second Paul wanted further questions about the state of the Beatles when he’s trying to promote his first solo album. 

And remember what I said at the top, about how if you’re gonna be promoting something in the press you want clear messaging around it? That’s already going be difficult now this Q&A has tied so much of the Beatles split into their messaging, despite Paul actually having a pretty clear idea of what the album’s story is aside from that, but the answers Paul gives to those questions just add further confusion. 

Link to full Q&A.

Q: Were you influenced by John’s adventures with the Plastic Ono Band, and Ringo’s solo LP? A: Sort of, but not really. Q: Will they be so credited: McCartney? A: It’s a bit daft for them to be Lennon-McCartney-credited, so ‘McCartney’ it is. Q: Will the other Beatles receive the first copies? A: Wait and see. Q: Is it true that neither Allen Klein nor ABKCO have been nor will be in any way involved with the production, manufacturing, distribution or promotion of this new album? A: Not if I can help it. Q: Did you miss the other Beatles and George Martin? Was there a moment eg, when you thought ‘wish Ringo was here for this break?” A: No. Q: Are you planning a new album or single with the Beatles? A: No. Q: Is this album a rest away from the Beatles or the start of a solo career? A: Time will tell. Being a solo album means it’s the start of a solo career… and not being done with the Beatles means it’s a rest. So it’s both. Q: Is your break from the Beatles temporary or permanent, due to personal difference or musical ones? A: Personal differences, business differences, musical differences, but most of all because I have a better time with my family. Temporary or permanent? I don’t know. Q: Do you see a time when Lennon-McCartney becomes an active songwriting partnership again? A: No. Q: What is your relationship with Klein: A: It isn’t – I am not in contact with him, and he does not represent me in any way. Q: What is your relationship with apple? A: It is the office of a company which I part-own with the other three Beatles. I don’t go there because I don’t like the offices or business, especially when I’m on holiday.

So what can we get from this? It’s the start of a solo career for Paul, he doesn’t know if The Beatles break is permanent or temporary, he’s not in contact with Klein and Klein doesn’t represent him, he owns part of Apple but he doesn’t like going there, and he seems very certain that the Lennon-McCartney partnership is over, despite not being sure if The Beatles will play together again or not. 

It’s a mess. It raises further questions. The only reason I can think of for it being so long is Peter Brown trying to cover absolutely everything he could think a journalist would ask, but it’s given Paul far too much scope for muddled answers, and in some cases, factually incorrect ones. He is tied up with Klein whether he likes it or not, because Klein’s tied up with Apple and Paul still has a contract with them. 

It’s no wonder that this becomes the focus of the media narrative, and it makes Paul panic. 

So on 16 April, the day before McCartney was released, Paul sits down with journalist Ray Connolly. And we move from story making, into reactive messaging. There is some thought behind this - Connolly is friendly with The Beatles and had actually already been aware of the split thanks to an off the record chat with John, so he was a good choice. The interview was published in the Evening Standard, a few days after the album had come out. 

And here’s why you want a friendly journalist to talk to, because as the world rushed to say that Paul had broken up the band, Connolly led his article with this: 

Paul McCartney didn’t kill the Beatles. If the group is dead, McCartney might be seen as the last survivor. If he has quit, and he still hasn’t confirmed it, he was the last to go.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

However, the interview is also extremely telling about where Paul’s at emotionally in this moment. 

A few days ago Paul McCartney decided to break his year-long silence and be interviewed. He wanted to clear up the confusion about his relations with the other Beatles and Allen Klein, and to kill the rumours that he was now ‘a hermit living in a cave somewhere with a ten-foot beard’. He wanted to show that he really was a happily married man with ‘a nice family and a good life’. But most of all he wanted to talk, to work things out in conversation, as much, I suspect, for his own benefit as anything.

This is not what you want to be doing with a journalist, you want to have this worked out before the conversation. 

We met for lunch in a Soho businessman’s restaurant. With hardly moments for the hellos, he’d launched into his theme, talking rapidly and intently, and only occasionally allowing Linda to come in as support and verification. He wanted to put it all straight, to show that no one was to blame for what had happened, and when after two and a half hours’ non-stop talking he had cleared up his mind and mine too, he laughed, said he felt better now, got into his car and went home.

This demonstrates the lack of media training he had. It’s a stark difference to the confidence he had doing press with the other Beatles, on his own and with a particular idea to get across he appears nervous and controlling. Long form interviews like this are a marathon, not a sprint, and had he had an advisor or representative that was willing to push back against him, he would have known how to handle this better.

Moreover, an interview of this sort should have been done and published prior to the album coming out, or at least on the day of. Yes, there were always going to be questions about The Beatles tied up with this release, but one long interview like this, that had been properly prepared for, could have gone a long way to keeping the story straight. He also, despite his steamroller-ing of the conversation to begin with, comes across much more balanced about the situation than he does in those Q&A answers, so leading with something like this would have put him on much better footing.

So let's just pause here. What have we got so far? We've got Paul wanting to do as little press as possible, and with a breakdown of communication with his press team resulting in minimal planning and advice. This goes completely against the picture John is trying to paint.

And I’m not done yet. Because now we need to talk about the response to the album which wasn’t what I imagine Paul had wanted. There are two reviews I’m going to focus on here, firstly from Disc & Music Echo, written by Penny Valentine. 

I don’t know what he was thinking when he planned this album. Perhaps he is laughing at us all. That’s fine, but it’s a pretty cruel way of doing it… almost a betrayal of all the things we’ve come to expect.

(Disc & Music Echo review, 18 April 1970)

It’s really harsh, but also this is within her right as a journalist. And what should someone do if they’re getting bad reviews? Ignore them. Thank the fans. Thank the people who say nice things. Don’t highlight negative attention, and certainly don’t lash out. 

And look, there’s a lot to be said about Paul, Linda, John and Yoko’s press communications over the 70s, the Melody Maker letters spring to mind, and I’m very aware that I’m looking at this from 2025 when PR is much bigger and better oiled machine, almost to the point of it being quite boring and predictable. I do, however, also think that ‘don’t lash out at journalists who don’t like your work’ is common sense. 

So Paul and Linda writing to Disc & Music Echo is a bit much to my eyes: 

Dear Penny hold your hand out you silly girl I am not being cruel or laughing at you. I am merely enjoying myself. You are wrong about the McCartney album. It is an attempt at something slightly different, it is simple, it is good and even at this moment it is growing on you, love. – Paul and Linda McCartney.

(Paul and Linda's telegram to Disc & Music Echo, 25 April 1970)

It’s condescending, and if you want to plant the seeds of what your album is meant to be, there are much better places and ways to do it. Again this is reactive, showing little to no planning earlier in the year. 

But here’s the thing that actually, completely baffles me. On the same day, in the same paper, another article gets published, this time by Derek Taylor, with the by line reading ‘Derek Taylor, Beatles Press Officer’. This just shouldn't happen. I can’t think of another case where someone’s PR is coming to their rescue in print. That’s not their job, and yes, Taylor used to be a journalist but he’s not anymore. I think this is way more to do with the way the people that have been with the Beatles since the early days are so emotionally wrapped up in this, they weren’t the people that should have been handling this.

(x)

It also shows though, that however much Paul was distancing himself from Apple, there were people still there who loved him. It’s an emotional, beautifully written piece calling for people to leave Paul alone, but also not a good PR move, especially when he’s highlighting a specific journalist. Whether Paul asked Derek to do this, or Derek did it of his own accord, I don’t know, but it looks defensive and if I was a journalist, I’d be rolling my eyes. 

Which brings us to the final part of this, the Rolling Stone review, published on 14 May 1970, nearly a month after the album came out, and largely not about the album at all, but a lot of  focus on Paul’s handling of the situation. 

The review of the actual songs is pretty complimentary, but this is also a personal attack on Paul. 

(Full review)

Unfortunately, there is more to this album than just music. Accompanying the release of McCartney was a mass of external information — all of it coming directly from Paul himself — which casts real doubt on the beautiful picture which the songs create. 

The sheets contain even more assertions about how happy and peaceful Paul and Linda are these days, and some interview statement from Paul concerning his relationship to the Beatles — statements which drip a kind of unsavory vindictiveness.

My problem is that all of the publicity surrounding the record makes it difficult for me to believe that McCartney is what it appears to be. In the special package of information which Paul wanted to include with the album we find startlingly harsh statements.

The lasting effect of this publicity campaign is to cast a dark shadow on an otherwise beautiful record. Listening to it now I cannot help but ask if Paul is really as together as the music indicates, how could he have sunk to such bizarre tactics?

I don't think this needs much commentary. You know something’s gone wrong with your PR when that becomes the focus, rather than the thing you’re actually trying to promote. 

If we return to the four things I listed above, I think we can pretty resolutely lay out what I wanted to do. 

Was there a clear, cohesive message? Around the album itself, sort of, Paul knew what it was. But it got tied up with the news of The Beatles split, the messaging around which was confusing with no one sticking to the same story. He also didn't do enough before the album came out, to get that messaging about his album stuck in people's heads. So overall, no. 

Did he build good relationships with press? No. He threw a bucket at one. He provided confusing press kit material, even to journalists he was friendly with he came across in a manner that was worth noting in an article, he sent a bitchy telegram to a journalist who wrote a bad review, and this all culminated in Rolling Stone spending more time talking about his publicity than his album.  

Did Paul have reactive messaging prepared? Evidently not, and then given the chance to provide some, he came across as panicked to the journalist he was speaking to. 

Did his Q&A provide clear, simple answers to common questions he was likely to get asked? No, it was overly long, asking the same questions in multiple ways and no editing was done to his short, snappy, confusing, and incorrect answers. 

I don’t want to give the idea that Paul, overall, is just shit at PR. (I mean, there's a difference between being a good spokesperson and good at PR but I won't get into that). He’s a highly successful musician who by all accounts, is now extremely good at interviews and making journalists feel at ease. He’s Paul fucking McCartney. But John saying this, in direct reference to this period of press activities is just not true. The album did well for Paul in the charts and sales, yes, but I’d argue that’s despite all this, rather than because of it. 

And it’s also important to reiterate, that Paul simply wasn’t interested in doing a lot of publicity. He wasn’t even sure this was going to be an album when he started writing the songs. He didn’t want people coming to his farm, invading his new family life (and rightly so), he didn’t want to be on TV or the radio every day. That’s why his Q&A is so terse and why he hadn’t put any thought in how he was going to talk about The Beatles. And whilst how he felt is understandable, what he needed were a team around him willing to push back, steer him, and were separate from Apple. That’s the only way, I think, this could have gone differently.

Even then, he probably wouldn’t have listened to them anyway: 

I don’t think I need a manager in the old sense that Brian Epstein was our manager. All I want are paid advisers, who will do what I want them to do. And that’s what I’ve got.

(Paul McCartney in the Evening Standard, 21-22 April 1970)

And that’s really the crux of it all, because you can’t do good with PR with someone who doesn’t want to take advice and thinks they know best. And I love him for it. 

[canmom]

one of the people i most looked up to when i was first transing has, many years later, pretty hard disidentified with words like 'trans woman', 'transfem' and so on. they still write to an audience of mostly dolls, but they're doing some other gender thing now, and tend not to like being put in the trans woman/transfem box.

chewing on this and other things. fundamentally I don't think gender is real. I have called it an egregore, and that still seems apt. and yet, words like 'trans', 'autistic' and so on are a pretty powerful correlate with the sort of person I tend to vibe with.

transing isn't revealing some inner girl essence. the forces that produce a trans woman when enacted on the eager-to-reshape-itself human brain don't necessarily only produce trannies: it is one of a number of moves available to you.

it is, however, a really big play in the game. given how ludicrously much gender infects every social interaction, going off-script in a big way is going to affect your psychology hugely. doing that activates the feedback loops, the self-exciting instability, a set of rituals let you become something more 'real', or perhaps more precisely, something you have actively defined. the unpredictable outcome of that process is both the entire point and not the point at all.

rachel pollack spoke of transing in terms of religious ecstasy. "I would argue that transsexuality arises from a passion so powerful that it transcends issues of happiness. The word passion originally meant suffering, not pleasure."

so having made a declaration like, i am this sort of creature, you break everything down and start to rebuild. you go on to take actions to affirm it, or even simply build an inner, secret core, and doing this - physically, socially - transforms the resonances of your thinking.

we have constructed many rituals to make the declaration of transness more definite. a lot of them will affect your sensory experience: the immediate effect of hrt on how your skin responds to touch is surely one of the great virtues. take surgery, for example - do you need to get your penis turned inside out? well: the drama of making a drastic alteration to your body, and the sheer difficulty of getting it, makes it an especially powerful ritual. but it's not the only way to go. indeed, most girls I know haven't done it (whether or not they want to), and instead, the symbol of woman-with-penis has become one of our core subculture-images. in the last few years, the word faggot has come back in a big way, with a real gendered connotation now, sorta like what the girls on here were trying to get at with baeddel before all the shit happened. that's also a move.

so this phenomenon, this new game we're building together, includes surgeries as a move. but it also includes a lot of the subculture-building classics: weird fashions, radical politics, drugs, kinky sex, making noises on the computer, and so on.

and since the whole point of this thing is a process of defining yourself into existence, as soon as something starts to become a cliché, an orthodoxy, a mandated practice, it starts to break down. everything is stupid fucking contextual. if everyone around you is desperately pursuing genital surgery, saying 'I like my dick and want to keep it' becomes a potent move. but if the pendulum swings the other way, once everyone is saying 'do you really need surgery, you know you don't need it to Be Trans, please stay as you are since it's easier for us that way', maybe that ritual regains some of its power. it's perverse. perversity is kind of necessary to it.

so the meta evolves.

i am speaking about transness here, but i think similar forces are at work with other self-id games, autism and so on. there is like, actual biological variation, but far more important is the ideas we're playing with on top of that. what concepts are activated when I think 'autism', now largely positive associations: sensory this, obsession that; not the same as twenty years ago. thankfully my fellow autists made an interesting game to make of it: a space to express something.

[a-drama-addict]

by popular demand (one person. hi ghost) here’s codex mock ups for the notes Valda leaves companions with their little drinks in the morning >:)

Lucanis

(A note found in the pantry, next to an empty tea cup. It has been folded neatly.)

You drink too much coffee. I heard this was a really popular tea flavour in Antiva. Perhaps more relaxing? 

—- V 

Bellara 

(A note found next to an empty cup and some crumbs. There’s a noticeable amount of hearts doodled on the page from a different pen.) 

I know you haven’t slept. Made you pancakes. The fluffy ones you said you wanted to try. Lucanis said hot cocoa worked well with it. Enjoy.

—- V

Harding 

(A note found next to an empty pile of letters and an empty tea cup. There’s also a piece of bread.)

This is supposed to be a popular drink in Ferelden. And because you talked about being more interested in dwarven culture- made you black lichen bread. Taste tested myself, so you won’t get poisoned. 

—- V

Taash 

(A note found next to an empty cup, which has tiny dragons carved into it.)

Found this cup in the Treviso market! Had to get it for you. Made it a Rivaini spice tea blend so you can taste it better. 

—- V 

Neve

(A note found on Neve’s desk, next to case notes, a cup and a box of half empty sweets. The note has been refolded many times.)

Stop drinking sloppy coffee. This is supposed to be something that keeps you awake because of caffeine not disgust. I also got some poison stings. Tarquin sends you regards. Take care of yourself, Neve. 

—- V

Emmrich 

(A note found on top of a thick book, with an empty tea cup next to it) 

Manfred helped me with this. He just shuffled along handing me ingredients to this Nevarran tea you like. He’s a good kitchen helper. Hope you like it.

—- V

Davrin 

(A note found underneath a wooden statue, halfway carved. There is a cup beside it, crumbs scattered around it.)

Your uncle gave me a recipe for a Dalish hearth cake you used to love, apparently. And Lucanis implied a ‘good Antivan roast’ would work wonderfully with it. There is a small treat for Assan. Arm wrestling with Taash again later today?

(Underneath there is a sketched out roster, Taash being in a clear lead against both Davrin and Valda)

—- V

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Five Times Sirius Black Fucked James Potter and One Time He Didn't

(so @arliedraws posted something along the lines of "Five Time Sirius Fucked Someone in James Potters Life for Revenge and One Time He Didn't" as part of her slytherin sirius AU etc like a million years ago. and i uh...misread that upon first read and ran with it anyway. so here's a little fic no body asked for that seemed appropriate to post on @impishtubist day of birth.

if you've been here for a bit, you may recall when i would post little dribbles as "series", so here is...part 1/5.

please enjoy xoxo)

--

James Potter’s entire body was burning from the inside out. Despite the fact he had just been naked and in several compromising positions moments before, he was now hurrying to dress himself, all too aware of the cool air brushing against his exposed ankles.

Socks. SOCKS. Where in the world did his socks end up?

He grabbed his trousers from the heap on the floor of the Quidditch changing room and tucked in his white uniform shirt. Perhaps too hastily, realizing it was caught beneath the waistband of his briefs, but he could worry about that later. And the wrong buttons on his shirt. And his socks.

It felt obscene, shoving his bare feet into his oxfords.

“I have an extra pair of socks.”

“It’s fine,” James said quickly, running a hand over his hair, debating whether or not to choke himself with his tie.

“You’ll stink up your shoes.”

“It’s f—”

“Stop being a prat, Potter, and just take the bloody socks.” James felt something bounce off the back of his head, and he finally turned around, face hot. Entirely bothered. And Sirius Black, Slytherin Prefect was smirking. Looking all too comfortable leaning against the wall of the changing rooms—the Gryffindor changing rooms, a place he shouldn’t have even been in the first place, but there he was—dark curls falling effortlessly over his cheekbone. Robes folded neatly into the crook of his arm. The pair of socks that he had just thrown on the floor to the left of James’s feet.

“I’ll bring you a pair tomorrow…” James mumbled, sitting down on the bench between the lockers, and taking his feet out of his loafers. Pointedly avoiding eye contact and looking at Black at all.

“Keep them.”

“I don’t want to owe you.”

“Owe me?” he scoffed, “I’d rather have something—”

“No.” James cut him off, pulling up one of Black’s grey socks so far and hard it came up to nearly his knee. The threads tugging at one another between the seams of the cuff. Two neat green stripes on the top, the only tell tale sign that they had been borrowed at all. James could hear Sirius push off the wall, practically hear the eyeroll, watching, waiting for him to come closer. And he did. Expensive, bloody posh, black polished shoes appearing in James carefully averted eyeline. The floor had been such a safe place to look. James steeled himself.

Black always had the unique ability to get the best of him.

Or the worst.

Since first year. When Sirius was sorted into Slytherin and James swore, to this day, he made eye contact with the haughty boy in the Great Hall and something ignited inside of him. An unspoken rivalry with no clear starting point, for either of them.

It was almost instinctual. The desire to get one up on Sirius Black.

Sirius performed well in Transfiguration and James made sure to earn points in Charms.

Sirius was made prefect their fifth year, and suddenly James’s biggest dream was to become Quidditch Captain just to have some kind of badge to show off.

Sirius had more OWL’s than James.

James was better at Quidditch.

Now in their seventh year, James was Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, finally feeling victorious, only to discover that having more badges didn’t quiet the flames as much as he hoped they would.

And one ups turned into meet ups, turned into…

“And here, I thought you had a good time. Did I get that wrong, Potter?”

“I have a girlfriend,” James hissed, though he knew Lily was back up at the castle with everyone else. Celebrating Gryffindors win, no doubt. Where James was supposed to be, with his teammates and his friends, and his girlfriend that he definitely had, before he was rudely interrupted by Black. Stupid Sirius Black and his stupid cheeky smile.

He hated that Black waltzed around Hogwarts like he owned it. Hated that Black stepped foot into Gryffindor territory without a second thought.

Wanted to say congratulations is all, Potter.

He hated his tone.

But Merlin, did James like the way Sirius said congratulations.

“Oh, I see,” Sirius nodded in mock understanding. “Now you have a girlfriend.”

“I mean, I did…before to, I’m just…” James exhaled and stood up.

That was better. Though Black was still taller. And they were so standing so close to one another, James could make out the beauty mark beneath Sirius’s left eye, and the small scar on the top of his forehead, just before his hairline started.

“This was the last time.”

“Alright,” Sirius shrugged casually.

“I mean it.”

“It would mean more if I had not heard it before…”

“That was different,” James said, “That was…” But he couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to stop Black from smirking further. It wasn’t different. Not at all, but Black didn’t have to be so damn smug about it.

“Mhmm. Alright,” Sirius repeated, with his stupid smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Sirius shifted, hands moving to James’s tie, deft fingers undoing the poorly done knot and retying it carefully. “Just, you know, if I had known it was going to be the last time, really, actually the last time, I would have stepped it up a notch for a proper send-off.”

“Stop talking.” James swallowed, trying to stop his chest from rising and falling so rapidly. Trying to stop for repeating history and going back on his statement all too soon.

Because the last time had to come eventually.

Sirius laughed shortly, aligning James’s tie under his collar and straightening it out. “Enjoy your victory party, Potter.” One of Sirius’s hands cupped James’s jawline, his thumb brushing over James’s bottom lip, wiping away any remnants that they had once kissed.

Touched.

Dissolved into one another.

“Let me know if your girlfriend needs some pointers. I’m happy to—”

“She doesn’t,” James responded, indignantly, cocking his chin upward.

“Alright,” Sirius said with a wink, his shoe making the tiniest squeak on the floor as he turned on his heel, “See you next time.” And Sirius walked out of the changing rooms, leaving James with his heart pounding in his chest.

[lou-struck]

Facing Me

Asmodeus x reader

Part One

W.C 1.5k

~ Spring Cleaning in the HOL takes a strange turn when you and Asmodeus find a cursed mirror.

After the House of Lamination was taken over by that Army of rats last week, Barbaots strongly recommended that the Brothers do a bit of decluttering in the attic to prevent this disaster from happening again in the future. 

Being the model human you are, you volunteered to help them out. Not just from the goodness in your heart but also the curiosity you have towards the boxes upon boxes of magical items, trinkets, and antiques that have been hidden away within these walls.

You heard there was a lot to go through, but as you look over the boxes, and boxes, and boxes of items to take out and examine you wonder if there is an end in sight. 

“Are you really…sure… all these need to go downstairs?” your muscles strain as you lift a heavy wooden chest off of the top of a dusty end table and walk it over to the doorway. Lucifer gives you a soft smile before taking it off of your hands.

“Yes, Barbatos said that if we wish to remain rodent free we must get rid of all unnecessary clutter.” He replies, “But If you see anything up here that you would like to keep for yourself don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“Oi, why does just Mc get to have their pick of all this stuff?” Mammon pouts from behind a cobwebbed vanity with a cracked mirror. 

“Isn't it obvious?” Lucifer sighs looking at his brother. “Because you have given me no reason to trust you.” 

“I’m plenty trustworthy,” Mammon stammers, his tanned cheeks flushing pink in frustration. “Lemme show you, ” He reaches for a box of books that is balancing precariously on top of some mismatched boxes, pulling the heavy weight easily toward him. “See, I can take care of junk too.”

“Wait! Look out,” Satan yells from behind you, you are pushed out of the way just as the tower of boxes collapses, glass breaks and trinkets smash against the floor where you once stood. Dust fills the air, sending you and the other Demons into a fit of coughing, but miraculously, everyone is unharmed. 

But judging by the near murderous glares Lucifer and Satan send Mammon, you wonder just how long that will remain to be true.

“Look what you did you idiot,” Satan seethes,  looking at his brother darkly, “They could have gotten hurt.”

“I’m fine,” you sigh tiredly, “It was an accident.”

“M’ sorry.” Mammon says, looking at you like a kicked puppy, “You gotta believe me Mc, I’d never try to hurt ya on purpose.”

You brush yourself off and take Satan’s outstretched hand. “No harm done,” you say, “I’m just a bit dustier than before.”

Lucifer’s brow creases with worry as he looks down at the disaster at his feet. “ although Mammon’s actions were extremely irresponsible. He has shown us that this room may not be the safest option for you to be in. Perhaps your assistance would be better put to use downstairs.” 

“Are you demoting me?” you ask, suddenly feeling rather ashamed of your human mortality. 

His gaze softens and his hand comes to gently rest on your arm. “Not at all, at this rate we seem to be clearing out the attic faster than those downstairs can sort through the boxes. You would be a great help to Asmodues and the others.”

“Why do you have to make sense all the time?” you say turning and stepping over a fallen crate. The Avatar of Prdies words of logic reassure you as you look forward to the next task at hand.

But before you can make it to the door, Satan's voice calls out to you. 

“Be careful when handling the items, some of them may be enchanted or cursed. If you’re not sure about something, set it aside for later. 

“Or give it to Levi,” Mammon grumbles. “Most of this junk is probably his anyway~” the back of Lucifer’s hand makes contact with Mammons shoulder. “Ow what was that for?”

~

You pass by Beel when you make it to the ground floor. Despite carrying armloads of heavy boxes, the sixth born looks as energized as ever. Not a drop of sweat mars his brow as he climbs the steps once again, no doubt thinking about the promised reward of Hell’s Kitchen when the job is done. 

Levi sits cross legged on a chair in the living room with his laptop, his job is to research the items in the attic and if necessary look up how to dispose of them properly if they are cursed. Belphie is supposed to be doing that too, but apparently his sitting position was too comfortable and he fell victim to his Sin.

Just in the other room you find Asmodeus. The Avatar of Lust is hard at work sorting through the boxes, organizing the clutter into neat little piles, giving each one a little bit of attention. His eye for detail is put to use perfectly. 

He shines an old candle stick with a pink dust cloth with a serene smile as you approach his seat at the dining room table. “Do you need a hand? I got banished from the Attic.”

“Then it’s your lucky day hon,” the demon beams, pulling out the seat next to him. “I have lots to go through and would love to spend a bit more time with you.”

“Thanks, where should I start?” you ask, sliding into the seat, eager to resume helping out in any way you can. “Do you have a system?”

“His peach colored eyes trail to the ceiling in thought as he bites his glossy lower lip. “Hmmm, not really. I’m just working through one box at a time, nothing is really gross so I'm just giving each item a little bit of TLC.”

“Got it,” you grin staring down at the worn down box wondering just where you should start first. Whoever packed this one up did it carefully, so you decided to grab a large white leatherbound book. Its title is written in some strange language you have never seen before, but you can tell from the faint warmth of magic radiating from the ink that it is some kind of spell book. 

“This looks cool,” you hum dusting off the cover with a cloth, “Maybe Solomon would want to check it out.”

Asmo nods, his eyes shining as he sets the now-shining candle stick to the side and reaches back into the box. “Isn't this fun? I bet we can find all sorts of things in here. If you find any cool decorations let me know, vintage is trending on Devilgram so I would love to add a few new things to my room.”

“I will,” you say as you slide the less dusty spellbook to the other side of the table for later.

“Beautiful,” he exclaims next to you. Curiously you turn your head to find the demon holding up an antique silver mirror, although you cannot see the glass, you are blown away by the intricate collage of embedded flower shaped jewels that adorn the back of it. 

“Wow it is a stunning mirror,” you breathe as the demon lets out a laugh. 

“I was talking about me, but I guess it’s pretty too.” He murmurs. “Take a look for yourself Mc. He flicks his wrist over to you and you see your reflection in it briefly. But the moment you lock eyes with your mirrored image, a bright, warm light fills the room blinding the two of you.

Your hands fly to your eyes as you try to shield your eyes from the enchanted light but it seems to travel through your palms. “What’s going on?” Asmo cries as he drops the mirror, the sound of broken glass reaches your ears. 

“I don’t know, all I did was look at it.” You say worriedly, your vision still flooded with painless gold. The light fades after a few seconds, but it takes a bit for you to blink away the spots in your vision, lowering your hands and you stare at the stone pattern of the floor in confusion.  “W-what was that?”

Asmodeus’ worried voice catches your attention “Mc are you alright? I had no idea that would happen.”

“I think i’m alright,” you say gently looking yourself over, maybe that mirror just was enchanted to flash a bright light when someone looks at it. Even after all this time in the Devildom, you still find yourself surprised by just how many ridiculous spells there are floating around. 

“How about you~” when you turn your head, you find yourself at a horrified loss for words as you look at the Demon next to you. “What the?”

“What’s wrong?” he cries no doubt seeing the look of abject horror on your face. “Is there something on my face?”

“T-that’s just it Asmo.” you say rubbing your eyes one final time to make sure your eyes aren't just playing tricks on you. “Your face. It’s gone.”

To Be Continued...

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[the-thieves-gambit]

"Ah, so you admit you just try to be the opposite of other guys to show that 'you're not like other guys'. Noted." It was a joke as she shook her head. "Knew you'd slip up sooner or later." It was her turn to scoff. "One of the biggest? I should be the biggest." Perhaps if she kept it up she would be one of the things that annoyed him so much that he'd eventually tire of her.

For a moment she thought he'd finally give in to sleep until he banged on the wall. Laughing at the words that came from his mouth, slightly awakening Dolly who just readjusted before closing her eyes again, she said. "How would you know if that was right or not, what if they were just like, lets pretend and get this over with? What makes you the master of other peoples sex lives?" Moving to lay on her side with one arm around Dolly, she propped her phone against a book on her nightstand and resumed absentmindedly petting and scratching behind the dogs ear. "It's okay, she was too good for them anyway. She'd be like Dug from Up, being bullied by the dogs that take themselves to seriously." Another movie that she had recently watched with her nephew over an app that they had found to be able to watch movies together. "Ugg, fjandans," she muttered rolling her eyes. "Forget I said anything, put your face under the pillow instead. I don't want to see any piece of your face. In fact end this video call." Her hands came up, one to cover Dolly's face and one over hers, it was childish but she was also tired.

The irritation didn't last long, softening at his words. "You're looking at it right now. There's not much to miss. Ah, just say you're just waiting to see me be scared of an animal." Blue. 55. "Hmm, I'll have to look over where I keep your stuff. I usually don't pay attention to the things you leave behind, just make sure its clean and put it on the shelf in the hallway for you to take later. And if it is lost, then it's on you for not keeping better track of it. Can't help it if the dryers in the laundromat down the street have a tendency of eating clothes." She was teasing, she remembered the exact sweater, she had laughed as she folded it.

A cave was still not her idea of an adventure, but she was sure that once she showed what a bore she was with the animal thing, that he would cancel the cave thing too. "Sure," she covered up a yawn. "Why the hell not." Snuggling closer to Dolly, she gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "Dolly will come with us right? If she comes I'll be fine." That was a lie but focusing on something else would help. "And I bail when I want. No promise of sticking the thing out. I don't like caves. What makes it so special anyway? Caves are caves, unless you're talking about a cenote, then I'm out. I don't mess with that." Jennifer's tales of Chaak lurking in them, along with some used as burial places and deemed sacred kept her out of them as a kid and stuck with her into adult hood. As much as she didn't believe in a religion of a kind, she respected what people deemed sacred.

"You know what we should do," she offered up. "Go to the Art Museum. I think they have a new exhibit." Then she perked up slightly. "Or see a lighthouse!" But even then it was a small exclamation, having Dolly around to keep her still gave her no other choice but to give in to the ache inside and sleep instead of wander around. After stifling another yawn, she added. "You said there were more around here right?"

"Fair but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I don't tune you out when you talk. Can you imagine how big of an asshole I'd be if I'd pull what every other nonsense guy pulls." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. Even though she couldn't see him. Green eyes were the only visible color in the dark.

He scoffed and covered up a sneeze. "You are one of the biggest smartasses I know," he laughed just thinking of all the ways she'd challenge him and would take zero shit. "Excuse me then, you're the brunette Scully. Your quote on quote hot women of America will find their people. I have no doubt." He propped himself up on his elbows as he momentarily looked up at the ceiling and pounded the wall. The couple next to his room were having sex and he had spent the better part of the hour hearing the partner try to get to a specific spot. Wally being over it he yelled out a loud, "left! Left, my man." After a second he heard a grunt in the form of a thank you and the other person yelling an enthusiastic yes, finally. The fact he could tell from a wall over and without looking at whatever the fuck was happening over there was a testament to how many times he had to hear his siblings get it on from their adjoining rooms when they went on vacation.

Going back to Dolly he hummed. "She may have failed the class but she was very smart and knew what to do. She was just too sweet. As you can see by her snuggling up to you." He laughed finding amusement in her words. "Ah so you want to look into my eyes. I knew it." There was a sweet satisfaction over knowing she liked the hair parted and liked to see his eyes.

"Because I missed seeing your face. It's been a long week and I honestly can't wait to get home and get to our adventure week."he answered honestly. Though he knew she wasn't truly asking. "Yes, there. It's dark blue but not navy and it has the etchings of the 55th anniversary on the back. No, it's not Mickey. That one is at Melissa's house. She never gave it back. This one has Pooh Bear and Tigger on the log from splash mountain. I had it on that night I brought you that case of the stolen artifacts from the Natural History Museum. I wasn't in my suit so I came with that hoodie. You better not have lost it."

"You enter and walk about i don't know maybe, 4 feet and go around the corner to find lights. I don't think it's that deep. Mostly inclusive for everyone. According to the website no low ceilings and no crawling spaces where you'd feel trapped. I think thatd be a major turn off for people who hate enclosed spaces. Is this you being more warmed up to the idea? Thumb is over the book button."

[zephrunsimperium]

I don't think I'll ever write Once Upon A Dream as an actual thing on AO3 but I keep envisioning little moments from it and need to share it with the world. Basically after getting out of the Theraprism, Bill trades his immortality to go back in time and see Ford again.

Bill Confesses To Ford

"Bill?" Ford asked. Bill looked up at him from the other side of the couch with his big brown eyes. The sun was setting outside through the open window, casting a warm glow over the living room. "…. are you a magical creature?" The question blossomed in Bill's gut. He was asking now? Bill wasn't ready for this yet. Ford didn't know it yet, but he wasn't ready for this either. "…. I was," Bill said. He looked away even as he heard the sound of Ford's pen clicking. Was he really going to take notes on this? But this was Ford, of course he was. "What happened?" he asked eagerly. Bill regarded journal one with nervousness, dodging Ford's eye contact. Ultimately he decided he didn't have the right to be nervous; invasive or not, Ford meant well, it was alright. "That was a lifetime ago," he answered, trying to brush it off. Please let's have this conversation later, Sixer. "Could you perhaps be more specific?" Ford sat up more, balancing his journal on his thighs. "Is this part of your life cycle? How old are you? Are there more of you here?" God, he looked so bright eyed and innocent. Bill didn't want to explain it to him now, not like this. But how could he end Ford's questioning? "I gave up my immortality willingly." "Fascinating…" Ford muttered, scribbling furiously. "What prompted this?" "You." The quiet single word answer stopped Ford halfway through a word. "… what?" Bill just folded his arms, looking away. He wasn't going to repeat himself, Ford knew what he'd said. "What- what does that mean?" Ford's mind was running a mile a minute. Why would Bill give up immortality for him? More than that, how had he stumbled upon an immortal being and not figured it out faster? He'd suspected after about a week, had been taking notes on his not-so-human eccentricities, but... He didn't even know what kind of creature Bill was. Nothing he knew about aligned with anything he'd studied. Bill continued, having retreated into himself somewhat: “I messed up," he said softly, staring forward at nothing. "And I lost you. And I hated that." "I-" Ford blushed. "Excuse me?" He couldn't think of anything he'd done in the last few months that would have caused that. "You haven't lost me at all." “Before or- Well- later, I guess- Time travel and all that." Ford blushed. "I- That's… You care about me that much?" “Yeah." Bill shrugged. He wanted to hide. Surely he was crazy for this, chasing after a gay fantasy that would eventually crumble. It always did. There was no other outcome in the cards. He didn't regret it though. It was worth it, to see a Ford that didn't hate him. "You had to become mortal? For me?" “Yeah,” he replied again. "Look, Ford, I-" Bill cut off when Ford's hands came to cup his face. The two of them stared at each other, journal 1 lying facedown on the coffee table. Bill froze but wrapped his arms around Ford and held him. He wasn’t going to lose him this time. He was safe for once.

[awardenandacrow]

FANFIC SNIPPET TWENTY-ONE

[Spite finally manages to find Naimeryn’s dreams, and the two have a revelation]

NOTE: I’ve been working on this part of my headcannon over on Threads for the last couple of days, and I HAD TO WRITE IT. IMMEDIATELY.

CW/TW: depictions of violence; suggestive themes of SA; discussion of unwanted pregnancy, death during childbirth, child loss; murder plans (vague)

——————————————————————————

Her mother shoved her into the closet, as she had so many times before.

“Not a word!” She hissed. “Not a peep!”

It was black in the closet. Naimeryn curled into a tiny ball, muffling her sobs into her knees. The Templars were right outside. Would they know her mother was an apostate? Would they take her away? Would they *kill her*?

*I can make you strong* the hissing voice of Fear came to her ears. But no. Even at seven years old, she knew not to listen to the whispers.

“ROOK?”

Naimeryn looked up, startled. For a moment, Lucanis was standing where the closet doors should be, with her in the dark. But he looked strange, his skin and clothes faded and grey, but also purple…? His eyes glowed.

Not Lucanis. *Spite*?

As she realized, he changed, just a glowing ball of purple, which *felt* familiar rather than *looked* familiar.

Naimeryn gasped, and she was fourteen. The guards threw her friend, Tahlva, through the slave quarters’ doors, onto the floor. Blood flowed between her legs and tears from her eyes. A few months later they’d find out she was pregnant. Neither she, nor the baby, would survive the delivery. Naimeryn would wonder if the other slaves had even tried to save the babe, though perhaps that was unworthy of her. Rage came to her in her dreams the night Tahlva died. She faced it, head held high, hands fisted at her sides, hot tears soaking her cheeks.

*I can make you strong,* taunted Rage.

But no, she could not give in. Could not reveal herself, endanger the others, lose who she was.

“ROOK!”

Spite was back, cutting in between her and Rage. Again he changed, a glowing purple spirit near her heart, keeping her together. Keeping her sane. Keeping her *alive*.

“Spite…” she whispered.

But he was gone, and she was 29, just about a year ago now, fighting for her life as the ground began to crumble. She blasted the Ogre back, spinning to attack again, only to feel the Hurlock’s claws sink into and across her face. Everything turned red as blood poured into her eyes. She kicked the Hurlock in its middle with all the force she could muster, and as it faltered the ground beneath its feet gave way, sending it plummeting back down the hole from which the horde had erupted.

“Naimeryn!” Evka’s voice. “Get out of there! Antoine’s gotta blow it NOW!”

But the Ogre grabbed her, slamming her into the rock. Stars exploded in her eyes and she just barely kept her grip on her staff. She blasted in back away from her, and with a roar it fell.

“DO IT!” She screamed up to Evka.

A familiar purple haze at the edges of her vision. Antoine detonated the charges, and she hauled herself, dizzy and shaking, over the edge of the pit, barely clinging to consciousness.

“Where is she?” Amaya’s voice.

Spite crouched over her. “ROOK CAN’T DIE.”

“I found her!” Antoine was shouting. “Over here!”

“Amaya, you hold her head. Antoine, get her legs. Naimeryn, hold on. We’ve got you!”

Abruptly, the purple haze was gone. She’d not felt it since.

Naimeryn sat up with a gasp, on a cot in the infirmary. Still dreaming. Spite stood uncertainly in the doorway.

“ROOK FELT… FAMILIAR. BUT LUCANIS NEVER LETS ME TALK TO ROOK!”

Naimeryn stood quickly and crossed the room to him. He shrank back as she reached for him. She hesitated, and he stilled. Slower, then. She reached one hand uncertainly, touching his arm. It was solid. While dreaming, at least, she could touch him. She closed her fist around his sleeve, and began to cry.

“What were you? Before Zara…”

“YOURS,” Spite said simply. “YOUR DETERMINATION.”

Naimeryn dissolved into sobs and threw her arms around him. “I always knew you were there. And then you were GONE. I’m so sorry, Spite. I’m so sorry!”

Hot anger boiled beneath the grief. It choked her, and wrenched her from her slumber. She was going to be sick.

Naimeryn threw herself from the couch and ran, out of her room, out of the library, to the courtyard. Everything she’d eaten at dinner spilled into the ether as she shook and cried. Lucanis had no idea how right he was. Zara needed to die.

“Rook!” Lucanis’s voice. She turned her head so she could see him, coming down the stairs by Caretaker’s workshop, barefoot, but otherwise as together as always. She must look a mess. “Spite said —“

“Lucanis,” she cut him off. “There’s something I need to tell you. About —“

She turned away and got sick again. She tensed as his fingers brushed the back of her neck, but he only pulled her hair back. She hoped none was already in it; the thought of him getting her vomit on his hands was unbearable.

“Spite isn’t making any sense,” Lucanis said. “Is it about him?”

She nodded, gasping as the wrenching of her insides finally subsided.

“And about Zara.”

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco saga, Part 3: The Eye

*This is the third (well, actually fourth) post in a series I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Silco Saga, a retrospective after Season 2”. It’s halfway between flow of conscience, meta, headcanon and review, spawned from my Arcane brainrot (and recent S1 rewatch) and vaguely aimed at trying to reevaluate the entirety of Arcane with a focus on my Main Man™ Silco. Here is Part 1 (on how S2 handled Silco and Jinx’s relationship), Part 1.5 (miscellaneous thoughts regarding timeline issues and Silco’s actions towards the kids in S1ep3), and Part 2 (Vander and a bit of Zaundads, yaaay).

Please feel free to comment! I love hearing different perspectives on this show.

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

This will be a short one, but I need to get it out of my system. I just... love, love, love Arcane's use of visual language (and specifically character and environment design) to wordlessly communicate story beats. The whole show is just a perfect synergy of writing and artistic talent, where both contribute to craft a deeply layered and meaningful story.

Silco's eye is such a perfect example of this. To use the eye as a symbol of his corruption post-drowning is such a genius intuition, because it's symbolism is so immediately understandable yet also layered with meaning that is incredibly specific to his character.

There are plenty of characters in popular media where facial disfigurement is used to convey duality and corruption (the most obvious example being DC's Two-Face), and Silco could have easily gone down this well-traveled path of character design. However, by focusing on the corrupted eye in particular, this element instantly specifies the meaning of his mutilation.

Vander's violence didn't just impact him phisically. His scars don't serve just as a constant reminder of the ways in which he (and the world, since the Pilt's toxic waters are an effect of Piltover's exploitation of the Undercity) wronged him. The violence inflicted upon him distorted his vision of the world, metaphorically and literally. He is forced (first by Vander, and later by himself) to view the world through a monstrous filter.

I wonder whether him having to constantly inject Shimmer into his eye is meant to symbolize - or rather mirror - the coping mechanism he uses to deal with his trauma. Silco is shown constantly revisiting The Drowning™ as a crucial moment in his development as a person, and while in his personal narrative he reframes it as a positive and cathartic experience, we are aware, through his flashbacks, that the moment was anything but. Him needing to constantly inject Shimmer into his eye is the physical equivalent to the psycological ritual of "healing" he performs by reframing his trauma as a moment of self-improvement (and literally dunking himself in the Pilt, Silco you madman).

It's only logical, then, that the injections don't seem to work long-term. It perfectly mirrors his psychological state: as the story goes on, we see how his narrative of death and rebirth is just a superficial fix, a solution which could perhaps be sustainable for him alone, but inevitably crumbles as soon as he attempts to apply it to another person (Jinx). Jinx's tragic arc in S1 reveals the fault in his vision: there is no healing to be found in rewriting your past by cramming it into a narrative that suits your feelings and "killing" (denying, hiding, repressing) the bits that you don't like - or that are too painful for you to face.

It's deeply symbolic, then, that he still keeps his scars in the Best Timeline™ of S2ep7, but there's no sign of infection or (what I assume is) Shimmer corruption: the wounds are still there because the past can't be changed, but he is shown to have been able to shape it into something stable, manageable. It's what healing actually looks like: it's neither a return to an umblemished state, nor a rebirth into something completely new, but rather an integration of the past and present self into a whole that is not just the sum (or, in his case, a subtraction) of its parts.

[sickfictropes]

okay so there's a mysterious stranger who regularly steps in to aid the main cast. for some reason they just KNOW when they need help with something and they're willing to do it for reasons they don't explain (it takes forever to even convince them to give their name)

They've helped with a few quests now. They don't show up as soon as Protag snaps their fingers or anything, and they don't immediately solve ALL the problems the Main Guys have (that'd be anticlimactic) but they do provide a lot of resources that make it possible to handle things

Later we learn that they're doing this because of a curse. They need to help anyone in their path to atone for something the gods thought was unforgivable. Their favorite is the team, but they have several others they spend their days aiding --- people much less considerate or respectful of them.

One day, they show up. And the team is confused, because they don't need help with anything at the moment. And Helper doesn't really explain themself, they just look a little guilty for some reason. Teammate is the one who puts the pieces together and goes, "wait... are you here for our help?

To which Helper flinches and steps back, like they're wary of being punished or something. Then they turn away and frantically say "it's nothing this was a stupid idea I'm leaving now"

And everyone is like "nO NO WAIT IT'S OKAY" because Helper's saved each and every one of them at least once so whatever they need, they're entitled to it

Helper hesitates, turns back around, and approaches Mage. They hold out their wrist to them, brandishing a symbol that seems to be spreading down their arm (it wasn't doing that before). Mage stares in recognition while Helper says, reluctantly, "i need you to get rid of this"

we learn that the brand is what's keeping them cursed, and that right now they're being forced to help someone dangerous (Villain perhaps?) who keeps trying to hurt them. besides, it can't be good for the team to help someone like that get more power. so Mage ends up researching cures while Helper sticks with the party for much longer than they ever have before

I WOULD SO READ THIS

similar trope is helper whumpee believing that it's their destiny to help the good guys win, so they're willing to do whatever it takes!

[melondiary]

くみゃちゃんの Strawberry Garden 刺繍ジャンパースカートⅡ • baby the stars shine bright

[sunfloweraro]

More Pink Bunny Stuff!

Warriors learns not to touch Bunny without permission the hard way. His response catches Bunny off guard

(AKA the scene I thought I’d already shared and had promised @thatonecrazysidekick (oops!). @tiredgaytheatrekid more Bunny stuff!!)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Wind began to hum absentmindedly as Warriors towelled off his hair, cheerful despite his earlier complaints, and Warriors couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of his lips. He took more care with drying his young friend’s hair, pulling the damp strands out of Wind’s face, tucking a lock behind his ear.

Wind groaned. “Wars, you’re babying me again.”

“I would never.” Warriors definitely was. How could he not, when Wind was like the little brother he never got to have? When Wind reminded him of his boisterous little sister back home.

“You are. We should start calling you Ma.”

“If that would make you happy,” Warriors said, smile turning into a smirk as he finished off drying Wind’s hair. “Done. Was that so bad?”

Wind scoffed, but when he stood, he leaned into Warriors’ side, a brief moment of affection to show his appreciation. “Terrible,” he said.

“Truly terrible,” Warriors agreed. “And you are welcome.”

“Thanks, Wars.” Wind smiled at him, that toothy grin that made Warriors think so much of his little sister, and he couldn’t help but pinch Wind’s cheek. “Ah—don’t!” He shoved Warriors’ hand away, cheeks aflame.

“Alright. Go have your dinner now.”

“Yes, ma.” For that, Wind earned Warriors’ hand ruffling his hair, messing it up even more. “Ugh, Wars.”

“Wind.”

“You need to eat too.”

“I will once you have all eaten.”

Wind, more than used to his idiosyncrasies by now, nodded, grabbing his arm and dragging him closer to the fire, where Twilight was dishing out the soup he and Time had prepared. He shared a nod with Warriors, ladling out a bowl for Wind and passing it over before moving on to the next hungry mouth. Only once they had all eaten their fill could Warriors pick up spoon and bowl and dig in himself, once he was certain they were all fed and not going hungry. They all knew that well by now, didn’t try and push him before he was ready.

While Wind had his dinner served, Warriors let him go, moving over to sit alongside Hyrule closer to the fire, where warmth pressed against his chest and legs as he sat on the log left behind by the lizalfos.

“You smell better,” Warriors commented.

“Likewise,” Hyrule said, and they shared a grin. It was then Warriors noticed the little rabbit—Bunny, as Hyrule and Twilight had taken to calling it—nestled in Hyrule’s lap, clean and fluffier than ever. And pink.

“Huh,” Warriors commented, his eyes on Bunny.

“Yeah,” Hyrule agreed. “We think it must be an era-specific thing. I’ve never seen a rabbit this colour in my era.”

“It could be dye,” Warriors offered.

“We thought that too, but I’ve checked and the colour goes right down to the roots. If he’s been out in the wild for weeks, then his natural colour would have started to grow back by now. So… pink fur it is.”

“Pink fur it is,” Warriors agreed, and when Hyrule hummed, beginning to run his hand down Bunny’s back, smoothing out the fur, that warm affection leftover from his time with Wind swelled in his chest. He reached out to pet Bunny’s fluffy pink head as Hyrule was doing. It happened fast, a blur of pink and then sharp, fiery pain along the back of his hand.

“Ow!” Warriors tore his hand back, inspecting the little bite mark, lazily weeping ruby red. “Did he bite me?”

“Oh my—Bunny!” Hyrule began to chastise the rabbit, but Bunny only had eyes for Warriors. Violet narrowed at him, watching him with suspicion, and Warriors found all frustration dissipate.

“It is okay,” he assured Hyrule. “I should not have tried to touch him without permission.”

Violet eyes widened slightly. Warriors thought back to Twilight’s comment of Bunny being a lot smarter than the average rabbit. Wondered if Bunny could understand him—perhaps not his words, but the meaning behind them, his tone of voice.

“I am sorry,” he spoke to Bunny this time and not Hyrule. “I should not have tried to touch you without permission, and I swear I will not do it again.”

Bunny watched him for a long moment, curious. He blinked slowly. Then he dipped his head, the gesture far more Hylian than Warriors anticipated from the rabbit.

[slowdrippingnoise]

i like rose actually hes full of Concepts. i like how leon could easily remind him of peony and of himself (personality, talented champion / older brother, beloved golden child) and i like how bede could also remind him of them/what his remark about seeing himself in bede could mean if taken as truth (ignored child, desperate to prove his worth / uncompromising confidence, needs to feel in control, perfectionistic) so he gives them both important roles to keep them around. very normal very well adjusted good job man.

swsh should have had 500 more lines of major npc dialogue. also leon and marnie should have talked about the whole being a symbolic king/princess thing. or she could talk to hop about it and he could talk about how he thinks leon feels about it which could be interesting also. even more economic fuckery talk i know its a sports thing but leon's Sponsor Cape drives me a little nuts. catch him between his own hopes/the needs of the league/rose's ideas specifically. he's been champion since he was like 10 right. something like that. im going back in time sneaking into the swsh writers room and taping up a big poster of N Harmonia. how soon we forget Boy King Prime. also pokespe was right rose should just be Objectively Correct about the impending energy crisis, his problem is that he tries to solve everything by himself by manipulating everyone around him, and is cool with putting the whole region in danger if he thinks it will Solve The Problem. his problem isnt being pro-nuclear power his problem is he thinks like a king. ideal swsh is anti-monarchy as well as anti-monopoly it would make more sense.

[luvuomi]

🤍 ꒱ “and the trees were happy…”

─── yuzuha + sethomi but make it omori angst

(🖋️ ) additional note: omori manga had me hyper fixating so bad i decided to cook something small real quick LMAO. of course it’s nothing as soul crushing as the inspiration source itself but it’s still a tad bit angsty ( like a smidge really ). there are also some special mentions of certain individuals as well~ they’ll know when they see hehe

it's been several years since he last set foot on these grounds -- years since he felt a cool wind brush past his cheeks amidst this blazing summer heat while the lush grass below softens his every step. shadows are casted upon the ground from the countless trees standing about, looming over to shroud him in all their grandness that strangely felt like a homecoming. they seemed a lot happier back then… kazuha thinks.

in the distance, a weeping willow comes into view.

at the foot of the tree, he catches a glimpse of something from times bygone. he first sees himself, sat upon a picnic blanket with his friends kunikuzushi and lyney, accompanied by their respective lovers. they all appear to be gathered for a picnic. several delicious foods and pastries scattered about the blanket whilst they all happily conversed about one thing or another.

and then, he sees her. sitting beside him with a hand placed over his as she laughs at something kunikuzushi's lover had remarked about him. her laughter devoid of any sound, and leaving him with only the sight of her smiling face to witness. how he'd long to hear such a melodious laughter once again.

but, there is another as well--one who's figure appears to him as nothing but a blur on the opposite side of her. though, such a sight almost feels intentional. like he'd made sure to forget the appearance of that person a long time ago.

just as quickly as the memory came however, it faded away the closer he drew near.

the carefree individuals disappear into thin air and the red gingham blanket becomes replaced with the sight of a gravestone that has a potted flower placed before it: a lily of the valley. and sitting before that, the mysterious figure from his fragmented memories. except this time, he becomes more visible in kazuha's line of sight.

at the sound of approaching footsteps, the person turns his head around, glancing over his shoulders. upon meeting kazuha's gaze, he doesn't say anything for a moment. merely staring at him with verdant eyes that seemed to have lost their light. like he'd suddenly lost any remaining hope he had left for this world. "for a moment i thought i was seeing a ghost…but it really is you."