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this-is-tiny-mia · 2 days ago

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Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 2.

THIS IS A PART 2 - YOU CAN FIND PART 1 HERE Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

A/n: OKAY again, i wasn't expecting SO MUCH love to this One shot, i actually wasn't expecting anything tbh, I want to thank @eileenrry for giving me the last push to publish it, ily 🥹. Just a reminder, english is not my first language bare with me with grammar. and it's also my first One shot so be gentle 🥹. Andddd this isn’t the end there’s one more part coming. Anddd please let me know if I missed someone in the tag list, I’m trying to get used to tumblr again after a few years so everything it’s upside down for me.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Use of y/n, slow burn but things catch up quickly at the end, a small vulnerable moment. (idk if it counts as angst, please let me now if i should add another warning)

You froze, gripping your cup as if it could somehow tether you to reality. Your mind raced—what were you supposed to do now? Walk over and say hi? Pretend you didn’t see him? Was he expecting you to make the first move? Or maybe you were just desperately hoping to wake up from this fever dream.

Before you could decide, he pushed off the wall and started walking toward you. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your heart pounded in your chest. Every step he took felt deafening, like the slow-motion build-up to a climactic movie scene.

By the time he reached your table, you were caught between bolting for the door or sinking into your seat to avoid collapsing altogether. You knew him, of course—who didn’t? A few years ago, you even considered going to one of his concerts but didn’t manage to get tickets. It wasn’t something that crushed you; you weren’t the kind of fan to cry yourself to sleep over it. Instead, you shrugged it off with an “Okay, maybe next time.”

What you didn’t know was that “next time” would turn out to be a one-on-one meeting with him in a café, while he tried (and failed) to stay incognito.

“Hi,” he said, sliding off his sunglasses. That voice—his voice—sent a shiver down your spine. And then came that signature, disarming smile. “Is this seat taken?” he asked as he sat down without waiting for an answer. Of course, it wasn’t taken.

You stared at him, frozen, your mouth slightly parted. Every movement he made was deliberate yet casual, like he was completely at ease in this moment. Meanwhile, your brain was still scrambling to process whether this was real life or a fever dream. Somehow, you managed to breathe out a shaky, “Hi.”

For a moment, the space between you was thick with silence, though not uncomfortable—just charged. He gave you a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t entirely sure how to begin.

“I guess this is the part where the serial killer takes the victim,” he said, teasing to break the tension. “Lucky for you, I’m not one—as you can see.”

You blinked, finally finding your voice, though it was a little wobbly. “No, no, I clearly see you’re not a serial killer.” A nervous smile tugged at your lips, trying its best to outshine the chaos of emotions tumbling through you.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Yeah. Guess fate wanted me to see if you’re as interesting in person as you are over text.”

Your face flushed, your mind racing to keep up. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment, disbelief, or something else entirely—a weird kind of thrill that you couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” you said, fighting to steady your voice, “I guess this is where I admit I didn’t think you were real—or at least, not this real.”

“How not ‘this real’?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as curiosity glinted in his eyes. “I mean, I’m way too real right now.”

“Like… I thought I was texting a random Harry,” you said, stumbling through your words, trying to explain yourself without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I’m still a random Harry,” he replied with a small shrug, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. To himself, he was just Harry—not the Harry. You sat there for a moment, considering his words. In some strange way, nothing about him being this Harry changed what you’d already come to know. It didn’t undo the weeks of shared thoughts, the genuine conversations, the effortless way you clicked.

You thought about the little quirks you’d picked up from his texts—the way he used emojis just enough to be endearing but not overkill, the offhanded pictures of random things he’d shared, the teasing yet thoughtful tone that felt so easy to respond to. Famous or not, none of that felt fake.

“You’re right,” you said finally, a small smile breaking through your nervousness. “You’re still just Harry. The same Harry who asked for help picking nail polish colors like it wasn’t a BIG decision for a BIG brand” His laugh came easily, soft but genuine. “Hey, it wasn’t that big, i told you i already had those colors in mind.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “But honestly, I’m glad it was you on the other side of those texts.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse still racing, but his words—and the way he said them—settled something in you. Maybe this wasn’t as surreal as it seemed. Maybe it was just two people who happened to find each other, one text at a time. “Why glad?” you asked, frowning slightly, not quite understanding what he meant. He leaned back a little, a soft smile playing on his lips as he considered his response.

“Because,” he said after a moment, “it’s rare these days to have a conversation that feels real, you know? No filters, no pretense. Just… people being themselves. And with you, it felt like that from the start.”

You blinked, his words hitting a little deeper than you expected.

“I mean, I didn’t know I was texting someone who I needed filters for to begin with,” you joked, trying to lighten the moment. He laughed, the sound warm and easy, a sound that felt like it reached across the table and wrapped around you. “That’s the point,” he said.

You paused, taking in his words. It felt big, weighty, yet oddly simple at the same time. Like he was trying to say something beyond the words themselves, but without complicating it. Instead of overthinking it, you just nodded, letting out a small, genuine smile. “Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes, “I’m glad it was me, too.”

He didn’t have much time that day, just stopping for a coffee on his way to the studio. You secretly wished this was that rom-com moment because moments like this only existed in movies, right? After some light small talk about the coffee and an exchange of polite goodbyes, he stood up to leave. You stayed behind, frozen, letting it all sink in—this wasn’t a dream. You felt butterflies over a pop star. You’d been talking to him for more than a month without knowing. Suddenly, your boring, predictable life felt like it belonged to someone else. It didn’t even matter what would happen from now on—this was your story.

----

"Morning, Tulip 🌷. Today’s question: Favorite recent album of all time?"

You didn’t expect a text from him the morning after. You figured he’d need time to process the fact that you’d actually met in person. But no, there he was, texting you like nothing had changed, his chill demeanor so endearing it almost made your heart ache.

"Is this a trick question?" you replied, grinning at your phone. "Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings if I don’t say it’s one of your albums."

The thought was surreal—bantering and teasing Harry Styles over text? That was straight out of fanfic material. (A/n: Not me breaking the fourth wall in my first fic lol.)

"Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to say one of my albums," he replied. Of course, he wasn’t.

"‘You’ by Larry Lovestein," you texted back after a moment of thought.

"Love that," he responded quickly.

How was anyone supposed to concentrate on mundane daily tasks after meeting Harry Styles in a café the day before? And not only that, but he was texting you like you were the most interesting person in the world. And—AND—he had a nickname for you! A nickname.

"Y/N?" Gwen’s voice jolted you back to reality. You blinked twice, trying to refocus. "Yes?"

"Coffee?" she asked, smirking knowingly as she handed you a cup. "What’s up with you?" she said, sitting down next to you.

"Nothing… just… clients, emails," you said quickly, trying to act like your insides weren’t throwing a full-blown party.

"Clients and emails, huh?" Gwen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I’ve never seen you smile like that over clients and emails."

You swallowed hard, thankful she wasn’t too nosy. You didn’t want to risk sharing too much, not when you were casually texting with Harry Styles. That thought lingered—Why did he trust you? He could’ve easily stayed anonymous. He could’ve walked away from the café and pretended it never happened. Instead, he chose to tell you. It was terrifying to imagine how vulnerable that decision must’ve been for him. What if you were the wrong person? Someone who’d plaster it all over social media the next day? The weight of his trust settled over you, and for the first time, you realized just how fragile this connection was—and how much you wanted to protect it.

You weren’t rushing into anything; neither of you were. It was easy, light, and fun—like reconnecting with a long-lost friend, only this friend was Harry Styles. Over the next month, the “question game” continued, but it evolved. There were more pictures, videos, and now… voice notes. Yes, voice notes. You couldn’t help but replay them at the end of the day, savoring the sound of his voice as if it were a melody written just for you.

The intimacy deepened as more pieces of your lives were shared. Selfies of him at the studio, casual and effortless—selfies meant only for you. These weren’t circulating on Twitter or stashed in some secret Reddit thread. They were yours alone. And you shared back: snapshots of your day-to-day life—your desk cluttered with coffee cups, a corner of your office bathed in sunlight, and even a shy selfie taken at the café table where you’d first met him.

You didn’t know if you could call it a real friendship just yet, but it certainly felt like one. There was a comfortable rhythm between you now, a bond that felt genuine and unforced.

He clearly didn’t have much free time to casually meet again, though you hadn’t asked. The idea of seeing him in person again was both thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just his fame—it was the weight of the connection you were building. Trust was a fragile thing, and you both seemed to understand that. Brick by brick, you were quietly constructing something that felt worth protecting.

“How’s THIS cold today??” you texted, attaching a selfie where only your eyes peeked out from beneath two bulky jackets, a beanie, and a scarf. The icy weather was relentless, and staying home had been the original plan, but of course, the two important files you needed were on your office computer.

“How are you OUT in THIS cold? That’s the question” he replied almost immediately

“I need some files I left at the office. Forgot to upload them yesterday”

“Don’t freeze out then”

“I’ll try.”

You smiled at the screen, tucking your phone back into your pocket. It was so easy—he was so easy to talk to. You didn’t feel the need to answer immediately, and you didn’t panic when he didn’t either. It was a natural back-and-forth, effortless and grounding. The way he interacted with you made you feel like he wasn’t someone crazy famous, like he was just Harry—your Harry, in a way. And you hadn’t told anyone yet. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but you hesitated to share it. How would people react? Would they even believe you? For now, you were content to keep it to yourself. It felt special this way, untouched by the opinions or expectations of others. Just you and him, chatting like old friends.

In your mind, it was going to be a quick trip—drive downtown, grab the files, and rush back home under a cozy blanket. In your mind. But life had other plans, didn’t it?

Sliding into your car after uploading the files and rubbing your hands for warmth, you turned the key in the ignition. A rusty, choking sound filled the air, followed by... nothing. “I’m sorry??” you exclaimed, staring at the dashboard as though sheer willpower would coax it to life. “No, no, no, you can break down TOMORROW! Not now!” Your fingers fumbled to turn the key again, and again, each attempt more pathetic than the last.

With a defeated sigh, you slumped back against the seat, a puff of breath visible in the freezing air. Accepting your fate, you pulled out your phone and opened your insurance app to report the issue. Unsurprisingly, the weather had caused delays, and it would be a while before they could send a tow truck. You quickly snapped a screenshot of the insurance chat and sent it to Harry.

“I don’t know if I can keep my promise of not freezing out.”

His reply came almost instantly. “What?? Your car broke down??”

“Yep. They say it’s going to be a while because of the weather” you texted back.

“Where you at?”

“Parked in front of my office,” you replied, your stomach doing a small flip at how fast he was responding.

“No, I mean the address” he sent back.

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? You immediately typed back

“Don’t even try it, I’m fineeee,”

You lied, knowing full well you weren’t fine at all. But it wasn’t the cold or the broken-down car that had your stomach in knots. It was the thought of Harry coming to “save you” that sent a swarm of butterflies into overdrive. Because it wouldn’t just mean Harry coming to help. It meant seeing him again—really seeing him—since the big reveal. No screen between you, no casual texts to ease the nerves. Just him, in person, showing up for you in a way that made it harder to ignore what was happening between you two.

And as much as that idea thrilled you, it scared you just the same.

“Please?”

That was all it took. How can a girl resist a please from Harry Styles? Go ahead, i’ll be here waiting if you find someone. You sighed, caved, and typed the address, pressing send without overthinking. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to—you both knew what was about to happen. No confirmation was necessary.

Twenty-six minutes later, you were bundled in your car, trying to stay warm and still, counting down the seconds until the surreal became reality. The street was eerily quiet—only a few brave souls trudging through the cold. Who in their right mind would be out in this weather? That’s when you saw it—a black car pulling up right in front of yours. Your breath hitched as you recognized him in the rearview mirror, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. Then, your phone buzzed.

“Did you order an Uber?”

You let out a chuckle, a mix of nerves and amusement, and grabbed your purse. Stepping out into the biting cold. Sliding into the passenger seat, everything about this moment felt surreal. The warmth of the car, the subtle hum of the engine, and, most of all, him—Harry, sitting next to you like this was the most natural thing in the world. Your movements felt slower, deliberate, as though your body and mind were bracing themselves for what this meant. Sitting in the same car with Harry Styles wasn’t something you had ever imagined happening, not like this.

“Hi again” you said softly, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Hi” he replied, flashing that disarming smile. “Need a friendly lift? or should I just keep pretending I’m an Uber driver?” You laughed, the tension melting just a little.

“Well, that depends…what’s your rating?”

“Solid five stars,” he said, easing the moment even further. And just like that, the butterflies in your stomach settled into something a little calmer, a little more certain.

“Sounds good then,” you replied, falling into a silence that was more reflective than awkward. Your mind was spinning with a million thoughts—what this meant, how this even happened, and whether you’d wake up any second now.

“So, where to?” he asked, breaking the silence with a soft smile.

“Oh! Right,” you snapped out of your daze, quickly explaining where you lived. It hit you how crazy this was—months ago, you’d been so cautious, terrified to even drop a vague hint about your location. And now? Now, Harry Styles was driving you to your apartment.

“You really didn’t have to,” you said, glancing at him.

“I know,” he replied, flashing a smile that made your heart stutter.

The drive was… nice. Surprisingly nice. The small talk flowed naturally—not forced, not the awkward kind you’d exchange in an elevator. It felt easy, even comforting. If you didn’t look at him for too long, you were almost able to suppress the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Almost.

“Weren’t you busy? It’s a Thursday,” you asked, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

“You really think I know what day it is?” he replied, his tone light and sincere, not smug or pretentious—just endearingly innocent. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“What, no color-coded calendar?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Nope. I’ve got the schedule of a 60-year-old retiree, not a nine-to-fiver. Days kind of blend together, you know?”

And there it was again—that disarming charm that made it all feel so normal. So easy. Like this wasn’t the most surreal thing that had ever happened to you.

“Yeah, I should’ve guessed,” you muttered with a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

The whole drive, your mind raced with scenarios. What would happen when you reached your apartment? Do you invite him in? Do you just thank him and say goodbye? And if—by some miracle—he did come in, did you even remember to pick up the clothes from the bathroom floor? But before you could spiral any further, his voice cut through your thoughts, casual and confident, like he already had the answers to all your questions.

“Can I invite myself over for a tea?” he asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of your building.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I was going to invite you,” you said quickly, defending yourself as you scrambled to regain composure.

“No, you weren’t,” he replied with a teasing grin, already stepping out of the car. And just like that, you knew the decision had been made for you. Butterflies? Gone. They’d evolved into full-blown fireworks. You shakily opened the door, praying the apartment was in some semblance of order. To your relief, aside from two glasses sitting on the kitchen counter, everything was in place.

“You can still blow me off if you’re busy,” he said, stepping inside and glancing around, taking in your space with quiet curiosity.

“It’s fine. Perks of being a freelancer,” you replied, heading to the kitchen and opening a cabinet to search for tea. “I don’t have many flavors, though,” you admitted, scanning the limited options.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like most,” he said with an easy grin. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Okay,” you said softly, smiling as you set the kettle on to boil. While waiting for the water to heat, you found yourself watching him. He wandered a bit, casually inspecting the books on the shelf, a framed photo on the wall, and the little details of your life.

It was surreal—a good surreal—watching Harry Styles in your apartment, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Like how? How was this happening? And why did it feel so oddly natural, like a longtime friend had stopped by for a chat?

The sharp whistle of the kettle broke your trance. You quickly poured the tea, handing him one of the steaming mugs.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it with a small nod. Then, as if sensing your disbelief, he gave you a sly smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, taking a sip of your tea to avoid answering further. Were you okay? Absolutely not.

He sat down on the couch, cradling the mug in his hands, and you followed, sitting on the armchair across from him. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the sound of the occasional sip of tea and the faint hum of the heater working overtime against the cold.

“Nice place,” he said, his eyes scanning the room again before settling on you. “Feels very...you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What does ‘me’ feel like?”

He chuckled softly. “Warm, cozy. A little bit of chaos in the details.” He nodded toward the stack of papers on your desk.

You groaned and put your head in your hands. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t fully prepared for company.”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he said, grinning. “Makes it feel real.”

You smiled at that, the tension in your shoulders easing. “And your place? What’s it like?”

He leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Depends which one,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Okay, fancy. You know what I mean. The one that feels most like home.”

His expression softened. “It’s quiet. Lots of books. A few random things I’ve collected over the years. Nothing too extravagant.”

“That’s not what I imagined,” you admitted honestly.

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you imagine?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should hold back or just say it. “I don’t know. Something...flashier? Like an MTV Cribs episode or something.” He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room.

“God, no. I’d hate living like that. Flashy isn’t my thing.”

The conversation flowed from there—effortless and natural. You talked about little things, like favorite movies and weird food combinations, and at some point, you stopped feeling like you had to pinch yourself. It just felt like two people enjoying tea on a cold day. Eventually, though, the tea mugs were empty, and the silence settled in again, this time heavier with unspoken thoughts.

“I should probably get going soon,” he said, breaking the stillness.

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Right. Of course.”

He stood, stretching a bit, and you followed him to the door. He hesitated there, turning to look at you with a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, lingering. “And...for letting me pick you up.”

“Anytime,” you said softly, and you meant it.

As he stepped out into the cold, he glanced back one last time. “See you soon?”

“Yeah,” you said, watching him walk to his car, the promise of “soon” hanging in the air. You closed the door behind him, leaning against it as you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room felt emptier now, even though he’d only been there for a short time. You glanced at the two empty mugs on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips.

For a moment, you let yourself replay everything in your mind—the way he casually fit into your space, the warmth in his voice, the way he lingered just a little before leaving. But then, your phone buzzed.

“Thanks again. Made the cold much more bearable.”

----

“Are you dating someone?” Gwen asked, her smile widening as she caught you grinning at your phone.

“What? No, I would’ve told you,” you replied quickly, placing your phone face down on the table. Normally, that would’ve been true—you’d tell her about a new guy or someone interesting in your life without hesitation. But this wasn’t a normal situation. This was different. And as much as you tried to keep it hidden, clearly your expression was giving something away.

“Would you, though?” she teased, leaning in slightly, her tone playful but probing.

“Yes, I promise,” you said, hoping to sound convincing. Deep down, you felt a twinge of guilt. You’d apologize later for lying to her—she’d understand. At least, you hoped she would.

“What’s something you’ve never told anyone before?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question lingering in the air. “Something I’ve never told anyone?” you said to yourself, stalling, your mind racing. “Okay… when I was younger, I used to think I wasn’t enough for the things I really wanted. Like, I’d convince myself it was better not to try because failing would just prove it. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before.”

You stared at the text, feeling vulnerable. Naked even. It wasn’t easy to admit things like that, not even to yourself. But somehow, with him, it didn’t feel as scary. The way he spoke, the way he made you feel like he’d never judge you, created a space that felt safe.

"I think wanting things, letting yourself want them, is the bravest part. Like… taking that first step, you know? Even if it’s scary. Besides, from what I can tell, you’re more than enough. Probably always have been. You just needed to catch up to it."

You read that, smiling softly at your screen. It was strange—how he could make you feel like all those nagging voices in your head didn’t stand a chance against his words. Like he had this way of dissolving your doubts faster than your therapist ever could. Maybe it was because you believed him so easily, the way he spoke like he knew something you didn’t, like he could see a future you hadn’t dared to imagine yet.

"Wow, how much you charge per therapy session?" you texted, hoping to lighten the moment without brushing it off. "Your turn," you added, nudging him back into the conversation.

The pause before his response wasn’t long, but it was enough to make you wonder what he might say next.

"Sometimes, I miss being no one. Just… Harry. Not Harry Styles. I love what I do, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a part of me that wishes I could walk into a room and not feel like I have to be something for everyone. It’s strange. How can you be surrounded by people all the time and still feel like no one really sees you?"

You read his words slowly, letting them settle in. And then it hit you—both of you knew the feeling. Both of you felt seen by each other in the way you both wanted to be seen. It didn’t need to be said out loud, but it was there, clear as water.

"I met you as Just Harry. And ‘Just Harry’ is pretty awesome to me 😉. I still see Just Harry"

His reply came almost instantly.

"Thanks, Tulip 🌷❤️."

You stared at the screen, your heart skipping a beat. The little red heart stood out in the conversation like a tiny, unspoken promise. It was the first one either of you had shared. And somehow, it felt like a beginning.

The day went on as usual, no more texts exchanged. Both of you were busy, focused on work, yet your mind kept wandering back to Harry. How everything between you was unfolding—it wasn’t painfully slow, but it wasn’t rushing either. It was just… perfect.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him. Sometimes you even laughed, scrolling through the gossip and pictures of him on Twitter. THIS is the man you knew? The same man who shared something he hadn’t told anyone else? It felt surreal.

Millions of people thought they knew him, adored him, and claimed a piece of him for themselves. But you—you really knew him. In a way that was different. Special. Personal. It was crazy to think about, but somehow, it felt right.

You were scrolling through many tweets in bed when it came. Another text.

"I’ve been around the world and back, and I still find myself wanting to talk to you about everything. What does that mean?"

--- Taglist: @jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 @addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #hs fanfic #one shot harry styles #one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #Sorry wrong number #part 2

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thylacines-toybox · 9 hours ago

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Rating various small thylacines on how well they fit as a joey in Artemisia's pouch

If you have recently acquired a Charlie Bears Pathfinder yourself, you'll have noticed their fairly spacious pouch! Wondering if there are any littler thylacines out there that are a good fit? Wonder no more!

(Although uh, good luck finding some of them for sale...)

First: yes, the pouch opens at the back and it looks a bit funny! That's an accurate thylacine pouch! It's actually a fairly normal way round for a marsupial pouch to be, when it's not on a bipedal kangaroo.

That said... there are a lot of photos of a plush thylacine's rear end in here. You may 'teehee' a little bit, but be decent!

Joeys will be placed in the pouch head first when possible, with their backs down and their feet up, as they are usually depicted riding in there.

Chicory (Bocchetta mini): 7/10

A decent size! A bit of a squash to get them in there, their hips are a bit wide especially, but once they're in their tail sticks out pretty cutely. Maybe with a little stuffing removed this would be even better!

Also, of all the thylacines on this list, this one is the easiest to obtain for sure.

Celery (a different Bocchetta mini, either an older style or the keyring version without the keyring...): 9/10

Squishier, thinner and more flexible than Chicory, so fits in really well! A very good joey!

Though... One thing with the Bocchettas is that their muzzles are so stubby, and they look quite out of place next to Artemisia's snooty snoot...

Dill (Paradise Ark mini): 6/10

Not too bad, but his legs are kinda tall and sturdy and it's a bit hard to get the back ones in. It's like he's kicking poor Artem in the stomach.

Wooden thylacine (NOM Handcrafted): 1/10

Technically fits in fine but uh... Ouch???

Purslane (it's a coin purse... by Tasile): 4/10

Pretty easy to fit in there at least since it's mostly unstuffed aside from the head, but too silly to be a joey... It has straps on the back, that's not very joeylike. Doesn't even have a tail to poke out cutely!

(Also I have literally never seen another of these before, so not very accessible...)

Felted finger puppet from EverestPetsSupply on Etsy: 5/10

Also a bit too silly although it fits well. Gains an extra point for the lack of straps and for the funny little pawsies looking extra cute there, but still no tail!

... Since it's got the finger puppet hole, does that technically count as a pouch too?? If only I had a micro thylacine to fit in there lol. Nested thylas.

Now for some I made myself...

Saffron (old tiny version of the ones I sell): 5/10

Though small, he was actually a bit tricky to fit in there because he's pretty solidly stuffed with beans... Not very squishy. Alright once he's in place though.

Also, the bright colours do not match Artem's realism at all. Not related, you can't fool me.

Nettle (modded bashful Jellycat): 1/10

Wh... no! Don't be silly! That's clearly not going to work! Sleeping bag???

You look like you need a pillow.

There we go. Now get outta there...

Nutmeg and Paprika: 5/10 or 9/10

They can be twins! Thylacines were actually meant to have more than one joey at a time, so that's cool! However, fitting more than one in at a time is definitely a struggle... Might be time to start leaving these ones in the den, Artem...

One at a time they fit very well! Much squishier than Saffron was.

Clove (Cinnamon's joey): 0/10

Hey! That's someone else's baby, put that back! Far too small, completely the wrong scale. Fits great in Cinnamon's pouch instead where she belongs.

Artem's actual joey who isn't named yet: 10000/10

Perfect joey, fits in there easily but doesn't fall out, is exactly where they should be!! Not actually visible from the outside when in place because they're not old enough and just soooo snug in there.

Ok actually -1 point because sometimes the little magnetic dummy falls off in there lol. Otherwise perfect babby.

#thylacine #Charlie Bears #plushie #toys #playing with toys #toy with accessories #this is very silly #Artemisia the thylacine #thylacine joey

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ziggystardustmybeloved · 2 days ago

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Unpopular opinion maybe but they did NOT destroy Hopper's character in season 3

He lost his daughter and after some years and tragedies that could lead to a complete disaster he found people he deeply cares about

1. He believes he's a curse. He says that in season 4. Everyone he loves he hurts. Pushing away people he cares about seems to be pretty in line with this belief he holds.

2. He lost his daughter. Now, he has El. He's scared his going to lose her bc she literally risks her life every time Hawkins in in danger. And don't forget that the government was looking for her. She wasn't going to school or anything. She was in the cabin all the time - protected by him bc as I said - he already lost a daughter before and El is in a constant danger. Now, El has a boyfriend with whom she spends most of her time. It's normal for a father to question his daughter's partner (to some extent). And he hear from Hopper that all Mike and El do is kissing and that it is constant. I know he's a bot of an unreliable narrator but... Mike and El are 13 at that time. It does not seem healthy. If I were him I would certainly be concerned. Also, we as an audience know Mike, but Hopper doesn't have have enough interactions with him to trust him completely.

3. He tried to ask Joyce out. She didn't show up. He's ego was crashed. And he's the chief of the police. He has a role to fullfill in a society. After losing his daughter he was drinking, taking pills and sleeping with random women. As if he was trying to prove himself. After everything that happened in Hawkins he started to be suspicious of things that other people might find... questionable to look into. He couldn't act as a "perfect chief of police" anymore. So he had to overperform in a different way. He lost his family. He realised that the world he has known for all of his life is... different. He stopped being an authority figure (do you remember when he had to arrest the protesters despite believing that they should be allowed to prostest? He had to conform not to lose his position. He didn't choose to be brave. He chose an option that would save his image and probably job even though it wasn't the right thing to do). And then - after all of that - he realised that the woman he's in love in and who understands and with whom he probably felt like he doesn't have to perform bc she doesn't and she'a not ashamed of it (she was sure that Will talked to her through lights)... doesn't want him. He failed most of the standards set for men in the 80s society. So he had to perform like he didn't.

4. About Joyce again. First of all, IMAGINE YOU INVITE SB FOR "NOT A DATE" AND THEY DON'T SHOW UP WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING AND IT TURNS OUT THEY WERE HANGING OUT WITH SOMEONE ELSE. Secondly, if he can't be with her than he has to push her away to somehow get rid of those feelings. Again - he performs his manhood (bc of toxic masculinity standards IN THE 80S) and being in love with a woman who he can't have wouldn't help him in that. And as I said at the begining - everyone he loves he hurts. Maybe if he can't keep her close enough to protect her, he should keep enough distance not to hurt her.

Hopper also went through a lot and just because he's not a teenager it doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings and that societal pressures don't affect him. I'd argue that since he somehow was able to fullfill society's expectations at the begining and than he just couldn't anymore he's even more prone to this toxic overcompensation.

I hope that what I wrote makes sense and is understandable (english is not my first language). I just can't stand it when people argue that they "get the chacaters" and than hate on Hopper

#stranger things #stranger things 5 #st5 #byler #mike wheeler #stranger things 4 #will byers #stranger things 3 #el hopper #jim hopper #jane hopper #eleven stranger things #eleven hopper #hopper stranger things #lumax #platonic mileven

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mediocre-shark-tales · 3 days ago

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Crisis Averted

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The paddock hummed with energy, everyone gearing up for qualifying. Mechanics rushed through final checks, team members buzzed around like clockwork, and drivers retreated into their routines—some listening to music, others sitting with their engineers, running numbers, analyzing every possible detail that could make the difference between pole position and a frustrating midfield start.

But for a moment, I was able to escape the chaos, tucked into the corner of Red Bull’s hospitality with Max.

I had barely sat down when he plopped into the seat across from me, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So? How was FP3?”

I exhaled, running a hand over my helmet sitting on the table. “Not bad, but not great either.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Specific.”

I huffed, leaning back in my chair. “I’m struggling with turn eight. I either brake too early and lose time, or I’m too late and have to fight the car through the exit. I can’t find the right rhythm.”

Max nodded, his expression shifting into something more serious. “It’s a deceptive turn. You have to trust the car more—let it roll in. If you’re too stiff with the wheel, you’ll keep fighting understeer on the exit.”

I frowned, picturing it in my mind. “So, lighter hands going in?”

“Exactly,” Max confirmed. “And don’t overthink the braking point. Look at where I’m turning in during qualifying—watch how late I brake. The track will grip up even more by then.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. He had a way of explaining things that made them click instantly. Not in a condescending way, but with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Got it,” I murmured.

Max leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Good. Now, don’t stress about it. You’ve got pace, just let it come to you.”

I gave him a look. “You make it sound easy.”

He grinned. “It is easy. You rookies just like to make things difficult.”

I rolled my eyes, but the tension in my chest loosened. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—just a normal conversation with someone who didn’t treat me like an outsider. Someone who believed I belonged here, without all the overly friendly attitude, or protecting of my feelings.

The conversation drifted after that, shifting away from racing as we settled into something more comfortable.

“You always get this serious before qualifying?” I asked, propping my elbows on the table.

Max shrugged. “Depends on the day. I used to be worse when I was younger—super intense. Now? I’ve learned to relax a little.”

I smirked. “You? Relaxed? That’s new.”

He gave me a mock-offended look. “I can be very relaxed. I even went golfing last weekend.”

I snorted. “That’s the most boring rich guy hobby ever.”

Max gasped dramatically. “I want to defend it but I agree too much to do so. Maybe you should try it.”

I shook my head. “No chance. I’d probably end up throwing the club more than hitting the ball.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Max chuckled.

Before I could fire back, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. My posture stiffened slightly as I glanced toward the far side of the hospitality area.

A couple of photographers lingered outside the barrier, cameras angled just enough to capture us sitting together.

Max followed my gaze, his smirk returning almost instantly. “Ah. Look at that.”

I exhaled slowly. “Plan’s working.”

“They’re eating it up,” Max murmured, amusement laced in his voice. “Probably already writing headlines about how I’m ‘extra friendly with the mysterious rookie.’”

I snorted. “Better than the alternative.”

Max’s smirk softened just a little. “Yeah. And now they have this to focus on instead of digging for anything else.”

I studied him for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened pressing into my chest. I didn’t like relying on others. I had spent so much of my life keeping walls up, making sure no one could see too much. But Max had stepped in without hesitation, without asking for anything in return.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

Max glanced at me, his expression unreadable for a second. Then, he simply shrugged. “You don’t have to thank me. Just don’t crash into me later.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No promises.”

For the first time all weekend, I started to feel a little lighter.

Qualifying was coming. The real test. But for now, I let myself enjoy this moment—just two drivers, sitting in the calm before the storm.

—

The engine roared beneath me as I hurled the car into the next sector, every fiber of my being locked onto the track ahead. Q2 was slipping away, and frustration was clawing at my chest with every tenth I lost through Turn 8. Again.

I gritted my teeth, jaw tightening as I fought the wheel on exit, my rear tires scrubbing across the asphalt. Too early again.

Damn it.

I knew I had the pace. I had proven that in practice. But here, under the pressure of qualifying, my own mind was my worst enemy. I exhaled sharply, fingers tightening on the wheel. I needed to let the car come to me, to trust the process.

Then, I saw him.

Max.

He was just ahead, our cars separated by only a few seconds on track. I had the perfect view of him flicking the car into Turn 8.

Lighter hands. Let it roll in.

I remembered his words from earlier. He told me exactly what to do—I just had to listen.

I took a deep breath, heart pounding against my ribs, and prepared for another push lap.

Trust it.

I opened up the entry to the turn, eyes locked on the braking marker. Instead of instinctively tensing, I let the car flow in, feather-light on the wheel. The front end bit into the asphalt, gripping just the way I needed it to.

Then, the exit.

This time, there was no ugly snap, no fight. Just smooth acceleration, the engine screaming as I flew down the straight.

I glanced at the delta.

Green.

No—purple.

I nearly let out a laugh as I kept my foot pinned, barreling toward the final sector. My heart raced, adrenaline surging through me as I crossed the line.

P5.

“Beautiful lap, Ghost,” my engineer’s voice crackled in my ear. “You’re through to Q3.”

I exhaled sharply, the tension melting into something else entirely.

By the time Q3 started, I had found my rhythm. The car felt like an extension of me, every input smooth, controlled, yet aggressive when needed.

The final run was perfect.

I wrung every ounce of performance from the car, throwing it into each turn with confidence I hadn’t had before. My hands were light, my mind clear.

And when I crossed the line for the last time, my radio erupted in cheers.

“P7, Ghost! Fantastic job! Franco in P8—amazing work from both of you.”

My grip on the wheel tightened as my breath caught in my throat.

P7.

Another huge result for Cadillac.

“YES!” I shouted, punching the air as I slowed on my cool-down lap. My chest swelled with excitement, relief, and a sense of belonging.

By the time I pulled into the garage and climbed out of the car, my entire body was still buzzing with adrenaline. Franco was already there, grinning like an idiot as he smacked a hand against my back.

“You’re on fire this weekend,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “Seriously, you just keep getting better.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Not too bad yourself, P8.”

“Pfft. Yeah, but you beat me.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Guess I’ll just have to take you out at Turn 1 tomorrow.”

I snorted. “Try it and I’ll make sure your race engineer knows you’re gonna need extra room in the gravel trap.”

Franco barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “God, I love having you as a teammate.”

Before I could fire back, my attention flickered past him—to the Red Bull garage.

Max.

He was walking toward us, still in his fireproofs, helmet under his arm, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

I barely had time to register it before he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “P7, huh?” he mused. “Guess I’m a really good mentor.”

I let out an amused huff. “Oh, so you get the credit for my lap?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “who gave you the secret to Turn 8?”

I groaned. “I hate that you have a point.”

Max’s smirk widened. “Get used to it.”

I chuckled, but the warmth in my chest only grew. This was what I had fought for—these moments. Belonging, growing, winning, in my own way.

And tomorrow, I was going to prove it again.

—

The hotel room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from my phone screen as I lay sprawled out on the bed, still in my sweatpants and hoodie from the day. My hair was damp from a quick shower, my body finally unwinding after the adrenaline rush of qualifying.

I should have been resting.

Instead, I was sucked into the absolute flood of edits and memes that had taken over social media.

Max Verstappen & Ghost.

The latest grid father-son duo.

I snorted, thumb scrolling through endless video edits of today’s moments. Someone had clipped the footage of Max pulling me aside in the paddock earlier, his arm casually slung around my shoulders as we talked. Another edit pieced together clips of our ‘mentorship’—Max watching me during practice, giving me advice, and walking over to congratulate me in the garage.

The music choices were hilarious.

Some were heartwarming, like dramatic, emotional montages of Max ‘taking in the lone rookie’ under his wing, while others were absolute jokes—slow-motion clips of us with captions like Max Verstappen adopts the paddock’s feral child.

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh as I stumbled upon one that had really blown up.

It compared our duo to the way the older drivers had once taken Mick Schumacher under their wing.

Side-by-side clips showed Seb protecting Mick from interviewers, Lewis throwing an arm around him, the entire grid rallying behind him as Michael Schumacher’s legacy continued through his son. Then, it cut to Max and me.

Max Verstappen, the new grid dad in training.

I actually laughed out loud at that one.

Oh, this is gold.

The comments were just as entertaining.

—

@F1Fanatic22: This is the most wholesome thing I’ve seen in ages. Max really said ‘I’ll protect this one’ 🥹

@LightsOutMemeLord: Max adopting Ghost as his problem child is the best subplot of the season 😂

@PaddockTea: No bc imagine Ghost’s first podium and Max is just there all proud like a real dad 🥹

—

I shook my head, tossing my phone onto the bed and rubbing my temples.

This was perfect.

If the entire fanbase already believed Max and I had this cute mentor-mentee relationship, it meant the journalist had nothing on him. Even if they tried to spin some secret ‘scandal’ about us meeting in private, the world had already made up their own, much better narrative.

I chewed on my lip, mind already spinning with ideas for tomorrow.

I was going to lean into this—hard.

If we played it right, there wouldn’t be a single person left who thought there was anything suspicious about us spending time together.

The journalist could try all they wanted. They wouldn’t take Max down with me. And if they really did have my identity? Well… I wasn’t going to let it show just how terrified I was. Not yet.

—

I stepped into the paddock with a renewed sense of determination. Today, I wasn’t just racing—I was playing a part, controlling the narrative before anyone else could. If the world wanted to see Max and me as a wholesome mentor-mentee duo, then I’d make damn sure that’s all anyone saw.

I walked through the Cadillac garage, nodding at the mechanics already hard at work prepping the car for the race. The usual pre-race buzz filled the air—team members double-checking setups, engineers staring at data, and crew members rushing between stations.

As I turned a corner, I spotted Franco leaning against the tool chest near our section, arms crossed as he sipped from a water bottle. His sharp eyes landed on me immediately.

“Morning, Ghost,” he greeted, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Feeling good today?”

I smirked. “Better than you will when I leave you in the dust.”

He scoffed. “You wish.”

We both chuckled, but I could tell he was eyeing me a little closer than usual. His gaze flickered toward the Red Bull garage, then back to me. “So…” He stretched out the word. “What’s up with you and Verstappen?”

I raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. He’s suddenly everywhere around you. First, he finds you before quali, then he walks over to congratulate you personally? Not even Lando and Oscar get that kind of VIP treatment.” He tilted his head. “You sure you didn’t secretly sign with Red Bull?”

I let out a short laugh. “God, no. I’d rather retire than be in the Red Bull media machine.”

“Then what’s going on?”

I glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. “Not here,” I muttered. “Come with me.”

Franco frowned but followed without hesitation as I led him past the garage and into one of the quieter service hallways behind the paddock. It wasn’t completely secluded—people occasionally walked by—but it was empty enough for a private conversation.

Once we were alone, I turned to face him.

“There’s a journalist,” I started, keeping my voice low. “They’ve been trying to dig into my identity.”

Franco immediately tensed. “What?”

I nodded. “I got a text last night. They claim they know who I am.”

His jaw clenched. “Do they?”

I exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. They didn’t use my real name, didn’t say anything specific, but they’re blackmailing me. And Max.”

Franco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Max?”

“The journalist texted him too,” I explained. “Tried to spin it like there was some scandal between us just because I hid out in his driver’s room the other day.”

Franco cursed under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s some serious bullshit.”

“I know.” I crossed my arms. “Max is helping me. We’re playing into the mentor thing to make sure no one believes the journalist’s angle.”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “So let me get this straight—this guy is either trying to out your identity or just ruin your career in any way he can?”

I nodded.

His expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

I snorted despite the situation. “Get in line.”

Franco took a deep breath, hands on his hips. “Alright. First things first—we need to be sure he doesn’t actually know who you are.”

“My manager’s already working with Max’s lawyers to figure out what he knows,” I assured him. “Until then, I just have to act normal. Which means you also have to act normal.”

Franco scoffed. “Oh yeah, because normal means watching a creep try to ruin my best friend’s life and doing nothing about it.”

I softened slightly. “You won’t be doing nothing. Keep an eye out for him, and if you see anything—anything weird—let me know.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but after a beat, he nodded. “Fine. But if I see him first, I will deck him.”

I grinned. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

—

The grid was gathering near the trucks for the drivers’ parade, the usual pre-race tradition where we’d wave to the crowd and do some quick interviews before the chaos of the main event.

I stood near my usual group—Lando, Oscar, and Franco—idly chatting as we waited to hop onto the flatbed trailer.

“So what’s the bet for today?” Lando asked, smirking at Franco. “If I finish ahead of you, you have to post an embarrassing picture of yourself.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “You’d have to finish ahead of me first.”

“I will finish ahead of you at some point.”

I snorted, but before I could add anything, a familiar presence appeared at my side.

Max.

“Ghost,” he greeted casually, nodding at me before glancing at the others. “Mind if I steal them for a bit?”

Lando raised a brow, but he and Oscar didn’t question it and even joked. “Go ahead, grid dad.”

Max shot him a flat look before turning back to me. “Come on.”

I followed him as he led the way up to the parade trailer, the cameras already clicking in the distance. Perfect. Let them see.

“So,” Max started as we settled onto the truck, the vehicle starting to move. “Feeling good about today?”

I hummed. “I think so. Struggled a bit yesterday, but your advice helped.”

He smirked. “Of course it did.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, mentor of the year.”

Max leaned back against the railing, glancing at the crowd before looking at me again. “You still holding up?”

The question caught me off guard.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Still worried, but… I feel better.”

His blue eyes studied me for a moment before he nodded approvingly. “Good.”

I smiled slightly. “Thanks, Max.”

He scoffed. “Don’t thank me yet. You still have a race to get through.”

I grinned. “Oh, trust me, I plan on making you proud.”

Max smirked. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The cameras continued snapping in the distance.

Let the world see. Let them believe the story we were telling.

Because as long as they did, the journalist had nothing.

As the parade truck continued its slow lap around the circuit, I leaned against the railing, taking in the sea of fans waving flags and holding up signs. It was always surreal, seeing so many people show up for a sport I’d fought so hard to be a part of. The moment felt lighter than before—maybe because the plan with Max was working, or maybe just because I had people who had my back.

I felt a presence shift next to me, and when I turned, I saw Kimi Antonelli sliding into the space Max had just left, followed closely by Ollie Bearman who took my other side.

“What, Verstappen gets your attention first, and we don’t even get a hello?” Ollie teased, nudging my arm lightly.

I huffed out a small laugh. “You two were busy gossiping with the Ferraris. Figured I’d let you get all your inside team secrets in before I interrupted.”

Kimi smirked. “What makes you think I would tell you anything?”

I gave him a pointed look. “Because you like proving you’re faster than me, and you’d want me to know exactly how to lose.”

Ollie chuckled. “He’s got a point.”

Kimi just shrugged, clearly unbothered by the claim. “So, Ghost, how are you feeling about the race?”

“Good,” I answered, though the word felt a little automatic. “Car’s been great all weekend. Just need to get through Turn 1 clean.”

“Yeah, I heard about your quali lap,” Ollie said. “P7, not bad. You think you can keep Max in sight this time?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.”

Ollie smirked, but there was something softer in his expression—like he was studying me. Kimi, too, wasn’t looking away.

“You’ve been quiet this weekend,” Kimi said after a beat.

My grip on the railing tightened slightly. “I have?”

“You have,” Ollie agreed. “You’re usually the one cracking jokes, but you’ve been… I don’t know. More reserved.”

I felt a slight pang in my chest. Had I really been that obvious?

“I’ve just been focused,” I lied, forcing a small smirk. “You know, making sure you guys don’t embarrass me out there.”

Ollie chuckled, but Kimi’s expression didn’t change. “You sure that’s all?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yeah. Just a lot going on.”

Kimi hummed, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “Well, whatever it is, don’t let it get to your head. You drive better when you’re annoying.”

That made me laugh. “Wow. High praise from you two.”

Ollie grinned. “He’s right, though. Don’t disappear on us.”

I softened slightly. It wasn’t often that Kimi or Ollie got openly sentimental, but this was their way of saying they cared. And after everything with the journalist, it was nice to be reminded that even without them knowing the full truth, they had my back.

I bumped my shoulder lightly against Ollie’s. “Don’t worry, Bearman. I’m still here.”

Kimi nodded approvingly. “Good. Would be a shame if I didn’t have you to beat on track.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

They both chuckled, and for the first time that weekend, I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

—

The roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum as I focused on the track ahead. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, my breathing steady despite the hammering of my heart. The race had been relentless so far—strategy calls, tire management, every move calculated down to the millisecond. But as I settled into the rhythm, my mind wandered.

The past few days had been chaos. The journalist, the blackmail, the constant eyes watching me and Max, the creeping anxiety of not knowing if my secret was truly at risk. For a split second, I felt like I was drowning in it again—until I caught sight of the papaya car just ahead.

Oscar.

P5.

I snapped back into focus, my foot pressing heavier on the throttle as I closed the gap. The McLaren was quick, but I was quicker. He was in my way, and I wasn’t leaving this race without a podium.

“Ghost, Oscar ahead. You’ve got the pace. Go get him.” My engineer’s voice was calm, but I could hear the excitement laced behind it.

I didn’t need the encouragement.

Oscar was a fighter, and I knew he wouldn’t give up the position easily. For three laps, I pushed, trying to find an opening. Every time I got close, he defended masterfully, forcing me to back off or risk a collision. But on lap 40, I saw it—a tiny misstep, a fraction of a second where he went slightly wide into the turn.

I took my chance.

Diving down the inside, I sent it, my tires kissing the curb as I squeezed through. For a moment, we were side by side, inches from disaster, but I had the momentum. Coming out of the corner, I was ahead.

“YES! Beautiful move, Ghost! P5!”

I barely heard my engineer over the rush of adrenaline. P5 wasn’t enough. Not yet.

I kept pushing.

Lap after lap, I hunted down the next driver, then the next. I overtook each one with precision, determination burning through me. My tires screamed, my arms ached, my body was on fire, but I didn’t care. The podium was right there.

When I finally crossed the finish line in P3, my radio exploded with cheers.

“P3, Ghost! That’s a podium! Amazing drive!”

I let out a breathless laugh, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. My third podium. Another massive result for Cadillac.

As I pulled into Parc Fermé, the weight of everything finally hit me. The tension, the stress, the doubt—it all melted away. I climbed onto my car, throwing my arms up in victory as the crowd erupted. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment as I stood tall, taking it all in.

When I jumped down, the first person I saw was Lando.

“Mate!” He barely gave me a second before pulling me into a hug, shaking my shoulders with excitement. “That was insane! You’re actually ridiculous, you know that?”

I laughed, hugging him back. “Took me long enough to catch up to you!”

He pulled away, grinning. “Podium club’s getting too full, I might have to kick you out.”

I was about to fire back when I felt another strong hand on my shoulder.

Turning, I barely had time to react before Max pulled me into a hug, his grip firm and proud.

“Now that—” He stepped back slightly, giving my helmet an approving tap. “—was some damn good racing.”

I could hear the pride in his voice, and something warm settled in my chest.

“Guess I had a good mentor,” I teased.

Max smirked. “Obviously.”

I felt the weight of his words—the unspoken understanding between us. He had my back. And for the first time in days, I truly believed I wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing lights, roaring cheers, and the rush of adrenaline that still pulsed through my veins. Standing on the third step, I watched as Max climbed onto the top, followed closely by Lando to P2.

As Max got comfortable, I felt a tap on my helmet.

I turned to see him grinning before he casually stepped down onto my podium step—just for a second—before pushing up onto his own.

I huffed out a laugh. “Really?”

He smirked. “Might as well give them more content to work with, right?”

I shook my head, but I knew he was right. By tonight, the internet would be flooded with edits of our little moment, adding to the ‘mentor and mentee’ narrative we’d been carefully building.

But then, the announcer called my name.

I turned to accept my P3 trophy, gripping the sleek silver and blue design in my hands. The weight of it was grounding. Real. As I raised it high above my head, the crowd erupted again, and I felt it—something raw, something that made my chest ache in the best way.

This.

This was why I did it.

As I watched Lando lift his trophy, followed by Max holding his high above his head like he’d done so many times before, I felt a rush of emotions wash over me.

The stress, the fear, the constant weight of my secret—it all disappeared in this moment. Because here, standing under the bright lights, with the cheers of thousands ringing in my ears, I remembered.

I loved this sport.

I loved the fight, the struggle, the grit it took to get here. I loved the feeling of pushing myself beyond my limits and proving that I belonged. That I deserved this. No blackmail, no journalist, no threats could take this away from me.

As the national anthem played, I let the moment sink in, committing every second to memory. Because no matter what happened next, no matter how hard things got, I knew why I was fighting. And I wasn’t going to stop.

—

The night was quiet, a stark contrast to the roaring engines and adrenaline-fueled battles of the day. I sat in Max’s driver’s room, still buzzing from the podium, my body exhausted but my mind too wired to sleep.

Max was lounging on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting lazily on the backrest as he sipped from a bottle of water. I was sitting across from him, still in my team hoodie, my race suit tied around my waist.

We had been talking about the race—breaking down moments, analyzing overtakes, and laughing at some of the more ridiculous things that had happened on track. But then, his expression shifted, growing more serious.

“I found out something today,” he said, setting his bottle down and looking directly at me.

I tensed, my pulse immediately kicking up. “About what?”

“The journalist.”

That was enough to make my stomach twist. I had nearly forgotten about that mess in the chaotic good of the race, but reality had a cruel way of creeping back in.

“What about him?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but I knew Max could see the way my fingers curled against the fabric of my hoodie.

Max tilted his head slightly, observing me for a moment before continuing. “He doesn’t actually know who you are.”

I stared at him, my mind stalling for a second. “What?”

He smirked a little, but there was no humor in it—just the satisfaction of someone who had figured out a crucial piece of a puzzle.

“He’s wrong. The identity he has—it’s not yours,” Max said, watching for my reaction.

My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know?”

His smirk widened slightly. “Because the person he thinks you are is a man.”

I blinked. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. My brain tripped over itself as I processed what he was saying.

Then it hit me.

My stomach dropped. My heart pounded against my ribs as I forced myself to meet his gaze. “And how do you know I’m not?”

Max let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, Ghost.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I knew after the hug.”

I inhaled sharply.

“The one after the race,” he clarified. “You might’ve hidden it well with all the baggy clothes and the way you carry yourself, but when you hugged me—” he gave me a pointed look, “—it was obvious.”

My entire body went rigid, my mind racing through every possible response, every possible way to deflect, to deny, to—

But then Max grinned, leaning back again like he had just won a bet with himself. “Relax. I think it’s brilliant.”

I blinked at him, completely thrown off. “You—what?”

Max shrugged. “You’ve done an insane job keeping this a secret. Honestly, I’m impressed. I can’t even imagine the kind of discipline it takes to make sure no one finds out.” His expression softened just a little. “And I like it. I like this. Whatever or why-ever this whole mystery thing is, I think it’s fun.”

I exhaled slowly, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max Verstappen, of all people, had figured me out—just like that.

“And don’t worry,” he added, “I’m not going to tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I searched his face for any sign of doubt, but all I saw was certainty.

A shaky breath left me as I finally allowed myself to relax, if only slightly. “So… what now?”

Max grinned. “Now? Now we keep playing the game. We sell the mentor-mentee thing even harder. The longer we keep this up, the bigger the moment will be when the truth finally comes out.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped me. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without hesitation. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “And for what it’s worth, I really enjoy our little dynamic. You’re good company, Ghost.”

Something in my chest tightened—not in fear, but in something strangely close to relief.

Max Verstappen knew my biggest secret.

And he was going to protect it.

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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slutforvoldy · 9 hours ago

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“ ILLICIT AFFAIRS. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: an illicit affair between the reader and lando spirals into heartbreak, leaving behind only stolen moments and broken promises.

word count: 0.9k

warnings: angst, infidelity, taylor swift references, mentions of y/n.

pairing: lando norris x female!reader

IT WAS WRONG. You knew it was very wrong. To be someone’s forbidden fruit—a mistress. You knew the risks and the consequences of your impulsive actions. Yet, you felt no ounce of regret.

You hated yourself.

You hated how you let yourself sink into this.

You hated how you kept falling into bed with him, knowing he belonged to someone else. A wife, even.

You hated how selfish you had become.

You told yourself you could stop anytime. But you never did. Maybe it was the thrill. The secrecy. The pleasure. The stolen moments that made you feel wanted.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You never wanted this to happen. But with Lando Norris, it all felt too good.

It all began at a Formula 1 afterparty—a world of dazzling lights and champagne-fueled celebrations. One glance across the crowded room, and your eyes met with a pair of green eyes staring right back at you.

And somehow, that's how your story started.

You started sneaking around, making excuses, whispering lies to those who asked where you were, telling them you'd be going out for a "run." In reality, you were having sex in the backseat of his car.

Months passed.

Secret meetings. Stolen glances at parties. Midnight rendezvous that left you breathless. Every whispered promise, every fleeting moment of passion made you fall deeper for the British guy.

You craved the rush.

The way his gaze burned into yours across a crowded room.

The way he said your name, like it was the only thing that mattered.

The way his touch ignited something in you—something dangerous, something irresistible.

And then, one morning, everything changed.

“Let’s talk. 4 PM”

The formality of the message sent a wave of unease through you. Something was wrong. You felt it in your bones.

But you ignored the warning bells and went anyway.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

Lando’s voice was steady, but the weight behind his words crushed you. He leaned back in the dimly lit café—the place that had become your hidden world.

Your breath hitched. Your mind raced, scrambling for an explanation.

How could he say this so easily?

What happened to all the promises?

And most importantly,

Why now?

“W-what?” Of all the things you wanted to say, that was all you could manage.

“Baby, don’t—”

“Don’t call me baby!”You snapped, your voice raw with heartbreak.

Lando shut his eyes, exhaling heavily.

“You made me look like an idiotic fool,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Look at me, Lando. Look at this godforsaken mess that you made of me!” You cried out, not even noticing the sorrowful tears that you shed.

“I love you, Lando…” The confession slipped out before you could stop it. For the first time, you said it aloud.

For the first time, it felt real.

His eyes widened. For a moment, he looked at you like he might say it back.

The silence between the two of you was so loud. It was deafening. Just the two of you gaping at each other.

But then he looked away, feeling ashamed.

“I’m going to be a father, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a crashing wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your body went cold.

Your heart shattered.

Silence stretched between you. The air felt suffocating.

You had no right to be jealous. No right to be angry. You were just the mistress. The secret. The sin.

He would always choose her. You should have known.

You should have seen this coming.

It was your fault for believing his empty words.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“I hope you understand… my family needs me,” he murmured, his voice softer now.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You remembered the times when you would lay against his chest, naked under the bedsheets, with him muttering sweet words against your ear, and you giggling while you were wrapped around his arms.

“I love you,” he had whispered before. “I can’t wait to be with you forever.”

“But what about your wife?” You asked looking up, doe eyed and staring at his green eyes. His green eyes that started all this mess.

“Does it matter?” he had murmured, brushing a kiss over your lips. “I’ll always love you. No matter what.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Lies.

"Any man would be lucky to have you, Y/N. I really valued these months with you," he said now, as if his words could soften the inevitable goodbye.

You let out a hollow laugh. "So, that’s it?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

You stared at him, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say more.

But he wouldn’t.

And even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.

For the first time, you truly understood what you were to him.

A secret. A mistake. A fleeting indulgence that he could afford to leave behind.

You inhaled sharply, forcing a smile onto your lips—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"Have a good life, Norris."

His jaw tensed. He gave you one last look, something unreadable in his expression.

“I love you, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

You clenched your fists. “You’re making this harder. Just go, Lando. Please.”

A heavy sigh escaped him before he stood. The rustling of his clothes filled the silence.

You watched him walk away.

You watched him glance back at you.

You watched him leave.

And just like that, it ended the way it started—

Stolen glances filled with unspoken words.

Only this time, they clung to the remnants of their so-called love.

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thetomorrowshow · 3 days ago

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when you had nothing to say ch. 4

Sometimes Jimmy feels like he needs a massive sign on his chest that reads, I’M DEAF. PLEASE WRITE THINGS DOWN. That might save him some lectures he can’t hear. Unless there aren’t any written signs around because nobody else can read. - or, 5 times that someone found out Jimmy was deaf + 1 time they accommodated him :), chapter 4

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy looks up from where he’s re-hemming his sleeve, the threads having all pulled out. He looks up at Tango, smiles. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you know. Just wondering how your day’s been!”

Ah, Tango can probably feel his muscle aches. Jimmy sets down his needle and stretches, reaching his arms up toward the ceiling. He groans, restrains a yawn. “Good, good. Tended to the goats, bothered Grian, yelled at Joel. The usual. How was your day?”

Tango is making dinner for the two of them, baking potatoes in the furnace while some sort of milky cheese sauce boils on the stove. He stops stirring for a moment to glance at Jimmy, brows furrowed contemplatively.

“Good,” he says. “Yeah, my day was good.”

There’s something not quite right in the way he looks at Jimmy, something almost . . . confused. Does Tango think he was lying? Why would he lie about something so simple?

Maybe he thinks it’s a Grian situation. It isn’t the server’s best-kept secret that Grian’s trying to create a Secret Soulmate bond with BigB, ignoring his own soulbound to do so.

Does Tango think he’s lying about what he did today because he suspects that he’s trying to team up with someone else? He would never betray him that way, not in this game! Not when everything is built around the two of them sticking it out together, no matter what people like Grian and Scott and Cleo might say.

Scott and his stupid Relationship Ranch. Jimmy would bet his horn that half of Scott’s purpose is breaking up soulmate bonds.

It would be useful to have someone like that on their side.

Jimmy opens his mouth to suggest it, but just as quickly closes it. If Tango thinks he’s cheating on him, to suggest they have Scott and Cleo over for dinner would be tantamount to admitting his guilt. Not that he’s actually guilty—he isn’t! But it would make it appear so, and he can’t risk the suspicion that it would cast on him.

Tango’s turned back to the stove, continuing to stir the sauce. “I was thinking, we . . . bacon. Does that sound good?”

“Er, yeah,” Jimmy says. Why do people never look directly at him when asking questions? Does Tango want bacon now, or a different night? And does he need Jimmy to do anything about it? They should have some bacon in the icebox from that pig that Cleo butchered, but why is he bringing it up?

Tango waits, then turns an inquisitive eyebrow on him.

“Wait, like, right now?”

“Uh, that . . . said,” Tango laughs, looking back to the sauce the second he starts talking.

Not again.

“Sorry, you’re turned away from me,” Jimmy says awkwardly. “Could you say that again?”

Tango looks at him, that weird, confused look on his face again. “Um, I said that that’s what I said? If we want a bit of bacon in the sauce, we need it now.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, right,” nods Jimmy. “I’ll—I’ll go grab it, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

His cheeks burning, Jimmy sets his sewing down and pulls on his shoes, then hurries outside without lacing them up. They keep their icebox in the cave under the ranch, which makes it a bit of a trip every time they need to grab something, but he doesn’t mind. It’s nice out once the sun is down, a bit of a warm breeze ruffling his hair.

When Jimmy returns, lump of bacon in hand, Tango takes it without saying anything, immediately tearing off a strip and chopping it up into bits. He chops about three strips, then gives Jimmy the rest of it to return to the icebox.

On his way back from the second trip, Jimmy pauses to look up at the sky.

He’s always loved the stars. He used to lie on the grass of his front lawn and gaze up at them until his parents sent him to bed; when he was in the army, he would frequently volunteer for night shifts until his superiors figured out that the night sky distracted him from his job.

He sighs, slowly, wills himself to not get dizzy as he cranes his neck even further back, looking for familiar constellations. Every world has different formations, but sometimes he can find new spots for old favorites.

But dinner is on the stove, and Tango is waiting for him, so Jimmy heads back to the house, smiling at Tango when he checks over his shoulder.

“The stars are beautiful, tonight,” he tells him, and Tango chuckles, turns back to the sauce.

“It’s so funny . . . you . . . stars, every time.”

“Come again?” Jimmy asks, crossing to the side of Tango so that he can see his lips.

Tango doesn’t answer, though. Instead, he takes the pan off the stove and sets down his roughly-carved wooden spoon, turning to properly face Jimmy.

“Jimmy,” he says, “are you feeling okay?”

Jimmy blinks. “Uh, yeah?” he says. Oh, no, is this when Tango brings up any little inconsistencies and uses it against him somehow, even though Jimmy’s been doing his best to prove his loyalty this whole time.

“I just—my ears are hurting,” Tango says. “And, like, I didn’t do anything, I think—the Warden didn’t scream at me or anything. Did you hurt your ears?”

What?

The confusion, even suspicion, that Jimmy thought he’d seen on Tango’s face is clearly concern, now, and Jimmy frowns, touches his ears.

“I don’t think so?” he says. “You said they hurt?”

“Yeah, like, sore. You don’t feel it?”

Sometimes his ears itch, but they rarely hurt. He’s constantly aware of whether or not his ears hurt, knowing that if they get even a simple infection, he’s at risk of losing the rest of his hearing.

So Jimmy’s fairly certain he isn’t feeling any pain in his ears, which brings up the question: why do Tango’s ears hurt?

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I haven’t felt anything.”

Tango hums. “Well, the potatoes are probably done. How about we have dinner and figure it out in the morning?”

If Tango’s ears hurt, then Jimmy’s should be hurting. That’s the way the bond is meant to work, no matter who the pain is coming from. But Jimmy just shrugs it off—it can’t be that serious if Tango thinks they can wait until morning.

He picks up his shirt that he was hemming, frowning when he can’t find the needle. Did he stick it back in the sleeve? He can’t remember. Probably not. This happens every time, will he never learn?

Oh, well. He tosses the shirt onto his bed and drags his chair back over to the table, overly conscious of the scraping sound it makes against their rough wooden floor. He ought to put some wool on the feet of the chairs, make sure they don’t make any sort of sound. Or he could just take his hearing aids out—he’s been wearing them a lot more than he should, and his ears are definitely tired.

Jimmy adjusts one, rotating it just the slightest bit to see if the new position gives his ear a bit of a break. It’s marginally better, so—

Wait.

“Tango,” Jimmy says slowly, “can you feel my hearing aids?”

“What?”

“That might be why your ears hurt,” says Jimmy. He touches the left hearing aid—and now that he’s thinking about it, his ears are definitely a bit sore from how long he’s been wearing the hearing aids. He hadn’t noticed, accustomed to it as he was. “I’ve been wearing my hearing aids for too long. It can definitely be a bit uncomfortable. Here, let me take one out.”

He takes out the left one, sighs a little bit as his ear relaxes. Tango reaches up to rub his own left ear, mouth half-open.

“I—yeah, that fixed it,” he says, and Jimmy puts it back in, twisting it to fit it in just right. “Sorry—you wear hearing aids? Are you Deaf?”

“Did—did you not know?”

“No, I didn’t know! When did that happen?”

“Way before you ever met me,” Jimmy says. “How did you not know? They broke during Third Life and I couldn’t hear for the last few weeks, remember?”

Tango shakes his head, utter surprise painting his face. “I don’t remember that at all.”

To be fair, they didn’t really see much of each other back then. Even though Jimmy spent those last weeks in a near-silent world, cutting his communication to those necessary, he had just kind of assumed that everyone knew what had happened. Apparently, Grian and Scott hadn’t gone around telling everyone about it.

He doesn’t know whether or not to be grateful for that.

“Well, I’ve been Deaf since I was a kid,” says Jimmy, with a bit of a shrug. “I guess I’m just surprised you can’t tell—everyone always says I talk too loud.”

“I just thought you were a loud guy!” Tango says. He turns away for a moment, pulls the potatoes out of the furnace, then turns back, tossing down the towel he’d used to grab the pan. “So, like, what do I sound like to you?”

Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “I dunno, like . . . everyone else? It’s hard to figure out whose voice is whose if they aren’t looking at me, and it’s hard to understand at all without watching their lips—it’s kinda garbled. My hearing aids mostly just amplify, they don’t help a lot with distinguishing.”

“How much can you hear without your hearing aids?”

“Not much,” Jimmy says. “Like, if I’m in a crowded room, I can hear this . . . buzz of noise? Sometimes if someone shouts, I can kind of hear it. Everything sounds like a really muffled TV on the lowest volume setting.”

Tango shakes his head, as if in astonishment. “Man. I never woulda guessed.”

It’s strange just how often in his life Jimmy accidentally hides it. He never really intends to. It just sort of . . . happens.

Why are these conversations always so uncomfortable? Teenage Jim was right about that sign pinned on his shirt thing. That would preemptively end every conversation about people not knowing he’s deaf.

“Well, now you know,” Jimmy shrugs again, awkwardly. “I’ll try to take them out more. Um, should we fry the bacon?”

“Right, right!” Tango hops over to their shabby kitchen chest, digging through for the frying pan. Before he can find it, though, he turns back toward Jimmy.

“I’ve got your back,” he says seriously. “Let me know if you need help with anything, yeah?”

Jimmy doesn’t know quite how to respond to that. “You too,” he settles on eventually. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t ever end up asking Tango for help.

He doesn’t need it. Not really.

#double life smp #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #team rancher #six billion moths #mas writes #trafficblr #life series fanfic #wow i love him so much #this jimmy is so beloved to me #like mannn. he does not want his disability to matter #but it does matter. there are certain accommodations that he needs #but he would rather not have them than be a bother to people #he needs to unlearn his internalized ableism #OH SHOOT I NEED TO SEND AN EMAIL TONIGHT #lmk what yall think #love you guys

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pepstarvanmoon · 3 days ago

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ST & Bully Storylines (Part 2)

Part 1 Please ignore my descent into sarcasm. I can’t be professional and analytical, it doesn’t work.

The beginning of S4, for El, plays somewhat similarly. She’s constantly being bullied (harassed, really) by Angela and her friends.

In a way, El and the party were treated this way because they were ‘weird’ and ‘different’, but El doesn’t have the same support system. Will is there, of course, but he hardly stands up for himself, and, as mentioned in my last post, is known to freeze up when it comes to confrontations like this.

It’s also clear in S4 that El wants more friends outside of him, to be accepted and to live as a normal girl. Maybe she thought she’d finally have a chance at it, moving out of Hawkins and losing her powers, but being raised in the lab has stunted her personal and emotional growth, and she’s not on the same academic level as everyone else either.

So, of course she’d be excited to see her boyfriend! He accepts her and he must like her a lot, they wouldn’t be dating otherwise. Sure, he’s avoiding the word love and El is starting to feel a little self-conscious about their relationship, but that’s bound to get cleared up once he gets there.

Right.

Alongside the bullying leading up to a more direct confrontation, they’ve decided to make Mike a variable in this. The same way El was a new addition in S1.

But instead of making us feel confident that the bullies will get what’s coming to them, this set-up is just uncomfortable.

Mike is acting distant with Will, El is disappointed in his gift, Argyle doesn’t like his shirt!

And how could I forget, El has been lying to Mike through her letters. It’s not just the confrontation to (not) look forward to, but the reveal that El has been lying and Mike’s reaction to what life has actually been like for El.

But wait, should we really be worried about that? Mike has always been… sweet.

… Truthful?

Available. He’s always been available, uh, physically. Like his presence, y’know? And that means a lot!

Anyway.

As an audience, we should expect Mike to be a good support system, I mean, they should be in a good place! Just look at how S3 ended!

We should really be asking why El is so worried about telling Mike the truth. It’s not like they have a history of being dishonest with each other, that’d be crazy.

The inevitable confrontation is going to be fine. Actually, that must be why they added Mike to the mix! Just like El, he’ll lead us to the triumphant end of the fight. El is without her powers this season, so obviously she needs someone to save her this time.

So guess what doesn’t happen?

Now, not to get on Will, we know how he gets around bullies, so he’s not about to step in. If Ms. I-want-today-to-be-about-me-and-you wants to lie all morning then she can deal with the consequences that come with it.

Of course, Will (being better than my petty ass), isn’t going to just sit around while his sister gets bullied, and I assume Mike has always stood up for him in the past (he’s also the only one there who can help since Angela somehow has the whole rink in her back pocket. All this just to torment one girl? FAN BEHAVIOR) so he decides to tell him the truth.

Mike doesn’t believe him, which… okay I know you’re mad that Will has been rolling his pretty eyes while you’ve been trying to get lost in them, and I know the whole “friends don’t lie” thing has started to mean less and less every season, but seriously?

Will can’t even bear telling you that he didn’t get higher than a seven! He went to you about the ‘shadow monster’, and asked you not to tell anyone else. Yeah, he blew up at you in S3, but he was still honest. Even when he’s pissed and doesn’t want to talk to you, he still tells the truth. To you more than his own mother like I need you to bffr.

This unhelpful back and forth only serves to keep El in the line of fire as the music changes.

Michael… WHAT DO YOU THINK?! Did the unobstructed view of Will’s mouth knock your brain loose?!

Sorry. Let me give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you trust El. Maybe you were blind to her obvious discomfort because she told you Angela was her friend.

(or maybe you were barely paying attention because you were too busy trying to figure out why Will wasn’t talking to you. You should already know why, but whatever.)

I’m well aware of El’s visible sensory overload in this scene, but lowkey this is the the least helpful thing you could be doing rn, and ik Will ain’t doing shit so it’s no wonder the situation kept escalating.

(Not gonna talk about the actual humiliation ritual, it’s not good for my psyche. Just think about El having a horrible time being mocked for attempting to use powers she no longer has, and how someone she loves who’s accustomed to her saving him is seeing just how powerless she’s become, thanks.)

Troy suddenly going still was a surprise. Mike didn’t expect El to fight in his behalf, but he was happy that she did. This time, nothing can be stopped because El has no power to do so, and instead of two jerks it’s an entire roller rink.

I genuinely don’t understand why they did this. I guess they wanted to keep Mike from interfering, but they just let El leave? These scenes are literally seconds apart. If they were done ruining her day then they shouldn’t have an issue with Mike running in.

Whatever. It’s probably just because they wanted El to run from Mike, prolonging the bullshit. She doesn’t see Mike as ‘safe’ because she’s afraid his image of her has changed.

(kinda want to mention how she got through the crowd on her own, Mike didn't need to reach her for her to move. I know it’s because he’s there that she leaves, but just a thought.)

I mentioned this in another post, but El’s desire to be loved affects a lot of her decisions. For her, being loved doesn’t necessarily mean knowing you’re loved (in fact, she hasn’t been able to tell for a while. From Mike). It’s a frantic attempt keep love, or preserve a love she thought she found at the end of S2, which circles back to her insecurities.

(I’d like to mention that the gym fight was resolved by this point. The writers just wanted things to keep getting worse from here. Not that this wasn’t a good way to establish conflict between these three characters, but they could try leaving my daughter alone. Just a suggestion.)

Also, El tries civility first too!

It feels less out of fear here than it did for Mike. The whole point of this was to show Mike how cool she was, and that backfired so horribly she’s one step from the edge at this point (kinda like Mike was). Like Troy, Angela feels no remorse and doubles down, even mentioning Hopper (seriously, who raised these children), and El has this girl on the ground literally 25 seconds later.

And we know where it goes from there.

(Now, El has hurt and killed people before, but it was always with her powers. I can’t remember a time she drew blood with actual physical contact.)

“What did you do?” Like shut up don’t you have eyes? YOU SAW WHAT SHE DID. Make like your bf and be quietttt. He repeated the question too like she was actually gonna answer 😭😭

I have my own mixed feelings about El hitting Angela, but Mike, angel, how is that the first thing out of your mouth? (tbh we shouldn’t be surprised he’s been hitting her with “what’s wrong with you!?” since S1, but you can decide which is better or worse lmao)

Literally what happened. Someone tell me right now. We’re back where we started except Mike was unable to reassure her this time, someone needs to come get me.

I can’t help but see her accusation as a bunch of questions. When did things change, Mike? When did you stop loving me? When did I stop being your hero?

When did this stop working? Has it ever?

It all just hits me with Will parallels. Both feeling like they don’t belong in different ways. That they were made wrong. They were never meant to be loved, and they were stupid to ever think so.

All of this to say, the fact that Mike and El are IN a relationship, is the worst part of their relationship as a whole. Elmike solos Milkvan every time and it doesn’t even have to do anything. They're as flimsy as Mike’s notebook paper letters, the tiniest gust of wind blows them straight into the nearest mall fire.

That last one might’ve been in poor taste, my bad. (but Hopper’s alive, so it’s fine)

#these posts were meant to have more focus #they don’t #byler #anti-mileven #byler at El’s expense is never the move #have your little gay spat when she’s safe #I need you more capable bylers to speak on El’s insecurity #I keep joking I feel like I’m not serious enough

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writesvani · 2 days ago

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coming down - character introduction

collegestudent!gojo x collegestudent!reader

click HERE to read | click HERE for taglist

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to enemies with benefits-to?

dearest gentle reader,

(do you notice i’m rewatching bridgerton? of course you do, i'm rocking lady whistledown mode)

alright, so. i see some of you are out here confused—shocked even—like, “why are these characters so messed up?!” and trust me, it’s not your fault. this isn’t just a story; this is a warning. these characters are like the emotional equivalent of a spicy noodle challenge, and you just decided to take a bite without reading the ingredients. and you thought it would be a cute, light read. ha!

so buckle up, buttercups, because i’m about to introduce you to the unhinged bunch of chaos agents that will have you questioning why you even tried to understand them in the first place. each one is a walking red flag on a mission to ruin your expectations, your sanity, and possibly your ability to trust anyone ever again. but it’s fine. totally fine.

enjoy the glorious trainwreck.

p.s. if you’re still here after all this, congratulations, you’re officially as messed up as i am. let’s see if you can handle it, sweetie.

WELCOME TO MY CHARACTER INTRODUCTION:

Y/N (THE DRAMA QUEEN SUPREME)

The story is from Y/N’s POV (for now), so right now, she looks like the main character in a tragic romance movie. Wronged, betrayed, struggling with past trauma—boohoo, right? Except… something ain’t adding up. Y/N is playing the victim card a little too well, and if you tilt your head and squint, you’ll start seeing the puppet strings. She thinks she's the only one suffering, BUT she is THE villain in someone else's story. SHE IS NOT PERFECT. SHE IS IN FACT 50% OF THE PROBLEM.

GOJO (THE MENACE WITH PRETTY EYES)

Listen. Gojo is hot, rich and a MENACE TO SOCIETY. That’s a dangerous combination. Right now, he and Y/N have beef so thick you could grill it, but let’s be honest—he’s loving every second of it. He has never taken a single thing seriously in his life, except for maybe one (1) person, and that’s a problem. Also, trust me there's a lot of UNPACKED trauma when it comes to Gojo and the way he acts towards everyone (especially Y/n), but I don't want to spoil anything so PLEASE don't judge him too hard (or do, i support both choices).

YUMI (THE FRIEND YOU SHOULD HAVE BLOCKED THREE YEARS AGO)

Yumi is that one friend who just has to be the center of attention. If the room isn’t about her, she will MAKE IT about her. At first, Y/N might seem like the victim in their friendship, but let’s not ignore the fact that Yumi’s just doing what she’s always done. The real question is: why did Y/N keep her around for so long? Yumi thrives off attention, treats friendships like competitions, probably is the type to take your ex’s side after a breakup. She has a master’s degree in gaslighting but says it is “just being honest.”

Y/N’S MOM (THE UNSOLVED TRAUMA PACKAGE DELUXE)

Ah, Y/N’s mom. The CEO of Emotional Distance. She could love you so much and still forget your birthday. Her energy is a mix of “I want the best for you” and “why are you making this so difficult”, as if Y/N isn't literally just existing. She's low-key (high-key) terrifying, but not in a loud, dramatic way—no, no. She’s the type to stare at you in disappointment and have you rethinking your entire life. Does she love Y/N? Yes. Does she show it in a way that makes sense? Absolutely not.

REN (THE ONLY REAL ONE IN Y/N'S LIFE)

Alright, gather 'round, folks, because this is the only person in Y/N's life who isn’t here to make everything 100 times worse. Ren is the rare diamond in the trash heap that is Y/N’s social circle. Despite all the nonsense around him, Ren’s always there for Y/N—like a lifeline in a sea of drama and chaos. He’s the person who sees all the cracks, knows all the mistakes, and somehow still believes in her. Yeah, he might drop some truth bombs from time to time, but he’s never the one to push her down. He’s like that calm, level-headed friend who gently reminds you that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing it all wrong—but it’s okay because he’s there for you. (I'm so Ren biased it's not even funny anymore.)

Y/N’S DAD (THE SELF-PROCLAIMED LIFE COACH WITH ZERO BOUNDARIES)

Y/N’s dad is like a mix between a motivational speaker and the human embodiment of a wet blanket. His entire existence is a massive contradiction—he’s always there but never emotionally there. This man’s idea of “helping” is telling you that you could always be better, even if you’re doing just fine. Oh, and don’t get me started on the “lose weight” comment. Classic dad move, right? The kind of guy who thinks tough love means soul-crushing critiques.

♡

and i gotta admit, yes, i’ve got more characters coming down the chaotic pipeline, because let’s face it—what’s a mess without a few more clowns, right? and don’t worry, Nanami, Geto and Sukuna—they’re not just here for the pretty faces and dramatic tension (though, let's be honest, they are very pretty). they’ve got major plot points to hit and more time to make things even messier. can’t leave them hanging out just for the “hotness and funsies,” now can we?

so just like how we added Ren, the actual emotional anchor, in the middle of the storm, i’ll be introducing a few more characters who’ll play their part in stirring things up (and yes, they’ll definitely be getting their own moment to shine and/or ruin everything). by the time we’re done, this ragtag group of drama queens and emotionally unstable individuals will be so intertwined that you'll need a flowchart to keep track of who's friends with who, who's secretly plotting against who, and who's just here to make the popcorn for the circus.

till then, i love you all and thank you, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for all the love you're giving to Coming Down (chapter 4 is gonna be posted this Sunday btw)!

yours truly, [@writesvani]

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digitalbookbyliv · 1 day ago

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I Let Go of My Ex and Got My Life back

I Let Go of My Ex and Got My Life Back

Olivia Voit

March 13th 2025 8:00am

It’s exactly 1 AM as I write this. I'm in bed, winding down after an okay day. Spring break has me feeling more reflective than usual. Earlier, I had an unexpected call with a dear old friend—someone I’ve known since we were both kids, but haven’t spoken to in about a year because of my ex. And, honestly, I couldn’t help but laugh about it on the phone with him. It felt so refreshing to reconnect, and we joked about how life gets in the way sometimes. I’m grateful for the reconnection but also feel a bit guilty for letting a great friendship slip away.

To give you a little insight into me, I’m a PR/Showroom Intern at Showroom Seven. I love interning for them—they’re the best mentors I could ask for. Today was chill, but I had a creative burst, so I decided to start this blog. I’m also always looking for ways to contribute at work, so when one of our designers needed a model, of course, I got pulled in. Maybe this will lead to something in the future—who knows?

Tomorrow is a bit different: I’ve got a side quest to handle. I’m meeting with some people from Snapchat to help a client get unbanned. It’s a private event for Snapchat employees, and I’ll be honest—I’ll probably feel like the odd one out, but hey, it’s networking, right?

I also chatted with a guy I’ve been seeing. He’s sweet, actually listens, and is genuinely interested in getting to know me. It’s crazy to realize that not all men are terrible. We’ve had two dates, and a third one’s in the works. The best part? We just get each other. It’s nice to meet someone who’s also driven, someone I can actually have meaningful conversations with.

But still, all day, I’ve been thinking about writing this. I’ve wanted to for months now, but I guess I needed some distance to gain perspective. My ex is completely out of my life at this point, but I still feel like I need to share my story. Maybe someone will read it and feel like they’re not alone. Starting this blog is definitely a step outside my comfort zone, and I’m probably not going to reach many people at first, but that’s okay. Honestly, there are still days where I feel disappointed and question if I did something wrong. But I know deep down that I didn’t.

Ladies, let me save you some time: If he’s not the one, the right person is still out there. You can—and will—do better.

Now, I’ll be honest: I’m no relationship expert. I’m just a 21-year-old girl trying to figure things out, with limited experience. But I’ve learned a lot through this whole experience. I knew my worth even when I was in the relationship. Why did I stay? I thought I could teach him how to love me. If you’ve ever seen He’s Just Not That Into You, you’ll know exactly what I mean. I haven’t even watched the movie, but I’ve done my research—I promise. Honestly, I avoided it because I didn’t want to see someone on TV act the way my ex did. It was too close to home.

I learned the hard way. I stayed in a relationship that drained me, convincing myself that things would change. But they didn’t. I left because I couldn’t keep fighting for someone who wasn’t fighting for me. And even after I left, he strung me along with empty promises and reassurances that never came to fruition. It felt like being caught in this cycle of hope that never materialized.

A relationship should never feel like a competition. It shouldn’t be about egos or sweeping things under the rug. It should be about mutual respect and love. But instead, love turned into resentment. Instead of fixing things, we turned on each other. When it finally ended, he decided it was the right time to tell me everything I did wrong—things he’d been bottling up for months instead of communicating like an actual partner. But here’s the truth: Nothing I did could outweigh what he put me through. He knows it. He just won’t admit it.

I could go into the specifics of every betrayal, every disappointment, and every time I felt small. But you know what? What matters now is what I’ve learned. I know what I need in a partner now. I need someone who makes time for me, someone who values my emotional depth and listens when I speak. I need someone who sees conflict as an opportunity to grow together—not as a reason to keep score. And let me be clear: I’m done dating younger. There’s a big difference between being a partner and being a caretaker. I’m not here to raise a man who should already know how to treat a woman.

The best part? I’m learning that when one door closes, another one opens. I’m still young, but I know I want to be married before 30 (lol, no time to waste). And right now, I’m seeing firsthand that when you let go of something that isn’t serving you, the universe has a way of making room for something better. I’m learning to trust that what’s meant for me will come to me when the time is right.

So, if you’re sitting in a relationship that’s making you question your worth, let me remind you: You deserve more. You deserve consistency, respect, and someone who meets you where you are—someone who doesn’t make you beg for the bare minimum. Let go of what’s not serving you, and trust that something better is on the way.

#personal #personal post #myself #talk #my day #tired #self love #self care #so real #real shit #new beginnings

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anika-kanroji16 · 3 days ago

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Zenitsu vs Stark and How I disagree

youtube

I do agree with some of his points, but I think he's WRONG when it comes to Zenitsu in several different ways

1: Zenitsu "Not facing his fears": You say Zenitsu never faces his fears of demons, but he is very much wrong and incorrect regarding this statement. Zenitsu faces his fears many times in the series, he mentions him protecting Nezuko from Inosuke despite his fear cause it was important to Tanjiro, but he's acting like that the ONLY TIME Zenitsu has faced his fear of demons. There are multiple times when Zenitsu is brave enough to face his fear of demons, despite his fear, he just refuses to acknowledge any of them.

"Outside that scene Zenitsu constantly avoids facing those fears."

Well that a fucking lie, Like I said Zenitsu faces his fears many times in the series besides from protecting the box from Inosuke, He also protected a little girl from Daki despite being afraid , Face his fear again by facing with Kaigaku the one which is responbile for his gramps death and fought him while awake, Entered the fight wth the most powerful demon alive aka Muzan dispute knowing there's a possibitly that he could die.

He went from scardey cat to a hero whhc save people and protect others dispite is fear.

"Zenitsu's solution is frustrating cause he should be gaining confidence as he fights stronger demons and enemies"

This is point that I would agree IF he isn't gaining confidence throught out the series. But Zenitsu does gain confidence throught the series and over time Zenitsu doesn't even use his sleeping method at all. Like example when Zenitsu was comforting the little girl realized that Uppermoon 6 aka Daki is behind them

He was very much afraid at first but then he gained confidence to protect the little girl against Daki once Daki started to physically hurting her and almost rip her ear off.

This is an example of Zenitsu facing his fears of demons and buliding confidence.

Another example of Zenitsu buliding confidence is the Hashira Training Arc once he found out that Gramps killing himself because of Kaigaku's transformation he continues buliding his confidence even futher ; for him to win against Kaigaku.

Then there's the fact that when he came to face Kaigaku, Zenitsu as not afraid anymore but confident in his ablities that he can win and even so confident enough to talk shit about him, he even beat and won while being awake and using his sleeping method.

He's even confident to enough to fight in the battle of Muzan for crying out loud while being awake.

So to say he ain't gaining confidence through out the series is a lie. It's thanks to Zenitsu's first act of bravey in the story that Zenitsu had enough confidence to stand up to Daki and defend the child, then thanks to those acts of bravey he continues buliding his confidence through out the Hashira Training Arc then thanks to those three things Zenitsu had enough confidence in him to stand up against Kaigaku and finally thanks to all of that Muzan himself.

You can't just sit there and say Zenitsu had no growth when his growth is unfolding RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. Again He did eventually stop using his abilty of passing out to fight and faces his fear. More especially the Zenitsu vs Kaigaku fight and During the Battle of Muzan. Once again there are times that he doesn't pass out and faces his fear like for example Zenitsu vs Kaigaku fight, During the Battle of Muzan, Protecting the box from Inosuke and Standing up to Daki aka Uppermoon 6.

And I aint repeating myself again Zenitsu goes GROW AND DEVELOP AND LEARNS TO GAIN CONFIDENCE IN HIMSELF YOU [If he ever see this] JUST REFUSE TO ADMIT. I get it Stark is a great example of having low self estasime and having fear and facing said fear but you can't just shit there and say Zenitsu doesn't faces his fear and doesn't learn to be confident in himself. BECAUSE HE DOES DO ALL THOSE THINGS for maybe don't be so blind AND SEE WHAT'S IN FRONT OF YOU.

#zenitsu agatsuma #zenitsu demon slayer #zenitsu kimetsu no yaiba #stark frieren #this is ridiculous #stop comparing #Stark isn't better than Zenitsu #stfu #Zenitsu haters in the be quiet #Zenitsu isn't better than Stark #They are both good characters when it comes to fear #Stop glazing #He's lowkey the reason why I was so hesitated to watch Freiren #Youtube

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thepalehorsevictoria · 3 days ago

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20 Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by @ollypopwrites and @razildor and I am procrastinating my negotiations analyses and 500 pp reading (whyyyyy don't do grad school, kids).

Lemme just tag @silshinobii because I cannot stop thinking about Sugar and Spores and its offshoot because it brought me Thirst Trapping!Emmrich. If @emmg or @farore05 need to procrastinate along with me, by all means.

1) How many works do you have on AO3? Ten. Fuck me.

2) What’s your AO3 word count? Aww dammit this needs math. 126,632. Granted that's been since 2013, so.

3) What are your top five fics by Kudos?-

Pater Noster, Pater Volkarin (god I really do not really like this one anymore now that I'm about to wrap up Coastline and its two sequels but eh)

Coastline Variations

The Internship

The Marriage of Volkarin and Rook

and fucking Magebane? Wowwww.

4) What fandoms do you write for? Honestly the idea of writing for anything that isn't Dragon Age terrifies the shit out of me because I genuinely don't know anything as well as I do that, so. Just DA.

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I am trying very hard to do so. Because I love them. I hoard them. When I am stuck I go back to them to see what people liked. But for the next two months my real life is going to be shit-tastic so I should probably schedule time to do just comments. Because I LOVE THEM.

6) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? [laughs in The Internship] Or maybe the extremely short thing I wrote for Hellblazer but that's so short IDK.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? It's going to be The Marriage of Volkarin and Rook once I finish it. Because c'mon.

8) Do you get hate on fics? No but I got some weird shit in my Tumblr inbox today?

9) Do you write smut? My god, I'm trying:

I wrote a lot of SebHawke smut for a while because that's what I was hyperfixated on in the worst of a decade-long depression. (DA2 probably saved me, y'all.)

But almost everything I write for EmmRook is smut because I'm sorry, have you seen that necromancer? Andraste wept when she saw Dat Ass. But I am ... trying to be better at smut. There is some AMAZING stuff in the EmmRook ao3/tumblr space. I'm glad to be a part of it and give back by working on my smut.

10) Do you write crossovers? No but I got really stoned once and came up with the idea that a Agatha All Along and American Gods and The Sandman crossover would be hella fun. And then the writer of two of those things broke my goddamn heart.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? No. I do see like a detail that I put in that ripples somewhere else every now and again but there is no fucking way I'm the one that started any of these, and I don't own shit, so, have at ye.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated? No, wait, that's a thing?

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before? No but I hope I do @bankabb proud soon. Also, do brainworms from @emmg count? Because I've done a few of those.

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship? EEESH. I do not write for Hannigram, but I was there in the Flower Crown era of the fandom and it was glorious. I love it. EmmRook is quickly becoming a big favorite because the community around it has been amazing. I was there for Superwholock and I still have the scars.

I am also the current boatswain of the Emmrich/Dorian ship.

15) What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Oh, fuck me. I have something called Open Fire, which I had on the DAKM when it was still on LJ so it was in pieces everywhere. It was a DA2 AU that started with three little words: "Corporal Sebastian Vael."

I also have The Light Remains, which was going to be Sebastian coming to rescue Hawke from when she was trapped in the Fade but I genuinely don't see myself finishing it.

16) What are your writing strengths? I genuinely could not tell you. Ich habe keine Ahnung.

17) What are your writing weaknesses? Smut and long paragraphs.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic? Attempted, because Orlesian is basically French and it's one of my half-dozen languages (and the one I know best next to English and my ancestral tongue). I can probably try Italian. The Asian languages notsomuch.

19) First fandom you wrote for? Dragon Age, my beauty. I'm still here. Oh have we said Fuck You EA yet? Because fuck you, EA.

20) Favorite fic you’ve written? The Internship was a favorite for a good while, because I had quite a bit of experience to write from. But honestly I still love the character that has become Tara Fucking Thorne so I'll still love writing her. She talks like I do.

All my love, vic 🖤

#victoria memes #victoria answers #tag games

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fizzyrodeo · 3 days ago

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my ranking of the seven deadly sins' designs in terms of personal preference. WARNING: I am not nice to Asmodeus or Beelzebub. All simps and stans have been warnen. 👇

1. Leviathan (Envy)

Rating: 8/10

I feel like the hate for her is kind of unfair, considering she's the first character we've gotten (or at least the first I've seen) that has two heads and despite being a conjoined demon she's quite cohesive while outlining the differences between her halves. I understand finding her design underwhelming, but before her there was Lucifer (who has the most basic design of them all) and then Beelzebub (whose only interesting feature are her lava bits) so I'm not sure why people are harsh on her like she's the first underwhelming one.

Anyway, I gave Levi an 8/10 because for the sins I don't typically like to fully judge until their demonic form is shown as well. I also feel like it would have been nice to see her be a bit bigger in her base form- not to the extent of Satan's size, but maybe a bit larger than Asmodeus or Mammon.

2. Satan (Wrath)

Rating: 10/10

Dare I say, this portrayal of Satan is kind of iconic. You can see the similarities between him and imp-kind, but he's not designed to just look like a giant imp (which is what most media does if it's not making him a sexy red human with horns). His size is what I'd expect it to be- really, it's nice to see a Sin that actually cares to stand out from its denizens in some way. Him basically being a giant dragon was a good choice.

Despite his rating being higher than Leviathan's, I didn't list him as first because I like looking at Leviathan more.

3. Belphegor (Sloth)

Rating: 4/10

I didn't really pay much attention to her when she was on screen, but her little details stood out to me. She only gets four points though, because not only was I unable to get a look at her full design but what I gauged from her outfit wasn't very impressive. Also, I'm not really that attached to the concept of her character. None of the sins really have roles except to maintain order within their rings I guess, but seemingly all Belphegor does is sleep.

Still, her unique details and coloring does count for something.

4. Mammon (Greed)

Rating: "eh."

Mammon goes right in the middle because I feel completely neutral on him. I know what the general consensus on his design is- too green, too patterned. But I personally can't really think of anything I'd change about him. Even knowing what a letdown his demon form is, it doesn't really impact me– I guess because by the time we got to his demon form being revealed, I was already desensitized.

5. Asmodeus (Lust)

Rating: 2/10

Definitely one of the most annoying designs in the show. I started skipping most of his scenes in S2 because I hate looking at him and his ugly-ass suits that do absolutely nothing for his figure. And as for the matter of his figure, he's just a big, disproportionately buff guy who was given the prototype design for Stolas' head. If Asmodeus wasn't built like a bird on steroids I'd probably like him better.

6. Beelzebub (Gluttony)

Rating: 3/10

Her design has some things I like– namely her ears and the lava hair (when it's under the lighting depicted). The problem is, it just doesn't give 'sin'. She fits in with her subjects too much (and no, I don't think that applies to Leviathan on the same scale).

Her outfits are really bad too. I mean, I get her basic outfit- she's a party girl- but it's basically Loona's regular outfit. She couldn't have had something a little more glam-rave? And the outfit she wore in 'Mastermind' is so random- it feels like she brought it at the last minute from a costume store, not like it's something she'd keep in her wardrobe.

The other issues with Beelzebub, from her not really embodying her sin (her and Mammon should have swapped) to her whole design feeling like another way to snub fat people out of the Vivzieverse (yes I know not all fat people are gluttonous and that gluttony doesn't just refer to food, but it's just so convenient that the embodiment of gluttony- whose whole thing is food- has a lava stomach and can't gain weight) make it really hard to like her overall.

7. Lucifer (Pride)

Rating: 1/10

He's just a disappointment. His outfit fits the circus theme Vivienne was going for, but it's negated by literally no one else in the show following that theme except Beelzebub and her crappy court costume. And personally? I would have made him look a little less angelic considering his current status, but I don't know enough about fallen angel lore (both irl and in the show) to debate if him looking so non-demonic makes sense or not.

The only reason he gets a single point is because he's still better than the absolute worst design in the show, which to me is Loona's demon form. Whoever cleared that needs to be banned from making executive decisions in this show.

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss leviathan #helluva boss satan #helluva boss belphegor #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss asmodeus #helluva boss beelzebub #helluva boss lucifer #art criticism

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chasingfigments · 24 hours ago

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Wheel of Time, Season 3, Episodes 1-3

Some scattered thoughts about the first three episodes of the season, including vague full book series spoilers.

(Why vague, you ask? Because I've only read the series once, and a majority of that was over twenty years ago at this point, and I am disinclined to do in-depth research for this post beyond googling spelling.)

1) I appreciate that they're having Siuan lay the groundwork for her own destruction. I'll admit, the coup caught me entirely off guard in the books, but here I can see the very careful build up:

Barring one Ajah's Sitters from the Hall.

Revealing that only 11 people (a simple majority) are needed for a vote to pass.

Siuan did not deny Liandrin's charges, and instead dodged them with the Black Ajah reveal, while still admitting that if Liandrin were telling the truth, Siuan could be deposed for what she did in Cairhien.

A number of Sitters were killed in that fight, and between that and the four that jumped to Liandrin's help, the Hall is going to have a chunk of (probably) new Sitters who may not be inclined charitably toward Siuan.

Sending Tsutama out with (presumably) seven of Tsutama's hand-picked Reds, leaves Galina and Elaida behind for power grabbing. This is extra bad for Siuan given that Tsutama seems opposed to Elaida from the start (by refusing that gift).

2) I think the show is going to keep masking/inverting weaves as a thing, primarily because Egwene did not see any of Lanfear's weaves in the "mirror" bubble of evil. We were firmly in Egwene's POV in that scene, so the audience should have seen something. Nynaeve also didn't see what was happening with the playing cards and Mat. (Then again, it's possible that the weaves were small/subtle enough Egwene/Nynaeve didn't spot them...but I'm not willing to do a frame-by-frame rewatch looking for that)

3) This is contrast to the very clever split-second pauses before Rahvin used compulsion on a BUNCH of characters in episode 2. No one in Tar Valon was capable of seeing him do that, so the audience didn't see it either. I do hope the show continues to play with POV like that now that more of the Forsaken are out.

4) LOLing over the Forsaken meetup where they point out that last time they were all fighting each other only for Rahvin to turn around and be dealing with Moghedien behind Lanfear's and Sammael's backs. And we've got confirmation that Nae'blis is still a thing.

5) Yesssssss, we're keeping Semirhage. Given the Forsaken statues we saw in season 1, sounds like we're getting Asmodean. I'm not sure if I want Semirhage fucking about with the Seanchan (we saw Ishamael doing that last season) or if I want her to take over Mesaana's plot. Maybe she can have a cold open of murdering the Empress and then jaunt over to the White Tower.

6) Mazrim name drops! Is Taimandred not happening? Or are we getting Mazrim's ascension much sooner? Either way, I hope this means Shara doesn't come out of left field in the last battle because that made no fucking sense. Taimandred did, and I'll never not be angry that it didn't happen. XD

7) Thank god they changed the Morgase + Rhavin plot, btw. I'm glad that in 2025 we're not going to have "competent queen destroys her queendom by going crazy over Some Guy" + slutshaming that happened in the books. I like that we saw Morgase murder her formal rivals to secure her power because when she starts cleaning house in Andor (we got that Bryne name drop, so there's some alienation going on already), it's not out of character for her to do this--she's purged folks before. This also makes Elayne's eventual succession crisis have even higher stakes, because like fuck is anyone going to want to fold to her once they've made their own claim because they remember what her mother did when she won.

8) It does not seem like the Choedan Kal + access keys are going to be a thing. We'll miss out on some great visuals without the giant statues, but we also won't get the Amayar's mass suicide, so that's fine with me.

9) Mat's slow build-up of annoyance with Galad and Gawyn was hilarious and made his eventual beatdown of them immensely satisfying.

10) We've already got Galad's disdain for Aes Sedai! (Though that does not stop him from fucking Novices/Accepted. XD) I wonder if we'll actually see his recruitment to the Whitecloaks in the show.

11) The Gray Men are horrifying (and also I hope we see some actual female Soulless because those were allegedly a thing we never got to see on page). Let Moghedien take a lady apart in a horrifying manner!

12) Awww, I want Mat and Min to make up eventually. Her new viewing of him was horrifying (but fun! because of course that was going to happen I do not understand why so many people thought we'd totally miss the Snakes & Foxes in the leadup to this season??? why was that even a serious worry).

13) I'm not necessarily opposed to Aiel taking in outsiders (though Tigraine was a pretty notable exception, from what I remember?), but I'm a little surprised they're repurposing Melindhra and using that as backstory for her. I doubt they'll have Lan hook up with her, but I guess this hint of a connection to Malkier could serve as a way to get her close with Lan (since Mat's off to Tanchico).

14) Very much appreciate that the show is not glossing over Egwene's PTSD or Mat's--PTSD from prior lives? (I'm not sure how to classify it, but he's also having a hard time right now.)

15) Awww, Bain and Chiad flirting with Loial was very cute. I do like that they're following Loial here, and I'm going to assume Aviendha fulfilled her toh to Perrin in the battle at Falme.

16) Ryma is free! 😭😭😭

17) ON THAT NOTE, I think we're actually going to avoid the endless the-black-Ajah-and-Seanchan-don't-exist-or-if-they-do-they-aren't-threats nonsense in the books. The White Tower was so infuriating in the books under Elaida's rule, but they've got the attack in the Hall, they have Ryma and her testimony, and the show is putting its work in to make its antagonists competent instead of caricatures, so I doubt they'll backslide and deny those things.

18) Not at all worried about not seeing Egwene and Elayne's Accepted tests--we got the "full length" version of Nynaeve's last season, and we'll certainly get flashbacks to Egwene and Elayne's as they are relevant. We had other things that had to be covered first.

19) Elayne and Aviendha hooking up is the best change they could have made to Rand's harem plotline.

20) Liandrin rescuing that child bride was both very nice and also horrifying, but hey, mind wiped and alive is probably better than dead? XD

#wheel of time #wot on prime #wot s3 spoilers #wot book spoilers #wot show spoilers

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