#pre-slash more like

[the-balloon-shed]

imma be honest I want to make a fic of this one day but for right now you just get me running wild with this headcanon

you know how there's those videos of surgeons being "inspirational" to their interns and then saying the meanest shit in the world? yeah, I think that's Iceman as an instructor at TOPGUN. 

Just the dry, rough sense of humor? The perfectly attenuated phrase in order to knock the arrogance out of some of these scrappy pilots? That's Iceman. The evidence is there in TG86! it's ICE who is saying the most bratty shit to Maverick. His criticisms are almost always valid or born of a real curiosity that's worth looking into, which I think is key, but he expresses it in the rudest and most inciting way possible. 

"Who was covering Cougar while you were showboating --"; (in response to Slider's calling Goose and Mav "famous") "I think you mean notorious"; "I don't like you 'cause you're dangerous" -- I mean Ice is right but he's also a bitch. (we don't have time to unpack ALL of what went into Ice goading Maverick seconds after meeting him with "need help figuring it out? who's the best pilot?" like my god man). 

So, some contenders for some of the commentary Ice might have for his students -- 

"Keep flying like that, I'm going to assume you're getting kickbacks from the military hospital." 

"I can only hope one day you fly for the enemy." 

"I was thrilled to hear the Navy's policy initiative for accommodating more disabilities went into action this year, however, I do think they should reconsider sending me blind pilots." 

"Are you on your wingman's life insurance or something?" 

"What did I say about making the same mistake twice?" "At least tell you I've learned something?" "No. What I said is don't." 

"Resist the urge to help me."

"I'm not looking for the best you can do. I'm looking for the best, period. So if you can't do any better, I suggest trying to emulate somebody else who can." 

"Well, you're no Artful Dodger, but artless dodging kept you alive well enough this time, I suppose." (I think it would be funny if he incidentally gave this poor pilot the callsign Dodger because of this, or A.D. for Artless Dodger)

"Did the Academy change its curriculum? Emphasize the element of surprise?" "Um... why do you ask, sir?" "Because you fly like you've never been inside a plane before." 

And I think he might say this to a colleague trying to pull rank over him that he neither respects nor cares about:

"I've neither the time, nor the crayons, to explain this to you." 

I think Mav would be so annoyed, too. "why do I have the reputation for being hard to work with when you're going around saying the meanest crap to these kids?" 

All Ice would do is laugh. "Sounds like a personal problem." 

Not to say that Ice is an asshole without restraint. Hell, the Iceman is all about restraint. He doesn't kick people when they're down. He doesn't say cutting stuff like this to people who are genuinely trying and not being a showoff. This is to knock overly arrogant kids down a few pegs, not send people into a shame self-doubting spiral, and Ice is usually pretty damn good at walking that line. 

Like, I imagine one of the students not understanding something to do with the physics portions of their classes and so he goes to Ice super nervous about getting reamed, and Ice is very patient with him. When Mav comes in and starts talking to Ice about instructor stuff, the student goes "oh, I can come back later, you know I think I'm getting it!" out of fear of wasting Ice's time and Ice would chuckle and be like "no, you clearly don't get it, and that's fine. Easier to teach you on dry land as opposed to up in the air, so let's keep working through it. Long as Mav's not about to talk to me about anything confidential --" which Mav shakes his head no "--alright, then how about you sit right there and keep working at it until you get it, and you will get it. If you've got the time, I've got the time, so let's get it done," and the kid stays in the office and keeps working at it for hours, occasionally checking his work with Mav and Ice until, voila, he does actually get it and also has a whole new understanding of Ice. 

Or if, god forbid, anyone had an accident, Ice would be all over trying to help with that (and help Mav work through it too) and protecting the students from any fallout from the brass because fuck them, they don't know what it's like to be in the air anymore. 

I also think that before the TOPGUN class starts, Ice would find Mav checking on all the canopies of all the jets and, once Ice realized that was what Mav was doing, would spend the next several hours with him helping out and making sure everything was operating properly, even though engineering had already looked at them. Can never be too sure, and if it provides Mav peace of mind, then Ice will do it, no questions asked. 

And so, despite saying some of the rudest crap most of these students have ever heard, they all love him. They all respect the ever-living-crap out of him, and learn to find him actually just kind of funny. It'd be a lot harder to like him if he were wrong, but he's so rarely wrong that in the end even the ones who do get pissed off at him manage to calm down. Students, as they graduate and leave TOPGUN, would probably talk to other graduating classes when they meet them on deployments like "oh my god, what did he say to your class?" "he once said --" "I didn't find it funny then but now I laugh every time I think about it -- " "he helped me figure out how to do..." so on so forth. 

There are a couple of the brass that aren't amused, but I think that's where Mav would come into play in his own way. Because Ice is good at what he does, and Mav sure as hell wants him around, and so should everyone else. Ice is just also not afraid to be an asshole about being good -- which the last person this is news to is Maverick. 

Maverick's just the only one Ice has encountered who can give as good as he gets, which is why as instructors, they do a pretty damn good job working together to whip their classes into shape. It's just funny that never in a million years did Mav think he'd be the "good cop" in their good cop/bad cop instructor situation, but he's resigned himself to his fate all the same. 

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!

[popcorn-plots]

who you say you are

i feel like shit so here we are

possible TW for discussions of periods and everything that happens during them, like bleeding through three layers of clothing (that was a wonderful night)

Stephen hated his periods. He hated the general feeling of unwellness during that week, and he hated having to clean blood out of everything after he inevitably bled through.. everything. The worst part about it, however, wasn't even the blood. It was the dysphoria. It was the fact that every month, his period would bring the lies of his mind, telling him that he wasn't a real man and never would be. That he was weak for whining about it.

That he was never Stephen and he never would be. That he was too feminine, or that he was never 'good enough' to pass as a man. The worst was his mind telling him that he'd always be a girl, that deep down... he was never Stephen in the first place. He was just little Lucy, trying on her dad's shirt.

On those days, Stephen would curl up on his bed, clutching a hot water bottle. Cloak would hold him as he sobbed, telling himself over and over again, like a mantra, that his name was Stephen Strange. On those days, he would ask Wong not to bother him, despite every fiber of his being yearning to be held, begging for someone to call him handsome and take away the pain.

He didn't think that Wong knew. He was near-positive that Wong had no idea that Stephen was trans. As far as the other sorcerer knew, Stephen was just another man. A man with a broken soul to match his broken hands and scarred chest.

~

It was one of those days (Dark Days, Stephen called them) when Stephen was in his room, clutching a pillow to his chest. A second was between his legs, pressed to his crotch. It was surprisingly helpful when dealing with cramps, the pressure on his lower abdomen easing the discomfort. Unfortunately, he had forgotten his heading pad in the library from when he last used it and when he finally needed it again, he was too comfortable to get it.

Magic was out of the option as well considering just how horrible he felt between the pain, dysphoria, and his hands. It was a bad hand day, because of course, and he really didn't want to move. Which, unfortunately, meant breathing through the pain and trying not to cry.

Eventually, he managed to fall into a light sleep, nodding off then jolting awake again. He woke up in a way that jarred his hands and he groaned. It might be time to sacrifice his comfort for some much-desired relief.

He was mentally preparing himself to climb out of bed when there was a knock at the door. "Stephen?"

Stephen blinked. "..Wong..?"

"You left your heating pad in the library." Wong announced.

Stephen sighed. "I know. Leave me alone."

"I warmed it up for you. I thought you might need it. May I come in?" Stephen didn't respond. Wong had found his heating pad and warmed it up for him. For a second, Stephen wondered if Wong knew, but he had hidden it so well-- "Stephen?"

"...yeah. you can come in."

There was a click as the doorknob turned, then Wong was walking across the room in brisk strides, stopping in front of the nest of blankets that was Stephen Strange. "Here." he set the heating pad down near Stephen's hands. "I also have tea and some of your painkillers. It's raining today."

Stephen let out a shaky breath. Maybe Wong was just looking out for his hands. That would explain it, right? But Wong was never so... caring. Aside from his the week after Everest and his usual quiet help when Stephen needed to handle large stacks of books.

"You're paler than usual. If you turned yourself into a vampire on accident, I will kill you again." Stephen huffed.

"I'm not a vampire."

Wong reached out a hand and felt Stephen's forehead. Stephen nearly froze at the contact, but didn't say anything. He tried to look anywhere but Wong until the hand was gone. "You're not running a temperature."

"I'm trans." Stephen found himself blurting out.

Wong looked at him. Blinked. "Do you need any supplies?"

Supplies...?

"Pads, tampons? You disappear in your room once every four weeks, only coming out for food and when you do, you look horrible. Deathly pale, hunched over as if in pain, it wasn't hard to figure out."

Stephen looked up at his friend. Wong had taken a seat in the armchair next to Stephen's bed -- one of the large library chairs that had found itself in Stephen's room after a few too many vigils of Wong's when Stephen found himself injured.

"You... you never said anything."

"If you wanted me to know, you would have told me when the time was right."

"You... always made my favorite meals."

Wong huffed a rare smile. "I have never menstruated, but I can sympathy. I have a sister. She was always... vocal with.. everything. I did what I could to make her feel better."

Stephen smiled. "It sounds like you love her."

"Very much." Wong was smiling ever so slightly. Stephen found that watching Wong smile seemed to take the pain away.

"What's her name?"

"Li." It was soft, spoken just above a whisper. "You'd like her."

"Li. Pretty name." Stephen sighed. "Mine was-- is--"

"Stephen."

Stephen paused. He stared at Wong. Wong stared back. "Your name is Stephen. You are Stephen Strange. Do not give me your dead name. It is dead for a reason. You are who you say you are, not what someone else wants you to be. You told me on your very first day that your name is Stephen Strange. That is who you are. If you wish for me to use a different name, then I will. I respect you, and I will respect you, whoever you decide to be."

Stephen swallowed, tears pricking his eyes. He refused to let himself cry in front of Wong, of all people. Wong looked at him again and nodded. "You are Stephen Strange. Remember that."

Before he knew it, Wong had closed the door behind him and Stephen was sobbing into his pillow.

A few hours later, Stephen woke up feeling a hundred times better than before. He decided to find his way to the kitchen for dinner, now that the cramps had disappeared.

He found Wong at the stove, making friend rice. Wong's go-to comfort food that had quickly become Stephen's as well."

"Thank you." Stephen whispered. Wong responded by dishing Stephen and himself a large helping of rice.

"Of course, Stephen."

[penguinloki]

I think I just got queerbaited by a fanfic. Weird feeling.

[dracomort]

What are some nextgen fics you would recommend? 💖

So I haven't read that much next gen, but what I've read was top quality. This was very delayed because I was searching high and low for a fic, only to realise it was the 5th highest kudos'd Scorp/James fic 💀

Astra Inclinant by eleventy7

James Sirius Potter/Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy

"The stars incline us, they do not bind us." For Harry, it's something he learned long ago on the battlefield. But for his son, James, it will be a painful lesson in the form of a friendship with a boy named Scorpius Malfoy.

Fantastic character work and both funny and a real tearjerker at times. I do consider this a literature quality fic. Perhaps not surprising since it's eleventy7. Harry and Draco's friendship here is also really compelling (I ship it, of course).

Houses (orphaned)

James Sirius Potter/Scorpius Malfoy

Scorpius Malfoy goes away to school. And James Potter's legs keep invading his personal space.

I honestly can't talk in much detail on this one as I only read it once several years ago. But I remember I loved the portrayal of all the characters—warts and all. Probably not a fic for those who like Draco depicted as a good father, but I found it realistic, albeit depressing, considering his own upbringing, personality and war trauma.

My all time fave next gen fic is 'Coda to an Epilogue' by Maya, but as I mentioned to you in DMs, I won't link it since it has been deleted. But I loove Harry's character voice, the portrayal of the kids—Scorpius in particular, it's not a common Scorp portrayal... reminds me a bit of Tom, actually—and I love Draco's OC wife. I'd like to see more non-Astoria versions of Draco's wife in fic tbh. Another thing I like about 'Houses'.

[theokusgallery]

Unlike the other anon I wanna see Nick get worse his deranged behavior is very entertaining :3

Yeah same. He's my creepy little guy. I wanna see him get increasingly unhinged and obsessed and I want to see Sunny slowly realise what the Fuck he's gotten himself into.

Also yeah !! That video is very Nick-coded. (be careful with links though, especially on anon)

[impulsivemuses]

@brawlligator

"Look buddy, there's a LOT more people that deserve getting their skull beat than I do." Of course, that didn't excuse the beatings he did to other people... or the blaster holes he fried someone's head with... or even threaten people. He's just a runaway kid looking for a quick credit chip. An excuse to say 'fuck you' to his parent's heritage. The nineteen-year-old chuffed. "Listen if I give you credits, will you lay off my back?" Money would make people do anything for the right price, at the very least that's what he's learned in his lifetime.

[trashbatistrash]

,

[reinemichele]

The epic highs and lows of a new it-see song

[reasonsforhope]

It’s an open secret in fashion. Unsold inventory goes to the incinerator; excess handbags are slashed so they can’t be resold; perfectly usable products are sent to the landfill to avoid discounts and flash sales. The European Union wants to put an end to these unsustainable practices. On Monday, [December 4, 2023], it banned the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear.

“It is time to end the model of ‘take, make, dispose’ that is so harmful to our planet, our health and our economy,” MEP Alessandra Moretti said in a statement. “Banning the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear will contribute to a shift in the way fast fashion manufacturers produce their goods.”

This comes as part of a broader push to tighten sustainable fashion legislation, with new policies around ecodesign, greenwashing and textile waste phasing in over the next few years. The ban on destroying unsold goods will be among the longer lead times: large businesses have two years to comply, and SMEs have been granted up to six years. It’s not yet clear on whether the ban applies to companies headquartered in the EU, or any that operate there, as well as how this ban might impact regions outside of Europe.

For many, this is a welcome decision that indirectly tackles the controversial topics of overproduction and degrowth. Policymakers may not be directly telling brands to produce less, or placing limits on how many units they can make each year, but they are penalising those overproducing, which is a step in the right direction, says Eco-Age sustainability consultant Philippa Grogan. “This has been a dirty secret of the fashion industry for so long. The ban won’t end overproduction on its own, but hopefully it will compel brands to be better organised, more responsible and less greedy.”

Clarifications to come

There are some kinks to iron out, says Scott Lipinski, CEO of Fashion Council Germany and the European Fashion Alliance (EFA). The EFA is calling on the EU to clarify what it means by both “unsold goods” and “destruction”. Unsold goods, to the EFA, mean they are fit for consumption or sale (excluding counterfeits, samples or prototypes)...

The question of what happens to these unsold goods if they are not destroyed is yet to be answered. “Will they be shipped around the world? Will they be reused as deadstock or shredded and downcycled? Will outlet stores have an abundance of stock to sell?” asks Grogan.

Large companies will also have to disclose how many unsold consumer products they discard each year and why, a rule the EU is hoping will curb overproduction and destruction...

Could this shift supply chains?

For Dio Kurazawa, founder of sustainable fashion consultancy The Bear Scouts, this is an opportunity for brands to increase supply chain agility and wean themselves off the wholesale model so many rely on. “This is the time to get behind innovations like pre-order and on-demand manufacturing,” he says. “It’s a chance for brands to play with AI to understand the future of forecasting. Technology can help brands be more intentional with what they make, so they have less unsold goods in the first place.”

Grogan is equally optimistic about what this could mean for sustainable fashion in general. “It’s great to see that this is more ambitious than the EU’s original proposal and that it specifically calls out textiles. It demonstrates a willingness from policymakers to create a more robust system,” she says. “Banning the destruction of unsold goods might make brands rethink their production models and possibly better forecast their collections.”

One of the outstanding questions is over enforcement. Time and again, brands have used the lack of supply chain transparency in fashion as an excuse for bad behaviour. Part of the challenge with the EU’s new ban will be proving that brands are destroying unsold goods, not to mention how they’re doing it and to what extent, says Kurazawa. “Someone obviously knows what is happening and where, but will the EU?”"

-via British Vogue, December 7, 2023

[silkentine]

Wha--?! Silk finally finished her fem Zoro design after (checks notes) literally 6 months since she made the canvas in procreate?

I'll break down design thoughts and share some fun bonus pics under the cut:

I LOVE long hair on Zoro, I think that was the first change I wanted to implement. Zoro in canon actually has a really interesting relationship with gender dynamics which (if for some reason you're reading this and you haven't watched One Piece) can seem out of left field for the "dumb brute" character. His rivalry with and reverence for Kuina suggests he doesn't adhere to the idea that women are weaker than men. Later on, however, during his confrontation with Monet and Tashigi during Punk Hazard, his hesitation to slash her down reveals that he's subconsciously over-protective of women because he thinks they're inherently weaker. I actually don't have any problem with this character trait, I think it makes him feel more real as a person and he obviously gets shit-talked enough about it in the story itself. But how did I want to reflect these beliefs if Zoro had been born a woman? Easy: internalized misogyny and applying value to herself via her appearance.

My version of Zoro grew up wanting to fight with swords but her only chance of entering the dojo was to work under the proprietress, Lady Shimotsuki to maintain the property, cook meals for the male students, and eventually be a good wife to the current heir, Kuina. She learns that, to get what she wants, she must be the ideal woman, even if she stays up all night training swordsmanship with Kuina when she isn't supposed to. He treats her love for swordplay seriously and treats her like an equal, which sparks a bond between them and eventually leads to Zoro's goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman after his sudden, accidental death.

After years of intense training (now that Lady Shimotsuki admits that she'll need a new heir and Zoro is the closest thing she has) Zoro's finally old enough to leave and begin her journey. She starts letting go of the idea that she has to look pulled together to be taken seriously because she can just kill anyone who looks down on her. Her clothing falls into disrepair, she wears outfits that help her move in combat, and she starts tossing her hair up into messy, knotted buns under her bandana. Even so, she keeps her hair long like rolling hills of grass. (At least during pre-timeskip. She lops off her hair to prove to Mihawk that she's serious about being trained.)

I've put her in a thin sweater that she stitches (poorly) back together after her first interaction with Mihawk. (I kept one sleeve because I was inspired by the santoryuu Nami that Oda drew that one time.) I also wanted to girl-ify the ubiquitous haramaki so I picked leg warmers for her because I think they're sufficiently "dated" enough to be kinda analogous with his old man belly warmer. I also love gyaru fashion, sue me.

Here is a screenshot of her as a blonde:

And here is a sketch of her post-timeskip where she's fully embraced her butch nature:

Hubba hubba, am I right?

Check out my tag "girl piece original design" to see more of my genderbending art! Next post, I'll put all my East Blue Crew designs together! I can't believe it's taken this long but I AM SO HAPPPPPYYYYY

[egophiliac]

hello! i wanted to say first that i'm a MASSIVE fan of your work hehe. but i'm curious if you've ever said it before-- who are your favorite twst characters and why?

thank you! 💚💜💚

honestly I like pretty much all the characters a lot, but diasomnia definitely holds my heart (and my art). all four of them are my special little guys. episode 7 has been such a delightful treat for me and me specifically. >:)

pre-episode 7 I would've said I couldn't choose between all of my beautiful morons, but getting Lilia's backstory did shoot him up into the #1 favorite-of-the-favorites boy slot! he's an old man who's done with all that war and tragedy business and is now focused on the most important part of life: playing video games and wearing cute outfits! he's 5'2" and built like a twig but he can suplex anyone in the room! he's really bad at pretending to be an Average Teen! what's not to love

also I just. really enjoy how main story Lilia is all:

and every-other-story Lilia is more like:

the duality of grampa. it's real good.

THAT SAID I am also extremely fond of our esteemed headmaster-slash-horrible bird dad. he's a fancy goth with the soul of a harried accountant. he might be the mastermind behind the entire plot, or he might just be an idiot. he might be both at once. he's awful. he's magnificent.

[jeonstellate]

the ghost of legacy

a legacy joins the paddock for the season — and oscar is the only one not keen on befriending her.

ᯓ★ oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

ᯓ★ brief mentions of weight, sainz-leclerc divorce, & wound; depictions of insecurity, grid chaos, & confusion/denial

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist | the ghost of you masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ all italian & spanish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

ᯓ★ this is the second part of a mini-series, which masterlist is linked above :]

The dawn of a season carries fresh, untainted hope. It brings a clean slate in most things — and in everything that matters. It resets the clock back at zero, and draws a mint coat for the starting line. It opens a new book with blank pages, awaiting fresh ink to flow and fill it with something worth remembering.

As poetic as those sound, Oscar can’t care any less. A new season’s a new season, meaning — for the most part — another chance at winning either championships.

For the remaining part? It means coming back to Monza, A-K-A where he met [first name] for three years in a row.

The Italian Grand Prix is still a lifetime away, but there are already moments where he finds himself wondering if she’ll still drop by and ask about Fernando’s whereabouts this season as well. With three consecutive years under their belts, it kind of feels like a tradition by this point. It’ll be too much of a shame if they break it so close to the fifth anniversary.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to ask the older driver about his niece, but he’s also a little scared of what the other might do if he shows interest. Fernando looks like he’ll slash his tires as a form of intimidation. He doesn’t seem to be above purposely making contact during a race to prove a point, either.

It’s not like he can cut the middle man altogether. He only got her first name. There are a lot of [first name]s in existence. An Instagram search won’t cut it, especially if her profile picture isn’t of herself. A browser search will be just as impossible, if not even more so.

Oscar lets out a sigh without realizing. Is it better, after all, to let the universe decide if they should continue their little tradition?

"It’s not that bad," he hears Lando say next to him. They’re currently in the general hospitality, with a tray of free food they were promised for attending the pre-season ‘grid bonding’ and meetings. As the hospitality doesn’t open until the season officially starts, it’s just everyone in the paddock — the drivers and the crews — occupying the floors.

He looks at his teammate for that, silently hoping he’ll get a clue on what he’s talking about, because he has absolutely no idea what conversation topic they’re currently on. He didn’t mean to zone out but, alas, it’s just so easy to.

He decides to take a shot in the dark, after a moment of not perceiving any clues. He assumes — based on nothing — that he’s talking about the food. "The presentation might be intentionally deceiving."

Lando isn’t impressed. "You just need to gaslight yourself and think it’s good, if that’s really the case."

"No need! It’s actually good!" Pierre interrupts from one of the full six-seater tables. "Try the soup!"

Oscar isn’t really sure if he trusts Pierre’s tastebuds but he thanks him, anyway.

He guides Lando to sit at the eight-seater table next to Pierre’s group, albeit intentionally at the further side so he doesn’t feel pressured to socialize in the beginning of his lunch. He sits on the second seat from the edge, diagonally from the laptop he’s assuming someone forgot to take with them. Lando sits directly across him.

They eat in silence. Normally, one of them initiates a conversation over food. Today, though, Oscar lets his teammate clear his tray without a word. The other had — wisely and questionably — foregone eating breakfast to make the promised buffet worth his while.

He munches on his lunch thoughtfully, uninterested in taking advantage of the free buffet to the fullest. He — as the rest of the grid — has to watch his weight this close to the first race of the season, anyway, to avoid the risk of jeopardizing the car’s speed. He’s not really a fan of intensifying his gym workouts to burn extra calories if he eats way past his normal fill, either.

He zones out while looking directly at the stickers on the laptop cover. He’s not completely foreign to such practice, since his own sisters have decorated their personal laptops with a collection of stickers. As such, he knows how the stickers and their placements essentially show a portion of the laptop owner’s personality and interests.

Deciphering the laptop owner’s interests proves to be a good ‘during lunch’ activity. It doesn’t require a lot of thinking since most of them are pretty straightforward. Some are definitely out of context. The rest are completely obscure to him, which he doesn’t think too deeply about.

Then there’s a selected few that Oscar feels he should know, like the W resembling a fire and the RKN, but is currently blanking on.

The third general hospitality floor, by some coincidence or another, houses all drivers — reserved or otherwise — for lunch. They aren’t the only people on it, as there as also crew members scattered around, but it’s a bit impressive that the entire grid chose to settle on the same floor. Perhaps it’s an (un)intentional consequence of the grid bonding they’re forced to participate in.

Oscar gains more tablemates halfway through his first plate when Ollie and Kimi sit on the edge closest to Pierre’s group. He gains a seatmate when Alex sits next to him and George appears next to Lando.

There’s some sort of harmony in the chaos of overlapping conversations. Even more so when the tables talk to each other without bothering to get up.

Oscar thinks the chaos already peaked when the British and French drivers started defending their respective cuisines from the other’s attacks. Unfortunately, he’s eventually proven wrong when someone makes a deal out of someone else’s entrance to the floor.

"—laptop on a table," he hears a voice say. He can’t see whoever it is, though, since they’re blocked from his view by another.

"Go grab it first then I’ll introduce you to our drivers." The person blocking his view — someone from Williams, judging from the team uniform — moves slightly, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of the other.

He sees the same Williams polo shirt first. Then— the matrix must’ve glitched.

He doesn’t remember blinking nor zoning out, but the next second he comprehends has [first name] diagonal from him across the table.

It feels wrong — and he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is. It is the fact that they’re currently worlds away from Monza? Or the fact that she’s wearing nothing that can get her mistaken as a tifoso?

[First name] gives him a wordless nod of recognition before excusing herself to the rest of the table, her laptop tucked between her arm and side.

"Osc, do you know her?" Someone in front whispers to him. He can’t be bothered to identify which gridmate, though, much less give them a reply. After all, his attention has stuck to [first name] like a moth to a flame.

Oscar has no shame about blatantly listening in on a conversation he obviously isn’t a part of.

"Alex, Carlos, this is our engineering intern for this year," the Williams crew member introduces the three. "She’ll be shadowing your race engineers alternatively."

"I’m Alex Albon, car twenty-three." He watches Alex as the latter holds a hand out for a handshake. "Welcome to team Williams."

[First name] takes his hand, "A pleasure."

Carlos reacts late, so it’s almost as if he’s hesitant to introduce himself. "Carlos Sainz, car fifty-five." Unlike his teammate, he doesn’t offer his hand for a shake. He just nods his head once — which she then returns with the same energy. "I see I got custody of you in the divorce."

[First name] lets out a laugh that doesn’t even reach Oscar’s ears. "[First name] Räikkönen — a child of the Sainz-Leclerc divorce, apparently."

Räikkönen?

Kimi Räikkönen?

Oscar must admit, despite understanding that her father is a former Formula One driver since last year, this revelation is still surprising. It isn’t unexpected, as Kimi Räikkönen was one of his top suspects then, but shock is definitely still there.

Probably because he now has an irrefutable evidence that the ghost of Monza is actually an F1 champion’s daughter.

And because there’s also a small part of him that feels embarrassed for not realizing right away. After all, [first name] wears her father’s number proudly — and her favored RKN logo is close enough to his RKKNN. Quite literally, the answer has been right in front of him this entire time.

"Räikkönen? Like Kimi Räikkönen?" Alex echoes his thoughts unknowingly. "That’s so cool."

"Exactly like Kimi Räikkönen," she replies good naturally. "He’s the one who passed it onto me."

The younger Williams driver is handling the revelation better than he is, as far as he can tell. But maybe that’s because Alex didn’t spend a good year thinking she’s a ghost. "No way."

"Yeah, [first name]," Charles pipes up from his seat at Pierre’s table. "No way you broke the Ferrari alliance!"

[First name] looks over to the side to meet Charles’ eyes. "There is no such thing."

"There is so!"

She doesn’t give the Monégasque the satisfaction of responding. Instead, she just returns her attention to the Williams drivers. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Albon, Carlos."

She gives them a smile so genuine, the media would’ve scrambled to capture it — partly in disbelief that a Räikkönen could smile like so.

And, for a brief moment, Oscar could’ve sworn [first name]’s smile widens a little when their eyes meet.

(Un)fortunately, she’s gone before he can think too much about it.

The paddock stayed the same with [first name] Räikkönen around, more or less. ‘More’ because the fight for the title is still as cutthroat as the last with new rivalries, without necessarily interfering with the civility between them drivers. ‘Less’ because her presence has caused some drivers to gravitate towards her — unintentionally orbiting her every chance they get.

Fernando is a given. As are Charles and Carlos, based on their already-founded closeness in the hospitality. Alex follows soon after. Then Max.

That’s not an exhaustive list. If it had been, most of the grid would’ve been name-dropped, for sure. Maybe even have all— except one. Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t feel deserving of being [first name]’s friend, for a reason he can’t really put into words. [First name] is . . . [first name]. And he’s . . . just Oscar.

He doesn’t ignore her, of course, nor does he pretend she isn’t there when they cross paths. He just doesn’t go out of his way to be closer than acquaintances and gain her favor. He exchanges brief ‘hello’s with her whenever they meet going opposite ways. He returns her nods and waves of acknowledgment from across rooms, and has initiated them on occasion whenever he spots her first.

He doesn’t take detours to drop her off to her destination. He doesn’t sit with her whenever she’s alone, either. Because then, it’ll be a quiet kind of friendship — and he can’t be her friend.

He’s just her acquaintance, at best, and he’s content with that.

After all, [first name] has more than enough new friends. She doesn’t need him — his friendship, that is.

For her part, she seems to respect the invisible line he has drawn between them. Almost as if she can see it as well as he does.

But, perhaps, it isn’t actually as defined for her. For she has no qualms about crashing his pity party on a sidewalk.

"Are you lactose intolerant?" [First name] appears in front of him seemingly out of nowhere.

Oscar takes a second to process what just happened. Even then, he’s still not sure if he’s understanding correctly. ". . . No?"

She nods, almost approvingly, before handing him a paper bag. "Here."

"What’s—" He starts before she can commence her regular habit of disappearing.

[First name], who is already steps away from him, turns back to face him once more. "My dad says it makes everything feel better."

He lets her go after that, albeit her response just made him even more confused.

When he finally opens the paper bag, Oscar finds a spoon, a bottle of water, and a sealed half-pint of gelato in his favorite flavor.

Something in his chest stirs.

The general hospitality is set to house the entirety of the grid drivers for the nth time this season. Another drivers’ meeting is scheduled to start in thirty minutes, and — in true fashion — less than half have made their way up to the room.

By the time Oscar shows up with a pack of others he met on the way, majority of the rookies are already there. Punctuality has obviously not been drained — or, at the very least, influenced — out of their systems.

"George!" Kimi calls for his teammate’s attention as soon as he spots him amongst the crowd that’s barely entering. "Can we adopt [first name]?"

George’s confusion is evident in his stance. Behind him, Oscar needs to stifle an amused laugh. "What?"

"She sang the Italian national anthem for me!" In all honesty, he isn’t following the Italian rookie’s logic. Thankfully, he isn’t the one who needs to respond. "She can also speak Italian!"

He enjoys the view of the older Mercedes driver buffering for an answer from the seat he secured next to Carlos. Even more so when the younger one of the duo pulls out a pleading look with his "please."

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to, but George eventually replies with a non-answer. "You should probably ask Toto about that, Kimi."

"No! [First name]’s ours!" Alex disproves, protectively. "Get your own [first name]!"

"She was ours first!" Charles joins in. The Monégasque likes reminding people she’s a tifoso first, before anything else, during moments like these. He hasn’t quite moved on from the fact that she chose to intern at Williams rather than Ferrari. "Why do you think she knows the Italian national anthem by heart!"

Lewis lets him do all the talking, as Carlos does with Alex. Both seem to have — wisely — figured out [first name] will put a stop to it soon enough, with or without their varied inputs.

And, sure enough indeed, a high pitched sound comes from the speakers built around the room — which instinctively makes everyone cover their ears.

"Princesa!" Oscar can somewhat hear Fernando scold somewhere behind him. "Stop—"

Thankfully, the sound stops within three seconds — and before they actually have to plead for their hearing.

Ever the nonchalant, [first name] merely scans the crowd of betrayed and confused looks before nodding to herself, "Good." It is then that he realizes she used the feedback to silence the room, with the least energy wasted possible.

He knows there’s a chance that might’ve just sent the room into more chaos. After all, they might all be grown up, but they can also a bunch of children sometimes. It was a fair gamble and yet, somehow, she looks like she was completely certain.

He salutes her for that; for having confidence and conviction on par with that of a Formula One driver.

"You’re our race engineer intern, no?" Carlos inquires before expressing his thanks for the printed meeting agenda she handed him and Alex. "Why are you the one doing all of this?"

She shrugs, "Still an intern."

"Do we get one, too?" Esteban asks for the majority somewhere to his left. It’s a fair question, drivers’ meetings don’t usually have the agenda printed out. It’s usually kept hidden from them, to avoid getting them antsy or, worse, letting them organize their protests.

[First name] points to the Williams logo on her uniform. "I’m only required to make Carlos’ and Alex’s lives a little easier."

They find a stack of meeting agenda copies by the front of the room a minute after she disappears. A sticky note on top reads, don’t pass out if they start fighting.

(She becomes their instant favorite to set up meeting rooms. Unfortunately, the FIA has forbidden Williams to let her facilitate their next turn for the same reason.)

The drivers’ rooms are the most private areas in the paddock. It’s where drivers leave their belongings while they’re out and about. It’s where their visitors usually stay to keep out of the crew’s way until the race. It’s where they sneak in a snooze when they don’t get enough sleep from the night before.

However, despite that, the drivers’ rooms can’t be locked from the outside. The McLaren ones, at least, for the time being while their PIN code lock is being updated.

No one knows about the update except for him and Lando, but he still made sure to stash his belongings inside the lockers instead of leaving them lying around just in case. He has faith and trust in the crew, of course, as he has worked with the majority of them for years, but the garage is also an open space. Someone with malicious intent can easily slip in, unnoticed.

In hindsight, it makes the most sense for someone to slip in when either he or Lando wins a race since the garage will be mostly empty then. Thus, a small part of him isn’t surprised to discover that his driver’s room isn’t exactly the way he left it before leaving for the race he ultimately won.

Nothing is taken, thankfully, and the only thing out of place is the sealed half-pint of gelato on the table — which has a spoon tied on it by a familiar handcrafted OP81 bracelet.

[First name]’s.

There’s no meaning behind her very apparent attachment to it. At least, not in a way that is connected to him personally. For all he knows, she only refuses to stop wearing the bracelet — even at the behest of drivers close to her — because of the young fan that handed it to her.

"You don’t have to keep wearing it."

"I want to."

However, nevertheless, seeing the bracelet with his initials and number around her wrist always spark the same unvoiced feeling in his stomach — the one that grew from what stirred in his chest then.

And, somehow, knowing that she intentionally left her prized OP81 fan-made merch behind almost feels like a concession. Like she’s leaving him behind.

That’s an irrational jump in reasoning. After all, they’re not even friends. He knows that — but, apparently, the rest of his body doesn’t. He can easily blame his heightened emotions and illogicality on the adrenaline that hasn’t completely left his body, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

For a reason he is yet to understand, he’s wholeheartedly convinced [first name] isn’t just letting the bracelet go. She’s letting him go, too. And that thought, however illogically sound, doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

He can’t accept the bracelet with the plausible implication it carries. He can’t accept her concession. He doesn’t want to— He doesn’t want her to give up on him.

(He understands nothing. They’re not even friends.)

Thus, like a man with no time to lose and everything in line, Oscar takes off running before he can even comprehend where his feet are taking him.

"[First name]," he calls in relief when he sees her exit the Williams motorhome the same moment he arrives. His voice comes out a little breathless, a little winded from the impromptu run he did around the paddock post-race. He doesn’t care.

"Oscar," she turns with his name on her lips. Her shock is only evident in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"To return your bracelet," he admits, "and to thank you for the congratulatory gift."

She makes a sound of acknowledgement as the shock filters out of her eyes. "You’re welcome. You can keep the bracelet."

Her words sting, like alcohol is poured over an open wound.

(Ridiculous. They’re not even friends.)

"I don’t want it." He says abruptly, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. "I mean— the bracelet looks better on you."

"I don’t really like orange."

Oscar swallows down the instinct to correct. Protecting the McLaren papaya pride is the least of his worries at the moment. "It goes well with Williams blue—" there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. He finds it difficult to swallow— "and Ferrari red."

[First name]’s silence stretches. He begins to wonder if she’s back into being a mere hallucination; if he didn’t actually catch her on time and she’s bound to disappear in front of him any second.

He unconsciously holds his breath, anticipatory and unblinking. Praying, almost.

(They’re not friends.)

Then, finally, the silence breaks with her laugh sounding like scoff. She walks towards him with amusement dancing almost unnoticeably in her features. "Okay."

Oscar exhales in relief. He slots the bracelet back around her wrist with a silent promise even he is yet know.

(They’re not friends.)

The season calendar ultimately reaches the Italian Grand Prix, as it does every year.

Oscar, for someone who had been looking forward to it before the new season even started, has forgotten about it as soon as the new season actually began. In his defense, his plate filled at an alarming rate, especially with McLaren’s steel determination to become this year’s World Constructors’ Champion as well. It doesn’t help that he’s already seeing his only reason every weekend, either.

Well, ‘only reason’ might be a little too vague. [First name] is certainly part of that reason, but a big part of it is the tradition they unknowingly made. At least, that’s what he’d like to think, anyway.

Even if it no longer rings true, especially since . . . then.

They’re much closer since, having erased the invisible line between acquaintanceship and friendship. They still do everything they used to do, but now they aren’t limited to just those. They occasionally take detours now. And sit together, when they happen to take a break at the same hour. They hide together, too, when they crave the quietness of being away from everyone else.

Yet, despite the undeniable spike in their time spent together, their tradition at Monza has never been brought up. Not even in reminiscence.

As such, any thoughts about their tradition only lied dormant until the day of. More specifically, when Oscar finally finds himself sitting idle in the McLaren motorhome with a view identical to where he had seen her appear for the last two years.

It’s a bit too late to phone her to drop by just for the unspoken tradition’s sake. So, alas, all he can do now is will the universe to bring her to the McLaren motorhome for any reason it can think of.

Oscar lets himself wallow. He figures it’s better for him to do it now, since his brain refuses to let him think of anything else. He can’t risk jeopardizing his team like that, in case his compartmentalizing ability decides to fail him later.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice pulls him back to reality. He focuses back to comprehend [first name] standing just outside of his personal bubble, clad in her Räikkönen tifoso gear. He almost forgot how she looks in them, having gotten used to seeing her in Williams colors for the past several months.

He spots the OP81 bracelet resting on her wrist. Its black and papaya theme compliments her red and white tifoso outfit.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. "Waiting for you."

She tilts her head slightly in confusion, but doesn’t question him. "Sure."

He decides not to alleviate her confusion. He just starts walking towards the door, completely trusting she’ll follow him out. He gestures for her to exit first. "Fernando should be in the Aston Martin garage at this hour."

She obliges. "I know." Unlike the previous year where she actively fought to not walk next to him, she doesn’t even bat an eye when he claims one of her sides as they make their way to the Aston Martin area. "I’ve always known after our first meeting, actually."

Oscar can’t quite believe his ears. "Seriously?" [First name] affirms. He suddenly begins to question their exchanges during his first two years in McLaren, skimming through vague memories for clues. "Then why—"

"I needed an excuse," she shrugs nonchalantly. Acting as if she isn’t singlehandedly rewriting the way he views their little tradition. "I had quite the crush on you."

At the bluntness worthy of a Räikkönen, Oscar stops working altogether.

[icupblog]

Where did the party go? (batfam x neglected reader) TW: neglect, slight kidnapping

Gotham residents always said that the city could hollow your heart out, that if you lived there long enough you wouldn't care about how many homeless lived in that abandoned building, or how high casulties were every time the Joker got out of Arkham. But at least when gothamites went home they could cuddle up to their loved ones. At least they could have someone coddle them and ask them mundane questions like how their day was and talk about the weather. You on the other hand had no one.

Did you have a family, yes... but they weren't yours, in the sense of whether they would care if you left the house late or if they would come to a dance show you had because you had asked them to (they wouldn't)

So you spent your days working, grinding away at your schoolwork. because maybe Tim would be impressed if you got all A's on your exams, maybe Dick would notice you rather than just ignore your presence, maybe even Jason would give you some semblance of a smirk and tell you good job (you had lost hope for Damian).Oh, how you hoped to live up to your expectations, even for Barbara and Stephanie and they weren't even adopted.

Maybe you knew when you first entered the Wayne Manors beautiful gates that the house would be haunted by something, you just didn't think that something would be you.

You first entered the fiery gates of Bruce Wayne's home when you were 12 years old, unlike the kids that had come before you, you had actually reached double digits before making it to the dark knights home. (well the kids that were there at that moment in time).

The first time you met the man himself was after a funeral. You had just arrived at the Manor a day prior with Alfred escorting you to your room before you slept, and when you awoke there was pure brilliant silence throughout the mansion. It was so surreal you thought you were in a dream, you tiptoed down the massive staircase into the entrance of the house. The windows were slashed with a heavy downpour of thick unyelding rain, almost as if it reflected Bruce's own emotions. He opened the tall doors with superhuman ease (to a small twelve year old at least) and slouched his way into the manor, uncaring to whether his soaked clothes would get on Alfred's beautifully cleaned carpet. He looked up at you and held your gaze for an unseemly amount of time before sighing. You felt as though you should have said something, however upon seeing the man your throat closed up immediately. How could you do anything when just looking at him fills you with a strange foreign emotion? (fear)

When you were 12 you ignored the hints the family would sometimes give you that they were too busy. "Sorry name but I'm pre-occupied besides you're a bit old to ask for my help, right?" Dick would say while he would scroll on his phone. "Okay, uhm, see you around then," "Hey, I was wondering if you weren't too busy with paperwork the-" "No name I'm working got to Alfred if you need anything." "O-okay" Bruce would always be straight forward and blunt, he didn't care, no matter how hard you wanted him too. To him you were nothing more than a mistake a stain on his playboy image as one of his many escapades as Brucie Wayne ended with your mother getting pregnant. "Babs, can you help me with my computer?" "Have you tried switching it off and on again?" "no..." Barbara would always give you some time of day just not a lot... like 30 seconds max.

Then before you could think it could get any worse Tim arrived a Kid around your age, yet he would always sneak off with Bruce and Stephanie (a girl he would bring round, you sometimes could spot her before she disappeared) into the depths of the study and come out hours later looking exhausted and even more irritable before.

It somehow got even worse when Jason came back an evil entity hell bent on ruining your life, and Tim's. He show up outside your school sometimes telling the office workers you were his half-sister and he had to pick you up after school some days. He would shove on the end of his motorbike and hold you in a safehouse for hours on end before realising no one would arrive for you. Upon realising the great Batman didn't care about his one civilian child he would grow furious, breaking things around you as you clinged to whatever you were attached to and cry. Eventually he would grow bored of this old routine and leave you alone.

You tried to tell the family but they would just say "he didn't mean it" "he's not in his right mind name" or even worse they would forget the fact that their child who should be dead by all means kidnapped you and instead asked about his well-being. "Was he angrier or more sad?" "Did you see where you were held? maybe we can reach out to him B". In fact you didn't even realise Bruce Wayne your supposed father was Batman until you had moved out and put the pieces together.

Eventually Cassandra came along, then Damian. You think you were so traumatised by your first encounters by them both that you had blocked them out of your memory. You do however remember coming out of each conversation with an injury.

Let's just say when you eventually became eighteen you were quite frankly done with the family, you had decided to move out asap, so the second you got your college admissions you skedaddled out into metropolis.

Guys how do we feel about this?????

[disorganizedkitten]

Fandoms I write for: Harry Potter, Danny Phantom, Leverage, Batman, Shazam, MHA, The Coldest Girl In Coldtown, Miraculous Ladybug, HTTYD, Tangled, Goosebumps, Frankenstein, Scooby Doo, various crossovers.

Tagging @etherealaberrance @ravenite-void @weak-fragile-mortal @starry-bi-sky @hari-writes @atlas-affogato but only if y'all want to (and if you're not tagged but DO want to, grab it and pretend I tagged you)

Thank you for the tag @theblueeyedfirebender (any FMA-blog followers, check out this blog!)

I mainly write for LoZ (ao3), but on an older AO3 account (no I will not be linking it) I've written for Supernatural and Sherlock (mostly trash one-shots when I used to take commissions).

@snail-studios, @hero-of-the-wolf, and @gracieelinn, I put a clean bingo sheet below so fill one out if you'd like! ❤️

[oftenlyshitposting]

rumi's headcanons & details

- rumi's patterns — something i noticed on the second watch of KPDH is how rumi's demonic patters grow; it seems to expand just from her left arm as a kid, to most of her upper torso as she grew older. yet, i can't help but think; age wasn't the sole factor, her patterns correlates to the frequency of using her Hunter's vocals.

walk with me.

when we first saw her demonic patterns during Golden's promo, it's spread all over her arms, shoulders, and collarbones; but, it hasn't reached her neck just yet. i don't think the patterns finally reaching her neck and hindering her from using her Hunter's vocals is coincidental with gwi-ma realizing HUNTR/X are so close to sealing the honmoon; i think the other factor is rumi overusing her Hunter's powers.

rumi was always pushing on and on to seal the honmoon (and curing herself), that she couldn't just stop relying on her vocal powers. rumi probably didn't realize that the more she uses her Hunter's voice, the faster the demonic patterns expand. the more her patterns spread, the more shame she bears, and it just becomes a feedback loop.

(considering rumi has the most line distribution in HUNTR/X's songs, i think this is a pretty solid theory)

- rumi's sword(s) — rumi's first sain-geom is symmetrical and double-sided; perfect and elegant and beautiful. yet, it's such a slim and lightweight sword. she wields it just like she would with a boomerang, if that makes sense (see the bath house fight scene where zoey and mira were backed by an army of water demons).

rumi often wields her sain-geom with one hand, slashing away like a perfectly choreographed dance during battle. what i noticed, however, is that her sain-geom doesn't have that much of a range; in comparison to mira's gok-do, which offers a lot more acrobatic space to slash multiple demons at once, or zoey's shin-kal that reaches far and deadly precise.

the sain-geom rumi wields at HUNTR/X's final battle with gwi-ma, however, was so much larger–it was single blade with two sharpened and raised peaks. it's resembles more like a broadsword. it's not symmetrical; it's rather crude and definitely heavier; rumi wielded it with both hands as she slashed down gwi-ma.

i wholeheartedly believe that sword, not only symbolizes her demonic heritage's acceptance, but also that it was forged from both the honmoon AND jinu's freed soul. rumi finally accepts that she isn't all perfect–she's got jagged edges and a dark side; but, that's what makes her stronger and beautiful.

to make a strong sword, after all, is a balance of pure steel and the impurities folded into it. a harmony of the light and the dark.

(i wholeheartedly believe jinu's freed soul lives as rumi's sain-geom–he's that stubborn and sassy buddy you just can't get rid off)

((rumi bickers with jinu oftenly; jinu being an exhausted 400 year old man (now a sain-geom entity), while rumi being an oblivious ass half of the time))

- rumi...is NOT good at reading the room — speaking of obliviousness, rumi is genuinely shit at reading zoey's and/or mira's cues that they like her.

let's be real; rumi most likely had a secluded childhood, pre-HUNTR/X. i'd like to believe she was homeschooled by celine, and if not, she went to a really, REALLY, private school (she's a nepo baby with generational wealth to her name, c'mon now). she doesn't really interact with a lot of kids her age back then; celine always reminds her to study hard at school. ace your classes. go straight home to train; whether it's demon hunting, or to be an idol.

rumi isn't exactly uncaring, nor she is cold; she just hadn't had a lot of socializing experiences. so, in the simplest words: she's hopeless. it wasn't until celine brought first mira–then zoey–into building HUNTR/X around her, that rumi finally learned how to socialize and bond with her Hunter sisters slash bandmates.

rumi was always polite and kind towards her younger members; but, she's rigid and distanced. she tries to be as friendly as she could manage, but never expose much of herself. rumi never took offense to mira's bluntness, nor getting vexed by zoey's endless trails of rambling. the other girls, in return, had always respected rumi's tall walls; until those walls eventually crumbled post idol awards incident.

when they finally talked things out and rebuilt their relationship upon a foundation of trust and transparency (a mirror of how they rebuilt the honmoon), mira and zoey are slowly adjusting to rumi's renewed self. they were hopeless. the more comfortable rumi gets with exposing more of her skin, the frequency of mira and zoey malfunctions at their HUNTR/X penthouse exponentially increased.

rumi had always loved wearing crop tops, but never one with exposed shoulders, arms, or collarbones. rumi's pajama pants had also gotten much, much shorter, her light bluish patterns decorated the exposed skin like a carefully painted minhwa. mira, bless her soul, was often caught staring at rumi's toned stomach or her thighs; with a shade of red on her face matching her hair. rumi could only raise an eyebrow questioningly at their usually direct and blunt main dancer whenever mira started to stammer and gape like a fish.

zoey is a little less hopeless than mira is; not that it's saying much. the maknae fronts a bolder charade when she admires rumi's endearingly beautiful patterns, always putting on her widest grins that matches the sparks in her eyes as she offhandedly tells rumi how pretty their leader look in that off-shoulder cropped tee. rumi would chuckle at their maknae's cheesy compliments, but mira would have a shit-eating smirk at zoey because good god, zoey's grins are so dopey and lovestruck.

(whenever rumi is asleep first while mira and zoey are still at their couch, they would banter about how hopeless each other are)

((rumi on the other side only thinks about how weirdly spacey mira has been lately, and how much cheesier zoey is))

- rumi is eeriely soundless — rumi may be verbally loud (she's the main vocalist now, let's be real), but by god, is she physically soundless.

both mira and zoey had always known rumi has a very light footstep and always snuck up on demons weightlessly, but they never really accounted her soundless movements to her being half demon. yes, Hunters are typically quiet and sneaky when it comes to fighting; zoey is acrobatic in fights, whereas mira is fluid like water. but, rumi? dead silent.

remember when she snuck up on jinu on their first meet on that roof? her steps are so light as she lands; not a single human being–not even Hunters–have that light of a step. and then, rumi did jump scared the hell out of jinu on their second meet, and jinu was a whole ass demon, for god's sake.

the girls actually gets jump scared often by rumi, back when HUNTR/X were trainees and rookies. zoey used to mention how rumi vanished into thin air after they were done with their vocal takes, only to seemingly reappear into the studio behind her. rumi would frown, puzzled by zoey's surprised squeals, because she remembered telling zoey she was going to the toilet earlier.

rumi once walked into the kitchen to find mira cooking jjajjangmyeon for their dinner one night, singing to the music playing from her phone. she peeked behind mira and casually said, "that looks good, mira." and mira jumped out of her skin, ultimately surprising rumi as well. mira's face was pale, and she had a hand on her chest as she leans back at the stove's countertop, while rumi struggled with every inch of her to not laugh because mira started cursing and yelling, "someone ought to put a damn bell on you!"

now that mira and zoey are aware of her half demon nature, rumi likes to be a little shit and abuse her abilities to scare the girls. post horror movie marathon? rumi would soundlessly teleport from one room to another to stand in the dark corner and scare either mira or zoey walking into the room.

mira and zoey, without fail, would scream, "don't randomly teleport to a dark corner like that!!" and rumi would cackle maniacally as she teleports the fuck out of responsibility.

(zoey would whine, "this isn't how i expect rumi to give me heart palpitations!" and mira would groan, "i agree. i'm buying an ankle bell for her tomorrow.")

- rumi's demon eyes glows and reflect light — whenever rumi's demonic eyes flicker subconsciously, it glows a bright golden brownish orange; especially under the sunlight. rumi's eyes flicker when she draws her sword from the honmoon, the shine of the honmoon's energy reflecting on her eyes. mira and zoey finds her glowing eyes hauntingly beautiful and without fail, would pause momentarily, as if stunned.

however, the girls still finds her eyes unnerving at night. not in the bad way, of course, just slightly off-putting.

rumi had finally learned how to use her demon eyes to navigate the dark, night-vision style. she easily gets used to heading to the kitchen in the dead of the night for some water or snacks without ever turning on the lights, because she didn't want to deal with the sudden light changes hurting her hypersensitive eyes.

mira, on one unfortunate night, sleepily went to the kitchen to grab a glass of cold barley tea from the fridge. the hairs on her neck raised in shivers as she senses someone else's presence in the dark kitchen, but she brushes it off. it wasn't until a pair of glowing orbs faces her dead on that she screamed and scrambles to turn on the lights.

let there be light, and behold; a frantically heaving mira on one corner, and a freshly blinded rumi crouching on the other. rumi was groaning as she slowly and painfully readjust herself to the sudden blinding light. mira scrambles in panic towards rumi, shielding her in her shadow, checking in on her. rumi gave her a weak thumbs up once she finally readjusted to her human eyes.

zoey walks in on both of them crouching after hearing the commotion three doors down in her room, puzzled by the scene.

"what happened?" zoey asks.

"mira flash-banged me." rumi weakly replies, sending a soft glare at the pink-haired girl.

to her credit, mira did look guilty. "...sorry, rumi. i'll buy you yangnyeom chicken tomorrow, okay?"

rumi pouts. "tonight."

"i-" mira stammers, glancing at zoey, who doesn't look impressed, siding with pouty rumi. mira groans, defeated. "fine, i'll order it."

- rumi is a big eater — everyone in HUNTR/X knows that demon hunting is an exhausting job, after every mission warrants the girls a hefty portion of food to replenish their energy. that, doubled with their pop star daytime job? it shouldn't be a surprise the girls consume two weeks worth of food in three days.

rumi, however, ate so much more in comparison to mira and zoey combined ever since HUNTR/X's debut years ago. i headcanon that rumi is a bigger savoury tooth than a sweet tooth; having kimchi jjigae AND gamja-tang as her two wintertime comfort foods. her favourite summertime dishes are kimchimari-guksu (cold noodles with kimchi broth) and gulmuchim (fresh oyster seasoned in kimchi style marinade). whenever they tour during summer, bobby would ensure that the girls have their comfort dishes post-shows (in which he had to prepare rumi's gulmuchim days ahead because it's a little hard to come by).

neither girls ever accounted rumi's large appetite being another one of her demon-related traits; rumi used to brush mira's and zoey's puzzled looks towards her portions of food by saying she has an accelerated metabolism.

(which isn't entirely wrong; her demon half burns her energy reserves like gasoline back in the '50s)

mira challenged rumi to ramyeon eating competition to see if she could defeat their purple-haired leader's indomitable record of ten XL cups down in one sitting. mira finally came close to eight and a half cup before tapping out, while rumi chuckling as she easily slurps her eleventh cup, setting yet another new record.

rumi's large appetite baffles and awed jinu when he once appeared out of her sword without her summoning, finding rumi wolfing down her second large bowl of takeout jjampong on her bed. rumi was mid-slurping when he materialized out of thin air, cheeks full of noodles and broth, nearly choking at his sudden appearance.

jinu eyed the other bowl at the foot of her bed. "you eat a lot." he then snickers, amused. "even for a demon's standard."

finally out of her stupor, red-faced rumi yelled, "i'm a Hunter and a k-pop star, for god's sake! demon hunting alone is already exhausting!"

- rumi's voice(s) — pre-idol awards incident, all of them always thought rumi's Hunter's voice is just that hauntingly beautiful and powerful. her ranges and breath control had always been so strong and stable that her voice has such a distinct timbre to it.

it wasn't until one moment a week before their debut that rumi accidentally unleashed her demon echo; an enthralling siren-like whistle note while recording her vocal take. the honmoon quakes in a soft magenta glow that it's rumbles reached celine. the HUNTR/X girls initially assumed it was another demon breach, in which it was; a few demons slipping out and they immediately went to neutralize.

celine summoned her instantly afterwards, pointing out to her that the honmoon reacted to her demon echo. frantically, rumi backtracks to how could she had been so stupid to accidentally let it out, and celine had harshly reprimanded her to never ever let that happen again. keep the demon in check. never let the girls know of her shameful half.

unbeknownst to either of them, rumi's demon echo had always seeps into her voice, blending seamlessly with her Hunter voice. even when she speaks, rumi's voice lulls people into pseudo-trance. the only other people mostly unaffected by her voice are mira, zoey, and celine (then again, rumi doesn't really talk much with celine).

post-idol awards incident, mira and zoey began to notice the slight demon echo under rumi's normal voice, and how much it rumbles in their ears down to their chests. zoey mentioned how much rumi's new demon echo laced vocals suited darker tone songs like Takedown, and joked that if rumi had been the one singing Your Idol instead of the Saja Boys, she would've gladly followed rumi to the underworld.

mira had the most appalled expression upon hearing zoey's thinly veiled confession; it was a little crass that she was worried rumi would take offense or hurt at it. rumi's eyes did widen and her jaw dropped slightly at zoey's joke, and mira was about to jump into reprimanding zoey, who'd already started realizing how insensitive she might've sounded. but out of her expectations, rumi instead blushed and laughed; full blown and head thrown back.

and again, out of both of their expectations, rumi smirks and teases with her demon echo, "if you wanted me to sing you dark lullabies to fulfill your demon fantasy, zoey, you should've just said so."

this time, zoey was the one who blushed ten shades darker than mira's hair. mira on the other edge of the couch wasn't faring well either, facepalming to hide her undeniably hot cheeks because what the fuck why is her demon echo THAT damn attractive why is rumi this fucking attractive why am i so turned on WHAT WHO SAID THAT

- rumi's patterns, pt.2 — as we know, rumi's patterns glow differently after she accepts her demon half and released her shame; she glows a bluish crystalline glow as opposed of demonic purple. rumi's patterns definitely glows together with her demon eyes, and it echoes her emotions.

mira and zoey always find rumi's smile blinding and bright before, but now that her patterns are out for them to see? rumi seems to glow instead, like a firefly in summer nights. like the brightest star in an otherwise dark night sky, and it twists a tug in their hearts in the best way possible.

rumi glows a bright goldish shine when she's happy or elated at the girls, flickers a darker hue of blood-red when she's angered, and recently (for some reasons the girls not yet known) a bright pink hue. the girls might not pinpoint what rumi was feeling yet, but rumi did. she glows bright pink when she's jealous, for some reason. she doesn't even know why she was jealous; they were recalling about how the Saja Boys were all kind of flirty with mira and zoey at the joint fan signing event, and rumi started glowing pink.

"whoa, what is going on, rumi?" mira was the first to notice, eyeing rumi up and down with concern.

"huh?" rumi responded with barely any eloquency.

zoey then points at her, blubbering like a fish. "y-you're... pink...?"

rumi looks down on her limbs, and indeed she was glowing pink. "huh." was all she could manage, piecing the puzzles in her mind.

mira and zoey starts playing a game every time rumi start to glow a different colour that they haven't catalogued yet, guessing what emotions she might be feeling judging from the colour.

so far, the girls had catalogued a total of four varying colours; and none of them has been purple of shame again.