#so many possibilities of who he could be talking about...

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Price, texting: Can you come collect your freak of a boyfriend please Price: He's doing things Y/N: No I set him loose on purpose Y/N: He needs enrichment

[rootedinrevisions]

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper. 

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady. 

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening. 

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer. 

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy. 

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued. 

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease. 

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget. 

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations. 

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug. 

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter. 

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning. 

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention. 

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you. 

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him. 

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

[viagostalons]

When Rook doesn't return victorious from slaying gods, in fact, when Rook does not return at all, the companions all sink their teeth into trying to find him. They work, day in and out, to make sure they are ready for the final battle with or without Rook. They scour the Fade, trying to find him and bring him home.

Lucanis, broken and empty, knows he has to talk to Viago. He has to be the one to return to Treviso to tell the Fifth Talon that his protege is gone. He doesn't want to tell him; not because he doesn't think Viago deserves to know, but because Viago has worked so hard for all he has. Viago, who fears losing everything, has now lost his Rook. His protege, his heir, and family.

Viago loves Rook with righteous fierceness. Viago would tear the world down for Rook, even if he would also yell at him for being an idiot in the same breath. Rook would do the same for Viago. Rook cares for Viago so much, he's always worried Viago will not approve of him.

Viago would never admit it but he approves of Rook more than anyone. It's why he sent Rook away -- to spare him the certain death he faced against the Talons. Viago made sure he was out of Treviso as soon as possible. He would not see Rook destroyed for a well-meaning transgression.

But Lucanis does go to Treviso, Emmrich in tow, and he tries to speak but he's hollow. The only thing he can manage is to grip Viago by the shoulders, his head hanging, shaking back and forth in pain. Emmrich is gentle when he starts explaining the complexities of the Fade and how they are not stopping from finding him.

Viago takes it all in stride, even while his heart is pounding so hard he fears he's about to die. Teia comes to Lucanis to hug him, holding him tightly, because Viago is incapable of moving. For the first time in many years, Viago has to sit down and put his face in his hands.

He yells at the fledglings around him to leave and they flee quickly. The Fifth Talon is known to have a temper but this is a rage they've never seen. He sinks down and fights back a wave of tears but it's a losing battle. When he hears Lucanis break down, he follows. He turns into a mess, a compromised, agonized mess.

How could he have lost the one person he loves more than anything else in his life? He sent Rook away to save Rook. Sure, Rook is a disaster but at the end of the day, he believes in Rook more assuredly than he believes in anything else. Rook had friends -- Lucanis Dellamorte included -- to keep him safe.

Viago wears black for the three weeks Rook is gone.

He doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He studies books on the Fade, trying to see if there is anything he can do. He consumes himself with work so he doesn't have to address the stabbing pain in his chest. He tries to dismiss his feelings, even as Teia tries to make him talk to her. Crows die all the time -- Rook is no different.

But Rook is different because Rook is his.

Viago almost gives up hope when word comes. He runs through the Eluvian before Teia can process anything. He runs up the stairs and skids to a stop to see Rook standing there, surrounded by his companions. His friends. Lucanis looks like he's seen a ghost.

Viago is no better.

He stumbles up to Rook and turns him around. Fury fills him and his instinct is start lecturing Rook on being reckless and stupid. But all he can manage is a tearful, "Idiot." before he drags Rook into his arms to hold him.

Rook is real. Rook is here.

[sakasakiii]

Dude I'm literally obsessed with your art, it's AMAZING. Also, thank you for making those family trees?! They're amazing and really help me with recalling who is who and related to who, lmao. You're literally the best, bless.

acckkkkk thank you nonnie!!!!! thats so kind of you to say! im especially thankful you like those family trees...... warning for incoming yap session! i pinned it on my blog bc i thought itd be helpful for ppl unfamiliar with my designs of who's-who, but looking back on it now ALMOST THREE YEARS LATER?!?!?!?!!???? there's so many things with it that i wish i could change! im really honoured that youve been finding it helpful with recalling who's related to who, but now i tend to feel guilty abt possibly feeding ppl the wrong information about tolkien's lore aaahahaha (seeing as some of the family relations there e.g. rumil being miriels dad, glorfindel being elenwe's brother, mags n his wife having two kids, are my own headcanon OTL)

nonetheless, its really really high praise to hear that and im very grateful you took the time to send in such a lovely ask, anon! ❤️ hearing all this talk of trees and whatnot made me think back to a tolkien untangled video i was watching where he basically said along the lines of 'most of the iconic elven genealogy in middle earth can be traced down to starting with finwe and elwe' which really shook my worldview HAHA... so in the spirit of continuing silly ask doodles, here's two bros doing some gardening together :D

thank you so much again for such kind words, and i hope you have a wonderful rest of your week!! and a very happy and belated new year's to everyone reading this! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

[evesedenramblings]

Wolfgang Akire and the Blackmail Motive

I have so much to say about this blackmail motive, and I haven’t seen anyone talk about how it’s both indirectly and directly responsible for what went on with Wolfgang. Spoilers under the cut.

Eva and the Direct Killing

Firstly, and most obviously, there’s the direct way with how Wolfgang was affected by Eva. When Damon showed Eva the blackmail he had on Wolfgang, Eva says that it “confirms her feeling that Wolfgang is suspicious”. Afterwards, the group explores the pharmacy, including Eva finding the hidden poster that led to her needing to kill someone. Had Damon not confirmed that suspicion, there’s the slim chance Eva wouldn’t have killed.

To go entirely theoretical, without the blackmail, Eva may have countered Damon when he suggested not trusting the others because of her lack of total suspicion around Wolfgang and his dominance over the group, allowing for her to avoid falling for the motive. It’s also possible Eva would have killed someone besides Wolfgang, though admittedly not likely since she considered Wolfgang the ringleader, and isn’t able to see the people who are kind to her regardless like Diana. Considering Eva’s main reason for murder was her victim complex of everyone hating her, she could have killed someone else, especially with how common it became to bully her for her talent near the end, which Wolfgang didn’t necessarily do, but did “allow” (at least, in Eve’s perspective, which was the only one she needed).

2. Wolfgang and Indirect Killing

Now, what I haven’t seen anyone talk about, is how Wolfgang indirectly caused his own death! Wolfgang is the one who implemented the “one-on-one” conversation policy for blackmail discussions. He even starts to sweat when people start discussing just sharing the blackmail openly beforehand, and he says instead that people need to “give the person a chance to explain themselves”. Given the suspicious contents of Wolfgang’s blackmail, and the fact Wolfgang himself is clearly very aware of it, he implemented this policy not for the safety and structure of others, but for himself. Is this technically, in a roundabout way, implementing a rule for the safety and structures of others, as Wolfgang was aware he had become a leader for most and didn’t want to shake their faith in him? Yes, but it’s because of this selfish decision for privacy rather than open discussion that both Wolfgang and Diana were lured to the boiler room, and Wolfgang was killed. He was trying to preserve his image, and statistically he had a great chance of succeeding with how many people he had gathered to his side. It was unfortunate luck that it was Damon, who later shared with Eva, rather than one of the other 13 students who received his blackmail and likely would have actually brought and talked to him about it. Still, had the entire group had an open discussion and everyone explained themselves, what would have happened? Would Eva still have had a reason to find Wolfgang suspicious if he explained himself? Would it have furthered group trust or worsened it? We’ll never know, but it would have certainly been an interesting thing to see, especially since that’s where it was going before Wolfgang’s interference. We definitely know what happened because of Wolfgang’s decision to discuss the blackmail one-on-one.

3. Bonus Thought: Wolfgang and the Knife

Additionally, a vague foreboding reminder, we have no idea what Wolfgang’s “come to the boiler room” note said. It was ruined by the water, and Eva (its writer) never revealed its contents. The most likely instance is it was a “discussion of blackmail” note, like was used to lure Diana. However, Wolfgang still brought a knife. Considering they were meeting in the dark boiler room all alone, and with what ended up happening, he wasn’t wrong to, but was his original plan to bring a knife to a “normal” blackmail exchange? What for? What was Wolfgang planning to do with the knife if there was no murder plot occurring that morning? Was it a last resort of sorts, if his blackmailer didn’t like his explanation? Was it really just for protection? Regardless, I think it’s fascinating that he clearly brought the knife due to a lack of trust, either for his own protection or his own safety, which goes (again) against everything he was preaching. Wolfgang, who constantly told everyone to trust each other, didn’t trust anyone- to the point he brought a knife to a private meeting and refused to share his own blackmail, which got him killed. Beneath the Veil of Hypocrisy indeed.

[sweetdispatch]

Rookie love - C. Bedard

pairing: Connor Bedard x Hughes!reader

summary: You and Connor live in the same building and work for Blackhawks. Slowly, you two are falling for each other and he made a cute date for you

warning: none

words: 2.5k

note: my first connor fic yay! based on this request and honestly it lowkey makes me want to do a whole AU with this theme haha

hughes!reader masterlist

---

It was a tough decision for you. You were just an 18 year old girl who decided to move out all the way to Chicago to study public relations. You could stay in Michigan but the vision of being compared to your older brothers, Quinn and Luke who also had been studying there, wasn’t tempting. You wanted to work on your own brand and name far away from there.

Your parents weren’t the happiest when you announced your decision because you were the youngest kid and with your moving to Chicago, it meant that they will be alone without any kids around. Despite the fact, they had your back and fully supported you and understood your point of view. They even helped you to rent an apartment so you don’t have to live in a dorm. 

Quinn, Jack and Luke weren’t surprised when you shared the news with them, knowing how much you had been struggling in high school with questions about them and being used by your “friends” in the past only because you had famous siblings. Quinn proposed that you can always move to him in Vancouver but you wanted to be independent and the vision of moving to Canada wasn’t something you were craving. 

The year you arrived in Chicago, Connor started playing in his rookie season for the Blackhawks. In fact, he was your neighbor and lived right across the hall from you. He also moved there without his family and had to be independent. At first, you didn’t care about it. You were always saying hello to each other when you two saw each other in the hall but nothing more.

Things changed with time when thanks to your great results in college you got an internship in social media for the Chicago Blackhawks. You were excited and grateful for the opportunity. Your dream always was to work in social media and being capable of doing this in a hockey team when you were raised in a hockey family was incredible. You called your parents to tell them about this and they were proud of you. Finally, your hard work paid off.

In January, you started your internship and quickly became one of the most important people in creating content for social media. Thanks to your young age, new ideas and jumping into trends, the Chicago Blackhawks became one of the best teams in social media. Fans loved the content and people rooting for other teams also found it funny. 

Connor was 1st overall pick and star of the team so you pushed him to do some of the videos for the social media. He wasn’t the happiest because he was shy in front of the camera but you always tried your hardest to make him feel as comfortable as possible. You were also a shy person and you totally understood him. He was delighted to have you as a support and creating content with you wasn’t as scary as it was earlier. 

You and Connor lived in the same apartment building and always were returning from his training or games together. He was more than happy to give you a ride back home. In the first two weeks of your internship, you two bonded and became friends. Both of you had been the same age and lived alone, far away from parents. During roadies, you were staying in Chicago since you had college and many times you received texts from Connor.

They tell me to do this and I don’t want to.

Why have you abandoned me? 

Can you tell them to leave me alone? 

Promise me that you’ll go on the next roadie so I can have support from you behind the camera.

With every message like that, your heart was growing bigger. You didn’t know how much of an impact you have on him and feeling comfortable. You wanted to be there for him but you couldn’t drop college because Connor was shy. You promised him to talk with the others to leave him alone during away games but it wasn’t in your competence to dictate who’s gonna be on the video.

While Connor was away, you were taking care of his apartment and basically cleaned and cooked for him in your free time. When you entered his place for the first time, you could tell that he’s struggling being alone just like you and you wanted him to feel that he has someone on who he can lay on. You had experience with boys since you had three brothers and knew what to do so he could open up. 

Connor was more than grateful to have you. At first, he thought that you’re just a social media girl who’s living in the same building but with time, he saw how much you’re doing for him inside and outside of the work. He wanted to pay you back and always surprised you with flowers and coffee when he knew that you had a rough day in college. 

These small gestures turned into daily dinners and movies. After games, Connor was taking you out on a dinner to later finish the day with a movie in your apartment. It was a cute but meaningful moment between you two. You started talking more and more, he finally opened up and felt that he has a real friend and is not alone. 

Both of you were falling for each other. You two had similar personalities and tried to stay out of the spotlight. You were Connor’ biggest fan and he was your rock. Almost every single day you two were seeing each other even if it meant only for 5 minutes. He knew your schedule perfectly and always tried to give you a donut with coffee before you were heading on college. You also knew his schedule and after every roadie, you were at his apartment preparing meals for him, knowing that he must be tired from flying around America and Canada. It was like an unwritten rule between you. 

When you had been working with the Blackhawks, Connor was more than happy to see you there and was willing to do a content with you. The rest of the team was surprised but no one questioned it. They all thought that it’s because he feels more comfortable around you since you are the same age. It was partially true. He was willing to do content while you were around because he loved to spend time with you. 

Connor’ teammates and other people working in social media never noticed anything unusual in the behaviour between you two. You two kept the friendship and feeling privately and shared it when only two of you were alone. In March, your internship was over but the team offered you full time work in social media. You were beyond happy for this and couldn’t wait for the 2024-2025 season to start so you can work there. 

When you told this to Connor, he smiled like a kid in a candy store. At first, he was sad that you won’t be around for the next 1,5 months but after he heard that you’ll be working there full time, he was the happiest person. You were confident that he was happier about this than you. In that moment, he gained confidence to ask you out on a date. You gladly accepted his invitation and the two of you spent an incredible evening the next day. 

After the season was over for Chicago, Connor decided to stay there for a little longer knowing that you have exams in May. You were always there for him in his lows and highs and he wanted to do the same for you. He was hanging out in your apartment all the time, even if that meant that he had to watch a tv show while you’re studying. Those silent, cute moments made him realise that he wants you as his girlfriend. 

Connor started planning a cute date after your exams when he could ask you to be his girlfriend. In the past 5 months, you two shared a lot of moments together and learned a lot about each other. That’s why instead of a boring date in a restaurant, he planned a day full of attractions to ask you to be his at the end. He was proud of himself but also scared of your reaction. 

“Since we're leaving in a couple of days I was thinking that maybe we could spend a day together?” Connor asked you in the middle of a movie that you two had been watching. 

“But we’re already spending everyday together” You giggled and saw redness growing on his face.

“Yeah but I was thinking about going out, more like… exploring the city” He replied shyly and you smiled at him. 

“I would love that, do you have a plan what to do or are we gonna figure it out tomorrow?” You asked excitedly. 

“I… I actually have a plan already but if you want we can change it” Connor started to ramble and you stopped him.

“We don’t have to, I trust you with your plan” 

“Great, umm how about I’ll pick you around 10AM tomorrow?” 

“Sounds perfect” You smiled and the two of you returned to watching a movie. 

It’s now or never Connor thought.

As Connor promised, he knocked at your door at 10AM. He had flowers in his hand that he bought earlier. He was nervous but he knew there’s nothing scary in you but he was still overthinking this whole day. You opened the door and welcomed him. He was in awe of how gorgeous you looked in your dress. From the nerves, he kept the flowers in his hand instead of giving them to you. 

“Are those flowers for me?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah, sorry” He gave you the flowers and you quickly put them in a vase.

“Shall we go?” You asked him. 

“Yes, I’m right behind you” 

Two of you left your apartment and went into a parking lot. Connor opened the passenger door for you and you thanked him. All the nerves went out of him when you started talking to him about your summer plans. It felt natural between the two of you. The next 20 minutes you were talking about how you are gonna spend the free months. He stopped the car and opened the door for you. 

“I know you didn’t have breakfast so I thought it would be nice to grab donuts and coffee and go to the park” Connor said and you smiled at him. 

“You know me too well” You joked.

Connor ordered your favorite donuts and coffee and you were smiling all the time standing next to him because he remembered those little details about you. When you two got the order, you walked into a park and sat on a bench while eating and joking. After you finished your breakfast, he stood up and you followed him. For the next hour, you two have been walking around the park with coffee in your hands. 

When Connor saw that you’re getting tired, he knew it’s time for another attraction. You two went to his car and he drove you to a place that you always wanted to visit but never had time. It was the Museum of Illusion and it was on your bucket list to get here one day. You were surprised that he remembered this detail because you told him about it months ago. 

You were so excited to go there and Connor was excited for you. For another couple hours you two had been walking around the museum having fun and taking lots of pictures. It was the first time you saw him fully comfortable with taking pictures and you couldn’t be happier that he feels safe around you. Smiles couldn’t disappear from both of your faces.

It was already 4PM when you two left the museum and you were starting to get hungry. Connor had this already planned and drove you to McDonalds to get food. Again, he remembered that you said to him that this is your guilty pleasure food and you could eat it every single day. When you two got the food, you decided to sit in the car and eat in a parking lot while chatting. This day was already perfect but he had one more thing planned. 

Now it was the most nervous part for Connor. He booked a boat trip for you two and after it he wanted to ask you to be his girlfriend. The day was perfect and he didn't want to ruin it. He started to overthink this again but your monologue about wanting to adopt a cat brought him back to reality. He was smiling at the thought of you having a cat because he knew you'd be great with him. After 30 minutes, he parked a car and led you to a boat. 

“You mentioned how much you miss home and spending days on a boat so I thought we could have a boat evening here” He shrugged.

“It’s perfect, I love the idea” You hugged him and he swore that he felt butterflies in his stomach. 

You two walked on the boat and sat here quietly watching the busy city. It was incredible to stop and just relax while enjoying each other's presence. You cuddled into him and he gladly put his hand on you. It was a gentle move but you loved it. You were so in love with him and this day just proved to you that Connor is the guy you want forever. After an hour, you returned to the land and you smiled at him widely.

“Thank you for today. It was the best day of my life” You pecked his cheek and saw a blush on his face. 

“It was a pleasure for me to make your day better but I need to ask you something” He took a deep breath. “I really like you Y/N and I want you as more than a friend. Would you be my girlfriend?” He asked you and you froze in a spot. A boy that you love wants you. After a couple seconds you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I would love to be your girlfriend. You mean the world to me and I’ll be more than happy to be yours” Connor felt relief when you agreed. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked you shyly.

“You don’t have to ask, you’re my boyfriend” You chuckled and the next thing you felt was his lips on yours. It was a passionate kiss full of emotions and love. You couldn’t be happier than today.

yourusername

liked by _connorbedard and 2352 others

yourusername I think I fall in love...🤍

jackhughes You what???

lhughes_06 You have a lot to explain young lady when you get back home.

_quinnhughes That the reason why I was against you going to different city

25 May 2024

[ropebunnykant]

okay sooo, this is actually part two of a post dissecting the boat scene because i have far too much to say about it, you can find part one here.

where i last left off, i was talking about how bison is asking kant to answer him after asking who forced him to work for the police, which gets us to this moment.

lauren @sunsetsover already talked a little bit about this moment here, and to reiterate what she said, this is the first time in the show where we see kant actually ask for something he needs.

now, in the early episodes, i talked a lot about how kant needs control and how he doesn't really ask for things. his tactic tends to be just taking, and again, it goes back to those control issues. and it's funny because kant, in so many ways, is a walking contradiction. he has had to be in control of everything since he was a child, a young child, which we learn in this scene as well. his control issues aren't him being an asshole, it's a coping mechanism. he's had to have everything under control, has had to have everything on his shoulders since the moment his parents died. and yet, at the same time, kant has never had any ACTUAL control over his own situation. his parents died and he was forced to take on the role of father, parent, caretaker, for babe who couldn't have been older than two or three, if that, when their parents died. and since that, every decision he's made has been a product of taking care of babe. he probably never went to college because he had to take care of babe, he never had dreams or goals because he had to look after his brother. he stole cars, he became a police informant, all so he could take care of babe, and he didn't actually have a say in any of it!

kant hasn't had a choice in anything, and he's never actually asked for or done anything for himself.

but in this moment he does. in this moment he has to. so he asks bison, in his still deadpan tone, to calm down. he tell him he'll explain everything if they get on land, and he tells him that he's scared of the ocean. this is kant at his most vulnerable, his most open, begging bison to listen to him - not just when it comes to the truth, but about what he needs in the moment. the camera pans back to show us the water again and then kant looks and some emotion finally comes back when he does, and you can see the fear in his eyes again as he tells bison he's scared. but of course bison doesn't listen. why would he?

who cares what you need, kant? who cares what you want, kant? you hurt him. you betrayed him. you told him you loved him and you lied. at least that's what bison believes.

you can see kant slowly starting to come back here. the fear and guilt slowly coming back into his expression after he'd been completely blank.

and bison lays it on thicker. tells kant how much he's hurt him.

and i think this right here. this is when kant decides to stop speaking entirely. this is when he realizes nothing he could possibly say is going to fix this. nothing is going to get him back on land. and maybe he deserves that, doesn't he? for what he did? for everything he's done?

bison asks kant outright if he gave him the necklace because he loves him but kant can't answer. not because that's not exactly why he did give bison the necklace, but because he knows bison won't believe it. kant could get on his knees right now and tell bison everything, the whole truth, but bison wouldn't believe it. bison has already made up his mind that kant never loved him, he'd be talking to a wall. and that hurts. because he knows he fucked up. he knows he lied. but that necklace was real. that necklace was kant's burger pin. he gave it to bison like he gave bison his heart and now bison is dangling it in front of him as if it's proof of the opposite.

and god this little sequence right here, too. the way bison is yelling and he's angry but he's just so hurt too. you can see it on his face in the second screenshot. he's asking because he needs kant to tell him that he doesn't love bison. that he never did. because maybe then it'll make it a little easier to put a bullet between his eyes. but kant can't tell him that. because it's not the truth. because yes kant lied, yes kant betrayed him. but loving bison was never the lie. bison is holding the proof of it in his hands, even if can't see that.

kant takes a breath here and god, again, you can see how resigned he is at this point. he can't answer bison, doesn't see a point. he knows there's nothing he can do to change bison's mind. if he says he does love bison, he'll call him a liar. and lying isn't an option anymore - not only would it not get him anywhere, but he can't do it anymore. he can't physically lie to bison anymore. he's done. there's nothing else he can say.

then bison throws the necklace in the water and tells kant to go get it and oh the fear is back again, and the heartbreak too. i think kant was thinking, hoping, that bison would just shoot him. but instead you see him realize that bison wants him to jump in the water instead. that bison wants him to drown for this. to spend his last moments in absolute fucking terror.

and god this might be the part of the scene that got me the most. kant looks at the water and he doesn't see the water in front of him. he sees a suitcase from the plane crash and he hears himself calling for his dad. he might very well be having a ptsd episode or getting close to one.

kant is so terrified in this moment but he looks at bison and bison tells him to go and kant has a choice here. for once, he has a choice. he can jump in the water like bison wants him to, or he can let bison shoot him for not listening. and the crazy part is, you would think the man so panicked over this water would choose the gun, the quick and painless way, but even here before bison threatens to push him, kant is already starting to step towards the edge. he doesn't even need to think about it. because he deserves this, doesn't he? he deserves to die in sheer terror and fear because of what he did to bison. and at least this way, maybe he can die with bison believing he loved him. maybe he can prove himself in his final act.

but he still can't actually bring himself forward yet. because he's still fucking terrified of jumping in, of what will happen. because all he can think about is when he was a kid and he almost drowned in a plane crash.

i've reached image limit again, but you can find part three here.

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Romantic Ending Ch. 25

Chapter 24 Premium Story

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

The death of the Tanzanite God would eventually become known throughout the continent. News of it even reached the distant Rose Country.

Clavis: ––That's the gist of what happened.

Nokto: Wow, you guys saw something incredible. That's going to be a historical turning point for Tanzanite, isn't it?

Luke: Saying it like that makes it sound like a big deal.

Nokto: It is a big deal. The God who was the symbol of Tanzanite died.

Nokto: The fact that you were mistaken for Obsidian's agents is also a big deal in a way.

Clavis: Haha, indeed. Thanks to that troublesome man, we now know how other countries see us.

Clavis: Since the God was aware of it, we should assume that the other allied nations already know as well.

Clavis: Luke, you know what to do when you see that man next time, right?

Luke: Infinite pitfall hell?

Nokto: Don't say things like that, it's not funny.

Nokto: But I wonder why they were targeting Tanzanite.

Nokto: It can't be a key location for Obsidian.

Nokto: It's a land they'd want to keep if they intend to go to war with Jade, but that's all.

Nokto: There should be many other countries they'd prioritize...

Chevalier: They weren't targeting Tanzanite...

Chevalier: They were targeting Tanzanite "as well."

Nokto: ...Does that mean...

Everyone's scattered gazes focused on the Chief, who had placed some documents on the table.

Chevalier: By sowing distrust among the people and seeds of rebellion against the nation, they aim to cause internal collapse.

Chevalier: In Tanzanite, the God quickly noticed the anomaly and nipped it in the bud.

Chevalier: By becoming the leader of the anti-god movement himself, he brought the people who were given weapons under his control...

Chevalier: He settled the situation with the least amount of casualties.

Chevalier: However, this series of events is not something other countries can ignore.

Chevalier: There's a possibility that similar cases will occur in a chain reaction in various countries from now on.

Nokto: ...You're kidding, right?

Chevalier: The God letting us hear the gunshot was probably also a warning to our country—no, to our allied nation, Benitoite.

Chevalier: Obsidian's malice has already been sown throughout the continent.

Clavis: Hmm...

Clavis, resting his chin on his hand, caught sight of Luke, who was narrowing his stagnant eyes in the corner of the room, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Clavis: Well, whatever will be, will be. Leave the investigation of this matter to me.

Chevalier: And if the opportunity arises, arrange a meeting with the God.

Chevalier: A talent who can rival the ever-victorious Marshal is rare. He's worth meeting in person.

Nokto: What are you talking about? The God is dead, isn't he?

Luke: ......

Luke: ...Chevalier. There's actually one thing that's been bothering me.

Luke: What are the chances of accurately shooting someone in the chest with a gun from a distance with an audience present?

Chevalier: That's a foolish question.

The Chief picked up a new document and scoffed.

Chevalier: It's impossible.

-

The solitary castle, nestled deep within the desert, was filled with silence.

A vast number of "Al flowers" had been laid as offerings at its gates, their cloyingly sweet scent stirred up by the desert dust.

Akatsuki: It still has the same... desolate atmosphere.

Emma: It's actually quite beautiful inside.

I stepped on the sand, cradling fresh flowers in my arms, and passed through the gate.

The exterior looked the same, yet it seemed more desolate than before.

(I wonder if it's because the master is gone.)

Kamal: I don't think they anticipated this ruin either. To think it would still be actively used even after 1000 years.

Kamal: At first, it wasn't a place where people could live. The construction methods were ancient, so it was difficult to restore.

Kamal: But Azel is truly full of wisdom.

Kamal: Combining ancient techniques with modern technology to make it this beautiful, even the craftsmen were surprised.

Enis: It's not just the construction methods. He was knowledgeable in every field.

Enis: Even Prince Silvio, who left Tanzanite the other day, visits here regularly for his insights.

Kamal: He's truly my brother to be proud of.

(He was loved by everyone because he was the Living God, but...)

(He was loved because he was someone everyone could be proud of.)

Setting aside whether that was a good or bad thing for Prince Azel...

With the days we spent together vividly in my mind, I offered the Al flowers to the deserted temple.

Even though it's been quite a while, my eyes still hurt.

Kamal: You'll be leaving Tanzanite soon, right? Where are you going next?

Akatsuki: Ruby or Acroite.

Akatsuki: Wherever Emma wants to go.

Emma: I'm having trouble deciding.

(...This is bad.)

Perhaps because I was in front of the temple, my voice was weaker than I expected.

Kamal: ...Miss Emma.

Emma: Have you been to Ruby and Acroite, Kamal?

I covered up my troubled voice with a cheerful one.

Kamal: Yes, I worked as a mercenary in various countries for a while.

Kamal: Miss Emma, if you're unsure, would you like to hear your older sister's advice?

Enis: You're not an older sister, you're a grand—ow!

Kamal: Did you say something, Enis?

Enis desperately shook his head as Kamal pinched his cheeks.

(Prince Azel's persistent cheek attacks were inherited from Kamal.)

Kamal: You want to hear it, don't you, Miss Emma?

Emma: Yes, please, I'd love to hear your opinion, older sister.

Kamal: What a good girl. Come here. Let's have a secret chat, just us girls.

Kamal removed his hand from Enis's cheek and started walking towards the temple.

When I exchanged glances with the owner, he nodded and sent me off with a "go ahead."

Entering the temple after a long time, I felt as if Prince Azel's voice could be heard from anywhere at any moment.

(Even though I saw his death with my own eyes.)

Kamal: You don't have to force yourself.

Kamal: No matter how much time passes, painful things remain painful.

Kamal beckoned me and sat down on the steps of the temple.

As I sat next to him, he let out a gentle chuckle.

Kamal: You fell in love, didn't you?

Emma: ...Perhaps.

(If he were a stranger, I wouldn't be suffering this much.)

(Every time I feel this unbearable pain... I think, ah, maybe it was love.)

(I never thought the love I longed for would be so painful.)

(...I wonder if it was good that I got to know it. Or if it would have been better to remain ignorant.)

Emma: That person... he was truly a terribly suggestive God.

Kamal: You know, even I thought it was unfair, watching from the sidelines.

Kamal: Even though he was so obviously into you.

(Kamal also saw him as being "obviously into me.")

Perhaps the only one who wasn't aware, or was pretending not to be aware, was Prince Azel himself.

Kamal: Even a merciful God can't normally live with a stranger of the opposite sex.

Kamal: Especially since Azel is the type to keep his distance from people...

Kamal: The moment he invited you to the temple, he must have already liked you.

Emma: .....

Kamal: Do you want to see him?

Emma: ...!

(If I could see him, of course I want to.)

(...Even if it's in a dream, I want to see him.)

Emotions overflowed, and my eyes teared up again.

I lowered my head to hide it, but Kamal gently patted my back, and I couldn't hold back anymore.

Kamal: I'm sorry.

Emma: No, I'm the one who should be sorry.

Emma: It's no use. I thought I had calmed down a bit...

Emma: ...It seems it will take a lot more time for me to accept it.

Kamal: .....

Kamal silently offered me a handkerchief.

I thanked her and accepted it, dabbing at my eyes.

Perhaps the ensuing silence was to give my heart time to settle.

(I can't stay like this forever, I have to move forward.)

(I know that, though.)

As if to change the mood, Kamal clapped his hands.

Kamal: Hey, Miss Emma. Have you ever received a request as a book merchant?

Emma: No, I've only helped the owner.

Kamal: Then, can I be your first?

Kamal: Actually, there's a book I want you to find in Acroite.

Emma: What kind of book is it?

Kamal: It's about ancient law, but it's an important document, so it's prohibited to take it out of the country.

Kamal: However, making copies is allowed. I want you to copy only the necessary parts, Miss Emma.

Kamal: Can I ask you, as a book merchant?

(The owner said I could decide where to go next, and that seems like something I can do.)

Emma: I'll gladly accept.

Kamal: Thank you! Actually, that law book is managed by Prince Matias.

Emma: Prince Matias?

Kamal: The first prince of Acroite.

Kamal: I'll snatch the national seal from Enis later and write a letter, so could you give it to Prince Matias?

(A letter with the national seal... That's a lot of responsibility.)

Emma: Understood. If I give it to him, will he lend me the book?

Kamal: Probably. Please give the copied book to my acquaintance in Acroite.

Kamal: Also, could you include an invoice for the fee?

Kamal: You can write any amount you want, so thank you.

(Keep moving forward.)

(That's what Prince Azel wants, so let's take the first step as a book merchant.)

I stood up, burning the scenery of the temple into my memory.

Emma: I'll do my best to fulfill that request.

-

—In an ordinary mansion in an ordinary town in a certain country.

Kagari: ––It seems it went well, congratulations.

Kagari: I prepared celebratory dorayaki. Do you want some too?

Matias: It looks the same as the usual dorayaki.

Kagari: The filling is different. Look, it's red bean paste and white bean paste.

Matias: There are such colorful bean pastes? The world is vast.

Kagari: It tastes delicious too. I supervised the making of it.

Matias: ...Maybe I should start respecting your enthusiasm for dorayaki.

Kagari: By the way, what's wrong, Heretical God?

Kagari: Usually, you'd be the first to greedily devour it.

Azel: ...Of course, I'll have some. The dorayaki Kagari prepares is delicious.

Matias: You seem absent-minded today.

Azel: Perhaps I'm feeling drained after finishing a job.

Azel: Thanks to your efforts, I was able to achieve my goal.

Azel: Let me express my gratitude once again.

Kagari: Ruby simply borrowed Tanzanite's military power.

Kagari: I was wondering about the soldiers from a country without war, but they were quite capable.

Azel: I did train them with care. It would be troubling if they weren't useful.

Matias: You were even meddling in the military?

Azel: Yes, national defense is also under God's jurisdiction. In fact, there's nothing that isn't.

Matias: ...You say it so casually, but your versatility is terrifying.

Kagari: Not only is he versatile, but he also gets results. Is he a genius?

Azel: No, a God... no, I'm not a God anymore.

Azel: Please think of me as an ordinary person who is slightly more capable than others.

Kagari & Matias: That's sarcastic. / How sarcastic.

Azel: To think that was sarcastic, the human world is troublesome—no, it's difficult.

Azel: Well, it doesn't matter. It would be problematic to have those capable soldiers in my own country, so...

Azel: I'm glad you were able to take them in temporarily, Kagari.

Azel: Under the apostle's command, they could have become a major force in trying to prevent God's death.

Kagari: You're quite bold.

Matias: Originally, sending soldiers to another country en masse means weakening national defense.

Matias: Even if it was a measure to minimize resistance from the royal family and the apostle...

Matias: It's not a tactic you can take without confidence in the future.

Azel: I was confident about that. I'm good at seeing the guaranteed reality.

Azel: The possibility of Obsidian attacking Tanzanite is low, and it's not the right time for Jade either.

Azel: All the favorable timings aligned, creating this opportunity.

Matias: What happened to the apostle?

Azel: He's probably having nightmares right now.

Azel: He's a fanatic who will stop at nothing to protect his faith.

Azel: Even now, he hasn't abandoned his faith and is acting on the premise that God is alive...

Azel: But the utopia where all citizens are believers is gone. From now on, there will be those who don't listen to his words.

Azel: The weakening of faith means the decline of the apostle. It's a truly pleasant feeling.

Kagari: That's the Heretical God I know.

Matias: ...Based on what Azel said, it seems like a fitting retribution.

Kagari: But is there no possibility that the apostle will collude with Obsidian in the future?

Azel: I wouldn't say there isn't, but such trials are welcome.

Azel: The people of Tanzanite don't know how to fail.

Azel: It's my hope that they will overcome many great trials, learn from them, and make history.

Azel: I will lend my strength only when a crisis arises that they absolutely cannot overcome on their own.

Kagari & Matias: That's so like God. / That's God for you.

Azel: ...It seems that becoming an ordinary person is also difficult.

Matias: It's best to get used to it gradually.

Matias: By the way, I heard that you got shot in the stomach in front of the audience.

Kagari: Is that so? You seem fine.

Azel: Could you please not touch my stomach?

Azel: I just used this.

Matias: This bottle?

Azel: It's a sleeping drug, but it can temporarily suppress the pulse.

Azel: Thanks to everyone being so focused on the moon, I was able to take it openly.

Azel: The blood was colored water that I had prepared beforehand, so I didn't actually get shot in the stomach.

Azel: In the first place, I was in a location where it was theoretically impossible to be sniped.

Matias: So the gunshot in the report was a blank?

Azel: Yes. After that, I had my fellow doctor declare me dead, and once I got into the coffin, the disguise was complete.

Kagari: It doesn't seem like a big deal when you hear the explanation like this.

Azel: The important thing is not reality, but persuasiveness.

Matias: ...Even if you didn't actually die, you can't appear on the public stage anymore.

Matias: The people of Tanzanite should be grateful to you.

Azel: Not at all. I didn't do it because I wanted them to be grateful.

Kagari: That's humble for a greedy person like you.

Azel: It's because money isn't involved.

Matias: What are you going to do now?

Azel: Of course, I'll lend a hand to each of your goals, in accordance with the rules of our alliance.

Azel: The incident in Tanzanite is not the end, but the beginning.

Matias & Kagari: "........."

A sudden knock broke the silence that had fallen.

Matias: Excuse me, I have to step out for a moment.

Kagari: By the way, Azel, I've heard another rumor.

Azel: I don't know what you're talking about, and it's irrelevant anyway.

Azel: More importantly, Kagari, the dorayaki is waiting for you.

Kagari: About the girl you were infatuated with.

Azel: I-I can't hear you, I can only hear the dorayaki saying "eat me."

Kagari: So the rumors were true. I'm surprised.

Azel: No, that's not true, I wasn't infatuated, she was just a deterrent for women.

Kagari: Why are you getting so defensive?

Azel: I'm not getting defensive.

Kagari: You are.

Azel: I'm not.

Kagari: You are.

Azel: I'm telling you, I'm no—

Matias: Are you children?

Kagari: You're back already? That was fast.

Kagari: ...Hm? Who's that behind you?

Matias: It's the woman who brought the document with the Tanzanite national seal.

Matias: According to the letter... Azel, it seems she was sent by your brother. He wrote that I should grant her an audience.

Matias: My subordinate came to ask for my judgment, as she's a sudden state guest, and I thought it would be a good time, so I let her in.

Matias: ...But judging by your expression, was that a mistake?

Emma: ......

Azel: ......

Emma: Wh... huh...

Emma: Eeeeeeeeh!?

-

The country of snow and law, Acroite—that was our next destination, the owner and I.

We went directly to Acroite on a direct flight from the port of Tanzanite, but just as I was about to carry out Kamal's errand, I was stunned by the person who appeared before me.

Emma: Prince Azel, you tricked me, didn't you?

Azel: ......

Prince Matias of Acroite and the red-haired man, perhaps sensing the atmosphere, quickly left the room.

I thought that I might have interrupted an important conversation, but I didn't have the composure to worry about that in front of Prince Azel, who was facing away from me and wouldn't look at me.

I stood in front of Prince Azel, who was standing by the window, put my hands on my hips, and looked up at him.

Emma: I cried a lot, you know?

Azel: ......

Emma: I really thought you were dead...

Azel: .............

Emma: ...My tears wouldn't stop... for a long, long time...

Azel: ..................

Emma: Waaaaah!

Azel: Hey, isn't that too much crying!?

When I deliberately raised my voice, even Prince Azel was startled and turned to face me.

Emma: Good, we finally made eye contact.

When I stopped pretending to cry and smiled, his already awkward frown deepened.

Azel: ...It was my fault, okay?

Emma: I don't feel your sincerity.

Azel: I'm so sorry.

Emma: ...Do you really mean it?

Azel: I do, I do.

Emma: ...You could have told me...

(...This conversation, his unapologetic attitude, it's all real.)

(The real Prince Azel is here.)

As sensation returned to my numb heart, the tears I had held back threatened to spill again.

However, the emotion behind these tears was different this time.

Azel: If I had told you, it wouldn't have been "goodbye," would it?

Azel: I wanted to die and part with you cleanly. That way, there would be no lingering attachment.

Azel: ...Mine.

Emma: Lingering attachment... do you have any?

Azel: .....

(So unrepentant.)

Emma: I have nothing but lingering attachment.

When I looked him in the eye and honestly conveyed my feelings, he averted his gaze again.

(But his ears are red.)

Azel: I told you in the beginning. Not to fall in love with me.

Emma: Are you allowed to say that? When you're the one in love with me?

Azel: Are you still saying that?

Emma: Yes, I'll say it as many times as I want, I'll tell you!

Emma: You definitely love me, Prince Azel.

Even if my eyes were deceiving me, I couldn't believe Kamal's eyes were deceiving him too.

If Kamal, who is closer to Prince Azel than anyone else, gave his seal of approval, then I wouldn't hesitate.

Azel: ...........................

Emma: It's no use sulking.

Azel: I'm not.

Azel: No matter what you say, I don't love you.

Azel: ...Go back. Pretend you didn't see me.

Azel: I'll strangle Kamal when I get back. I told him at least a thousand times not to tell you.

Emma: Unfortunately, I can't just obediently go back.

(Now that it's come to this, I want to make him admit it no matter what.)

(...Because of Prince Azel, I've been through a lot.)

I placed the bag I was carrying on a nearby table and took out paper, a quill, and ink from it.

As I sat down on a chair and started writing, Prince Azel, unable to ignore me, peered down at my hand from above.

Azel: ...An invoice?

Emma: Yes. First, the expenses for Kamal's request... and the mental anguish I suffered...

Emma: The reward for the success of that day's plan, plus compensation for various damages...

Azel: What are these "various damages"?

Emma: ...K-Kisses, hugs, and all that stuff!

Azel: Huh?

Emma: Subtracting my debt from this and calculating...

Emma: I think it comes to about this much!

I finished writing the invoice, imitating the style of the one he once presented to me, and thrust it at Prince Azel.

It was a masterpiece of an invoice, with zeros filling the entire sheet of paper.

Azel: You... can you even read these digits?

Emma: No, I can't.

Azel: Don't say it so proudly.

Emma: But I won't let you say you can't pay.

Emma: ...My heart is expensive.

Azel: ......

(Prince Azel bound me with debt, so now I'll bind him with debt.)

(I want a reason to keep seeing him.)

This was a first.

Never before had I met someone I enjoyed being with this much, someone whose absence made my tears flow endlessly.

His gaze, which had been fixed on the invoice, turned to me.

Azel: ...A dead god can't appear on the public stage again.

Azel: Unlike you, I'll be living in the shadows from now on.

(...That was the real reason he didn't tell me the truth.)

("Goodbye" was the best thing for me, in Prince Azel's mind.)

Prince Azel, who is now considered dead in the world, hasn't gained his freedom.

He'll probably have to keep paying the price for building the country's future for the rest of his life.

Emma: Then all the more reason why it's worth paying me.

Azel: Specifically?

Emma: I'll run a lot of errands in place of Prince Azel, who can't move freely.

Azel: That's fine, there are other people.

Emma: I'll even make delicious food.

Azel: ...I won't have any trouble with food even without you.

Emma: More than anything...

Emma: I'll teach you what true love is.

(Thanks to Prince Azel, the vague concept of love has taken shape and entered my heart.)

(I'm sure I can convey it to Prince Azel properly now.)

Emma: I'll correct your distorted perception of love and make you say, "My life was happy"!

Azel: .....

Azel: ...............

Azel: ..........................

After a long, long silence, Prince Azel snatched the invoice from my hand.

Azel: ...I'm just reluctantly accepting you to repay my debt.

Azel: Don't misunderstand.

(Prince Azel probably doesn't realize.)

Even though he's frowning, the corners of his mouth are twitching, unable to hide his joy.

Emotions burst in my chest, overflowing with love in various colors.

Azel: Oh dear... With this much debt, I'll be broke for life.

Emma: Poor you.

Emma: Ow... ow!

Azel: ––...Don't run away until I've paid it all off.

I couldn't help but laugh at his muttered words as he pinched my cheeks.

Emma: Do you know what that's called in the world?

Emma: It's called "adorable."

Azel: .............

Azel: ...I know that much.

(Ah, he admitted it.)

Azel: I've been cursed. By you, of all people...

Azel: I hate emotions that can't be explained with logic.

Azel: But I love you. Damn it...

-

I feel like I had a dream once.

???: Not all love ends in a comedy.

???: Why do you yearn for love?

There wasn't any special reason.

There wasn't any special motive.

It didn't go beyond pure admiration, and I didn't have any deep thoughts on love.

(But if I were asked the same thing now—)

The dream I saw repeatedly changed on the night I reunited with Prince Azel.

Azel: I've seen your dream a few times, but I never thought it would change this much.

The immature space that only had buds was now surrounded by a multitude of roses, and the sky that was covered in night had transformed into a clear blue sky.

The sweet scent of roses tickled my nose, and happiness flowed into my chest.

(If dreams are a mirror reflecting my heart...)

Emma: Burn this into your eyes.

Emma: Because this entire space is probably my heart, which loves Prince Azel so much that it can't help itself.

Azel: ...Please stop.

Emma: And look at this.

I grabbed Prince Azel's arm, which had appeared in the dream world as if it were natural, and led him to the oak table.

There wasn't an unfinished book there, but a rose encased in a glass dome.

The fresh rose was partially crystallized, sparkling in the sunlight.

Emma: It's the most beautiful rose in the dream world.

Azel: ...Is that so?

Emma: I wonder what it means.

Azel: Don't ask me. This is your dream.

(...The rose in the glass dome resembles the rose that tells time, which I saw when I was a Belle.)

(That one was a rose that showed a time limit, but the rose in front of me is crystallizing.)

(If this crystal covers everything, it might become a rose that never withers.)

(I wonder if my current feelings will remain in this form forever.)

(So that means...)

Emma: This must also be my love.

Azel: ......

Emma: Don't I love Prince Azel too much?

Azel: Don't say it yourself.

(What I've been longing for all this time.)

(...It's a unique emotion where happiness and pain are two sides of the same coin.)

Just as beautiful roses have thorns, love doesn't always bring only happiness.

If I hadn't known love, I wouldn't have spent days with swollen eyes from crying.

Although I'm glad that Prince Azel is alive, if I had never seen him again, that pain would have tormented me for the rest of my life.

(But...)

Prince Azel's expression is reflected in the glass dome.

The gentle smile directed at me would surely turn into a frown if he turned around.

So I didn't turn around, pretending to admire the roses and savoring the moment.

(There are many kinds of love.)

(In Tanzanite, I learned for the first time that love can turn into violence.)

(If the true love I envision is to continue wishing for the best for the other person—)

(Perhaps as long as the person I love is by my side, we can give each other "the best life" possible.)

(Maybe that's the true nature of what I've been yearning for.)

Azel: ...Ah.

As if finally noticing his expression reflected in the glass dome, Prince Azel awkwardly looked down.

Emma: It's alright, I already noticed.

Azel: ...What's alright about it, damn it.

Even as he cursed, Prince Azel didn't shake off my hand.

Perhaps it's because he thinks it's "the best for me"—

Azel: ...Sigh.

Emma: Why are you sighing?

Azel: I'm just disgusted with myself.

Azel: When and where did I go wrong? I wasn't supposed to love you, not one bit...

Azel: I strayed from the path, this is the worst.

Azel: ...The fact that I don't hate it, that's the worst part.

FIN

.

.

.

Romantic Ending Ch. 25 His Side Story

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[velvetchrry]

━━━━ IT REMAINS

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x psychiatrist!reader

4.3k. after being shot in the head, johnny works with a psychiatrist to get his life back. **contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

It’s a tick.

Nine. That’s how many hash marks make up the upper margin of your notes. That’s how many times Sergeant MacTavish has rubbed the spot on his forehead where he was shot months ago. If you listen closely you can hear the pad of his thumb race along the grown out hairs of his mohawk.

It’s how he gives himself quiet comfort. When you ask him a question that makes him feel squeamish, he absentmindedly runs his finger along it. You’d have more hash marks if you deigned to keep track at the beginning of your session but this is only the first time you’re meeting him. You’ve also gotten farther than any of his other psychiatrists thus far. 32 minutes in.

His first psychiatrist, Dr. Williams is great. Phenomenal, actually. Old school, nearing his late fifties — he showed you the ropes when you started here. You thought for sure his calm demeanor would be just what MacTavish needed. He made it approximately 17 minutes into the session.

You’re not even sure Dr. Williams was able to get an answer out of him that day. You were here; heard the raised voice of Sergeant MacTavish. Watched as one of the Lieutenants who accompanied him dragged him out. Dr. Williams left his office a few minutes after that, pink-faced and flustered. The only time you’ve ever seen him like that.

MacTavish went through two other psychiatrists before landing in your lap. Why me? you couldn’t help but think. What could I possibly have that they don’t? You’re the youngest psychiatrist here by a mile. Fresh meat. A larva who has yet to transform, metamorphose.

He’s been staring at the same speck on your carpet for a few minutes now. You saw this faraway look in his eyes at the beginning of the session. Those piercing blues fogged over, mist on the lake. Pupils pinpricked.

His leg bounces slightly. Sweat glistens on his upper lip. Talking about what happened, bringing up that day is what has set him off in other sessions before. You weren’t ready to breach the subject until a few minutes ago.

“Johnny?” you try again, gingerly. He didn’t like when you called him Sergeant MacTavish earlier.

“Doc?” he says calmly, as if you haven’t been waiting in silence for him to answer your question.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

He sucks his teeth. Ponders. You let him. If there’s anything you’ve observed about his behavior thus far is that he does not like to be pushed, likely due to the fact that he simply needs more time than before. With a TBI like his, it’s not shocking. Memory loss and concentration issues are almost a guarantee. Along with the other symptoms he’s been experiencing — mood changes, difficulty sleeping, sensitivity to sound — and that’s only what you’ve been able to gather so far from his own admissions this session and the notes from those very brief prior ones.

“I dinnae want ta talk about it,” he finally says.

“Alright,” you answer simply. Calmly.

His shoulders visibly slacken at that.

You wonder if he expected you to push him. And, had this not been your first session, you may have. But not this time. He’s not ready for that yet.

He does surprise you, however. When Sergeant MacTavish makes it the full hour, you award him with an honest smile.

“This is a great step forward, Johnny. I’m proud of you.”

You look down at your slightly smudged notes, the air still heavy with the scent of fresh ink. Notes on Johnny’s sisters, parents, home. How he imagines his life in the future — back home to the Highlands, maybe a little cottage in the woods, walking distance to his relatives. Surrounded by family — a wife, children. Animals. Fending for himself and his family. Providing.

It’s… sweet. His fantasy of the future. You imagine in different circumstances he might have been an ideal husband. He has a protective instinct that drives him in everything he does. A wolf defending his pack. Maw dripping with the blood of those who would stand to hurt anyone he loves.

“Thanks, Doc.”

He scratches the scar again as he stands up. It’s still raised — pink flesh that draws your eye in. He waits for you, maybe the most awkward you’ve seen him thus far. You stand and offer your hand. His engulfs yours. He holds it tight, like letting go of you will make him slip out of reality again.

“Next week, same time?” You hate the phrase as soon as it comes out, making you sound like every movie shrink ever, but routine is important for him right now.

He swallows thickly and nods his head, finally letting go of your hand. You walk him to the exit, to the waiting Lieutenant. He goes without a fuss.

You don’t run into any problems until a few sessions later.

He’s agitated, but hasn’t told you why yet. You give him time, give him space. Let him work out what he wants to tell you. The Newton’s cradle that usually occupies your desktop is shoved in a drawer. Silence envelops the two of you, other than his ragged breathing as he tries to get ahold of his emotions.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been holding your own breath but you allow some oxygen into your lungs. You feel like you’re standing at the door of an airplane and he’s the one strapping your parachute. Checking for rips and tears. Making sure the deployment handle is secure.

“Johnny?” you murmur. Wait.

He rubs his scar.

“Lonely,” he blurts out.

“That’s to be expected,” you hum as your finger absentmindedly brushes across the large CONFIDENTIAL in red ink that runs across his folder. He hasn’t been allowed to talk to any family or friends. They all think he’s dead until the man who killed him is in custody and — while you have your disagreements on whether or not that is the best course of action for him — you don’t outrank the military men who made this decision.

“Yer the only friend I get ta see.”

You hesitate and realize that was your error as soon as his face drops.

“We’re friends, no?”

You give him a genuine smile. “I’m your psychiatrist, Johnny.”

“Said ya wanted what’s best for me. Said ya cared.” He’s agitated, fist clenched and shaking against his thigh. He strokes his scar in quick succession with his other hand. His usually serene, handsome face is contorted, as if what he’s hearing is causing him physical pain. He is seconds away from another episode.

“That is true and I meant it when I said it.”

He unfurls his fist but his fingertip never leaves his head. “So we’re friends then?”

You shouldn’t placate him with confirmation. If it were any other patient, you wouldn’t. You would stop this in its tracks, before anything has time to bloom. Cut out the dead root before it rots the rest of the plant. But it’s him — and you can’t be another in a long list of people who have failed him.

“Yes Johnny. We’re… friends.”

He beams at you and you think you see a piece of Johnny from before the accident. The golden retriever energy you suspect made up his personality. The finger on the scar stills.

“I knew you were the right one for me, Doc.”

You make it through three months with him.

“Bonnie flowers,” he nods towards the vase on your desk.

Lily of the valley, baby’s breath and red roses encompassed in a simple glass vase with a lilac satin bow. No note, but it was your birthday week and you figured one of your friends or parents just forgot to add one. You’ll figure out who sent it later.

“Mmm, they are.”

You level him with a look.

“You’re avoiding my question, Johnny,” you remark. He’s had enough sessions with you, become comfortable enough for you to be able to challenge him a bit. He sinks further into the couch and you sit up straighter, closer to the edge of your seat, not letting him run away from the question with physical distance. “Can we talk about this?” you ask his permission.

There’s a tick in his jaw as he mulls it over, eyes never leaving the flowers. You wait, unsure what his reaction will be.

“Can I say no?”

You nod. “You can always say no to me, Johnny. Though, it’s easier for me to help you if you say yes.”

He looks down at his lap, hands folded neatly. The hair on his arms escapes from his long sleeve a little bit. He rubs a knuckle.

“Ya ken I trust ya, Doc, it’s just…” he pinches his brow together, eyes shut as he brings a hand to his head. He hunches over slightly.

“Johnny?” his name lingers in the air. The physical distress he shows gives you heartburn, acid creeping up your throat. He groans, and pushes his fingertips so hard against his forehead you’re sure it’ll bruise.

The bottle of water is in your hands before you realize what you’re doing — standing from your seat and sitting next to him on the couch in your office. You offer it and he lets his hand idle on yours for a second before removing the lid and taking a long sip.

He sighs in relief and lets his muscles relax, leaning backwards into the sofa. A warm, massive hand settles on your knee and you startle but don’t recoil. It would set him back if you pulled away.

“I’m not ready, Doc,” he croaks, and the crack in his voice breaks your heart.

“Alright, Johnny,” you soothe. You grab the back of the hand resting on your knee and squeeze before standing up to return to your chair. “That’s alright. Take your time.”

A knock on your office surprises you a few nights later.

It’s late on a Friday night — you should have been home by now, but you had few things to wrap up before your week off. Notes to finish, information to chart. You were only slightly worried about Johnny, hoping one week off wouldn’t regress him any. At the end of his last session, you made sure to spend some time telling him that you wouldn’t see him next week. You emphasized that you’d be back the following week and would resume as normal.

There’s nothing you hate more than disrupting his routine. It’s been paramount to his recovery thus far. Last week his physician requested an MRI to update his brain imaging, since there hasn’t been any since the incident and it set him off. He only calmed down once you were paged and arrived — stripped yourself of any metal, put on two different pairs of ear plugs and sat vigil next to him on the scanner — your hand brushing against his exposed leg in a soothing motion as his head was inside the tube.

You wonder who could possibly be here at this time of night. As far as you know, you were the last one, but someone else could have easily had a late patient that you weren’t aware of.

The doorknob turns before you can reach it.

Johnny stands in the opening to your office. He is visibly distressed, sweat glistening on his brow. His fingers flex and squeeze as he walks in and closes your office door behind him, hard enough that you jump where you stand.

“Hello, Johnny. What brings you here so late? Where’s your escort?”

He’s still looking off in the distance as he approaches you. You hold your ground, tilting your chin up slightly to look at him. Now that he’s in front of you it’s easier to see how ragged his breathing is, how hard he’s fighting for control over his emotions.

“Do you want to sit?” you try again.

He doesn’t respond, simply holds his ground as you talk. His eyes flicker back and forth as he ponders something. Is he trying to use the calming techniques you’ve taught him?

Your fingers twitch, almost reaching out on instinct to grab his wrist. He sucks in a large breath, his chest nearly brushing against yours as he does. The hairs on your scalp tickle as you feel his exhale caress your face. Patiently, you wait for him. You’re used to this. Sometimes he needs a moment.

“Ye cannae just…” he starts then stops, pinching his eyes shut as he gets his thoughts together. He inhales deeply again before continuing, his voice more desperate. “Why’re ye leaving me, Doc?”

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny. I’ll be back the week after next.”

The line of his jaw sharpens as he clenches his teeth. His fingers continue to flex and contract, half moons indenting the skin of his palm as he does. The thin wire holding him together is about to break and you’re standing in the middle of the debris field.

“I’ll tell ye about it,” he pleads. He brings his hand up to cup your jaw and you hold your ground. Johnny has never frightened you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him agitated. You know, down to your core, he would never hurt you — so you stay still, let him make physical contact. “I’ll tell ye everything.” He dangles the bait over you like you’re a starving animal. The thing you’ve been waiting for all these sessions. A thumb traces the slope of your cheek.

“Okay,” you agree, bringing your hand up to lightly hold against the one stroking you. You wrap your fingers around his and pull his hand off your face. “We’ll talk about it when I return, alright?”

Wrong move.

He snaps.

Before you can react, Johnny grips the back of your neck and pulls you firmly to his chest. His other arm locks itself around your waist. You gasp, breathing in the scent of him as your face is pressed tightly to his body. Your hands fly up to push yourself away but it’s no use. Johnny is carved from stone, immovable, statuesque. He doesn’t crush you, only holds you as his arms lock in place. Your stiffened frame moves with his chest, his rapid breathing competing over the sound of your own.

Panic creeps into your throat, tightening the noose. You know Johnny would never harm you, but you’re not quite certain the lengths he would go when he’s feeling threatened — and right now he’s feeling very threatened.

Fingers wrap around the hair at your nape as he pulls your head back. He kisses you hard and it’s a battle of teeth and tongue as you try to back away from it, remove yourself from the situation. You whine in protest and Johnny groans.

Finally his mouth releases yours. Panting, you gasp for air.

“Johnny… this is… highly inappropriate,” you wheeze.

He looks into your eyes lovingly, as if his stare could keep you in place forever.

“Kept the flowers I gave ye,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen in realization. “You? You’re the one who sent those to me?”

A wide grin splits his face. “My girl’s birthday. ‘Course I did.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he knew when your birthday was — something you definitely did not share with him. “Johnny… I’m your psychiatrist.”

“Yer my friend. Said it yerself. Said a lot of things, hen. ‘We’re in this together’, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to help ye’, ‘Rely on me, even on bad days’,” he leans in, nose pressed to your hair and taking a whiff. “Cannae let you go… no’ now.”

You try pushing yourself off him again to no avail. “Johnny…”

With both arms now wrapped around your middle, he lifts you with ease, setting your ass down gently on top of your desk. He brushes a stray hair out of your face. “Said I can ‘always say no’ to ye. I’m saying it now. Cannae let you go, hen,” he repeats.

“Johnny,” you echo, strained as you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. You try to keep your voice strong and even but it’s becoming more and more difficult the longer you’re stuck in his hold.

He shushes you before you can continue talking, a massive palm covering your mouth. “Know ye want it too, pretty girl.” His large knee forces your legs apart, bumping it against your clothed center. You startle and he chubs up — your jump barely moving you in the strong grip of his arm. “Take such good care of me. Let me return the favor,” he murmurs, pupils blown out wide as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

You try to push him away again as he kisses you, but it’s no use. You’d have better luck tipping over a skyscraper with your bare hands. Defeated, you submit — not by kissing him back but no longer fighting him either.

“Tha’s it,” he coos when he decides to back away. He takes you with him, sliding your bottom across the desk and supporting your body weight until your legs are firmly underneath you. Suddenly you’re turning around and he’s forcing your face down to the cool wood. The action causes you to screech and he lays his body against yours and shushes your cries, smoothing a hand along the exposed skin of your cheek.

“S’alright, pretty girl. S’alright. Nobody’ll ever touch ye again. Safe with me, always.”

A shiver races down your spine. Johnny hums in delight, his hips crushed firmly to your ass. His thick length is pressed against you and he shudders. Impossibly, he pulls you by the waist against him even more and wraps a massive paw around your middle to tear your pants down your body. Your panties come with it and you can’t help the moan that escapes at the sensation and sudden coolness.

“Johnny…” you start again, knowing that kissing him is beyond innappropriate but fucking him on your desk is a different monster entirely.

A few thick digits in your mouth quiet you and you gargle at the sudden intrusion. “Shh, bonnie,” he pacifies you, before wrapping his arm around your front and swiping a long stripe up your core with his spit-moistened fingers.

He braces your squirming body down with his large forearm. You yelp as he continues to swirl around your sensitive nub, the motion getting his fingers wetter and wetter as your body responds to his touch. He continues his ministrations with deft and experienced fingers that have your legs trembling underneath you. Eyes closed, you cry out in pleasure — and then come back to reality when you realize you’re about to be fucked by your vulnerable head trauma patient.

“Johnny! We can’t do this,” you plead.

“Why no’ hen? We both want it.” You can’t see him with how you’re positioned but you just know he’s doing that little head tilt thing he does when he’s genuinely confused.

“It’s not right, I’ll lose my job,” you whisper.

He huffs. “Don’t need it. I’ll take care of ye.”

A bulky finger slides into you and your knees knock together. “You’re my patient,” you reply, breathless.

“Gonna help me at home from now on,” he responds effortlessly, stretching you with another finger, continuing his slow, lazy pumps.

Home?

“W… what do you mean by ‘home’, Johnny?” your psychiatrist brain asks, waiting for your patient to define his train of thought like you would in any other session. As if you were across the couch from one another — instead of his fingers spreading you wide as your body is splayed on your desk.

“Home,” he replies simply, like the word should explain itself. A third finger enters you and you suck in a breath at the slight burn. You whimper.

“Pretty baby,” he coos, accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

Your nipples pebble but you attempt to resist giving him anymore physical responses. “We can’t do this Johnny,” you tremble — from his fingers or the situation you currently find yourself in, you’re not sure.

“This beautiful body is telling me otherwise, Doc,” he practically purrs, his fingers picking up speed.

“Please Johnny… I…” you gasp.

He rips his hand out and you bite down hard on your cheek to prevent yourself from crying at the loss of contact.

“Want more, baby?!” he beams, the sound of his zipper your only warning before his thick, warm cock rubs lengthwise against the entrance to your cunt, hard length massaging your clit as he pumps.

‘No,’ your mind thinks, but your traitorous body says ‘yes, yes, yes,’ as you draw in a sharp breath, legs pushing your ass back without asking your brain.

Johnny makes a pleased grunt as he continues, lubing his cock with your wet, pulsing pussy. You can’t help it — you moan. A sharp slap on your ass pushes you further into the wood and Johnny soothes the sting by hitting your reddening cheek with his sticky cock a few times in a row.

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, keeping you in place but he’s surprisingly gentle. “Meant to be mine,” he declares as he enters you slowly. You suck in a large breath. “Only good thing that came outta this,” and you know he’s tapping the side of his head with his other hand without looking back at him. You whine and he groans when he enters you to the hilt, squeezing the flesh of your hip with the hand not securing your neck.

That’s it.

You’re fucked.

In more ways than one.

Johnny’s fingertips dig into your skin as he picks up the pace slightly. You grip the side of your desk, not bothering to stop him now. It’s too late for that. Arguments die on your tongue as Johnny pounds into you from behind, the bony protuberance of your pelvis hitting bruisingly against the hardwood with every thrust.

You resort to holding on as best you can as Johnny slams against you, like his anger is seeping out of his skin by doing it. The slapping of flesh and your combined pants sucking the air from the room. Johnny bucks into you until his pace gets sloppy and then he stills, pulling himself out with frustrated groan.

His hands leave you and you lay there, boneless, but watch as he drags your chair around the desk, cock bobbing and glistening in the light as he walks. He supports your weight effortlessly as he places you in your chair, like a delicate piece of china. He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as his arms come up underneath your knees and pull you to the edge of the seat — right to his waiting mouth.

Johnny swirls and curls his tongue around the sensitive flesh of your pussy, wrapping a strong arm across your lap to keep your bucking hips down. It stings a little, his solid arm pressing into the bruises forming on your hip. You pant and whine, unable to control the noises spilling out of you.

He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking until that little bundle of nerves can’t take it anymore. With all your strength you try to back away from his mouth but the effort is fruitless. Tears stream down your cheek, the sensitivity making you plead with him. “I can’t… Johnny please… please…”

He hums, the vibration sending a shockwave up your spinal column. He slows down but only slightly and you see stars, head floating as you cum on his tongue. He hums again and you shiver violently in reaction. Pulling back now, he smiles drunkenly at you and kisses your pussy before standing and lining himself back up with you.

Your legs are firmly secured and he throws your calves onto his broad shoulders. He teases your entrance before he lets out a sputtered groan. “Bonnie little thing,” he sighs before spearing you on his cock. You're contorted at an impossible angle, one you’re definitely going to feel later, as Johnny relentlessly drives himself into you.

Voice cracking, you can’t stop the sounds of pleasure that escape from between your lips. Sweat drips down Johnny’s brow as he concentrates. One of your hands grips the arm of your chair and the other finds your lower stomach, feeling Johnny’s cock push into you. The thick hair covering his muscular body tickles but it’s barely noticeable over the pleasure coursing through your system.

Your toes curl as another orgasm rips through you, and you bite down hard on the forearm braced beside your head. Johnny whines in pleasure, hips stuttering before resuming their normal brutal rhythm.

“‘M close, bonnie,” he pants. His motions become more flustered as he approaches his climax. The hand gripping onto the arm of your chair now curls around his forearm as you hold tight to him.

He releases, his spend coating your walls in thick spurts and he drops his body on top of yours. You can feel him twitching inside of you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

After a few moments, Johnny catches his breath and snakes his arms under you. He lifts you out of the chair and brings you to the couch he’s sat on countless times before, letting your limp form curl against his. He pets your head lovingly as you lay against him, humming softly to himself.

When you fall asleep, Johnny whispers his plans of the future to you. The house he’d purchased in the Highlands a couple of weeks ago is ready to move into. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. The plane is chartered, and you’ll both be on it. He’ll be able to last longer next time, and you’re going to give him the most beautiful family — together you’ve already started to.

[whimsicalpolitical]

Pleeaseee please please some Matty or Ross breeding kink fics? Thank you. (You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it)

18+ mdni, smut, p in v, dirty talk, breeding link, d word 😁

“he was fucking pathetic thinking he could have you,” matty grits through his teeth while his hips snap violently against yours.

he was furious the second you got back from a birthday party, furious at the guy who wanted to dance with you, touch you, get you out of there all alone.

“did you like that? having him all over you, knowing he could never fuck you like i do.“

you shake your head. then you nod. you don’t know. all you know is that he feels too good inside of you right now and you could never want anyone else.

“hm?” he asks again, gripping your chin to prevent you from looking away, “liked all the attention?”

“fuck- matty,” he fucks you deep and slow. he has a firm grip on your hips, and he’s barely leaving your cunt before he’s slamming back into you, desperate to keep the tip of him as close to your cervix as possible. 

“now it’s all matty again, s’pathetic. answer my question, love.”

your nails scratches down matty’s back as he pounds into you, leaving red marks to blossom over his pale skin. you are sure you’re going to pass out from how many orgasms you already had but still you hold him close to you and welcome each blow to your cunt he gives.

“n-no. just want your attention, promise,” you whimper.

“ah,” he teases, “that so? then what should we do about the other wankers?”

you bite your lip, thinking about if you’re going to say what you want to say.

matty bites at your neck slowly, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“cum in me,” you moan out, “f-fill me up.”

you feel matty’s hips stop, the once quick motions of him moving his dick in and out suddenly pausing. you open your eyes, feeling your brows furrowing in confusion.

"don’t- you don’t," you begin to stutter.

he moves your hand from his cheek up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss before interlocking your fingers.

"say it again"

you smile to yourself, chuckling softly before you roll your hips up to his, restarting the motions. you pull matty’s head down, your lips trailing up his neck, peppering kisses on his skin. you move your lips from his neck before whispering in his ear. “want you to cum deep inside"

matty’s hips start to move again, moving in a deep sensual manner. "you want me to fill you up, love? let everyone know you’re mine?”

matty moves his hand to your breast, pulling and pinching at your nipples. you feel yourself clench around him, becoming hotter at the words between the two of you.

“yes- oh fuck, could be a real daddy,” you hear a loud groan, his grip on your hips getting tighter. you can hear the wetness of your cunt, the sound squelching from the quickening pace of matty’s hips.

matty moves back, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, deepening the angle. he moves one of his hands to your stomach, fingers glazing lightly.

"gonna fuck you full of my cum, darling, fuck it deep into you. everyone will know then- that you’re mine, that i’m the one having you like this.”

you can’t think straight, the knot in your stomach forming and your mind full of fuzz. your brain can’t form a coherent sentence, quickly nodding as tears start to prickle in the corners of your eyes.

"can feel you squeezing me so tight, darling.”

matty’s hand falls back to your clit, rubbing in quick circles, keeping his other hand firm on your stomach.

"so good for me, such a good girl for taking me like this. gonna fill you up right here," he places two gentle taps on your stomach, right above your bellybutton, “gonna let me do that, hm?”

"fuck, matty, i'm gonna come" your voice sounds distant, like it isn’t your own, following your statement with a string of please.

"look so gorgeous for me, be a good girl and let me have it, yeah? then you’ll be full of me for days.” matty groans through gritted teeth.

“fuckfuckfuck, matty,” you feel yourself come undone with a loud moan, your thighs shaking and eyes rolling back. matty’s pace quickens, hips snapping against yours at a brutal pace, sweat forming on his brows, face and chest red, before you feel his beat skip.

“that’s it, love,” he moans, his face dropping to your neck, “you want to be full now?”

“yes, please, need you,” you plead.

you clench around him repeatedly, “c’mon, daddy,” you giggle.

“christ,” matty moans, “yeah, i’ll give you that, fill this cunt, give you a baby.”

with one final stutter of his hips, matty lets out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milks himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his, making sure nothing goes to waste.

“oh, fuckin’ hell.”

he can’t help but but press even further into you, fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it stays there, collapsing on top of you with himself still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both catch your breath.

you hum, “so you reckon that worked?”

matty catches your grin and shakes his head, “fuck me,” he mumbles, “if not we should just try again.”

[thewalrusespublicist]

Hello! Love your blog and your takes, objective and sane and well researched chefs kiss! I had a blast scrolling through it like it was my feed yesterday lol can you elaborate on klaus and Paul if possible? People mostly talk about them like it’s already understood but I don’t understand 😭 I’m kinda lost on their (all of them, including stu) dynamic during the hamburg years specifically when it comes to Paul

Aww thank you anon! Tbh I was starting to feel a bit down about my blog and what I was putting out ( the eternal crisis on how to give full answers and opinions without being stupid, boring and annoying lol). So I really, really needed this. :)

Oh Paul vs/and the Exsis, it's quite a long one so buckle up.

Disclaimer: all of the people involved are essentially art kids/young adults who are famously the most exhausting people on the planet. Do not blame them for being dramatic, it's their natural state of being.

If we want to go into Paul and Klaus, we have to kind of start with the John, Paul and Stu. Now these three are a mess that's too big to go into here (though I have THOUGHTS about how Stu is utilised in the Beatles narrative that I'm more than happy to share if asked lmaooo). But in short(ish):

John and Paul had had an intense year and a bit of closeness. Then John meets Stu at art college.

John and Stu become c l o s e for many reasons (being peers, living together, similar artistic leanings + ego, Stu being a gentle guide to John, sharing art projects/poetry/long letters and feelings etc.) They became 'closer than two men' a friend had seen (remind us of anyone gang?). Most importantly, John could be open about his feelings with Stu in letters. If John had BPD which I subscribe too, I think Stu was his 'favourite person' and as Aunt Mimi said his 'special' and 'closest friend' from this period up until his death (though imho the transference back to Paul was starting prior to his death).

It's not clear what exactly happens as there's differing accounts but Stu uses his money to buy a new bass as John wants him to come to Scotland then Hamburg and play bass as he will 'look good'.

Paul doesen't like being relegated to the seat behind John and Stu when he used to sit next to John. He also isn't thrilled when he gets to Hamburg and not only does he get to sleep in the other room with just Pete but Stu cannot be arsed to play because he's hanging out with his hot new girlfriend Astrid (more on her in a sec). Our boy has spent a lot of money he doesen't have and given up on further education to be here and is jealous and annoyed.

Paul and Stu probably were friends and I think their mutual antipathy is overegged. HOWEVER, can't be denied that Paul is jealous of Stu and Stu is jealous of Paul (and getting flare-ups from increasing brain damage). John and Stu tease Paul and steal his money, Paul is mean to Stu (as are the others encouraged by John). Do I think John was playing games with both of them? Yup. They end up scuffling onstage because Paul said something about Astrid (not clear what, one account is that Paul said that Stu could borrow money off Astrid if he needed it which isn't really that bad a dig but who knows Yoko??).

Why is this dynamic important? Because it directly impacts the 'Exsis' (Klaus, Jurgen and Astrid's) group's relationship with Paul:

The Exsis were young artists living in Hamburg. They were artistic, cool, interesting and edgy. They were paramount in introducing the Beatles to cool new concepts, aesthetics and ideas. They also took themselves VERY seriously ie pretentious as all hell.

Astrid met Stu at Kaiserkeller and hit it off. They embarked on an all-consuming romance.

Letter from Stu to Astrid, c.1961

I've seen people say they were the proto-John and Yoko in terms of making their romance the whole world and influencing John years down the line and I can see that. With Astrid and Stu it's far more endearing though because they ARE young and the right age to have a relationship like that. Stu is popular with the Exsis in general and brings them into the Beatles group.

The Exsis didn't like or trust Paul. Astrid said later it was because Paul was 'too nice' which she herself admits is a ridiculous reason. The others also thought he was a bit of a show-off. It makes sense though if you're cool and edgy and want to stick it to the world to be sus about a guy being friendly show-off with seemingly no inner world. The other problem was a perfectly reasonable one imo, you're not going to like your friends frenemy who you don't connect with. Compound that with Paul not taking drugs as much as George or John and being in the other room and you begin to have a division.

Paul had been popular his whole life, like from what we know since-primary-school-popular. He had never been in this position before, let alone in a foreign country. I believe it became a bit of a brutal feedback loop. Paul's response to this type of behaviour consistently it to go more surface level, snide and passive aggressive. The natural response of any group with a designated 'ugh' person is to become more shady and exclusionary. The cycle continues and gets worse. Stu letters back home at this time says that in a shocking turn of events Paul is hated by everyone but Stu 'just feels sorry for him' (lmao OF COURSE you do Stu, its giving 'loathing' from Wicked lol). Klaus drew a lot of artwork of the early Hamburg Beatles that includes this highly unpleasant picture of Paul in 1961 which I think says a lot:

Klaus is also a musician and fancies himself a place on bass. When Stu leaves to pursue art, Klaus asks John if he could take over but John says that he thinks Paul is going to do it.

Klaus has later gone on to say that he thinks he was a better bass player for the Beatles' sound at the start and then Paul developed into being better for the group. It's one of those I cannot believe those words actually left your mouth and you are not deeply embarrased moments. But it's important to keep this desire and viewpoint in mind.

Klaus stays in touch with all of them and close to John and George, George especially. They visit Klaus on holiday in tenerife in early 60s and Klaus later draws the Revolver artwork.

This whole context of how they met and Hamburg is crucial and has to be taken into account when hearing Klaus' statements. Klaus and Paul started off with a lack of connection and with Paul on the outs, the Exsis got an incomplete view of Paul and an inaccurate snapshot of the Beatles dynamic overall. This is why when Klaus says 'Paul was always slightly apart from the others' and that 'divorce was inevitable' from early 60s we should remember that that is what Klaus is expecting to see as that's what he saw in Hamburg.

Klaus wanted to be the bass player (and was holding out hope to join a band with George and John in the 70s), was really close with George and suffers as many did with 'John Lennon aspiring boy bestie syndrome' (JABBS). Paul had what Klaus wanted and from the Hamburg experience, you could see why Klaus thought he might have an in and may have been jealous of this 'shallow' Paul of all people having the connection that he felt he should/could have with John and George. As with most sufferers of JABBS, he took John's side with everything, always refused to say any regrets about his involvement in How do you Sleep and thought Paul was fine with the song because 'he was even closer to John than [he] was. (Again Klaus to put yourself in that level of closeness with John that it's comparable to Paul is ???.) JABBS and its secondary condition PMIETGSH (Paul McCartney isn't even that good shut up) are virulent diseases that incapacitate sufferers objectivity and judgement, so it's fair to say that Klaus is a source you have to take with a pinch of salt on the early 70s period.

It seems that Klaus and Paul did get on a lot better the older they got (probably without the jealousy complication of George and John) and developed a sweet friendship. Here is Klaus' tribute to Paul for his 80th:

Here is the jam session he's talking about:

He now wants Paul to live in his house lmao so things have gotten warmer. But Klaus and Paul's dynamic is a great example of how and why natural bias, little jealousies and spats can consciously or subconsciously influence our internal narrative and why we need to be so careful about not taking one perspective as gospel.

[kaliina-catoe-blog]

Danny didn't stop flying until he was on the outermost edge of Crime Alley, floating for a few minutes to catch his-- well. Not literally breath, considering he didn't breathe in this form, but the point stood. He couldn't possibly be less lucky, first he has to hide out in Gotham to escape his parents and now he has to try to heal the older halfa without risking himself.

What was worse? Clearly the man didn't know he was a half-ghost. He probably didn't even know about the Anti-Ecto-Acts or the GIW! What if he was targeted and didn't even get to understand why?

Although. The man also asked Danny why he knew about his death.. As though the man knew he had died. But then, why would he not know that he was a halfa? How would he know that he had died, but not know anything about Ectoplasm or Cores? It wasn't adding up, and Danny knew he needed to figure it out.

For now, though, he was exhausted. He looked around for a second, before settling on an abandoned-looking theater building. The sign was faded, and looked to be rather damaged- as though someone had thrown somebody into it and shattered many of the old lights. Despite the letters missing, and the general damage to the sign, it seemed to be some kind of... Opera? Theater?

"**ake Op**a Ho*se"

He floated down, phasing himself through the roof and directly into the main theater of the building. It was cold, but he could handle cold with his Ice Core. Still, Danny moved over to the stage, he could always make it more comfortable.

After shredding a couple of the old, slightly mildewed and tattered curtains, he made himself a large nest. Transforming back, he tried to search the building some for anything useful.

(Jay)

Jason sighed, snapping his laptop shut a little harder than necessary. He had been out searching the street for the kid he saw earlier and, after several hours of nothing, tried to find anything on the many cameras he had placed.

He didn't want to get the Bats into this, at least not yet, but he was starting to wonder if he needed to talk to Oracle. She would probably be able to find the kid, right?... He sighed again.

Alright. What did he know so far? The kid was scrawny, he looked about Demon-Brat's age but it was hard to tell. He appeared to be malnourished; his hands and wrists were bony and his shoulders stuck out a bit. Jason had to fight the urge to open his laptop again, instead opting to stand and go to his kitchen.

Maybe he just needed to try to run into the kid more casually? Maybe even as Jason instead of as Red Hood. Clearly the poor thing had been terrified of him, and he couldn't blame them when he knew his vocal modulation and large guns probably seemed... Well. Scary.

Making up his mind, he started to pull out ingredients for a simple chicken soup. Tomorrow night, he'd patrol like normal and try to find the kid. Hopefully, if he did, he could quickly change or something and try to give the kid some food. Alfred's chicken soup would be the best, especially in Gotham's freezing cold excuse for fall.

(Danny)

Three bottles of water, two sodas, and a juice were in the concession stand. As well as a few bags of chips, a bag of unpopped popcorn, and several boxes of very old candies. Although, in all honesty, he wasn't sure he trusted those if they'd been in cardboard in an abandoned building for... Who knows how long. He was pretty sure at least one of these brands was discontinued, so he assumed it had been a fairly long time.

He shoved his haul into an empty bag he found, as well as a flashlight he found in what appeared to be a manager's office and some batteries. He could see in the dark, but he liked having the ability to actually have light - it made him feel safer. Lastly, he snooped at the registers. They were all empty, which he supposed made sense. The safe in the office, on the other hand, had $50 in random bills that he took.

He would probably feel worse about stealing, but clearly it had been a long time and nobody else was going to miss it or care. Right? Right. Sure. He didn't feel bad at all... Okay he felt awful, but he just had to remember that he was hungry and the place was obviously not about to need $50.

By the time he got back to the musty curtains on the stage, he was beyond exhausted and starving. Collapsing down into the nest, he pulled out a water and opened it. It probably wasn't the safest thing to drink, but at least it wasn't Gotham tap water.

After half of the water was empty, he grabbed a metal dish he'd found in the kitchen and poured some of the popcorn into it. He wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea, but... Actually. Wait.

He scrambled suddenly off of the curtains, moving to sit on his knees on the stage instead. It was already probably dangerous to try to pop popcorn like this- let alone on a big pile of kindling. He grabbed a lighter out of the go-bag he'd brought from home, and one of the metal cups that Jazz had made him pack. She'd insisted he might need a cup for clean water in case he ended up somewhere in the woods or something. He was glad she was so overprotective now, and he ached as he thought about her.

The cup, which he had put a small fire-starter into and lit, sat underneath the dish. The dish was being held up, just high enough to not smother the flame, using a metal frame-looking thing Danny spotted near the stage. It looked like some kind of prop cage? It was flat enough on top to hold the dish flat and tall enough to just go over the cup without touching it.

Slowly, the popcorn started to cook. He heard it first, and watched as - oh shit nonononono. It was popping, yes, but also flying directly out of the metal dish across the floor.

"FUUUUU-" he cut himself off, swiftly moving to try to stop the popcorn from jumping onto the ground.

He pulled a metal lid from his bag, cursing himself for forgetting it, and slapped it over top. "Ancients damn it."

Dp x DC ideas #1 (please feel free to use, but if you could link it below or tag me or something so I can read any fics based on my ideas I'd be super grateful!)

Ok. Idea #1

Danny's transformation is bright. Like. Really really bright. It might temporarily blind people if they're looking directly at it! Danny and his friends have all become adjusted to not looking, and warning people to close their eyes. But what if the flashing light is also useful for making people not recognize that it's Danny that transformed?

Imagine Danny in Gotham, running into Red Hood somewhere in his civvies. His first thought, obviously, is to panic-- because obviously running into any member of the "Batfamily" can't lead to anything good. But then he can feel the cold puff of air that's suddenly leaving his lips and he realizes with terror that this man is NOT human. In fact. This man is easily twice Danny's size and armed to the teeth *and* he's not human. Danny, being himself, decides in that moment he needs to leave NOW. He starts to move, but. He can't bring himself to go ghost yet- there's something nagging at him that he needs to talk to Mr. "Built like the broad side of a barn" about whatever weird ectoplasm was infecting him. He could swear he could almost smell the rotten ecto on the big guy's clothes.

Jason, meanwhile, is busy staring at the tiny ass teenager that's literally shaking in front of him. Why was this kid even here? For starters, no child this size needs to be out this late in any part of Gotham. And more importantly, why is he in Crime Alley? Suddenly, Jason's not standing in front of some random teenager, he's looking at himself. Black hair, blue eyes, dirty clothes in the middle of The Narrows? Shit. Batman was about to have a field day... Wait. Was. Was this how his Da- how Batman felt? Oh shit. The kid was talking and Jason was standing here completely zoned out thinking about the Batmobile's fucking tires.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Danny asks again, getting irritated fairly quickly. "I'm trying to tell you something important about your core!"

Red Dude shakes his head a bit, seemingly just focusing again. "Sorry.. Hold on. My what?"

Jason has never felt more confused in his entire life. He was also pretty sure he could mentally see the damn adoption papers filing themselves in his head. Maybe D- Bruce had rubbed off more than he thought?

"Okay. One more time." Danny sighs, "Your core looks like someone literally tried to shatter it and then glued it back into your chest. And you reek like rotten ecto- you need pure ecto to heal that much damage. I don't know what you've been trying to use, but it's contaminated by something and I think it's making you sicker?" He tries to explain, but the weird man just keeps staring and tilts his head.

"My what? Is full of what?" Helmet Bro has some kind of voice changer in his helmet, but Danny can tell he's being serious.

"You... You don't know do you?" His eyes suddenly widen like saucers, and he gapes up at the older man in horror.

"Know what, kid?" Jason steps towards the teen, not fast or anything. Just a shift forward, really, but the kid flinches back like he's been hit and Jason is suddenly 13 and fending off muggers again right here in this alleyway. He puts his hands up, palms out to show he's not trying to do anything, and slowly moves to lift his helmet off.

Danny is cornered, he realizes it the second the Big Scary Helmet Man™ moves forward and Danny is pressing his back into a fence. He didn't want to leave the man with rotting ectoplasm in his core, but what was the risk he was about to be kidnapped? But then Big Guy is freezing, and clearly not holding any of the weapons he's armed with.. And taking off the helmet?

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to lay a hand on you, okay, kiddo? I just need you to explain what you're talking about, and why you're... Here," he gestures with his free hand to the alley.

He has jet black hair, and there's a section near his bangs that's shockingly white. Danny almost thinks the man looks... A little bit familiar? Too familiar. He's not lying though, so Danny tries to relax a bit and raises his hands placatingly. Clearly, the man has no idea that he's a halfa, and he probably doesn't even know he died. Oh man.

"Uh. Well. I don't really know how to explain this to you- and I can't tell you why I know. But... Do. Do you know that you're.. Dead?" Danny asks awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jason has to fight off the green that's suddenly starting to creep into his vision. How the hell did this kid- wait. He asked if Jason knew? "what?"

Danny felt horrible, he could feel whatever was contaminating the older man's core- like it was alive, almost. "So. I know that saying to stay calm probably isn't going to help you here. But I need you to try to not freak out, okay?"

The lenses of Hood's mask were blown wide, and he very carefully nodded. His teeth creaked with how hard he was trying to remain in control of the Pit Rage.

"Okay," Danny continued carefully, noting that whatever contamination was at play it was definitely making the man unstable... Was it time to go ghost? No. Not yet. "Uh. My name is Danny- Danny Fenton. And. You are... Dead. Err. Half dead?"

Jason is shaking now, just slightly, and he hopes the boy doesn't notice it. He's not trying to scare the poor thing, but the green is starting to come back in waves. He feels like he just got dragged out of The Pits all over again.

"How do you know about that?" Jason asks, and the kid flinches hard again. Jason takes a deep breath and holds it, "I'm not going to hurt you. But you need to tell me- right now- how you know about my death."

Danny is shaking, trembling in fear as he realizes he just fucked up. Badly. "Uh. I can't tell you that, " he tries, pressing flat against the chain link behind him.

Jason steps forward before he can think better of it, another question on his tongue-

*FLASH*

Jason staggers back, hands coming up to cover his eyes, "Oh fuck!"

"Sorry! But I am not about to double-die tonight!" Danny yells back as he phases through the fence. He waits a second, floating while Helmet Man tries to clear his vision again.

"Fuck!" Jason swears again, and then he says something in Spanish that Danny doesn't understand but he's pretty sure is probably not PG13.

Danny doesn't hesitate for another second before he's flying away. He'll need to find the older halfa again, but for now he needs to get far away and fast. He wasn't sure what a regular human gun would do to a half-ghost, and he wasn't about to find out.

Jason, finally regaining his vision, whips his head around. The alley is empty, and there's no sign of where the kids went or how he managed to slip past. He shoved his helmet back on, huffing in frustration. Damn it all. He was going to have to track the poor kid down wasn't he?.... Yeah. Bruce rubbed off on him, clearly, because even now as Jason stalked back out of the alley he couldn't help but to mentally fill out paperwork.. He was calling dibs on this one- black hair, blue eyes, and apparently carrying a flash bang? Batman could fight him for custody. Besides... There was something off about the kid- how did he know Jason was dead? And what was all the weird talking about 'cores' and 'ecto'?

[loving-family-poll]

2nd Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2

Propaganda under the cut

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Alexia/Justine:

Sisters that are the emotional center of the movie. They 1) share the cannibalism gene as a metaphor for sexual/freaky desire, 2) have a 'waxing the other's pubes' scene, 3) biting chunks of flesh out of each other scene, 4) a showering off the blood together scene, 5) subtle kissing with a glass between them because 'you're my mirror and i'm codependent with you' scene, 6) sibling-type power play in general that includes a sexual interest proxy. And yet nearly no one talks about them, helppppp

there’s a scene where they’re biting each other’s faces and it literally looks like theyre making out. they hurt each other and spite each other but they always patch each other up after it’s over. there is a scene of them showering with each other, washing the blood off after alexia ate justine’s boy toy. alexia covered it up when justine ate her finger. they hurt each other so bad but they keep coming back to each other.

[vroombeams]

Hey ho! Challenge time 😉 open your Spotify Daylist, find the 6th song on the list and write a quick drabble based on the 9th line of lyrics 🎵

Send this to 5 friends and feel free to change the song or lyric number. Have fun! 🖋️

love you in a panic because i prefer to sit on fences

Across the club, Lando's talking to a girl.

Talking is a generous way of putting it—they're pulled together so close that they might as well be making out already, Lando's crooked, drunken grin pressed up against the girl's flushed cheek. He's pretending to listen. Max knows how he is, the kind of mind he's got, and he knows that exact expression. The smile-and-nod minus the nod.

Max isn't disgusted but he's distinctly annoyed, because Lando does this every time. Invites Max out to Monaco, invites Max out to the club, ditches Max in the VIP booth like free liquor and people Max barely knows could be a replacement for Lando himself.

It's just irritating, is all. Why bother? Why is he even here? He could be home. He could be out somewhere else, with P or with friends who aren't going to swerve him to get laid. P's been texting him, too. Don't do anything I wouldn't do type shit, complete with suggestive emojis and followed up by a fresh lingerie pic. She's been shopping, clearly. That'll be nice to come home to at the very least.

He sends 😍😍😍, and then taps into his texts with Lando. The girl is leaning over the bar when Max glances over, and Lando's got an unsubtle hand around her thigh, thumb tucked under the bottom of her minidress.

dipping, Max types and sends. He's got a key to Lando's flat, all the security codes memorized by now. He should've gotten a hotel. A peaceful night's sleep is almost certainly not in the cards at this point.

He's honestly not expecting Lando to check his phone, not until later. But as Max is standing up and saying his goodbyes—he literally doesn't know anyone at this table, he's realizing, and he's pretty sure none of them know Lando either—he catches Lando slipping his phone out of his pocket and then squinting down at it. Blinking, tapping, squinting some more before he lifts his head and whips it around comically. Like Max is going to be anywhere other than the booth. Dickhead.

Max gives him a little wave that he turns into a middle finger as he scoots his way out of the booth. Doesn't need to be more than that, does it? Lando would've Irish goodbyed anyway, slipped out the door with his girl to grab a car without saying a word to Max or anyone at all. Probably Max wouldn't even have gotten a courtesy text about it.

He's not expecting a hand around his wrist as he's headed for the door. He knows it's Lando before he turns—he knows exactly how his he fits into Lando's hand, how the circle of his thumb and index make a perfect shackle around his wrist.

"Where are you going?" Lando shouts. It's too loud, even over the music. Loud enough that a few people actually turn to look. Max lost count of how many shots Lando's been slamming hours ago.

"Home," Max says, at a much more reasonable volume. "Like I said."

Lando frowns, so distraught and pouty that Max almost wants to laugh. Almost.

"But it's early," Lando says, like he's legitimately confused as to why Max could possibly want to dip. It's really not all that early. Gone two in the morning at least, and they've been here since midnight.

"Just not feeling it," Max says. It's not a lie. "Sorry, Bob, I'll catch you later."

He moves to leave, but Lando's not letting go of him. His grip around Max's wrist goes tighter. His eyes go wider, wilder. Lando's not unlike a dog with separation anxiety a lot of the time. Liable to wail about it if he's left alone, even in a room full of people.

"You can't go," Lando says. He sounds a bit panicked, unsteady on his feet, swaying around in place. "You—you're supposed to stay. With me."

He's too drunk to be anything but honest, but his brain is obviously not connecting properly to his mouth. Max has known him long enough that it's not hard to fill in the blanks. Max has known him long enough to also know that sometimes—not always, but sometimes—Lando really does look at him like a piece of property. Like Max belongs to him.

Maybe he does. Sometimes.

"You can come home with me," Max offers, because he's too exhausted to pick the fight he wants to pick right now. Sometimes he'll lean into it. Sometimes he'll tell Lando off for his shit behaviour, tell him exactly what he thinks, which is—well. You don't own me. You're fine on your own. You don't get to keep me like a Pomeranian in a fucking handbag.

Lando makes a noise so close to desperation that Max actually feels his ears go red. He doesn't have it in him to push away the connections. The way Lando sounds when he drags Max to bed. The way Lando sounds when he's getting what he wants, or close to it.

"But—" Lando hesitates. His palm is slick-sweaty against Max's wrist and this time when he sways he comes so close to Max that it's going to go extremely badly for them both if there are any paps around.

"Won't be mad if you stay," Max says. Which isn't fully true, but it's not fully untrue. He's used to this by now.

Lando gives him the full puppy eyes. "You promise," he says, leaning in even fucking closer, enough that Max goes a bit cross-eyed for a second trying to keep up.

He knows how this is going to go. Lando will go back inside, and he'll get his girl if she's still there, or a different one if she's not. Max will wake up at half-four to Lando slamming through the front door of the flat, giggling his way down the hall, unselfconsciously loud like he's forgotten Max is there at all.

And then in the morning, once the girl's been safely removed, Lando will crawl into bed with Max, and he'll give him those exact eyes again. Big and wide and pathetic, whining at Max not to be mad, wriggling a hand into Max's boxers to 'make it up to him'.

That's how it'll go. That's how it always goes.

"Promise," Max says.

Lando grins, and he lets go of Max's wrist.

[causticsodaa]

What I personally think is behind Suo’s eyepatch: A Delusional Theory

The title explains itself (heed the disclaimer please), so I’ll get straight to the point.

Firstly, I believe that Suo is blind in his right eye.

Typically, eyepatches are mainly worn by people who

Are recovering from surgery

Cosplay

Have eye trauma or are half-blind

The first point is immediately negated, since it’s confirmed that Suo has been wearing an eyepatch on his right eye since middle school at the earliest. I doubt that even the most extensive eye surgeries would need him to be wearing one for years on end. Most eyepatches are made out of adhesive material, whilst Suo’s is made out of leather. I won’t dwell on this point much since I don’t think this outcome is very likely, but I just wanted to bring it up anyways (lol).

The second point could be plausible, considering that Suo voluntarily draws attention to his eyepatch in his introduction, even stating that there is “an ancient Chinese spirit sealed” in it—there’s a story behind it.

However, Nirei’s question immediately disproves this. Nii Satoru is a very deliberate writer; I don’t think there would be any reason to include Nirei’s dialogue about a ‘past accident’ (more on this later) if it wasn’t meant to serve as foreshadowing or at least be somewhat true.

Theres also the fact that Suo directly agrees with Nirei’s claim, though his wording is very vague (ie. it’s what other people say rather than Suo himself confirming it).

I believe this scene is mainly meant to showcase Suo’s goofy side (backed by Nirei’s comment about expecting Suo to be more cold/aloof and with Suo introducing himself as Leonardo di Caprio); but I also assume that he decided to make up a story about his eye because he’s been questioned about it many times in the past. It’s obviously not true, but I don’t think that Suo would voluntarily wear an eyepatch for years on end just to look cool (not to mention the depth perception issues!).

It’s also important to note that Nirei’s information is scarily accurate as well. He even figured out that Suo hated natto despite how secretive the latter is, but I digress.

This leads me to the third point, which is what most of the fandom (myself included) speculates. However, I’ll be focusing more on the prospect of Suo being half-blind.

If Suo is blind in his white eye, he would have a white iris. Although many blind characters in anime/animation have their eyes closed or just lack pupils, some do have white/clear/sheen irises:

Additionally, some people who are blind do have ‘milky’ eyes in real life!

Even other animanga characters who wear eyepatches have some sort of eye trauma (if they aren’t pirates/concealing some power/forced to give their eyeball up for a contract, though WBK isn’t that kind of story) such as Hange Zoë and Asuka Langely Soryu.

Personally, I believe that Suo had injured his right eye in the past to the point of blindness, given with the evidence presented before. I can’t really provide any theories as to how this happened due to a lack of canon evidence, but it’s probably linked to why he tells Nirei to never close his eyes. It’s highly probable his right eye is linked to a traumatic incident of his past—though anything further related to Suo’s backstory prompts an entirely different conversation.

Theres also a possibility that Suo might have been born half blind as well, and uses his eyepatch to protect/cover it; though it’s merely speculation on my part (and I’ll talk about this theory more in a bit).

You’ve probably noticed that I’m drawing a lot of attention to the color of Suo’s right eye, rather the cause of his blind eye. This is where my theory gets delusional.

Let me bring in our beloved protagonist of Wind Breaker; Sakura Haruka!

Wait, isn’t this a theory about Suo? What does Sakura have to do with Suo’s eye?

Although Sakura and Suo do have their stark differences, they’re also eerily similar (and this criteria applies to Suo + Nirei and Sakura + Nirei as well). The most prominent thing they have in common [design wise] are their ‘abnormal’ eyes (with Sakura having heterochromia, and Suo with only one eye visible), and how they’re somehow linked to some sort of past trauma. I (albeit briefly) went over how Suo’s right eye connects with a potentially traumatic incident earlier, so I’ll be focusing on Sakura in the meantime.

In the beginning of the anime, we see snippets of dialogue by people from Sakura’s past, which mainly consisted of a barrage of criticism and rude remarks towards him. This line in particular stands out to me:

Japanese society is very conformative both in real life and what we see in Sakura’s memories—being unique or looking different from the norm is 🆖. We see different people in the series poke fun at Sakura’s hair, but I feel like this comment hurts the most. You can’t exactly change your eye color easily without contacts, unlike hair in which you can style/dye it as you please (though I’m not trying to justify the mistreatment Sakura has experienced by comparing apples and oranges; simply put, it’s incredibly vile).

Because of the above, Sakura has been consistently ostracized in the past mainly due to his ‘weird’ appearance. This causes him to internalize those sentiments for years on end before coming to Furin. He then begins to project his insecurities externally throughout the manga whether it relates to his leadership skills or how he interacts with the other students (initially questioning why people can accept him given his ‘strange’ appearance and mannerisms). There’s also this:

Sakura used to cover his hair and eyes with hats/sunglasses, however it failed to work as people still avoided him. This is even shown in the anime!

Poor kid took all those comments to heart and internalized it to the point it essentially crippled his self-esteem—but who wouldn’t, honestly? Being constantly alienated and perceived as ‘disgusting’ by others causes a sense of distrust to a person, especially during their developmental stages (as Sakura experienced most of this as a child/teen), hence why I’m classifying this as traumatic for Sakura. Even though he’s in a better place now, the ghosts of his past still haunt and affect him to this day.

Since Suo + Sakura are written to foil/parallel each other at times, there is a chance that Suo might have also covered his eye for a similar reason to Sakura’s: he doesn’t want other people to know he is blind (either to not be perceived as weak, or Suo was ashamed of for a different reason—perhaps other people thought his blind eye was scary?). Maybe Suo was born with a blind eye, much like how Sakura was born with a “half and half” appearance.

As I’ve mentioned before, Sakura has heterochromia (wow no shit Sherlock); his left eye is yellow, while his right is black[ish-grey] (his eye is sometimes colored a light grey/blue but thats usually a stylistic choice)

Both Sakura and Suo’s character colors are based off their left eyes: Sakura’s being an amber and Suo’s being red (rather than mainly sappanwood but its a shade of red anyways—and Suo is usually represented with a bold red in other official/merch art so shhhh)

And if we were to follow my theory, Suo would hypothetically have a milky colored right eye and a red iris for his left as in canon. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Both Sakura and Suo would have their character color as their right eye (amber and red respectively), while their left eyes (black and white) would contrast each other. Black and white are considered opposites, after all.

If my (delulu) theory holds true, this could perfectly showcase Suo and Sakura’s differences and similarities—but instead of it being almost hidden through the layers of their unspoken relationship, they are physically represented through their character designs.

Okay, I know you’re probably thinking that this theory is too far fetched (hell, even I think the same). But hear me out:

There is another duo in Wind Breaker who have character designs that contrast each other: Togame and Choji!

Nii Satoru makes it a point to emphasize how different these two are—and it’s no secret given their designs: Togame is tall, beefier, and has straight dark hair while Choji is short, lankier, with light and curlier hair. Even their eyes contrast each other; Togame’s are thin, slanted, and green while Choji’s are wide, round and red[dish brown]. (I KNOW THAT HIS EYES ARE MORE BROWN IN THE ANIME BUT THEYRE COLORED RED SOMETIMES BY NIISATO PLEASE TRUST ME ON THIS)

Honestly, this entire section makes me want analyze Choji and Togame (must… control… my demons…), so I’ll just move on to my next point.

Additionally, Sakura is sometimes drawn with his hair slicked back, which makes him look eerily similar to Umemiya…

I believe this is entirely intentional by Nii-sensei, but if I speak any more I fear that I will start rambling about Umemiya/Sakura parallels like a madman. My point is, two characters with similar/contrasting designs do already exist in WBK.

And in the case of Suo and Sakura, these two elements could possibly coexist in their character designs via their ‘irregular’ eyes.

TLDR; Suo and Sakura are the only characters in the cast with messed up eyes -> If Suo’s blind in his right eye, it would be white -> which would contrast Sakura’s black iris thats also in his right eye -> this shows their differences -> but also reinforces the fact that they are similar since their left eyes are red and amber -> which are their character colors -> I am severely delusional -> and I need to be euthanized immediately

[numberonetacostan]

I actually really like the idea of Taco speaking French.

I wanted to ask if you have any other headcanons for that, honestly not many people use that, I've seen here and in one fic where Taco's personality changes to her s1 self and she doesn't understand English.

The idea of Mephone watching movies with both French and British villains in them and mixing those ideas together is a interesting one.

HELLO THERE!!!!^^ WELCOME AND THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR SENDING IN AN ASK ABOUT TACO SPEAKING FRENCH. ESPECIALLY ONE ASKING FOR MY HEADCANONS ABOUT TACO SPEAKING FRENCH. I LOVE THINKING ABOUT TACO SPEAKING FRENCH <3<3<3<3 MY BILINGUAL QUEEN!!!!!!! ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

Taco occasionally forgets a word in English, but can remember it in French. No one else speaks French. This leads to an impromptu game of semi-charades as she tries to mime what she's talking about while saying the French term for it over and over again. It doesn't usually work but she tries.

When Taco is speaking English, her insults are often as refined as her diction (see: vile vial for Testy, tablet tabloid for Mepad). In French, this is not the case. Her insults in French are the equivalent of derogatory terms such as "raggedy bitch" and "ass muffin", but no one else can understand them, so they assume they're just as fancy as her English insults.

I'm not sure if this one counts, since it's not really a headcanon since it's very much not able to fit in canon, but if Taco had a place of origin that wasn't Inanimate Island, like if she wasn't made by Mephone, I like to think she'd be from one of the islands in the English Channel, off the coast of Normandy. Some of them are owned by France, some of them are owned by England. The English ones are significantly more populated though, so I'd say she'd be from either the Bailiwick of Jersey or the Bailiwick of Guernsey. She'd have grown up with both English and French. (And possibly Norman but that's not canon nor the point) Okay sorry onto more actual headcanons.

Someone at some point gifts her the flag of France and calls it a "French Pride Flag". If you want it to be a well-meaning misunderstanding, Goo gives it to her. If she's being mocked, it was Nickel. It could even be a joint gift from both of them, in which Goo had a nice little idea first and Nickel joined in to be a little shit.

Speaking of Goo, I think he'd find her being bilingual very cool and want to learn French himself!!! He tries, but silent letters end up deeply confusing him. Why are they there if you don't say them? Is French scrabble different from English scrabble because of this? Are the letters upset that they don't get pronounced? So many questions. Taco gives up on teaching him.

Post tacomic getting together (none of my posts are immune to propaganda sorry) Taco would say that she is Mic's little flea. "Ma puce", meaning "my flea" is a term of endearment in French that sounds a tad more... derogatory in English. Taco does not realize this and everyone agrees that she is indeed Mic's little flea.

I think shows and movies that Mephone watched while he was still at Meeple definitely influenced him making his own characters!!! As for who Taco might be based on? Hm. Well I don't watch the widest variety of things, I tend to find one thing I like and obsess over it, but maybe Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory could be one character that inspired Taco's accent? She's a little British girl who wants and will makes sure she gets. Maybe Scar from The Lion King, another liar and betrayer? Even Frollo has a British accent, there are a lot of solid villains that could have inspired her. As for the French, we could continue with older Disney stuff and say Lumière, even though he's not a villain, with his proper attitude he could work. Even Gabriel Agreste from Miraculous Ladybug could work. Although he doesn't have a French accent, he is French and a terrible father just like Cobs, so he may come to mind when Mephone is making his "evil" original character.

Before you sent this ask I'd already been planning to make a post of Mic's adventures in learning French so that will be coming soon as well!!! Thank you for this request!!! :D