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[valalice]

PRELUDE: POPULARITY CONTEST

punk rockstar!vi 𝑥 fem!popstar!reader

summary. label mandated events. everyone dreads them, but social networking is a must; an art form managers have mastered and a sport to artists in order to thrive in the competitiveness that is the music industry. and it’s here where the two of you were closer than you had even thought.

warnings. it's just the prelude, so no major warnings. angst a little bit. industry parties. mentions of alcohol and drugs. original non-canon characters. mentions of not so great friends (surround yourself with people you love). not much more i can think of, if i missed any, please lmk.

wc. 1553

a speaks. well! here she is! the first chapter of the series. i'm not completely satisfied with it, but it's just the prelude, a little teaser for what's to come, she is on the shorter side because it is a prelude, regular chapters will be longer! and with that i have to plug my ao3, i will be dully posting her on tumblr and on ao3, so if you prefer the formatting of ao3 over tumblr's then feel free to head over there! there will be no explicit of vi within the prelude *wink* but the next chapters y'all will be fed, i promise! and lastly thank you so much from just the amount of sweet comments saying how excited you are for the series, it not only motivates me but also warms my heart. i love you guys, thank you for the support. happy reading <3

for the fame series masterlist. read it on ao3. series playlist.

YOU STARE STUNNED at your manager. Mouth agape, skin drained of all its color, and eyes wide, bulging even, to the point where if you even tried to widen your eyes further they’d pop out of your sockets and roll onto the floor ridden with fallen confetti.

“And you chose to tell me this now?” you questioned, voice fluctuating to a pitched shrill. Out of the frustrated and impending heavy stress-ridden weights you already feel stacking on your shoulders and in hopes that your manager could hear your distaste for the delivery of this news over the bumping music.

“I didn’t know when to tell you.”

There wasn’t enough restraint nor care to hold the scoff that bubbled up in your chest, up to your throat, and out your mouth. “So, here was the perfect place, Corinne?” quirking an eyebrow.

“I knew the news would get you,” pausing to look down the length of your antsy figure, a clear standout in the sea of swaying people against each other. Trying to gather the right words that won’t send you off your rocker, further. “wound up. And I was right. But you’re at a party, the environment is fun, loose, and light. Enjoy it, you’re with friends.” she eases, inching closer towards you, knowing what works with you in the near decade of being your manager.

Your eyes bore into Corinne's, squinting at her just before dropping to eye at the little glittery clutch in your hand that matches your skirt. Flicking at a few of the glitter specs on the clutch with a manicured nail before huffing, shoulders deflating upon the exhale from the involuntary hunch you had them in seconds before. 

Corinne’s words soak past surface level for a moment, absorbing, and trying to understand that, while unideal, being in an uppity environment could busy your racing mind from running laps around any and all possibilities on why your boss urgently wants a meeting with you. Yet, still, you would’ve much preferred this news in private. Wrapping your arms around yourself, looking over your shoulders to the people in the room—some faces you knew, whether they're fellow artists, celebrities of varying lists, or casual socialites who find their way into parties like these often, but most of whom you don't know, that's how it's always been; being in a room full of people who you have no idea who they are, yet they know everything about you. Turning back around to Corinne, “None of these people are my friends.”

“Then, colleagues.” she fixes, raising her voice when the music starts to roar.

Instead of scoffing a humble chuckle takes its place. “Colleagues who want to see me crash and burn into the Bermuda Triangle to never be seen again. Then, yes, they are.”

Corinne gives you a look you know all too well, a disciplinary look when the older woman thinks whatever you’d just said was inappropriate. Her head drops and a hand finds home on her waist as her body slants. “Morbid. These colleagues who ‘want to see you crash and burn’ are also fighting with each other to get a feature.” 

“There won’t be much to feature on if I get fired.” you gloom, grey, thundering clouds of pessimism altering your mood.

“You’re the label’s darling, no one’s getting fired.” she comforts, or tries. Even after all these years, it’s still foreign to her to properly comfort you in moments like these, but she does her best as the arm against her side raises. The coldness of her hand on your upper arm startles you, an icy comfort soothes over your burning skin, relaxing into her touch. ‘You’re the label’s darling’ runs on repeat like a record on a record player, the only thought that occupies the dark space of your mind right now, attempting to stomach the words in hopes that you’d digest them and be able to believe that Corinne is right.

The pressure of her hand leaves your arm, the pads of her fingers wisping down your upper arm as she catchers her arm to lay at her side once again, taking a step back from you with a click of her heels. Now, it’s Corinne’s turn to look beyond her shoulders to observe the room, everyone’s in their own fantasy land—maybe that’s due to the boos and drugs making their rounds through the room for each guest to get their desired fix—yet, she digress when she focuses attention to the younger in front of her. The pesky grey clouds persisting overtop of your head, your slumped figure reminding her nothing less than a kicked puppy; she pitties you.

“I’m going to network. I think I spotted that one videographer you’ve been wanting to work with.” She hoped that with this mention you’d perk up, but she got nothing more than a tight-lipped smile followed by a weak nod.

“It would be pretty cool if we got him to work on the new album visuals.”

Corinne shares her own tight-lipped smile with you. “Atta girl. Try to loosen up, yeah? You’re going to get more knots if you stay tense.”

A feathery light laugh falls from your lips that she turns her worries to the hypothetical knots you’ll develop. “Noted. I’ll see if I can find my friends.” contradictory to your earlier statement, but it’s a win-some-lose-some situation when all you’ve got is a small pool of people to refer to as a friend. Never genuine a friend, no, but you do develop a bond when mutual use of each other is used to forget the loneliness that is guaranteed with fame.

“You mean colleagues?” she quips, testing you on your past ideology.

There was a space that became as the two of you began to drift apart. “They’re starting to overlap for me.” you shrug, already knowing that both wish to see the same thing happen to you. Leaving Corinne to watch as you disappear into the abyss, pleased that you’ve regained even just a bit of pep in your step—she knows you too well to not know how to get your spirits back on track.

Working your way through the crowd you shout your fair share of “Excuse me’s” and “Right behind you’s”, refraining the best you can from elbowing your way through after a few shoves to yourself; although you’re almost positive that most deserve the elbow. 

Balling your fists up, still grasping your clutch in your grasp, as you bring your hands up to your chest, thinking you’ll move fast through the crowd without your arms at your sides. Just when you’re near the other side of the room you hear the shouts of your name—stage name, but name nonetheless—through the music, certain that when you exit the building your ears will be ringing and your heart still vibrating in your chest cavity from the blaring music the DJ is mixing up. Whipping around you squint, attempting to see the caller of your name past the blinding light effects. With defeat, you shuffle through the crowd, following the indicator of the person’s arm flailing in the air every so often.

Not knowing what happened next, if your foot got caught or if someone had shoved you again, but you end up bracing onto someone’s back. Taking a hold of their broad shoulders the best you can, cringing when the blunt sound of your clutch meets the person’s back in the abrupt moment, while your other hand desperately tries to get a grasp on them, but you end up just missing the mark as your sweaty hand (courtesy of the cramped space) slides down the leathery smoothness of their jacket.

It’s a blur when you crane your neck to look out to the crowd once more upon the call of your name, a hand snapping around your wrist and pulling you into their grasp—it’s Gwen, her model legs reaching you quicker than you would’ve ever been able to. Before you can process an apology for bracing on the random person, Gwen is already whisking you through the congested room. Too preoccupied with trying to catch a glimpse over your shoulder from where you previously were to pay attention clearly to whatever she’s rambling about, not that you could hear her anyway over the DJ’s newest mix. But as you move further along, you can no longer spot the mystery person, or well their back, who had generously been in the right spot at the right time for you to catch yourself on them. Not that you’d be able to know what they looked like, just going off of the fact that they’d be wearing a leather jacket—though who would wear a leather jacket in here?

The question would linger in your mind for the rest of the night, scoping through the crowd for anyone who had on anything eerily similar to a leather jacket. And when the night rounds out to an end you’re left with an irk buried deep beneath your skin that the question is left unanswered, with no real reason on why you’re bothered by this.

Yet, this incident out of many—the countless right times, right places missed—unknowingly brings you one step closer to the meeting that’s always been bound to occur.

thank you for reading <3 remember to comment and reblog!

for the fame series masterlist | next chapter (coming february 14th!)

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[kianamaiart]

Hello ! I'm currently in art school with the goal of becoming a storyboard artist, and while I still have a few years before I graduate, I'm trying to plan out for my future a little – I was wondering if your job is entirely remote or if you have employers who prefer you to be present ? Also how quickly were you able to get in the industry, did it take you several years before being able to support yourself as a freelancer ? I hope this is okay to ask. Thank you for being an inspiration !

It was fully in person pre-2020 and since about 2022 we’ve been required to come in at least sometimes. I think in 2023 Disney wanted us to come in 3 times a week. So we’re technically hybrid now but I go in everyday if I can! There’s a lot of productions that are fully remote just so studios can save money on office space. It’s hard to say if employers care where you are at this point (I know our production does at least a little bit these days) but working remotely isn’t out of the question. Also moving to LA for a very unstable industry is scary so it’s understandable why people wouldn’t want to. I will mention though that if you get a union gig TAG only covers LA residents (?) so I’d be weary of that if you’re wanting insurance and protections.

I’ve talked about it a lot before but I got lucky in that I was hired by disney for my storyboarding position right after my junior year at CCA. They had just found me on twitter and I did their sb test then dropped out of school after they hired me. Prior to that I’d done some freelance character design for a video game and a comic book pitch during my sophomore/junior year. I didn’t have any tva experience outside of doing a test for We Bare Bears earlier that year.

I put a lot of my eggs in the “really get your social media presence up and show what you can do” basket and it luckily worked out for me.

Everyone’s story is vastly different though! I came in at a time where social media and the industry was popping so I won’t deny there was a lot of lucky timing on my end.

[reidsmanuscript]

Profiler, profiled.

Summary: When the past creeps up, more vivid and dangerous than ever, at the same time that the attraction becomes undeniable—and so do the mistakes. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: mutual pinning but painful, angst. wc: 7.3k! TW: Profiler, profiled canons! so Child abuse (implied and discussed), Sexual abuse, Framing/wrongful accusation, Police misconduct, Violence, mentions of traumatic readers' past!, female rage, violent thoughts. not proofread yet A/N: SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE, this is my take on soulmates, thank u for all the feedback/support btw, really mindblowing <3 part I - part II - part III - part IV

　　　　 　　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　

Something as routine and comforting as traveling to your hometown for your mom’s birthday can go wrong in an instant—sometimes, all it takes is a single moment of doubt. Unfortunately for Derek Morgan, it was the absence of doubt that could become his sentence.

Hotch was notified, as per FBI protocol, that one of his agents had been arrested as a homicide suspect. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Morgan wasn’t capable of something like that—he had been a prosecutor before joining the Academy, after all. As his boss, he refused to believe it. But as his friend, he knew that the smartest move—the one most people failed to make—was calling a lawyer.

The problem? Morgan didn’t have one.

The Bureau’s legal counsel wouldn’t intervene in a case where one of their own was being charged. It had to be someone who knew him, someone who would believe in him.

There was only one person who fit that description.

A.D.A. Woodvale.

So, after issuing an emergency recall for Reid, Prentiss, Jareau, Garcia, and Rossi—Hotch called you.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

One thing some victims, or their families, do after the person who ruined their lives is convicted is express gratitude. Sometimes immensely, sometimes barely—especially when the verdict isn’t what they had hoped for.

Still, they are grateful for your time and commitment to their pain. That’s why some send gifts like baskets filled with fruit, chocolates, candy, or all three combined. 

You were at your desk, late at night, again, reviewing case files and drafting a legal brief, absorbed in the task at hand. The basket with its chocolates, and cookies remained sitting on a chair near the window, quietly out of place among the legal paperwork without any card or name, maybe they forgot to put it or it fell on the way. 

The phone rings, and you answer immediately, announcing yourself. When the voice on the other end speaks your name, you recognize it instantly.

“I’m gonna need your help.” Agent Hotchner.

You straighten your back. “What is it? A warrant? It’s going to be hard at t—”

He cuts you off. “Morgan is in trouble.” That was enough to tell you this wasn’t just any ordinary favor.

You hesitate, cautious. “What happened?”

“He was arrested as a suspect in a homicide in Chicago.” Morgan? Homicide? For a moment, you’re ready to refuse—this isn’t your field. You put people in jail, not get them out. But then you remember—he saved your life over a year ago. And the weight of that debt settles heavily on your shoulders.

“Hotch, I... What do you want me to do? I don’t have connections there. Maybe I could talk to—”

He interrupts again. “He’s going to need a good lawyer. I know this isn’t what you do, but you know him. You know he’s not capable of something like that.” There’s a brief silence as you weigh your options, considering your next move.

"The jet takes off first thing tomorrow morning," he says, giving you an out—leaving the decision in your hands.

You exhale, and resolve settling in. "Send me the details. I’ll be there."

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you stepped onto the jet, you spotted Hotch already seated alone. Without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, greeting him with a quiet nod, your back turned toward the entrance.

One by one, the rest of the BAU arrived, offering you brief acknowledgments as they settled in. When Reid stepped onto the jet, he barely glanced up—until he caught sight of the back of your head. He hesitated for just a second before moving to a seat diagonal from yours.

Hotch quickly explained that you were joining them to assist Morgan as his defense counsel. The weight of the situation settled over the jet, unspoken but palpable. You noticed it in the way the air felt heavier, in the subtle shifts of the team’s expressions, like how Prentiss shifted in her seat or the way Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Since the Katie Jacobs case, he wouldn’t call it an obsession—that would be an exaggeration, and his mind rejected the idea of something so unscientific, but a fixation? Perhaps. There was something about you that tugged at the edges of his thoughts more often than he liked to admit. His memories of your first meeting were frustratingly blurred, dulled by the lingering fog of withdrawal, but he remembered enough. The way you carried yourself—composed, sharp, unreadable. The precision of your movements, deliberate in a way that suggested control rather than ease. The way your voice stayed measured even when you were angry, like someone who had learned to sharpen their words into weapons rather than waste them on emotion. And your eyes—steady, assessing, like you were always five steps ahead in a game only you could see.

Did you ever place two magnets next to each other and test how close they could be without touching? If they would repel or attract?

Magnets could only get so close before they either locked together or violently repelled each other. If their north poles faced one another—mirrors of the same force—they would push apart, unable to exist in such perfect reflection. But if one turned, aligning its south to the other’s north, the pull would be instant, inevitable.

That was a physicist's way of explaining why, the moment you caught him in the corner of your vision, you noted how his hair was longer than before, tucked behind his ears; how his fingers brushed over the pages of a book, a well-worn paperback pulled from his bag. Crime and Punishment. The same one you had almost mistaken for yours once. North. North.

But now, seeing it again, you wondered—what did he think about Raskolnikov’s theory of extraordinary men? Did he believe true morality could be measured mathematically, the way Raskolnikov tried to justify his crime with cold logic? Or did he see through it, past the numbers, past the equations, past the desperate rationalizations of a man trying to convince himself he was above consequence?

And what would he think about your take on it? That a man was either a fool for failing to control himself or a coward for refusing to own what he had done? Either way you just wanted to know his opinion. North. South.

You were just about to ask him when JJ spoke up. “I don’t understand. Can you even represent Morgan if you’re an A.D.A.? Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

It was a fair question, one you had asked yourself last night before finding a loophole.

You let out a slow breath, considering. "Technically, I’m not Morgan’s lawyer—he hasn’t called me personally to represent him. And I wouldn’t be joining you as his defense attorney… officially." You glanced at Hotch. "Prosecutors consult on defense cases all the time—off the record. I’m not filing any motions, I’m not putting my name on anything. I’m just… advising."

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. "Advising?"

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t officially defend him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And the police don't need to know every detail about that."

Hotch gave a small nod. "That keeps you in the clear. No official involvement, no risk to your career."

Reid, who had been silent, finally spoke. "But what happens if they’ve already decided Morgan is guilty?"

Your jaw tightened, but Rossi answers first "Then that’s where we come in. We find out who’s setting Morgan up—and we make sure they don’t get away with it."

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

As you arrived at the police station, you hung back from the group, not wanting to interfere with the BAU’s process. But when Detective Dennison refused to take Hotch to see Morgan, you decided you wouldn’t stand by quietly anymore.

You stepped forward, standing next to Hotch. “Are you going to take us to see Derek Morgan, or not, Detective?”

He glanced at you as though he didn’t understand the urgency. “Detective Gordinski's in with the suspect now”

“Now is when we need to see him.” you shot back.

“Excuse me?” he started to respond, but Hotch cut him off.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch said calmly. “And, in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far. We need to see Agent Morgan now.”

You couldn’t help but think how Hotch was finally getting some work done.

The detective nodded and, after disappearing into a room, came back with another man. Detective Gordinski, you assumed. It was something you were used to, this unspoken assumption that you were a junior, a minor player in the room, because of your age. It happened often when older men met you—defense attorneys, paralegals, specialists, and even police officers. They assumed you were less than you were. Gordinski was no different. When he approached you, he only offered his hand to Hotch.

“Detective Gordinski, CPD,” he said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

Hotch didn’t seem to notice the slight. “You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?”

Gordinski answered with a level of pride that made your stomach turn. “Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

You heard JJ and Reid protest, both equally shocked by his ridiculous statement. And the way Gordinski spoke, as though the case was already closed, irritated you. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I’ve got 72 hours for that,” he replied, clearly still lacking sufficient evidence.

“We’d like to see him,” you said, your tone final. He hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly agreed as Denninson took you and Hotch to see Morgan.

As you entered the interrogation room, you found him in a sort of trance, staring at a photograph in his hands. When he finally looked up, there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked, aware of the detective’s overbearing presence in the room.

Morgan exhaled sharply, turning the photo toward you. “This kid—I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch prompted.

Morgan shook his head, his voice tight. “So, he’s dead. I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.” His gaze flickered between the two of you, frustration and disbelief written all over his face.

You didn’t need to analyze the detective’s stance to know he had already made up his mind—his persistence was nothing more than a show, an act to reinforce a conclusion he had already reached. But the look in Morgan’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He cared about that kid.

Turning to the detective, you asked smoothly, “Is there a more private place where I can speak with my client?”

The man hesitated, taken aback. Up until this moment, you hadn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t an agent. His expression tightened. “I’m afraid we don’t have another space for you and the suspect,” he replied with a forced smile.

You returned his look with a cool, unwavering stare. “You do know that any conversation between me and him falls under lawyer-client privilege, right?”

His mouth opened in protest, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And denying us the proper privacy means that any so-called evidence you think you can get from this interrogation would be inadmissible in court. Not to mention, it’s a direct violation of SSA Morgan’s constitutional rights.” Your tone remained calm, professional—not threatening. Not yet.

The detective narrowed his eyes but gave a short, forced nod, his polite smile not reaching them. “I’ll see what we can do.”

That was code for We’re not doing a damn thing, but we’ll make this as difficult as possible.

Fine. You’d play their game. But first, you needed to find out exactly what they had on Morgan—and fast.

As you step outside, a harsh voice—too raspy and loud for your liking—carries through the room, discussing evidence. You stay quiet, listening. Being on the other side of the law feels strange, but it’s not difficult. If you know how to prosecute, you know the tricks and games cops play. And if you know your opponent's strategy, it’s easier to disarm them and lead them where you want.

The detective asks Rossi if he’s Agent Gideon, and when the detective explains he was the one who sent the profile that led them to Morgan, you curse Gideon internally. First Reid, now Morgan. 

"It also said the way the body was placed gently on a mattress, not just tossed on the ground, indicated someone who was probably consumed with guilt, especially for the first victim. The exact words are—'with a guilt-ridden offender,' the BAU postulates the first victim is the most important and the unsub may still visit the place of the crime or even the victim himself.'"

Gordinski’s voice drips with conviction. "Care to guess who visits my first victim every time he's in town?"

You notice Reid glance at you, but you keep your focus on the detective, listening carefully as he continues. 

"Then yesterday, another kid ends up dead, and the last person he was with was Derek Morgan. In the boy's pocket, we found one of his FBI business cards, his cell number written on the back. In fact, every time Morgan's in town, he hangs out with kids."

JJ calls it a coincidence.

"A hell of a lot of coincidences," Gordinski retorts.

“I prefer the term 'circumstantial'” you say from the back of the room.

Gordinski turns, sizing you up with an incredulous look—too young, maybe too idealistic. "And you are?"

"Derek Morgan’s attorney." There was no reason to hide anymore, you didn't bother offering your hand.

Gordinski barely reacts before flipping open a file. "Did I mention that your client found the body in 1991? Hidden way back in a vacant lot. Now, don’t they teach you that when a body is hard to find, the person who finds it is always a suspect?"

You do the math quickly, Morgan would have been too young.

And you feel like Reid reads your thoughts when he answers. "There are key pieces of the profile that don't fit, Detective. The age—25 to 35—Morgan was 15 at the time."

"Profile Also says that age is the hardest to predict, and I should never exclude someone simply because of a discrepancy with the age." Gordinski is grasping now, trying to force the facts to fit.

Prentiss speaks up. "What about the speculation that since he didn't leave any evidence at the crime scene, he's likely to have a criminal record or law enforcement knowledge?"

"He may not have had knowledge of law enforcement, but Derek Morgan definitely had a criminal record." He tosses a file onto the table. You open it, scanning the contents. Resisting arrest. Vandalism. Aggravated battery. You inhale deeply.

"So he was a troubled kid, not a murderer. What kind of 15-year-old kills another boy, then deliberately stages the body just to make sure he’s the one to 'find' it?" Your voice is sharp, challenging him to walk into your tramp.

Gordinski smirks. "I’m sure you know psychopaths are very smart people, Miss."

Bingo.

You tilt your head. "So, is Morgan a psychopath? A guilt-ridden killer? Or an FBI agent dumb enough to leave his own business card at the crime scene? Because he can’t be all three, and right now you're contradicting yourself, Detective."

The room is silent for a beat. Gordinski clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the file in his hands. He glares at you like you are his personal enemy.

You don’t give him time to recover. "You're reaching. And I think you know it." you say as you leave the room to look for your client.

And if Reid hadn’t been so mesmerized with the way you had subtly guided Gordinski, he might have given in to the impulse he had to correct him when he addressed you as Miss and not Counselor. 

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　

Rossi had sent Prentiss and Reid to Morgan’s house to investigate, while you stayed to ensure none of the Detectives would do something sketchy with the proofs.　　

Maybe it was the PTSD Dr. Fitzgerald diagnosed you with when you were 11, but the moment Carl Buford entered the room, something felt off. It wasn’t obvious, more like a second nature—a survival instinct that had been honed over the years. You weren’t always right, of course. You’d had a few false alarms before, but this time, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t in his appearance or his words; it was in the way he presented himself—as someone kind, someone willing to help, harmless. But it triggered something in you. The sirens in your brain went on, even if they were faint, too faint to be taken seriously but still enough to be annoying.

Reid had just returned from Morgan’s house when he saw you standing by the board, JJ on the phone and Rossi talking to you. He noticed how you discreetly stifled a yawn, and it hit him—it was nearly evening. The Cheetos packet that probably belonged to JJ and the half-eaten cheese sandwich from Rossi were the only signs of food nearby. It dawned on him that you likely hadn’t eaten all day.

He didn’t want to be the kind of person who overcompensated in an obvious way, but seeing you like this stirred something in him. It reminded him of the last time he saw you at the mall, how you’d instinctively avoided him, as if you couldn’t stand being around him for more than a few seconds. The longest you’d managed to stay in the same spot was 8.12 seconds.

That had been the last time, though. Now, things felt different. You were talking to Rossi when Reid approached and offered coffee to everyone. You could tell he was overcompensating—or at least, that’s what you assumed.

Then again, maybe you were reading too much into the moment when he’d slightly quickened his pace as you all entered the police station, holding the door open for everyone. Or maybe he was just anxious about his friend and eager to get inside quickly.

Or when you were rummaging through your bag for a pen, and he handed you one without hesitation. It could have been just a simple gesture, a convenient moment. But you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it—if he was trying to do something, anything, to bridge the gap between you.

You felt stupid for liking his gestures, for craving his attention. That’s why you said yes when he offered the coffee—because you couldn’t help it.

And he was happy to do it. He put special care into preparing your cup, even though he hadn’t asked how you took your coffee. Statistically speaking, most people put about two teaspoons of sugar in their coffee, but he didn’t know what you preferred. Maybe you liked it with even more sugar than that, just like he did. Maybe you didn’t use sugar at all, maybe you used honey.

He caught himself before he poured too much, measuring out what he assumed was the “average” amount, then handed it to you with a small, careful smile. There was a brief moment when your fingers brushed, and maybe his lingered for a second longer than necessary.

But when you took a sip, it hit you. The sweetness of the sugar was overwhelming, and the unexplainable presence of Carl Buford seemed to crawl into your mind, making it worse. It was your fault for not telling him no sugar. Your hand froze for a moment as you fought to swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

Reid noticed. He saw how you stiffened, how your grip on the cup tightened, and he assumed he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe you didn’t like sugar in your coffee, or maybe you just didn’t like it at all. He felt a pang of regret, thinking he’d misread the situation. He wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, he wondered if he was always this wrong about you. North. North.

You didn’t want to overreact or be rude, so you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to splash some water on your face and steady yourself. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, silently telling yourself to calm down.

Maybe you were overreacting to Buford. But that thought was short-lived. The moment Hotch and JJ entered the room and she began speaking, confirming what you had already sensed, everything inside you seemed to crack. Carl Buford—the man who was fervently helping the police catch Morgan, was the same one who had written a letter to clear his record. The contradiction hit you like a punch to the gut, and you couldn’t shake the sound of the sirens growing.

You followed Hotch as he approached the interrogation room, your mind racing with the unsettling sense you couldn’t shake. You didn’t even notice Reid following behind you, keeping a respectful distance. Hotch entered the room, and the questioning began.

"Carl Buford." Morgan’s voice was tight, his shoulders tensing at the name. He stood up from the table where his arms had been resting. "What?"

"Carl Buford. He runs the youth center." Hotch's voice was calm, measured, but you could feel the pressure building behind it. From the other side of the glass, you stood in front of the glass, only for a moment, before Reid joined you at a respectful distance.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Morgan's tone was dismissive, brushing off the mention of Buford like the idea of talking about him was unbearable.

"He's responsible for getting your records expunged." The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Maybe it was the steady presence of Reid beside you that kept you grounded, or maybe it was that something about Buford just didn’t sit right with you. The sirens in your head grew louder.

"I told you to stay the hell out of my business." Morgan’s voice rose, defensive, but not with rage—more like a wounded animal cornered by a predator.

"You said you visit the youth center every time you come here," Hotch pressed, not backing down.

"So what?" Morgan spat out the words like they were poison.

"Buford says he hasn't spoken to you in years. Why don’t you visit the man who made your career possible?"

"Damn you, Hotch." Morgan’s fist slammed onto the table as he stood up, knocking the box over in frustration. That was when you knew. The sirens in your brain were deafening now—loud enough to drown everything else out, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The sickness in your stomach was undeniable. You swallowed it down, fighting the urge to leave, but your instincts were already pushing you forward. You grabbed the door handle, taking one last breath before entering.

"Agent Hotchner, I would like to speak to my client." When Hotch didn’t move, still focused on Morgan, you added, "Now."

With a quiet but firm nod, Hotch left the room, his stoic expression unchanged. You sat down in the chair, your mind racing even faster. If you wanted Morgan to trust you—if you wanted to get through to him—you had to give him something first.

“Aren’t you supposed to be defending me? Looking for a way to get me out of here?” he snapped.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Derek.”

“I am being honest. I didn’t kill those kids! He has nothing to do with this!”

“Then why is he so eager to help the police?” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just glared at you, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had learned, maybe too many times, that the world didn’t always care about the truth.

"Derek I can't do much if you don't trust me." You say as calmly as you can.

Morgan let out a humorless chuckle. “Trust you?” he said, shaking his head. “I barely know you.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flickering over him. That’s fair. Trust wasn’t something that could be commanded, especially not in a place like this.

But you also knew what it was like to sit on the wrong side of an interrogation table. To have someone who was supposed to protect you look at you like you were already guilty. To feel like the walls were closing in, no matter how much truth you were screaming.

You swallowed, forcing the memories down before they could surface. If you wanted Morgan to trust you, you had to give him something first.

“Derek… I’m on your side, whether you believe it or not. Not because I owe you one, but because I can recognize someone whose trust was betrayed by the person who was supposed to protect them.” That made him look at you—really look at you. And you hated it. Hated the way he was seeing straight through you.

Being read, being seen—that wasn’t something you allowed often. But Morgan had spent his life reading people, understanding them, profiling them to find the truth. And you had spent your life sharpening your edges, and weaponizing strategically everything you didn’t like. But right now, you were offering him a piece of yours.

You took a slow, measured breath, and even though the room felt too warm, you forced yourself to keep going.

“My parents… my birth parents ran a meth lab in the kitchen,” you said, voice steady, though your hands curled into fists beneath the table. “When I was four, it exploded. I was sent to the hospital with burns, malnutrition, and withdrawal symptoms I didn’t understand. That was the first time CPS got involved. They put me in the system.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t shift, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Recognition.

“And if you know anything about the system, you know it’s broken. It fails. It doesn’t protect the people who need it the most,” you continued, your voice steady, but your chest felt tight. “There are cracks in it, and some people…take advantage of that. They play the part, they act like saviors, they pretend to care.” Your voice caught, just for a second. But you forced yourself to push through it. “I know men like Carl Buford. I grew up with one of them.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. That name—Buford—hit the air like a hammer. You weren’t just asking for trust. You were offering something real. Something raw.

His fingers curled into fists on the table, and for a second, he looked away, shaking his head like he was trying to push a memory aside. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t challenge you. Because he knew.

“And what happened?” he asked, voice lower now, controlled but heavy.

You exhaled sharply. “I clawed my way out, just like you did, got adopted when I was 8. And when I had the chance, I became the system—to change it the only way it’s possible, from the inside out.”

Morgan let the silence stretch, studying you, his fingers tapping once against the cold metal table. Finally, he let out a breath, something almost like defeat but not quite. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, straightening, “We stop playing defense.”

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You stepped out of the room, and though the tremor in your hands had subsided, the warmth lingering on your back remained. Scanning the precinct, your gaze locked onto the person you were looking for—Gordinski.

You strode toward him, your pace sharp, your voice sharper. “Are you going to charge my client with something, or are you just going to keep stalling?”

He smirked, relishing the frustration in your tone. “Miss Woodvale.” The mockery in his voice was deliberate, savoring the way your desperation bled through. “I still have over 40 hours to hold your client as a suspect.”

“Have you found any new evidence? Because all you have is a questionable profile and circumstantial evidence.” You leaned in slightly, wanting to get under his skin. 

“We have motive.” He said it like it was a trophy, something definitive, something final.

You let out a short, dry laugh. “No, you have a grudge. There’s a difference, and if you don’t know it, the jury won’t buy it.” You’d seen stronger cases collapse under weaker arguments.

His jaw tensed as he looked down at you, exhaling through his nose like you were an inconvenience. “Look, we have three dead kids and a family that wants closure. We’re just doing our job.”

You knew it was a low blow. You knew it was too much.

“Oh yeah? I wonder where I’ve heard that before?”

That was exactly why you said it.

Gordinski’s expression twisted as realization struck. One of the other detectives snapped at you, voices rising, the BAU stiffened, and you could already see Hotch preparing to apologize—everything was escalating.

Then— “Hey! What, did we turn him loose?”

The tension shifted. The detectives forgot your words in an instant, all eyes snapping to the officer outside the holding room—where Morgan had been.

Chaos erupted. Gordinski bolted toward the room, Dennison scrambled to dispatch patrols, Prentiss and JJ exchanged alarmed glances.

And that’s when you slipped away. Nobody noticed… Well nobody except Reid. He always had an eye on you, even from a distance.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The air was cold, and in the rush of the moment, you’d forgotten to grab your coat. But in some strange way, you were grateful for it—the chill seemed to cool the simmering anger that was creeping through your veins as you headed toward the community center.

Morgan walked beside you, leading the way. You kept your head low, ducking behind columns to avoid the patrols that were probably looking for you. The familiar sensation of hiding felt strangely nostalgic—if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine the cup of coffee in your hand as you walked through the campus at Harvard.

After ten minutes, you spotted a small field with the lights still on. A kid was out there, playing football by himself. Morgan moved closer to him.

“Lookin' good there, kid.”

You stayed a few feet behind, not wanting to interfere.

“I was tryin' to call you.” The kid stopped running and looked at Morgan.

“I’m here now.” Morgan spread his arms, inviting and friendly.

“Who’s that?” The kid glanced at you quickly, signaling toward you with a tilt of his chin. Unable to stay hidden any longer, you stepped onto the field and leaned back against the fencing, crossing your arms.

“Someone I trust. One of mine.” Morgan’s bold words were enough to drop the kid’s defenses.

You stayed silent, as invisible as you could be, observing how the kid tensed and relaxed automatically when Morgan mentioned needing to talk about Buford. You never thought you were good with kids—didn’t know how to act around them without overthinking, constantly looking for signs and flaws.

The more they talked, the more Derek described Buford’s manipulative ways, using his influence to make kids trust him only to exploit that trust, the more the freezing air of Chicago couldn’t keep the heat from rising inside you. Your hands curled into fists, squeezing your sides, wrinkling your shirt.

There were so many sick ways people used to reward or control others. Buford used alcohol and false bonds to make kids feel like adults, while others used toys or candy.

“My oldest brother’s in jail. My sister was paralyzed in a drive-by... She’s eight years old, and I’m all my mom’s got left. I gotta get us outta here.”

No kid should ever carry that kind of weight. No child should feel like enduring abuse is the only way out.

“Carl’s gonna make sure I get into college. Then I can make something of myself.” The gratitude in his voice was painful—the twisted sense of owing someone everything for their attention, their gifts.

You closed your eyes and looked up at the sky, trying to keep yourself from walking into the building alone and finishing whatever it was you had come here to do.

“James, you are something, man. You’re something right here, right now, without Carl Buford.” Morgan’s words hit you hard. He was right. James was someone. He was someone. You were someone, too. Despite everything, you were still breathing, still standing.

A tiny part of yourself felt grateful when you heard James had told Damien about what he was going through, that he had been brave enough to speak up and look for someone who would believe him and would do something about it. Damien knew. Morgan connected the same dots and realized who was staging the whole thing up.

Carl. Motherfucker. Buford.

Derek eventually finished talking to the kid and motioned for you to follow him. You didn’t know what his next move was, but you were backing him up. “Derek?”

He turned to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want to do, I have your back.” You knew he saw it in your eyes—an intense, boiling rage that had driven you to places both good and bad. He knew that whatever he was going to do next, you wouldn’t stop him or doubt him.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

He gave you instructions on how to get through the back door of the office. But when you got there, Morgan was already calling him out.

“All these years, I kept my mouth shut. I let you go on being a hero. Carl Buford, my mentor.”

Buford’s back was toward you, and the more he talked, the more the air seemed to thicken with the heat of your rage. Your vision narrowed, blurred at the edges with red. A man. No—a monster. A predator who walked free for far too long, spinning his web of lies, manipulating, violating, ruining.

And he had the audacity to deny it. The smugness in his voice. The complete absence of remorse.

“Whatever lies James told you…” he said so easily, as if that erased the truth. As if that rewrote history.

Your hands clenched so hard they ached. How many lives had he destroyed? How many boys had suffered under his hands? You had seen men like him before—hell, you had been a child under the power of a man like him once. The weight of their hands. The control they wielded. The false kindness that masked something vile.

Your stomach twisted violently as you took in the sight of his office. The trophies. Row after row of gleaming gold, polished plaques. A shrine to his own ego. A testament to the world that this man was trusted, respected, celebrated.

And then you saw it. Dr. Or you think you did

The word burned itself into your mind like a scar. Dr. Calloway. It wasn’t his name, but your hands trembled anyway, your breath coming fast and ragged, and the sirens grew louder and louder. Was it the name? Was it the way the gold glinted under the dim light? Or was it just the overwhelming wrongness of all of this? 

Buford was still talking. Still spewing poison.

“How many lives have I provided? Look at you. You’d probably be dead by now.”

Lives.

Lives he had ruined.

Lives you could still save.

Your fingers curled around the base of a trophy—a heavy one, sharp at the edges. You barely registered the name engraved on it as your grip tightened, your knuckles going white.

For a split second, your mind whispered, Do it. The same one that had accompanied you in moments where you couldn’t move. Moments when your body wouldn’t answer to your orders. The voice of that version of yourself that would unleash violence. Do. It.

But then—Morgan. This wasn’t your moment. This wasn’t your fight.

But if he wanted to tear this office apart, you would hand him every single thing worth breaking. You would burn it to the ground and stand there, just to watch Buford scream as the flames took him.

Morgan’s voice cut through the storm inside your head.

“Actually, I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am.”

And so did you. Because this rage—this blistering, all-consuming, blood-boiling rage—was just another scar left by men like him. Men who stole, who twisted, who took and took and took until all that was left was ruin.

The sirens in your mind screamed. The voices clawed at your skull, howling for justice, for vengeance, for something more than just words, more than just silence.

Just like the ghosts of the past. Just like the hands of the past. Just like Calloway in the past. In the present.

Calloway. Buford.

"I never hurt you. You could have said no.”

Your grip on the trophy tightened, the sharp edges digging into your palm, but you barely felt the sting. All you saw was red. All you felt was fire.

"You're under arrest, Carl." The words cut through the haze, sharp and final.

Buford barely had time to react before the officers stepped in, twisting his arms behind his back, snapping cold metal around his wrists. He said something—denial, excuses, more of the same filth that men like him always spewed—but it didn’t matter.

It was over.

The red began to fade. The fire inside you simmered, but the embers still burned low, smoldering beneath your ribs. Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls as you unclenched your fist. The trophy slipped from your fingers, clattering against the floor with a hollow, metallic thud.

Morgan was still staring at Buford, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

For a moment, you wondered if he felt it too—that same bone-deep ache, the need to destroy, to make it right in ways the law never could. But then he inhaled, long and slow, and you forced yourself to do the same.

He saw the trophy in your hand, and you expected to find judgmental eyes—eyes that would look at you like you were dangerous, like you had lost control, like you were no better than the man they were dragging away in cuffs.

But there was no judgment in Morgan’s gaze. Just understanding. Maybe even something closer to recognition.

Your fingers trembled around the trophy, your pulse still hammering in your ears, but you couldn’t let go. Not yet. The weight of it felt good in your grip, solid and real. It would’ve been so easy—so easy—to swing, to carve your fury into something tangible.

He must’ve seen it in you. The way your shoulders still heaved, the way your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Morgan reached out, slow, steady. Not to stop you. Not to take it away. Just there.

A lifeline, if you wanted it.

You exhaled shakily, then forced your fingers to unclench. The trophy slipped from your grasp, landing with a dull thud against the floor.

Your hands were empty now. But the fire still burned.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Resting against the wall, breathing heavily, you watched as they took Buford away under your intense gaze. Gordinski approached you.

“Your actions could be taken as obstruction of justice, Counselor,” he said, the sarcasm in your title not going unnoticed.

An old man threatening you, just to scare you and gloat himself, a pathetic move, especially now when there were still remains of the fire, not ashes yet. You sighed, as if too tired to deal with him, not even bothering to look his way. “And what are you going to do? Arrest me?” You finally glanced at him. “I have the General Attorney one phone call away, and I could charge you with misconduct and Sixth Amendment violation, which could dismiss the case you have been working for so long.”

You let the words sink in for a second while he remained serious. “You got your guy Detective. Walk away while you can.” 

Like in chess, any smart player knows when to retreat. He glared at you but ultimately backed off.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid watching. For a moment, you couldn’t help but return his stare. But then, lifting your chin, you towards the SUV, ignoring the strange sting of shame, the kind of shame you feel when you want to show the best version of yourself to someone, only to show the worst. It wasn’t the first time you had talked your way out of a charge, but it was the first time you felt ashamed of doing it.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You and Morgan were the last to board the jet. After last night, you'd talked—just not about the… incident. He'd invited you to the grave of the unidentified child with him and his family, and, for some strange reason, it had brought you a sense of peace. Afterward, you joined the rest of the team on the way home.

You spotted Reid sitting by the window, absorbed in his book. North. South. You weren’t one to judge anyone’s demons, especially when you couldn’t even control your own. Maybe that’s why you sat in front of him. Maybe you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to know what was going on in his head.

When he noticed you, his eyes widened slightly, and his fingers nervously traced the edge of the page. Was this it? Would you confront him? Would he finally have the chance to explain himself?

"Do you think Raskolnikov ever believed he deserved the punishment?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm, meeting his gaze. "Or did he just convince himself he was too special to face it?"

Reid blinked, clearly caught off guard, but after a beat, he answered. "I think Raskolnikov believed he was above it all. That his intelligence and theories made him different. But that’s the tragedy—he never understood that punishment isn’t just about what you deserve. It’s about confronting what you’ve done. The guilt you carry. Sometimes, it’s about having someone who believes in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself." His voice softened with the words, as if careful not to scare you off.

You didn’t break eye contact, letting the weight of his words settle. After a pause, you glanced back down at the book. "Someone like Sonia?"

Reid’s gaze flickered, sensing the shift in the conversation. You weren’t just talking about Raskolnikov anymore. Maybe it was about him. Maybe about you. "Someone like Sonia," he said quietly. "She believed in him, not because he was special, but because she saw his humanity. Sometimes, it’s not about whether someone deserves forgiveness—it’s whether someone else is willing to help them find it."

A quiet tension lifted from your shoulders, and your expression softened, the unspoken understanding between you both almost palpable in the air. North. South.

　　 　　　       .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

By lunchtime the next day, the events of the prior day still gnawed at you. The feeling only worsened when your eyes landed on the basket sitting in the corner of your office—filled with chocolates and candy.

Taking a deep breath, you picked it up and turned to your temporary assistant, a guy covering for Molly while she was on maternity leave. “I’m stepping out for twenty minutes,” you told him.

Basket in hand, your thoughts blurred together as you walked toward the park. It was a familiar refuge, a place where kids and elderly chess players gathered, lost in their games. A little distraction wouldn’t hurt. It would be good for you to clear your mind—and they always appreciated it when you brought baskets like these or treats from your mom’s bakery.

　　　　 　　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　　　 　　 　　 　

So we finally see more of reader's past! been waiting for this since i started drafting the story in my mind. You'll know more the next chapter!　 　　　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3 Tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner<3

[petersasteria]

Hey, It's Been A While - G Dragon/Kwon Ji Yong

Pairing: GD x Reader Summary: long time partners that don't have the same goal

A/N: i just want to say that it's been a while since I've written a fic and this is my first time writing for GD sksksks I've been wanting to write for a while now and I just want to thank @ldydeath @thanosscross @loveesiren @welcometoyunosworld @dollzites @natalicss for inspiring me to write again <3

He was your whole world. You were his. Everything seemed right until it wasn't.

A year into your relationship, everything was still phenomenal. It was like the honeymoon phase never ended. He treated you right and he did right by you. You pampered him when he was tired and he always sent you updates when he was at work. He even started sending you food, knowing that you always forgot to eat on time.

God, you were in love with this man. After your first year together, you knew he was the one. You knew in your heart that nobody could replace him and you hope that he felt that too.

Years go by and suddenly, you've been dating for 9 years. Everyone was pestering you to get married already, but Ji-yong never asked... not yet. Your relationship with him was never rocky and despite multiple breakup rumors, it remained stronger than ever. It stood the test of time and Ji-yong liked to prove people wrong all the time. He brought you to events all the time and he would be the one to send you those shitty rumors first before anyone else would, just so the two of you could make fun of it.

God, he was in love with you. He loved every single moment he shared with you. It was weird because he figured that he was the only man in the world who falls in love with you even more when you're angry. He absolutely loved you when you were angry because he loved seeing your real emotions toward things that angered you. He loved supporting you when you got angry. If you were cussing someone out during a rant, he'd do the same thing because he knew that you'd look at him, laugh, and forget what you were even angry about which annoyed you a lot, but he knew you were thankful. Your first year together was the best year he ever had. He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Years go by and he's still so madly and sickeningly in love with you. He would never want to hurt your feelings that's why when rumors started going around about your breakup, he'd make sure to send it to you first attached with a cruel joke that only you two would understand. He'd smile to himself when you give it a 'haha' react and reply with another joke. It'd be enough to put him in a good mood.

Lately, he's starting to notice something different about you. You were a little bit sad, but he didn't know what to do and it scared him because he'd usually know what to do and what to say. He could read your expressions so well and it killed him that he couldn't read it now. For the first time in 9 years, he couldn't understand what was wrong.

To remedy the situation, he took you out on a date in a very expensive restaurant. He didn't care how much he'd spend. He just wanted to see you happy and to know if something's wrong. He wanted to make you feel better.

Obviously, that action didn't register the same way to you. He wanted to talk to you and ask what's going on, and you thought he was proposing. Of course, none of you knew what the other was thinking during the time both of you were getting ready in the same room. He glanced at you as he put his cufflinks on and smiled when he saw you smiling to yourself. 'My girl's back.' He thought. You looked up at him as you smoothed out your dress and smiled, "Ready to go?"

The whole ride going to the restaurant was quiet. It was a comfortable kind of quiet. The soft music filling the car and the reflection of the lights coming from the street lamps and shops illuminated your faces perfectly. He wanted to take multiple pictures of you then and there to make it his new lockscreen, but he didn't want both of you to get injured because he was too busy driving. Despite having a lot of money, he didn't feel the need to hire a driver because he thinks that going on drives with you is intimate no matter where you go.

You arrived at the restaurant and got seated at the best table with the best view. You scanned the menu, ordered your food, and smiled at each other. "Um, it's been a while since we went on a proper date. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love staying in, but I just feel like dressing up with you and going to a fancy place for a change. If that's alright?" He asked, anxious for your reply. He didn't know why he was anxious around you. He guessed that maybe he didn't want to upset you by saying the wrong thing.

"That's perfectly fine, Ji." You smiled shyly, thinking he's nervous about his proposal. "I'll go wherever you go. We've been together for so long, I can't even remember what it's like to function without you."

Both of you laughed and agreed. You started talking about your job and how you're eyeing for that big promotion because the pay is better and the office is bigger. He just kept listening and laughing and only talking when he was curious about one topic or if he had any opinions or views about something you said. At one point, he couldn't help himself because of how your face was perfectly illuminated by the light coming from the restaurant's warm, dim lights. He asked for you to pose as he took multiple pictures. Some of it were candid shots of you asking him to stop because it was taking too long. Despite all the magazine-worthy photos he took of you, he chose the most candid one as his lockscreen because it took him back to when you first met.

"I'm really glad that you're smiling again, Y/N." He said as he toyed a little bit with his dessert's toppings using his dessert spoon. Your head tilted a little bit to the side as you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. What was he talking about?

He looked at you and said, "Oh, I mean it's nothing bad... I hope. Um, recently, I noticed that you were sad and you had this expression I couldn't read and I panicked because I didn't know how to fix it and you've never been so closed off like that with me. Now that you're smiling and laughing, it makes me feel better that you're feeling better." He breathed and smiled a big smile, "I'm really glad you're feeling better. You can tell me if I've done anything to upset you, you know that right?"

You nodded your head and said, "You did nothing wrong, actually. I guess I was just a bit sad because of what people are saying about us... or about me."

His eyes went dark and said, "What?" He wasn't aware that people were saying stuff about the two of you or about you, specifically. It angered him that people were trying to breakup the one relationship he cherished the most. He felt betrayed and backstabbed. You nodded and said, "They said that you didn't really love me and that I'm just a placeholder for when you meet your true love."

He was so hurt that you said that so casually. "Anyway, I don't believe it anymore because it's ridiculous! Especially now that it's happening." You said giddily. He chuckled in confusion and shook his head slightly, "I'm sorry, what's happening?"

"You know..." You said in excitement. "No, I don't know actually." He said with genuine confusion.

"Oh. Is this not what I thought it was?" You asked in a small voice, feeling absolutely mortified and embarrassed.

"What are you on about, my love?" He asked. He didn't understand. He didn't have a clue at all.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and said, "Let's just go home."

As soon as you got home, you marched straight to your shared room with Ji-yong quickly following behind. "Hey, what's going on? Please tell me. You know that I don't like to be kept in the dark about things that concern our relationship."

You looked at him as you took off your shoes and earrings. "Fine. We've been together for 9 years and you still haven't proposed. Why?"

He chuckled, "Is that it? Is that why you're so upset? I can answer that right now."

"Okay. Please enlighten me."

"I don't believe in marriage and starting a family, Y/N." He said coolly. "I thought it was obvious? I mean, we have a great relationship going on and I absolutely adore you and everyone knows that. I just don't feel the need to put it on a piece of paper. You're the only woman in my life and I'm the only man in your life and it's always been that way. Everybody knows that."

Your heart shattered into a million pieces. "What?" was all you said. He shrugged and sat down on your shared bed, "Yeah. I thought you knew? I'm sorry if I didn't tell you. I genuinely thought you knew this whole time." You shook your head and started crying.

You sat down on the bed next to him and started crying. He pulled you in for a hug, but you pushed him away. He was hurt that you did that because you never pushed him away before. "What's wrong?" He asked, rubbing your back and pushing your hair away from your face.

You looked up at him and said, "I don't think I can go on this way."

"What do you mean?" He panicked. Is this it? Is your relationship ending after 9 beautiful years?

"We have different goals. I want to get married and have kids, Ji. I find it so selfish of you to not tell me and expect me to be okay with it now. If you told me that 9 years ago-"

"You would've left immediately, I know you would. Please don't leave me now. We're doing so great." He pleaded.

"Ji-yong, please-"

"Will you marry me?"

"What?" You looked at him like was crazy.

"You wanted to get married, right? I love you too much for you to walk away. Let's get married and have kids like what you've always dreamed of. How many kids do you want? We can move out of here and find a more quiet place for us to start a family and-"

"I don't want you to hate me."

"I could never hate you, Y/N. Don't be silly."

"Oh, but you would. You'd resent me for marrying me because you never wanted to get married. You'd resent our children because you never wanted to have children. We want different things in life and maybe we were just meant to meet, but not destined to be with each other."

"Y/N, I love you. Please marry me."

"You're just asking me that because you want me to stay, not because you want to marry me. Ji-yong, my love, it's okay. It'll take some time, but I hope you find someone who has the same goal as you."

Those were your last words to him before you parted ways. Your breakup was called the "breakup of the century" because it shocked everyone.

-

It's been 2 years since then and Ji-yong heard that you were getting married and that you were pregnant. He was truly happy for you because you got what you wanted, but it killed him to know that it's not him you're marrying and it's not him who's fathering your child. He was invited to the wedding and so are Daesung and Taeyang. They didn't want him to go because they knew it would hurt his feelings, but he assured them that he'll be fine. He moved on... a little bit.

He hoped to talk to you, though.

He wandered around aimlessly through the halls and hoped that by sheer luck, he finds your dressing room. He spots a group of bridesmaids and he switches on his charm and asks them if they were your bridesmaids. They said yes and he immediately asked where your dressing room was.

They led him there before leaving. He could hear you singing softly to yourself, indicating that you were alone. After all this time, he still knew you like the back of his hand. He smiled to himself and knocked on your door.

"Mom, please calm down. For the nth time, I don't need water!" You said through the door. He chuckled to himself before opening the door.

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm not your mom." He said softly. His gaze immediately falling on your beautiful face matched with your perfectly styled hair, then on your white wedding dress.

"Ji-yong."

"Y/N."

"You're here! Wow." You said in surprise. "Um, please sit." You motioned for him to sit on your couch and you sat down next to him.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." He smiled. His smile reached his eyes and you gave him a shy look. His compliments still gave you butterflies.

"Thank you. I'm glad you could make it."

"I'm sorry, Y/N." He said. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you needed me to be. Now that I look back, it really was shitty of me to tell you that I didn't want to get married and expect you to accept it. It was also shitty of me to propose to you just for you to stay, and you were right. I would've hated you and I don't want to hate you because I love you so much. In fact, I love you so much that I can't let you go."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know what I'm saying." He chuckled bitterly. "I want you to be happy with me, but I can't make you happy because I can't give you what you want. He makes you happy and I hate that. I don't want you to leave him because I would never want to breakup a family... that's not who I am."

"I just wish that I was different. I wish that I believed in marriage, so that you wouldn't marry that guy and have his child. I wish it was me you came home to. You'll always be the love of my life, Y/N. I screwed up, but I never lied to you. I've done a lot of shit in my life, but loving you and being with you is different. I meant what I said that day when I told you that you're the only woman in my life."

He pulled out his phone and showed you his lockscreen from that night at the restaurant. "See? I never changed it. I'll always love you and it'll stay that way until my last breath."

You stayed quiet. Why was he saying all this?

"I love you. I respect you. I already care about your kid and I haven't even met them. I guess what I'm saying is, something in my gut tells me that we're definitely destined to be together and in some fucked up way, I hope it's true."

"I'm confused." You told him.

"Get married, Y/N. Go. I'm not stopping you. I'm not a cruel person and I know how hard you've worked in planning all this. I know you so well, after all. I'm just saying that one day, I know you'll come back to me."

"What if you're wrong?" You asked. "I love my fiance."

"I know you do. Just not the same way you loved me. Our 9 years wasn't a joke. We're basically married at that point." He smirked. "You deserve a happy marriage, Y/N. I know you're happy."

He stood up and walked to the door. "I just have this terrible gut feeling about that man that I can't shake."

With that, he left the dressing room.

--------

A/N: I planned on smth very angsty, but I couldn't stop typing until it led me to that ending HAHAHAHA

[starconstruction]

Equilibrium and The Beginning of the End

Yena x Male Reader(smut)

Part 3 of Hypothermia and The Cosmos

read part 1 and part 2 if you havent already :)

thanks for all the support on the previous two parts!

smut tags: ass eating (f receiving) , blowjob, riding, soft, throatpie, cum on body

WC: 4087

feel free to send me asks! i'll happily answer most of them!

not proofread

The abyss of the vast array of space was more comforting than the last time you two, you'd begun a voyage towards anywhere. She was the commander of the ship, sat in her chair, fiddling with controls on her complicated array. You were taking inventory again, the fight on those planets dwindled vital resources, food, water and fuel was no issue. The problem came with the lack of entertainment for the potentially endless expedition. You walked towards Yena, clanking metal as your hand coiled around her chest.

"How's it going Yenie" you teased, a silly nickname to break the thick emptiness of space.

A light slap came to your chest, her face scrunching in her soft features as she grimaced about the abhorrent nickname, "You are never calling me that again, understand?" she replied, her voice a mockery of seriousness as she pretended to be offended.

"It's going good Y/N! Can you believe it?! We are back on track, and your alive!" Her energy was contagious, a smile appearing on your face as she hopped around in her chair. Hitting a tiny dance as Yena celebrated your joined success, god she was truly perfect.

Her hands returned to the console, hitting buttons and pulling levers, colours lighting up as she performed tech magic. You felt a seed of pride bloom in your chest as you watched her movement, none of it made sense to an observer, only those who studied the books of the Technocrat from old earth. Something Yena referenced a lot, from what you could gather it was a legendary pilot who invented easier space travel before the world went dark with smog.

Yena finished her button mashing, kicking herself out of the chair. Approaching you, arms wrapping around your neck as she gave you a quick peck on the lips, pulling away as quickly as she arrived.

"Come onnnn! It's in autopilot, let's go cuddle!" she pleaded, dragging you by your arm as she pulled you towards your makeshift couch, the pillows from the company provided beds. Multiple blankets laid down on the ground. Covering up the cold metal of the ship floor. What really made the setpiece was the plushies Yena had in her box, seemingly endless as she stored more and more unauthorised items that came to light.

Yena pulled you down, your body made contact with the soft blankets. Pressing backwards into the pillows, Yena followed as she sat down next to you. You threw the thickest blanket you two found over each other, the soft cotton bounced the shared body heat around. You two were in relative bliss, Yena leaned into your body, head against your chest. Looking down as your arm draped over her shoulder. Her body naturally fit into yours as you two stayed connected like two puzzle pieces.

Yena was the first one to break the silence, adjusting to get more comfortable. "So, I was thinking, maybe I can figure where they went, yknow the other people?" she said.

"You think they're still alive?" You replied.

"I mean, if we landed with no engine chances are they landed with one." her hands rubbed circles on your leg absentmindedly as she pondered.

"You're probably right, we could have a look. Civilisation isn't going to rebuild with just two of us."

Yena gave a small nod from her position and you two sat there, bodies interlinked as you enjoyed each other's company. For the first time not against an arctic inferno, a planet that wanted everything dead. A memory that strengthened your bond together.

Hours passed sitting there, the expanse of space gave you two all the time in the world, you two were both burning up in the climate of your intimacy, neither of you two wanting to be the one to break the connection, but both of you wanting to get out of the scorching hug. You broke your connection, lifting Yena away as you stood up, going off to do whatever.

Yena fiddled with the strange terminal on the side of the ship, something you couldn't even read. Glyphs that Yena tapped and observed as a diagram of a ship came up. It was a life like model that wasn't entirely too dissimilar, fingers pressing into the screen, moving the model of the ship looking for something. You watched in awe as she did her magic, she was truly incredible and you couldn't stop repeating it.

"Ah hah!" she beamed, "I've got a lock on their location" tapping as an image of the planet appeared, how much strength was reliant on this engine? It looked similar to an image of a poster of old earth, dominantly green with trees cut through with a deep blue, creating swirls around the image. A potential home for you and Yena.

Your leg surged up in pain as you fell to the floor, propping yourself against the wall of the space craft, a expression of worry etched into Yena's face as she came down to sit next to you. Skin touching as her hands enveloped yours. "It's gonna take a few earth days to reach their orbit, I'll take care of you until then." she smiled brightly at you.

"Thank you, my love" you replied.

-

You woke up sometime later, unable to identify how long it's been by the lack of any sun, similar to your time on old earth. A strange noise filled the ship, the sound of metal tearing other metal apart and forging something new. Large sparks flew out through the air, Yena was working on something, clearly an active mind.

"What ya working on Yena?" you asked, limping as you approached her workstation.

"it's a rock smasher thing. Names still pending yknow?" she replied, picking up the framework of her creation, lifting it to the light. A large wooden handle was resting between her hands, thin scraps of metal residing around some stone from the mine you two found the engine stone.

" I see, needed something to do?"

"Yeah, we got a few days. I thought I'd make one so we can do whatever we need to build our new home."

"Good idea Yena. Let's hope all goes well"

-

Excess fuel burned as your ship dived down into the atmosphere of the hopeful planet, the darkness of space replaced by the brightness of the sky, a strange pastel green. This planet was much larger and lively than the previous, dark green leaves spotted over the wide green plains, this planet was so green.

A small ship could be seen as you two descended lower, the signs of life obvious as wooden buildings laid around it. Herds of cattle enjoying the grass as they roamed near the tiny village. You two lowered down beside it, a puff of smoke consuming the floor as you two landed.

The air was crisp and refreshing as you two landed, walking down onto the grass, weapons in your bags as you walked towards the settlement made by the other flight crew members. It was much larger up close, giant wooden walls propped up everywhere as a massive watchtower observed over the centre. You two approached the gate, shoddily made out of wood and metal scraps.

"Hey! Boss it's them! The other two! Yeah I'll let them in to talk" The gatekeeper said, screaming at the top of his lungs to the mysterious "boss".

The gate was opened and you two walked in, holding hands as you followed the guard, there was a faint glimmer of hope within your heart, could this be the start of civilisation?

The guard had stopped in front of a door, it had a sign that read "Commanders office", Yena squeezed your hand in worry. The guard walked off without saying a word. Gesturing for you to go in.

Your hand pushed open the door, giving way to the office, silent for the scratching of pencil, a familiar face was sat at the desk. The other pilot, the one that nearly cost you and Yena's life. Anger boiled inside as your hand clenched into a ball.

The pilot looked up, a sense of surprise filled his face. Pencil dropping against the desk as he sat backwards, smugness radiating from him.

"Oh. You made it, congratulations." Sarcasm dripped from his voice thickly like poison. You could feel Yena's anger pooling up by the way she gripped your hand. Before you could intercept she fling at him, jumping over his desk as she slammed him into the wall. A strong thud shaked the wall with tremendous force.

"You fucking asshole! We could have both died before you couldn't drive! Did you not learn or were you too busy to pay attention?!" Her arm pressed further into his neck, his fear evident as he struggled to breathe. Yena looked so hot when she was angry, but she couldn't kill him or else you'd both be fucked.

" Yena, lay off a bit honey. We won't be able to do anything if we both get killed." You said, keeping your voice soft. You could feel the tension lighten as she softened her impact.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you lived. No big deal, now. If you want to talk business, we can talk. If not, get off this planet before I get mad." He spat. You pulled Yena back into your arms.

He continued, "Good. You can listen, for the record we were playing spin the bottle. But if you want to help build the future. We could appreciate the help in getting more resources. Get out of my sight, bring back woods, metals whatever. Do it in the morning though, it's getting late. Don't want to run into revenants." God he spoke way too fucking much.

He kicked you out your office as you and Yena went back to the ship for tonight, hooking up your shower and sink to the local fresh water pond.

-

You and Yena were laying down on the makeshift couch again, the night sky coloured a strange pink as you two stared at it. No words have been shared in a few long minutes.

"I love you Yena" You let out accidentally.

"I know, honey you say it a lot." She replied, still staring at the sky.

"I know, I just think it is worth repeating, I love every inch of you Yena. I am so glad I met you."

"Every inch?"

"Every inch."

"In that case, theres something I want to try."

-

Yena was pressed up against the pillows of your "couch", clothes laid discarded to the side in a large pile. Legs spread open as she left herself open to your shared desires. Her arousal was irresistible, body open for your next move, one guided by her earlier confession of her interests. You rested just below her, body next to the inches she wanted you to prove you loved.

You reached your destination, locking eyes with hers as you took your first lick of her asshole, starting slow, teasing her as you breathed in her body wash. The same company provided scent from infi-soap. Mixed with her arousal, creating an intoxicating cocktail of scents you couldn't get enough of. Your licks remained slow and deliberate as you circled her asshole, becoming wet with your saliva as she let out delicate gasps.

"Hmmm fuck.. That's really good.." Yena let out, her voice breathy and empty.

You kept licking, getting more ambitious as your had moved up to her clit, rubbing softly, soft gasps turned into loud moans as they pierced your ears. A sweet chorus filling the room. Your mind was clouded with only thoughts of her as you devoured her awaiting asshole.

Minutes passed as you two enjoyed each other, your tongue grew tired as she grinded her cunt against the bridge of your nose, you could feel her closeness, legs tightening on your shoulders.

"Fuck! Y/N baby, I'm gonna cum fuck!" she screamed, her orgasm hit her like a fright train as her body stopped moving, your tongue kept moving while she came undone. Moans slowed down as the world came to a halt.

"Every inch Yena, I told you." You said cheekily.

"Y-Yeah. I think I've got that" she replied, struggling to get the words out.

You didn't bother to tell her about the agonising pain in your leg.

-

The first major expedition to find resources begun the next morning.

The brisk air wrapped around the trees, endless forests were in front of you. Strange yellow and black creatures flew between the large trees, landing on a small lilac flower. You limped behind Yena, she carried both axes while you held onto food, small scraps incase someone got hungry.

"Here, There's a good amount of wood and I don't see anything dangerous, let's get cutting" She said, an axe suddenly appeared in your hand.

The wood was difficult to cut, leverage was difficult as every swung nearly knocked you over due to the instability of your leg. Worry filled your body, if it came to it. Could you save the person you loved?

You looked over at Yena, already on her sixth tree as you hadn't even cut your first, her elegance was undeniable as each swing was optimised to cut wood down in as few strokes as possible. Leaving nothing but logs in her wake.

Your axe penetrated the surface of the wood, slicing it in half as it fell into the ground, another slice, dividing it again as your arms burned. The wood finally divided into pieces of usable material that could be reshaped, picking it up as you moved to the next one.

-

You and Yena finished cutting wood for the day, but you didn't go home yet. Pulling out the blanket from your food box Yena made out of spare materials on board the ship. Laying it down gently on the ground.

You two took some bread and cheese out the box, food generously given from one of the nice members of the settlement. Yena sat crosslegged, combining the food together as she took a bite, face beaming with joy as she ate non-bland food for the first time in weeks.

She brought the food to your mouth, pressing it against your lips as you opened, accepting Yena's offer, the crunch of the bland bread contrasting the salty cheese. It tasted divine, most likely because you shared it with Yena.

You two sat in each others company, like most of your time. Not a single day since this expedition had you removed from Yena, and you liked that.

Yena pouted slightly, "Are you not going to offer me food?" her voice whiney as she made pleading eyes. Your hands reached towards the food as she slapped them away.

"No, not that food... I want something a bit more.. Personal" Her hand went to your crotch, pressing it slightly as she looked into your eyes.

"God your insatiable" You chuckled as you gave her easier access. Kicking the basket out the way to not spoil the meal.

"You love me for it."

"I love you for everything."

She smiled as her hands started to undo your pants, unzipping them quickly as she tried to free you from your confines. Pulling them down and leaving them half way down your legs, her eyes locking with yours as she made out with your clothed tip, saliva wettening the fabric as she teased you. She moved up, her teeth grabbing the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down in one delicate motion as your rigid shaft went out to greet her. Tapping her nose slightly.

Her hand gripped your base, the sudden feeling caught a shocked gasp out of your throat. She licked at your tip rapidly, several short bursts of pleasure ruptured out of the spots she blessed with her holy tongue, contrasting the sinful actions she administered.

She went lower, performing longer more deep strokes of her tongue. Licking up and down as she pressed your dick firmly against her tongue, her mouth releasing delicate hums as she reveled in your pleasure. Her head game has improved tenfold from her first time by that campfire. Her spare hand going down to rub your balls, compartively like ice compared to the warmth of her mouth. Slowly rubbing in circles as it brought you further into heaven.

Your hips instinctively thrusted into Yena's mouth as her lips were penetrated by your length, sucking her cheeks in as her walls pressed into your cock. Her hands moved away, pressing against your back. Providing enough leeway to press her mouth to the hilt, a few soft gags cams out her mouth. Bobbing up and down as she dragged her mouth from the top to the bottom. Slamming violently against your crotch, tears cropping against her eyes as she gave you the best head of your life.

Your hands grasped at her hair, finding leverage in the silky strands, thrusting stronger as she braced your impact, you knew you weren't going to last any longer, holding her into your base as you shot ropes of semen down her throat. Giving her the meal she wanted.

Her face withdrew, spit connecting you two as she caught her breath. Smiling slightly as she stroked your sensitive length, trying to prevent it from softening. You let out painful gasps as she continued.

"Thanks for the meal" She smiled, before hastily removing the bottom half of her outfit, leaving her cunt fully exposed to nature, you immediately felt ready to go again. The song of nature was playing in your ears, sounds of birds and the wind all around you. It was beautiful, you never got to hear this before. Old earth had no birds when you arrived, all long since dead due to the lack of oxygen.

You were took back out of your thoughts as Yena hovered over you, pressing down impatiently as she took you inside her, her walls gripping on you tightly, you two let out a shared moan with the overpowering sensation, thrusting upwards. Meeting her halfway as you ignored the pleading from your leg.

She leaned forward, clothed breasts in front of your face as Yena kept bouncing, there were no words for her beauty, no words for the shared passion you two engaged in. You greedily pulled off her shirt, Yena providing assistance as you threw it over her head. Taking her bra off revealing her boobs. Something you've indulged in countless times, each time a spectacle as you took one into your mouth. Holding her close as you sucked intensely, moans launching out her mouth as she kept bouncing. Keeping the same pace for several minutes, feeling like hours as you enjoyed the pleasure.

Your hands ran down to her ass, providing firm squeezes as you played with her flesh. Alternating minor slaps between her cheeks, every inch of her was perfect.

"Ugh, oh my god! Y/N, I'm cumming!" Her pussy gripped on you even tighter than before, squeezing you roughly as she came undone.

You felt the familiar pressure creeping all you, shuddering as you pulled her off. Frantically stroking your shaft up and down as you dribbled semen all over her midriff, some splashing on her breasts. You two smiled as you admired the specs of white on her body.

"God, Yena you are incredible.. I love you" You said.

"I know I know, goofball. Let's get home so we can clean up." She replied, putting her clothes on, ignoring the semen that pressed onto her shirt. Picking up her things and you two walked home.

-

Weeks passed as you two provided contributions to the growing society, providing materials that made new buildings, everyone now had their own personal home. Including you and Yena, you two chose to live in the same one. The house was cozy, constructed out of the wood you two had gathered, taking the parts out the ship that was viable to slot into your new home. The main improvement was the bed, significantly bigger than the ones the company had provided, Yena had done her usual decorative work on it, putting the plushies she had earlier on the sides.

The village felt full of life, everyone got along with you two except the boss. Who seemed to still resent you. But you two were happy.

You two completed several resource hunts, but you were always warned to never go out at night. You two were already inseperatable, only tightening together more by the time you spent.

-

You and Yena were sleeping, the day long over as you two rested in each others arms. "AHHHHH! FUCK THERE'S A LOT OF THEM! GET BACK" The loud sounds of screams tore you from sleep, shaking Yena frantically out of dreamland, looking at you in confusion as she rubbed her eyes.

The screams grew louder, "Yena, we've gotta get out there!" you two jumped into action, limping to your desk as you grabbed your knife. Yena right behind you with her axe, desperately opening the door as the sights petrified you.

Light fixtures knocked over as strange beasts approached the village, they were a deep brown, covered in horrific amounts of fur. Large in stature as they towered over you, large sharp nails dug out from their hands. They slowly charged the heart of the village, ready to wreck destruction in their path.

You looked at the gate, undamaged but open. Shit.. "Yena! The gates open, they'll keep coming if we don't get it closed!" You yelled. She nodded as you two started to rush towards it. Another scream rippled out from the other side of the village "HELP! WE CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF!" You two stood at a crossroads, they couldn't die. "Yena, listen to me! Help them! I'll get the gate! Go!" You commanded, she ran off in their direction.

A storm broke out overhead, loud tears of thunder as rain dropped down overhead, drenching the dirt floor, saturating it in water creating a thick mud. Every step stuck to you as you desperately pushed forward to the gate. Approaching the large structure, monsters came into frame out the woods. It was now or never, grabbing onto the handle. Struggling against the wet floor as you pulled it towards the right.

You were nearly done, just a bit closer..

A large hand appeared in the small crevice left in the gate, grabbing onto your arm as it cut through your clothes. The surge of water even colder as it landed against your skin. You pulled out your knife, struggling against the grip of the monster, you panicked. Jabbing against the vein of the monster as you tried to get away. It roared in pain as your knife went further in, dark maroon poured out the wound as you stabbed again, and again, it resisted against your actions.

One final jab and the monster's arm withdrew out the gate. Slamming the gate against the wall as you let out a sigh of relief, grabbing a small plank of wood to trap the handle. Slashes of claws banged out through the gate, it'd hold, it would have to hold.

"HELP!!!! SHIT!" It was Yena, your heart dropped as you turned. Her neck was being held by one of the disgusting monsters, desperately struggling against it's grasp. You ran towards her, knife at the draw. The burning singe of pain in your leg knocked you into the ground, coating your clothes in a thick sludge of mud as you couldn't move. Yena was in danger and you couldn't do anything.

"Get off her!" You looked up, the boss dived a knife into the monsters knee, a large wail came from its throat as it threw Yena into a wall. A large crash rolling out as she fell unconscious, tears pickled at your eyes as you tried to hold it together.

The monster jabbed it's claws into the head of the pilot as his knife slit the monsters throat. Falling down together in a pile of death. The village went quiet, only the sounds of rain filled the air. The beasts by the gates no longer present as their roars disappeared.

You got up, entire body covered in mud as you frantically got to Yena. Her body slumped over against the wooden wall, you picked her up. "SECURE THE VILLAGE, IM GOING WITH YENA!" Carrying her over your shoulder. Bringing her home. The rage of the night now over.

Please be okay.

Yena.

----

A/N - part 4? Hope you enjoyed!

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 14 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

This chapter felt shorter than the other ones in this second volume so far.

But that doesn't matter.

CUZ GUYS WE FINALLY SEE DATHURA AGAIN ‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️❤️‼️‼️❤️

When the chapter covers were only available, I originally thought that she ended up being the guardian of the Tree of Life but it looks like she just settled somewhere vacant in the Sadida Kingdom.

I don't mind cuz as long as she's there, I'm happy hehe 💗💗 She's such a beauty omg

Dathura saying that she's been called once again by Amalia makes me assume that Dathura asked for her help once before but we know it couldn't have been in Season 4 because she was only seen protecting the Tree of Life as it's last defense.

So the first time Amalia has asked for help must've been in Season 5 when Harebourg will be seen as the antagonist. I'm only making assumptions here but it could be true. In a way, it makes sense because Dathura technically does have a connection to Harebourg since she used to be a past member of the Brotherhood of the Frogotten just like him. So maybe she could have helped Amalia by trying to talk to Harebourg or maybe explain to Amalia what may be going when he'll become a problem for her kingdom. Because let's not forget the fact that he wanted Amalia's kingdom to have endless wood to warm up Frigost.

But anyways, Amalia asks Dathura to help her find a remedy for Yugo.

Cuz apparently the belladonna only slowed the process. It didn't actually fade away on its own because it thought it did its job.

Dathura disconnects herself from her meditation spot and guides Amalia to some hidden territory in the Sadida Kingdom.

I found it a bit odd when Amalia asked her where they were here, since she was supposed to have lived in the kingdom her entire life AND WAS ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE OF KID TO HAVE ROAMED AROUND THE PLACE AND MEMORIZE ALL OF IT BY HEART.

But then again, this entire area is ALIVE so it can do whatever the fuck it wants lol

Dathura just flies away as if she didn't say the most hippie spiritual shit ever.

BUT LOOK AT AMALIA'S ADORABLE FACE WHEN SHE ADMIRES THE PLACE 💗💕💗💗💗💗💗

my little queen is such a softie for nature 💖💖💖

Also let me just say how much I love the fact that Dathura is referring to Yugo as "our" king. She was so chill with Yugo in season 3 and we can tell that she's still cool with him because she accepts him as the king of the Sadida Kingdom.

And that speaks A LOT on so many levels when you know that some sadida citizens do not accept Yugo's people but then you got a part of the Sadida God literally being cool with the king they hate. Like come on now, if you're a sadida AND an eliatrope hater, what are you doing??? You keep blabbing about how the eliatropes are being a menace and "staining" your sadida culture when one of your demigoddesses (who LITERALLY keeps a portion of your god's power, mind you) is straight up just vibing with the man you hate.

Like seriously Amalia you gotta shut them up someday or another.

Another thing that I enjoyed was that I now know, thanks to Dathura, that there is a shortened way to say Grougalorasalar's name. It's Asalar and I don't know why but I find it so cute to say 💕💕 Like it's cool and yet adorable at the same time I don't know how else to explain it.

Amalia then explains what Grougalorasalar wanted and that he'll start attacking again if Yugo doesn't accept giving away the artifacts.

But I am SO GLAD that out of all the things Yugo refuses to give, it's the eliatrope dofus for very obvious reasons.

Like I explained back in the last chapter, Grougalorasalar wanted the Eliasphere since it doesn't belong to them and because Yugo's people have a habit of naming things after their people if they find any powerful artifacts that can support them. But in no way, shape or form does Yugo ever need to give his eliatrope dofus to him. These eliatrope dofus literally belong to the eliatropes because, again, those are the primordial eliatropes' recall points. Not to mention that they've been created by THE ELIATROPE GODDESS.

Like come on what is bro doing asking for something that belongs to them!? I agreed with him about how Yugo and his people were actual troublemakers without even trying, but taking away the dofus that respawns them?? Hell nah man, I stay away from that shit.

So Dathura picks out a plant and properly reduces it to the actual remedy before she tells Amalia to discuss this whole Grougalorasalar situation with Joris.

After everything he's done for the world, it looks like bro still can't get away from the short height allegations from mortals and immortals alike 😭😭

Talking to Joris makes the most sense since he used to be Asalar's vessel but yay, we get to see Joris back! I can just tell that all the joris fans were happy to see him in that 15th chapter cover and now get to see him being mentioned in this chapter lol

DATHURA CALLED AMALIA A FRIEND DISLDKDLWPWPROFODOEEO 💖💗💖💗💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💗💖💖💗💗💖💖💗💗💖

Anyways, after suggesting Amalia to speak with Joris about all this, she warns her not to upset Grougalorasalar no matter what hers and Yugo's decision will be.

Don't worry shawty, these two morons got this in the bag 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

[is-this-fascism]

No offense bro but 10,000 is a huge fucking deal people are not gonna pay

yeah, you're right. i legitimately don't expect this fundraiser to work, and i hate to be asking for money in capacity. unfortunately i have to try anything i can think of because homelessness is an emergency, extremely taxing, and even a small boost in my quality of life and safety would be massive for me.

i am losing followers and getting some negative asks, so i know this is irritating for yall to see. you guys came for the yuri jokes and funny posts and it must suck seeing someone struggle like this so openly. i try to keep up the fun posts too because i feel this need to give something back, and if by some miracle i manage to get into a van i'll be able to give back even more.

but don't forget i'm not just a clown on the internet. i'm in a very vulnerable and dangerous position with very few resources. i'm on the edge of a cliff and i'm doing everything i can to hang on, truly. if you don't want to support me, you don't have to, but my only hope is asking for help anyway.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Do you like my art? Do you wish I would draw something specific? Great news!

~COMMISSIONS ARE NOW OPEN!~

If you are interested in commissioning me, please fill out the google form and I'll reach out to you as slots become available!

[Ko-fi - Google Form Link]

[leah2eroes]

yeah make the disabled girl do unpaid manual labour for you outside in the cold when shes been awake for 20 hours whats the worst that could happen haha

[sunbunnyyy]

i know i just got here, but seeing all of the laughably bad takes from both sides of the spectrum is convincing me that no, i don’t actually need to be on social media again.

[missmouse43]

6 weeks of breathing clean air, I still miss the smoke…..

🏝️🤙🏄🏾‍♀️🏄🏼‍♂️💔

[cestacruz]

Mmm Jeanne

[mishkakagehishka]

Me when i dream of lil Mika but it's another nightmare

[allovertheplace-writing]

Shroom 😭 ilysm <33 thank you, thank you for being my friend!

@nordicbananas (ty for tagging me! i didn't know i was your first friend on here - i'm very much honored <333) @omkookie @azxremoon @astrxealis @meltingblue

i may not have many friends, but i love each and every one of you so so much. you guys have always motived me to keep writing and to keep being here on tumblr. without a doubt, i wouldn't have gotten this far without any of you. So thank you ♡

2023 is coming to an end so this is my annual I love my online friends so fucking much you wouldn't believe me if I told you post.

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[elevatourism]

On the topic of just talking to myself into the void. Here's my irregularly scheduled post about having the same hyperfixation as I last talked about. There are weird plants in my brain and you all have to be reminded about it