#that first chapter is quite unforgettable

[attapullman]

Bob From Pi Kapp | Robert "Bob" Floyd

While this can be enjoyed on it's own, the recommended reading on the syllabus for this class is Bob From Stats before proceeding.

Summary: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY as always, f!reader, no use of y/n, smuttttttt, goofy frat behavior, the other Daggers do make a brief appearance

A Note From Mo: Happy Start of the School Year! It wouldn't feel quite like autumn without checking in with our favourite frat boy-turned-cowboy and what shenanigans the Pi Kapps are getting up to. Can anyone guess what unforgettable moment in TV history inspired this second part to stats!Bob?

It’s unfair how good he looks laying between your thighs.

Sandy hair disheveled, glasses fogged at the rim. Chest heaving beneath thin cotton, catching his breath after a marathon make out session in your cramped dorm bed. There’s still three sections left in the review material, but Bob’s only now coming up for air as an alarm sounds and he reluctantly sits up.

Your hands reach out trying to pull him back into your embrace. He playfully swats them away, unwillingly having to extricate himself. Your fingers catch in the hem of his shirt, twisting in the fabric.

“I have to go!” He jovially laughs, returning your grabby hand back as he wiggles into his sweatshirt. “I have chapter - a non-negotiable, remember?” 

While you sarcastically cross your arms and hmph at him, he knows you aren’t actually angry. Disappointed, sure, but how could you be mad at those big round blue puppy eyes? Especially after he’s been attached to your lips since he swung by after lecture hours ago. You’ve started having a Pavlovian response every time he asks if you ‘want to study’.

Sitting up, you take your study buddy in, straightening his clothes before having to mad dash to Greek Row. He’s all long limbs and sturdy shoulders, the thick tendons of his fingers showing off the strength that he exhibits every time you get him into bed. That trucker hat is already back on his head and your eyes wander to his freshly shaven jaw and neck.

“Bob, you can’t go to chapter like that.”

He stops in his tracks and his brows crease in confusion, glasses highlighting his cornflower eyes. “It’s not a formal thing, jeans are fine. But I gotta go, there’s a fine if I’m late and I have perfect attendance.”

You shake your head and walk him the three steps over to the wardrobe in your tiny dorm, the full-length mirror on the side barely lit by the florescent bulb. Bob fills out the entire view, the mirror barely tall enough to capture above his torso, but just enough for you to gently hook your fingers into the soft heather collar of his sweatshirt. You don’t even have to tug for him to see the glaring concern.

Mottled along the left side of his neck are three mouth-shaped mauve bruises. They’ve only just begun to bloom, but against his creamy skin they stand out like stop signs. You didn’t think you had been sucking so hard. Or bitten so deep.

“I think they look kind of pretty.” He’s teasing, but you’re mortified.

Bob kisses your heated cheek, gathering his hood around his neck. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll hunch my shoulders and no one will be the wiser.” At this point he’s used to his roommates pointing out the signs of affection you leave on him every week.

You’re still hot from embarrassment twenty minutes later, curled on your little dorm bed reading through your organic chemistry textbook. Though part of that may be from the lingering kiss he gave you before promising to text you after. It’s not your fault he’s perfectly adorable and fuckable - you’re only human. 

Beside you, a small ping interrupts your (distracted) studying. It’s a text from Bob, slightly earlier than planned.

BF: They may have noticed 😬

His Pi Kapp brothers not only noticed the arrangement of love bites along his neck - you were lying to yourself if you thought they were in any way subtle -  and the house of frat boys were now taking turns lining up to get photos with Love Bite Bob for posterity. Plus he was a minute late to chapter. 

You’re still giggling to yourself when you turn off the light for the night. The photo of your boyfriend’s cherry red face matching your indecent markings, a swarm of Pi Kapp sweatshirts and backwards baseball caps in the background, and mischievous grins filling every corner of your dreams.

Students mill past you, filing into the atrium of the lecture hall with a buzz of misery and despair around them. Finals Week. Every backpack in sight is heavy with textbooks and over a dozen weeks worth of notes. Your last neon highlighter died last night from overuse. 

Amongst the throng of students also dreading your Stats final, you have yet to see that vintage trucker hat Bob has been sporting since September. It seems off-brand that he wouldn’t be early, broad back already hunched over in that cramped seat with his calculator and an apprehensive smile. 

The last few weeks of sitting next to each other have been exquisite - elbows bumping in his new desk next to yours, thighs brushing in those impossibly close seats. It’s a part of your routine at this point. Bob still lends you a pencil, but you barely take any notes once the toe of his sneaker runs along your shin and suddenly you two are playing footsie like teenagers.

It’s been a horny remaining nine weeks of Stats. It was lucky that Bob was as studious as he was or you’d have gotten nothing done, stealing kisses between flashcards. Not to mention the glorious hour he spent with his head buried between your thighs while you memorized formulas, swearing he’d only leave your clit alone after you could recite them backwards.

And yet he was missing from your very last class together. The last chance to borrow a pencil and brush elbows for an hour like foreplay. Where was he?

Wanting to get yourself settled, you resign to entering the lecture hall and sitting beside Anna in one of the front rows. She gives you a sympathetic look at your dejected grimace. Your dorm room has been a testament to many a study night as of late, the two of you swapping sticky notes and notes like candy. The hall titters with students chatting as you not-so-subtly keep checking the door for latecomers, the seconds ticking down before those heavy doors shut.

The seat beside you is still empty when the teaching assistant shuts the oak doors, signaling the exam’s start.

Your professor stands at the front of the lecture hall holding a tall stack of booklets and gives a wicked grin. “Who’s ready to see what they actually learned about probability this semester?”

A collective groan sounds out and he sinisterly laughs before starting up the ancient projector. The bustle of pens and paper disappear when the loud thunk of the lecture hall doors slam open, bouncing off the sturdy brick walls and turning every head at the latecomer.

Giggles, snorts, and neighing all blend together as the cavernous lecture hall bustles with noise. Your head whips around to catch the commotion, eyes widening in surprise. 

Five men in auxiliary blue Pi Kapp sweatshirts and their own hobby horses (featuring a rather familiar Appaloosa) come galloping down the stairs, heading straight for the center stage. Standing front and center in beat up cowhide boots, a well-used felt Stetson, and tight jeans is none other than your favorite frat cowboy, blue-eyed Bob from Stats. 

His posse of Greek lettered faux cowboys stand around him, jostling each other’s shoulders and pretending to calm their steeds. Your professor patiently waits behind the pulpit, curious how this will play out with the exam he’s supposed to be proctoring. You’re gripping your seat in confusion and anticipation.

Once the raucous laughter has died down, Pi Kapp President Jake Seresin makes a show of steadying his hobby horse once more while three fellow cowboys spread out across the room, casually milling through the aisles with their wooden horses clanging between their jean-clad knees. Looking more like a lamb at slaughter all by himself, Bob calmly holds his own, knuckles rolling over the handles of his ‘horse’. Jake grins at his Pi Kapp brother before turning to his captive audience.

“Howdy, pard’ners!” The blonde’s voice booms in the cavernous hall. Various greetings yell out from all over the rows, Anna throwing in her own Howdy.

This is crazy. Anna looks at you for answers, but you have none. Whatever is going on, Pi Kappa Phi Ranch has invaded your Stats final. 

Their president makes a show of quieting the room, hand hauntingly on his hip. “So, we’ve been traveling all over this here Wild West looking for something.”

Reuben Fitch, a Pi Kapp brother and one of Bob’s roommates, stands tall at the top of the steps and calls back to him, “And what is that something, Brother Seresin?”

“Glad you asked. We’re looking for a cowgirl.”

The name catches your attention. Your blood runs cold and by default your eyes flash to Bob, hoping to find the answers in those wide, truthful ultramarine eyes. But he continues to stare boldly ahead, letting his brothers put on their show. 

Giddily clomping around with the stick of his black mare clacking on the stairs, Mickey Garcia raucously yells out, “So let’s look for her!”

Suddenly the four men are traipsing around the spacious room pretending to ride their horses, the hundreds of seats no match for their speed as they run up and down aisles, zipping through seats and over student’s knees. 

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

Heat creeps along your skin as you feel Jake’s right hand man, Javy Machado, lock in on you, the squeak of his sneakers and thwack of his horse against the ground alerting his arrival. Your eyes bore into the side of Bob’s head - spectacles still facing forward - as every classmate watches the frat boy descend. Javy stops only feet from where you’re clutching the edge of your desk.

“This one here looks like she could be a real ol’ cowgirl!” Javy’s horrible Western accent and shit eating grin are begging to be smacked off his face. He turns toward the familiar Stetson and puts both hands around his mouth as he hollers. “Hey Floyd, found a cowgirl for you!”

That sweet face finally turns to you. Adrenaline floods your nervous system as every pair of eyes in the hall watches his boots clack up the stairs and past the seats until he’s standing in the row before yours, craning over the wooden chair with delicately pink cheeks. From this angle, those cerulean eyes are level with yours. And boy, are they nervous.

His voice is wobbly, but the script is practiced. “Howdy, little lady. Hiding in plain sight, weren’t ya?”

You both know you’ve sat in the same spot since that first day he lent you a pencil.

“Didn’t realize you needed an entire fraternity to find your study buddy.” Your hand waves at the four faux cowboys standing at the end of your row, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Despite the fact that you’re as timid as him under the stares of your fellow students, you can’t help but be a little sassy and theatrical after the production you just witnessed.

That soft grin comes out to play, always amused by your fire. “I do when I have a question for you.”

The smirk on your face wipes clean. A question? There’s a flutter in the air as students turn to each other, anxious to know what quiet little Bob Floyd has been keeping to himself. Even your professor is leant forward on his elbow patches, brow quirked in interest.

You swallow slowly before responding, barely over a whisper, “What do you want to know?”

Time and space stop as he holds your gaze. So soft and affectionate, as if you are the stars in his night sky. The same hazy look he gave you in that hall closet weeks ago that made you unable to ever look back. He licks his lips, warm hand sliding over yours on the peeling wooden desktop. His eyes are so impossibly open. 

“Will you do the honor of being my date to the Pi Kappa Phi spring formal, cowgirl?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Relief tingles through your extremities as your brain starts up again. The pounding of your heart backs up your smart response.

“Only if you let me borrow your boots for dancing.”

Your response settles, then suddenly all around you there’s whoops and hollers. To your left, four hobby horses are whipped into the air and twirled like batons. Mickey yells out, “Yeehaw!”

And yet all you can focus on is the wide grin that’s stretched out Bob’s face, his lean body still bent over the row before yours. You know the same smile is etched on your own jaw as your fingers intertwine. He’s so utterly ridiculous and self-assured. The perfect pairing of endearing. You can’t get enough.

You really wish everyone wasn’t watching so you could kiss him.

“Alright, alright, settle down. We do have a final to get to, if Mr. Floyd would like to take his seat.”

Handing off his trusty steed to his cowboy brothers, Bob takes the hint and makes his way around the row toward you, long legs effortlessly vaulting the nailed-in desks. He stops at the knobby wooden seat next to you and gestures, as if to ask Is this free? The corners of your mouth can’t help but upturn once more as you nod, letting your handsome Bob from Pi Kapp slip into the seat and knock his knee against yours.

You lean in, letting your lips brush against the lobe of his ear. “Not that I wasn’t entertained, but what was all that?”

He shoots you the most blinding grin, the sides of his drowningly blue eyes crinkling behind perfectly straight wire frames.

“My punishment for being late to chapter - they got to choose how I asked you to spring formal.”

Your jaw slackens as your eyes trail over to where his brethren are slinking out the heavy hall doors with their wooden steeds over their shoulders. Those cruel bastards. Your hand reaches out to stroke Bob’s still pinkened cheeks, fingers resting along his jaw to imitate soothing his wounded ego.

“One last yeehaw for Cowboy Bob for the semester, huh?” He guffaws out a laugh and kisses your cheek. 

The stack of little blue booklets makes their way over again and Bob grabs one before passing your way. His eyes are glued to you, unable to stop his affectionate attention after putting himself out on the line like that. You open your mouth to say something, but stop when the significance of it hits you. It’s the last time. 

The words form out of muscle memory. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

The air between you is sickeningly sweet as he reaches down and grabs two from his bag, handing you the sharper point. You give him a gooey smile as your fingers brush. Test nerves and bittersweet affection trickle down your spine. Who would have thought your hardest class all semester would bring such joy?

For the next ninety minutes your eyes stay strictly on your own booklet, but you can’t help but feel the radiant energy off the guy in a cowboy hat and fraternity sweatshirt and his knee that somehow keeps knocking yours.

“Slow down, cowgirl! I need a minute to recover,” Bob breathily begs from beneath you, where you’re still grinding your hips into his, one arm braced on his chest and the other against your peeling dorm wall. That damn cowboy hat is somewhere on the floor and his skin has evolved into an exerted red from the two orgasms he’s already stolen from you. 

You playfully roll your eyes and mutter something about bucking broncos before stilling, still so full of him. You delicately press a kiss to his sweaty cheek, your bare chest against his, timpani heartbeats synchronized. 

“While I have you,” you start, and he booms out a laugh, his cock still nestled tightly inside you. “How were you going to ask me to spring formal before?”

He’s so cute when he plays dumb. “Before what?”

“Before the guys made you publicly humiliate yourself to the point you can never take a Stats class again.”

Bob presses his lips together, warm hand smoothing over your hips as he weighs his response. Which is hard when you smell like sex and sweat and that fragrance he can’t quite identify the undertones of but has him dizzy. It’s a miracle he can pull himself away from you sometimes.

“You can’t just be happy knowing that I can never show my face in that building again?”

You reach down to the floor and pick up the worn Stetson, plopping it on your own head. You give him a stern look, stabbing your finger into his chest. He has a hard time being intimidated when his vision is centered on your breasts pressed together so deliciously. “Tell me or I’m sending you to cowboy jail.”

He raises his neck and pecks the tops of your breasts, just how he knows you like. With a joking frown, you grab him by the nape of his neck and stare him down. 

“Fine, fine,” Bob laughs deep from his chest. He looks so joyous, the whiff of sex and amorousness coloring him so beautifully. “If you really want to know.”

As you settle in to listen, the reality is that it doesn’t really matter his original plan. It’s that he even wants to go with you, that he’s just as far gone as you’ve been the last fifteen weeks. That one silly pencil would start something worth delaying a Stats final fifteen minutes and continue to another semester.

You just hope one day he’ll get you your own hobby horse.

Massive shoutout to all the Internet besties who keep the stats!Bob brainrot fresh - wouldn't get anything done without all you amazing peeps!

taglist: @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jaguarthecat @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @littlemsbumblebee @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @midnightmagpiemama @m3ndacious @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @smoothdogsgirl @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @spidervman @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @tastefulregularthots @theamuz @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

[purple-plum-petals]

⊱ You Can Do Better Than Me ⊰ || Boothill X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮        Character(s): Boothill (Honkai: Star Rail)        Reader Type: Human, Not the Trailblazer (Gender-Neutral Pronouns)        Warning(s): Break-up (Miscommunication/Assumptions… Not Permanent), Negative Body Image/Self-talk (Regarding Boothill), Use of Petnames (Boothill calls Reader “darlin’” and “sweets” and Reader calls Boothill “honey” and “love”), Slightly Suggestive Ending.        Genre: Drabble, Angst, Fluff (Hurt/Comfort), Pre-Established Romantic Relationship        Word Count: ~2500 words       Prompt: “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?”        Author’s Note: Hello everyone, I come back to you briefly with a random Boothill drabble because this cowboy has been on my brain for the past three months and I needed to get something written for him ASAP. I actually got both him and his lightcone on release day, so I’m still hyped about that (didn’t even need to break my F2P status either hehehe 😎). I will get around to writing a multi-chapter fic for him as soon as my summer semester is over and all of the current requests in the ask box have been answered. I’ve been managing the workload relatively well so far, but it’s genuinely been so overwhelming in terms of content/information that my brain can barely form coherent sentences after class and work. 😭 Anyways, have some self-conscious Boothill and my beloved hurt/comfort. Maybe instead of saving the horse, we should save the cowboy. Also… let me know if anyone is interested in a part two, and I’ll be happy to write it. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)             Tag-List: @anonima-2 – I know you wanted me to tag you if I got around to writing a Boothill X Reader fic, so here it is! It may not be a multi-chapter one, but I hope you enjoy this little drabble.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

You had known Boothill for quite some time now. You had crossed paths with the elusive Galaxy Ranger throughout the years, so many times that you eventually lost count. Three times was uncommon, five times was rare, but over twenty times? That was absolutely unheard of given the vast expanse of space. It got to the point where you both noticed how frequently you would meet, the two of you making jokes that the universe was pushing you together.

Boothill had thought for a while you were sent to capture and/or kill him by the IPC but, after a particularly intense “discussion” (where he proceeded to hold you at gunpoint, as he frequently did with most people), you were able to confirm that all of the times you two had met were indeed just an exceedingly rare coincidence. It was something you would occasionally bring up to tease him about nowadays, poking fun at the fact he had literally held his future partner at gunpoint. It was a memorable event to reminisce on when asked by others ‘how did you two meet?’.

Years had passed since that unforgettable interaction, and both you and Boothill were happy and content in your current relationship. All of that time together with him had given you insight into how the cowboy typically behaved. He could be brash and rush into trouble head-first, but he was also immensely intelligent and could think of a plan on the fly to get himself out of even the stickiest situations. He was the type of person who frequently spoke his mind, not allowing his tampered-with Synesthesia Beacon to completely censor what he wanted to say… which is why you were as worried as you were lately.

Your boyfriend hadn’t been as talkative as he usually was. He had returned from a three-month-long trek around the galaxy a few days ago, and he had been distant ever since he came back. His replies had been clipped, and he had a strange look in his eye whenever he glanced your way; he hadn’t even looked at you for more than a few seconds since his return.

Tentatively, you made your way over to where he was sitting by an open window in your home, the breeze gently blowing the strands of his black-and-white hair to and fro. You stepped closer to stand next to him as you asked, voice tender as you spoke, “Boothill, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been more reserved than usual these past few days, and I just want to check to see if you’re ok–…”

Then, he spoke, his voice firm as he cut off the rest of what you were going to say, “…I wanna break up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach at his words, and you felt your palms begin to clam up with sweat as you whispered, “W… What?” You swallowed harshly, stepping closer to him as you asked, double-checking to see if you had heard him correctly, “What did you just say?”

“I said I wanna break up.” He says once more, voice rough as he turns his head ever-so-slightly to watch you from his peripheral. It felt like the world had stopped moving when he confirmed what you had always hoped you would never have to hear, and you feel your eyes begin to water. He finally, after so many days, looks at you directly after what has felt like eons. Whatever expression was on your face caused him to flinch before he looked away once more, staring at his hat on the nearby table.

Boothill sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he continues to speak, his voice gentler than usual as he tells you, “I don’t think this,” He pauses, taking his hand and gesturing toward himself before finishing his thought, “…is good fer you.”

Your emotions were fluctuating so quickly that your mind didn’t know what to do with all of them. First, you were worried about your boyfriend, then you were heartbroken when he said he wanted you two to go your separate ways, and now? Now you were angry, a sudden burst of frustration filling your veins at his reasoning behind wanting to end your relationship. Your heart aches as you exclaim, trying not to pay attention to the wetness forming along your lashes, “Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?”

Boothill is back to refusing to look at you, so you try to move into his line of sight as you ask, your hands flailing about as you speak in a desperation-laced tone, “What, exactly, isn’t ‘good for me’ Boothill?”

He turns his head to look at you, standing up from where he had been sitting as he holds his hands out, trying to placate you as he says hastily, “Listen don’t – don’t get the wrong idea, alright?”

“How can I not get the wrong idea when you suddenly tell me you want to end our relationship!?” You yell back, feeling the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks. You were angry, sure, but the soul-crushing feeling of separating from the man you loved so deeply pierced your heart like a knife. Your frustration quickly began to be tainted with sorrow, your voice coming out softly as you ask him, your mind desperate for some kind of answer as you place a hand on your chest, “Did I… Did I do something for you to come to this decision?”

Panic floods his expression immediately as he reaches out, his hands resting on your shoulders as he leans down to look at your face. He quickly tells you, one of his hands coming up to gently cup your cheek as his thumb brushes away your tears, “No, no, no, no – you didn’t do anythin’, darlin’. You’ve been perfect in every way, I just…”

He pauses, gaze traveling to the ground as he thinks of what to say. His cold, metallic fingers against your skin are comforting to you in a way you couldn’t describe – comforting in a way no one else would be able to understand. Boothill’s eyes meet with yours once more as he continues speaking with a bittersweet smile, “You could do so much better than me, sweets. I don’t want to hold you back.”

The anger you had felt was suddenly back in full force as you asked him, brows furrowed as you questioned, “How?”

Your hands come up to hold onto his, the one that was still lovingly cupping your face as you ask, leaning forward toward him as you speak, “How could I do better than you? What are you holding me back from?”

Boothill shakes his head, saying with a frown, “There’s so many things I can’t give you… I can’t give ya a peaceful life, I can’t give ya a family…” His voice cracks slightly at the word, but he continues to speak as he begins to pull his hand away from your face, “You deserve someone who’s around more often – someone who can be there for ya whenever you need ‘em.”

Boothill chuckles bitterly, removing his hand from your grasp as walks over to grab his hat off of the nearby table, and you’ve never felt so cold and empty in your entire life. You watch helplessly as he places the hat on his head, staring as he begins to make his way toward the front door as he tells you, “You deserve someone who doesn’t cause you to jump every time their freezin’ cold hands touch ya – someone who can actually feel ya.”

You step toward him, reaching out to take his hand in yours and effectively stopping him in his tracks as you say firmly, “Boothill, shut the fuck up. Aren’t you going to at least ask me what I think about this?”

Boothill sighs, turning back around to look at you as he speaks. He doesn’t do anything to remove his hand from your grasp, instead gently squeezing it in a comforting manner as he tells you, “Listen, sweets, I just think it’s for the better that–…”

“No, it’s not.” You say, your voice strong despite the tears that had begun to flow down your face. You look up at him, bringing his hand to place on your chest as you tightly hold it over your heart, telling him firmly and genuinely despite the way your voice cracks, “I don’t care if you can’t give me those things. When did I even say that’s what I wanted in life?”

“Why wouldn’t you want that?” Boothill asks, looking down at you as if you had grown a second head, as if everything he said he couldn’t give you was something that everyone would want. He looks conflicted as he tells you, trying to take his hand back as he steps away from you and closer to the front door, “You deserve to be happy – you deserve to have someone who’s there for you.”

“What if all I want is you, huh?” You tell him, refusing to let go of his hand – refusing to let him leave your life in such a way. Your hold on Boothill’s hand was tight because you knew, deep down, if you let his hand slide out of yours, you’d never see him again. You look up at him as you speak, a spark of determination in your eyes which causes Boothill’s cheeks to flush a light shade of blue, “No one else can give me you. You’re the one that makes me happy – not some dream life, not some perfect family – just you.”

“You don’t want me, darlin’ – I promise, once I’m gone, you’ll move on an’ another lucky fella will have the honor of being able to love ya.” Boothill tells you with furrowed brows and a smile, his sharp teeth peeking out from behind his lips as he tries to convince you he’s not what you want. You could feel your eyebrow twitch in frustration at his words, your tears slowing down as you refute his claim.

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” You ask him, a tinge of hurt and frustration mixed in your voice as you reach out to firmly hold both of his hands in your own. Boothill allows you to do so with no fanfare, a conflicted expression on his face; his fingers twitch in your hold. He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before once again looking at him as you whisper, “Listen, if you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you or hold you back, but…” You pause, smiling warmly at him before continuing, “but I want you. I want to be with you, not this hypothetical ‘fella’ you’ve envisioned who would give me a perfect life.”

Before Boothill could open his mouth to try and argue again, you quickly add on as you bring one of his hands to your lips, pressing a light kiss to his digits as you tell him, “I don’t care that you’re cold to the touch – I don’t care that we won’t have a picture-perfect life together…” You feel the tears beginning to form on your lashes again as you run your thumbs along his knuckles, telling him sincerely, “I’ve never imagined a future without you in it, love.”

Boothill looks down at you, his expression a clash between his adoration for you and the heaviness of the situation. He shakes his head, bringing one of your hands to his lips as he presses a kiss to the back of it as he tells you, voice uncharacteristically quiet as he admits, “I… I don’t want to leave, sweets. I just…” He hesitates as he makes eye contact with you, raising a brow as he once again gestures to himself as he asks, “Are you sure this is what ya want?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life,” You tell him, letting go of his hands as you instead wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your bodies press against one another. His arms wrap around your waist on instinct, pulling you close to him as you press your foreheads together. You stare into his eyes and bring a hand to his cheek, placing your palm against his face as you run your thumb along the skin under his eye. He leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm as you tell him with a smile, “Rain or shine, good or bad… I want to be beside you throughout it all.”

“Heh, well… I’m glad I get to be by yer side.” Boothill says, opening his eyes once more to look at you. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your temple as he whispers, almost as if he didn’t want the world to hear him – to keep this tender moment a secret between the two of you, “…Thank you for choosin’ me out of the rest of the blokes in the galaxy, darlin’. I’m a real lucky guy to have someone as wonderful as you.”

“I’d choose you in every universe, Boothill. That’s a promise.” You reply with a smile, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, almost as if you were teasing him.

He smirks at both your words and your actions, saying with a raised brow as he leans back, tilting his hat up with one finger as he speaks, “That’s quite a big promise there, darlin’. Sure you can keep it?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You reply, matching his expression as you huff, “Don’t doubt me, cowboy.”

“I won’t, I won’t…” Boothill says with a chuckle. He pauses, his smile faltering slightly as he looks down at you. Your eyes were still slightly red, and the stains your tears had left on your cheeks were still present. He pulls you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck as he takes a deep breath in, muttering against your skin, “Aeons, I love ya… I love ya so fudgin’ much.”

“I love you, too, honey.” You reply softly, running your hand up and down his back when an idea pops into your mind. It was a mischievous one, and the mere thought of it causes a smirk to grow on your lips. You reach up and grab the hat from his head as you instead place it on yours, asking him flirtatiously, “Why don’t I show you just how much I love you?”

“Well… I certainly like the sound of that.” Boothill replies lowly, his eyes half-lidded as he gently caresses your face, smirking at his hat now resting atop your head. He leans down and kisses you, whispering against your lips in a sultry tone, “Plus, I’d like to apologize for makin’ you cry… Can I, darlin’?”

The tone of his voice was enough to make your heart start beating faster, and you could feel your cheeks begin to warm as you replied quickly with a simple, “Please do.”

[galaxiasgreen]

⛅💗Nippy

Fluffy Ominis x F!Muggle-born!Reader [T-Rated, 1.5k]

He laughed, a rich sound, deep from his chest. You glanced sidelong at him then. The glow of the lamppost was cleaving shadows over his face, cutting at angles, accentuating what you'd never noticed about him before – his beauty. Sebastian was boyish good looks, round cheeks, a devilish smile. Ominis had none of that same charm, but there was something so divine about his features, his sloped nose and knife-sharp lips, hair combed back in golden-brown waves. And his eyes, despite not seeing, were... intense, unforgettable. Vivid.

It's cold on the way back from Hogsmeade, and you forgot your jumper.

A/N: This is a scene from Troublesome and Unladylike Chapter 2, but it’s edited to work standalone. Jumper-sharing trope, Oh No He's Hot, banter and fluff ahoy. Reader is Gibby, but no prior reading is required. Enjoy <3

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

It was during third year that something about Ominis changed for you.

It wasn't a particularly warm day that March weekend, so it was a mistake on your part to go to Hogsmeade with him and Sebastian, late that Sunday without a proper cardigan. The afternoon had deceived you, the sun whispering against your skin, and by the time you'd bought everything but your usual stash of sweets, a swathe of clouds had rolled in, a grey ribbon across the sky.

"What do you mean, the essay was twenty inches?" Sebastian crossed his arms. "You're pranking me."

"It was twenty, Sebastian," said Ominis, exasperated. "I told you it was twenty."

You nudged your head towards Honeydukes. "Okay! Just to replenish my midnight snacks—"

"You said it was ten!"

"I specifically remember saying add another ten."

Sebastian said a word you could not repeat. "It's due first thing in the morning. Blast it. I better go back. Can I take a look at yours?"

"So you can copy it? I don't think so."

"I wouldn't copy it. Just... take inspiration from it. Verbatim."

He made the approximation of a glare, and Sebastian, wincing, turned to you with a desperate gleam in his eye.

"Gibby? Please?"

"Sure!" you chirruped. "But only if you're okay with a mediocre-to-dreadful Potions score!"

Sebastian threw up his arms in exasperation. "You two, honestly. I'll ask Anne."

When he hurried off, back to the carriages, Ominis snorted. "You're very secure in your mediocrity."

"It's one of my best traits."

To that he laughed. "Very well then. Honeydukes?"

By the time you came back out, armed to the teeth in your weekly supply of cherry pops, Fizzing Whizzbees and rock, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and a sharp wind sliced through the village. It only exacerbated by the time you stepped out of Hogsmeade.

Where there were no carriages.

"Fiddlesticks," you muttered. "We must have missed the last one."

His lips buttoned in displeasure. "Makes sense. You took a profoundly longtime deciding between cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties."

"It's a hard choice to make."

"Well, now we're going to have a hard walk."

About an hour, down the meandering path back to Hogwarts. Ominis gathered his belongings and headed off, wand drawn for navigation, and you scrambled to catch up.

As the chill deepened, the canopy snuffing the coming rays of the moon, you kept close to his side, aware of his warmth.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"For taking so long in Honeydukes."

He scoffed, not seeming particularly annoyed, albeit a little inconvenienced. "I know you well enough now to know you cannot be rushed in there. And I could've left you if I wanted. I just decided not to because I am a good person."

"My papa says if you have to tell people you're a good person, then you're not a good person." Teasing filled your voice. "I guess that makes you really quite terrible."

"Oh, yes, waiting for you. How rotten."

"Suppose I could give you the Good Person award. You just have to admit how amazing I am."

"Only a Good Person can bestow the Good Person Award, so I'm afraid you don't qualify."

"I take offence to that. I'm spectacular."

"Incredible how you manage to be simultaneously spectacular and mediocre."

"Hey!"

He laughed, a rich sound, deep from his chest. You glanced sidelong at him then. The glow of the lamppost was cleaving shadows over his face, cutting at angles, accentuating what you'd never noticed about him before – his beauty. Sebastian was boyish good looks, round cheeks, a devilish smile. Ominis had none of that same charm, but there was something so divine about his features, his sloped nose and knife-sharp lips, hair combed back in golden-brown waves. And his eyes, despite not seeing, were... intense, unforgettable. Vivid.

Your gaze unwittingly travelled down the column of his neck. He'd grown taller since you'd known him too, lean in the way a river meanders, lazy in its strength. Sturdy biceps were hidden within woollen sleeves – not muscular, but not flimsy, either, you knew from when Sebastian cast a Shrinking charm on his shirt once. The Gaunt family were all inbred, generations of parents and grandparents that were cousins, so Ominis was a product of centuries of incest – but aside from his eye condition, and his somewhat ropey gait, there were no physical indicators of poor health.

He was... arrestingly exquisite.

Oh. You blinked. Why am I thinking that?

"What's the matter?" he asked suddenly.

You flushed. "Hmm? What? What do you mean?"

"You're quiet. That's never good."

"I— can be quiet," you said, a little breathless. "I'm... thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

You swatted him, and he smiled lightly.

"Dare I ask what occupies your mind?"

How good-looking you are. "Sweets."

A tsk. "I don't know what else I expected."

You fell into companionable silence, but now something had shifted in your stomach – something that drew your eye back to his profile again, drinking in the details, the beauty marks, the even jaw, finely slashed, the quirk of his smile—

You stumbled suddenly, toe hitting a jutting rock. You flailed your arms, bags rattling, before you managed to right yourself – and noticed how he'd reached out, ready to catch you if you fell. Ever the gentleman.

"Careful," he warned.

"Yes, sorry, too busy staring at— the view."

The view being you. You forced yourself to watch your feet, frustrated. Stop staring. It was terribly perverse to take advantage of him when he couldn't see, not to mention impolite and very unbecoming of a lady.

"You're quiet again."

"Sorry, sorry," you said automatically. You hoisted your bags to wrap your arms around yourself. "Just— trying to stay warm."

"You're cold?"

"It's a little nippy."

"Nippy?"

"Sorry, Muggle thing— I mean chilly."

More than that now. The sun had dipped, leaving a paint stroke of indigo in its wake. Hogwarts was in view, but it seemed no closer, the path winding and long. You hadn't even passed the balcony yet, where all the older students hung around to do lewd things... like holding hands (that had been quite the shock when you first got here).

Ominis sighed. "You should've brought a jumper."

"I know. I'm silly."

"Tell me something I don't know."

You halted to put your bags down and pull your shirt sleeves over your hands. "I'll be okay. I'll jog it!"

A ruffle of fabric pulled your head back up. Ominis had pocketed his wand, sticking out of his trouser leg, and was shucking his jumper. The shirt beneath it caught, flashing his midriff when he pulled the wool off – you flushed an even deeper colour when he offered it to you.

"W-What are you doing?"

"It's cold," he said, like it was obvious. "You can borrow this."

"But— then you'll get cold."

"I'll be fine." He shook it again. "Take it before I change my mind."

The wool was coarse, a dark green with the Slytherin insignia emblazoned on the breast, but warm – warm from his body. Great Scott. You scrunched it before sliding it over yourself, and of course it was too big, drowning you, but it was the scent that disorientated you worse than a Confundus charm. Ominis never bothered to use cologne, preferring some scentless soap, but still it smelt of him. Sweat and wood and an oily lotion. When you finally pulled your arms through the sleeves and your head through the neck hole, glasses askew, you were dizzy with it.

Lord have mercy. Your gaze flickered to him – he'd picked up your bags of sweets with one arm. One well-defined arm.

"Let's go."

You could barely swallow. What on earth is wrong with me? But your heart was pounding, your ears ringing. He turned away to go, but he was also surrounding you, invading your thoughts with zero intention to leave.

If you were a Muggle, your mama would've thought to bring you to church with an agenda by now, introducing you to boys of similar age in hopes that later in life you'd find a match, marry, and start a family. When you were younger, the local baker's son Timothy liked to joke you could marry each other, an easy escape from the societal obligation to court. You'd agreed as all children do, appalled at the idea of parading around to search for a husband.

Magical folk didn't follow those same customs – strange as it was to adjust – but that didn't mean you didn't think about the future, about marriage. That, one day you might like to have a family. That it would be nice to marry someone of your choosing, someone both handsome and kind.

Someone like Ominis Gaunt.

Oh no, no, no, you thought. Please do not take a fancy to your best friend.

But by then, it was too late.

"Thank—" your voice came out as a croak, and you tried again. "Thank you for this."

He slowed about two strides away. "Bring a jumper next time."

"I will."

"Mean it."

"I do mean it!"

He smiled again, and your heart bounced. "We'll see."

Please reblog/ share if you enjoyed <3

[read Troublesome and Unladylike on AO3, Wattpad] [Divider credit]

[margeoww]

Let me be honest here, ‘After All This Time’ should be a series or at least mini series and I’m ready to drop a kidney for it.

PLEASE MAKE IT A SERIES! 😭 Also, love your writing! 🫶🏽

After All This Time

back to my main masterlist.

toto wolff masterlist

Chapter 2

pairing: toto wolff x exwife!reader

summary: Toto reflects on the highs and lows of his 20-year marriage after seeing his ex-wife for the first time in four years. Memories of love, loss, and mistakes resurface, leaving him questioning if reconciliation is still possible.

warnings: themes of emotional conflict, mentions of divorce and strained relationships.

The echoes of their reunion at the gala lingered in Toto’s mind. Sleep had evaded him as the brief conversation played on repeat, unearthing emotions he thought were buried. Seated alone in his office, surrounded by the glow of the city lights, memories flooded back, raw and unrelenting.

The First Meeting

Their story began at a charity event in Vienna. Toto was a young, ambitious entrepreneur, accustomed to being the center of attention. She, on the other hand, was an anomaly in a room of predictable faces. Her laughter, genuine and unguarded, drew him in.

—Do you always observe people as if you’re calculating your next move in chess? —she asked, her smile disarming his ego. Toto was speechless, a rare occurrence.

—Only when someone interesting appears —he replied eventually, and that was the start of everything.

The Early Years

The early days were an adventure. She celebrated his ambition, becoming his anchor amidst the chaos. She was his biggest supporter and his sharpest critic, keeping him grounded while pushing him forward.

They spent evenings walking through Vienna, laughing as though they were the only ones in the world. Their life together was filled with simple yet unforgettable moments—cooking together, debating over who cut vegetables better, or mornings when Toto lingered in bed just to hear her hum while making coffee.

But success came at a price. Formula 1 consumed Toto, demanding every ounce of his time and energy. Promises of quality time were replaced by meetings, races, and endless travel.

—It’s not just that you work too much —she said one night after yet another canceled dinner. —It’s that I don’t know where I stand in your life anymore.

That conversation marked the beginning of the end.

The Anniversary That Changed Everything

The most painful memory was their 20th anniversary. Toto arranged an extravagant dinner, hoping to rekindle what had been lost. But the tension between them was undeniable.

—Do you really think a dinner can fix years of distance? —she asked, her voice heavy with sadness.

That night ended in silence, and Toto realized it wasn’t just about time or work. It was about connection—a connection that had slowly eroded despite the love that still existed.

The Divorce

The separation was agonizing but inevitable. Though neither said it aloud, they both knew the love remained. But sometimes, love alone isn’t enough.

Their last meeting was in the lawyer’s office, signing the divorce papers. —Take care of yourself, Toto —she said before walking out. Those words, filled with affection and finality, haunted him for years.

Back to the Present

Toto exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. Four years had passed since that day, years spent burying himself in work and pretending he was fine.

But now, after seeing her at the gala, the past felt alive again. The way she looked at him—with surprise, nostalgia, and something he couldn’t quite decipher—left him restless.

Could he fix what had been broken? Or was it far too late?

As rain pattered against the window, Toto allowed himself a thought he had avoided for years: hope.

Okey okey, this is my first mini series, and Im so happy for all the support that you guys are giving to me. Thank you thank you. Hope u like it. ❤️‼️

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: Language

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FIVE

Nessa felt like shit, figuratively and literally. She blocked his number once she got home from Joe's hotel. Vanessa didn't want to see any texts or get any phone calls from him. She felt guilty enough for ghosting the man. Seeing or hearing anything from him would only make things worse. 

She sat on the shower floor, letting the water pour over her head. She tightly wrapped her arms around her legs, her eyes shut while she focused on breathing. The warm steam from the water comforted and relaxed her while she attempted to take her mind off what she had done. Unfortunately for her, she was failing miserably. Though her night was drunken, she could remember every bit of that evening. 

She could feel his hands on her body--all over her body, memorizing every dip and curve she had. Despite being pounded by the water from the shower, her skin still tingled in places he touched. Images of his face contorted in bliss, flushed pink cheeks, and sex-clouded eyes filled her mind. Oh, those eyes. Those eyes, hands, and perfectly pink and swollen lips kept reeling her in each time she thought she finished. How many times did he make her come last night? She lost count after the third time.

His voice echoed in her mind. Just like that, he praises. How do you want me, he asks. You feel so good, he tells her. The huskiness of his voice would send shivers down her spine. He somehow managed to make his already deep voice sound even more resounding. The way he spoke sometimes sounded animalistic. There was a growl with certain words, especially when he would say her name. 

Vanessa brings her right hand up to her ear. She swore she could feel his ragged breath on her skin just then. The tremble in his voice and the moans he let out were things she never heard before with a man--at least not with any man she's ever been with. Joe was vocal, but this wasn't a bad thing. She enjoyed that he talked her through the things they did. He made her feel in control at times, powerful even. She learned something new about herself, a new kink unveiled. 

Joe Anoa'i left quite the impression on this woman. Well, he did promise to make the evening unforgettable for her. Now look at her, dickmatized on the bathroom floor. Maybe she was overreacting about sleeping with the man. She needed this. She needed to be unwound and loosened up. She hadn't had sex in a year! She would never mention that out loud, though. It was bad enough that Isabel looked at her as if she grew three heads every time she remembered that her best friend was practicing celibacy. 

Everyone needs to have sex! She'd exclaim. There are health benefits to it! She'd add. She would ramble on about it being a natural stress and pain reliever. Did you know sex can cure a migraine? Te lo digo, Nessa, es bueno para la mente, el cuerpo y el espíritu--Yes, yes, she knows.

Despite her newfound guilt, she felt refreshed when she woke up this morning. Her body wasn't sore. It didn't hurt when she walked. She felt pretty light on her feet. It could have something to do with the fact that Joe stretched her--Alright, that's enough. Vanessa reaches to turn off the shower. The warm water ceased, and cold air rushed to sheathe her body in goosebumps. 

She pushes herself off the floor, a small sigh leaving her body as her joints pop with the movement. She steps out of the shower, snatching the towel that hung just above her head on the shower curtain rod. She wraps it around her body, exiting the bathroom. Instead of drying herself off, she drops onto the bed. Her eyes would meet the ceiling as she sucked in a tired breath. Vanessa brings her hand to her face, allowing her palm to drag down it. Her arm would then fly out to rest against the bed, hitting her cell phone. She turns her head towards the direction of the phone, flipping her hand over to grab it. 

The light turns on on the screen, displaying the time to her. It was now ten o'clock exactly. She watched her phone screen as if she was expecting a notification to appear. One would never come, though. Unblock Joe's number, commands a voice in her head. Unblock his number and text him. This voice wasn't thinking about her at all; at that moment, it was thinking about what Joe could do for her--what Joe could do to her. Look at her, acting like a touch-starved woman--Well, she was, but she refused to give in to those temptations again. Nessa did it once--er, twice...three times last night, but never again. She had a moment of weakness. Yeah, that's what she was going to go with. 

Texting that man after sneaking out while he slept and blocking his number would be foolish. He'd probably call her every name under the sun if he had the chance. Vanessa couldn't say she doesn't deserve it. She was a jerk and entirely too old to be doing this. She drops the phone back onto the bed, her eyes falling shut as she does so. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She mutters to herself. Vanessa rolls onto her stomach, burying her face deep in the comforter she laid upon. She draws in a deep breath before letting out a muffled scream against her bedding. 

Why was she even this torn up over ditching a guy? People did it all the time. They hook up, and they go their separate ways! It's not like she was ever going to see the guy again. Joe lived in Pensacola, nearly a ten-hour drive from Miami. The chances of them ever running into each other again were slim. There was no need to feel embarrassed or upset, but for some reason, she was. These can't be her feelings; maybe they were his. Soul ties are a thing, or at least that's what she read somewhere once before.  

She lifts her head from the mattress, her eyes searching for her phone again. Once she locates it, she snatches it from its spot on the bed and opens her browser. How to get rid of soul-ties, she types into the search bar. Several links would appear on the screen before her, her eyes quickly skimming over article previews. "Addiction?" She whispers to herself, her brows furrowed. "The fuck..?" She turns off the screen of her phone once more. Perhaps she's being dramatic.

These feelings she felt are temporary and eventually will be a thing of the past. Hopefully, in about a week or two--or four, things will be alright again. Joe Anoa'i is a complete and total stranger to her, someone she met less than twenty-four hours ago. There was still plenty she didn't know about him despite getting to know the man last night. She learned normal, surface-level things about him; fun facts, if you will. It wasn't enough to pine away over. He was still a stranger to her. 

Nessa pushes herself off the bed, now walking to her closet for undergarments and clothes. She couldn't sit around the house, no, not in this state. Vanessa needed to get active and move around. Sitting at home would do nothing but make her mind drift off to the events of last night, and the last thing she needed was to think herself into a horny slump. Maybe a jog will fix this. Yeah, she'll go for a jog. 

Joe turns onto his side, his arm stretching out to drape over something that wasn't there. His dark brows knit together in confusion as he allowed his hand to glide over the empty spot next to him. The sheets were cool to the touch, meaning his bed was empty. He forces his eyes open, his semi-unconscious suspicions confirmed almost immediately. Nessa was not next to him. He lifts his head from his pillow, glancing around the room in a half-sleep daze. "Nessa?" He calls out groggily. 

He'd get no response back. Joe becomes still, his breathing quieting as he listens for movement. The suite was silent. He moves onto his back, his eyes finding the high ceilings cast in a dim white glow from the light outside. Alone was not how he imagined his morning would begin, but that seemed to be his reality.

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Joe sighs at the sound of his phone ringing from the nightstand. The timing for a phone call couldn't be more perfect. He lifts his head, reaching out to snatch the phone from its spot. Without checking the Caller ID, he swipes to answer the call. "Hello?" He says. 

"I thought your ass was never going to answer," Josh says from the other side of the phone. "Ay, you good?" Joe scoffs slightly at the question. He was something. He hadn't determined how he was feeling just yet.

"Yeah, I'm good." He lies.

"You sure?" Jon chimes in, now leaning into Josh's phone. "Because the damn plane was supposed to leave thirty minutes ago, and your ass ain't here."

Joe's brows furrow slightly at Jon's words. "What're you talking about?" He asks. Slowly, he pushes himself up in bed, allowing his hand to prop him up. His hair would fall around his face, dry curls caressing his cheeks. 

"You late, fool!" Jon exclaimed.

"Ay, Paul over here tweaking, Uce. You in trouble." Josh sings.

"Yeah, I ain't ever seen him this red before. Boy, that man is hot." Jon sings. Joe throws back the covers from his body, standing from the bed. His joints would pop as he stretched, a sigh leaving his lips as he did so. 

"Is that, Joe?" Paul says in the background. "Let me talk to him." Joe rolls his eyes, his head moving in a circular motion as he does so. He didn't have time for this.

"Nah, it's our dad, Wiseman." Josh lies. "Bruh, bring your ass on." He says lowly to Joe through clenched teeth. The call will end, sending Joe back into silence again. He tosses his phone on the bed, his eyes taking in the room around him.

"Ness?" He calls out again. No answer. The bathroom door was open; the small room shrouded in darkness. He'd grab a handful of sheets, pulling it from the bed to wrap around his waist.

Thin, white cotton sheets skimmed delicately against the marble floor as Joe approached the staircase. He stops at the top and peers over, hoping to see the beautiful woman from last night down below, but she is nowhere to be seen. He spots his clothes draped along the back of the couch, but hers, which once laid alongside his, is now gone. Joe's head turns slightly, his eyes finding the morning sky outside his windows. Vanessa had snuck out before he woke up. Has he ever had this happen before? No, no, Joe couldn't recall. Maybe while he was in college, but after? No, he couldn't say he has. 

Like he said earlier in the night, he wasn't interested in hooking up with her, and what happened between them was not planned. He just wanted to spend his last night in Miami with her. One thing led to another, and they ended up in bed together. Getting her there was not his intention at all. Hopefully, she doesn't assume that was what he had planned with inviting her here. His mouth would twitch to the left as he sniffled. Now that he thinks about it, maybe that's why she snuck off.  

Again, that wasn't his intention, and he thought he did a good job assuring her he wasn't one of those guys. Did he slip up at some point last night and say or do something that might've thrown her off? He recalls the night just as he remembered it best. They talked, swam a little, and lastly, came back here. Nothing happened between the roof and the bedroom, he thinks. The wine they had wasn't too strong--at least not strong enough to hinder his ability to remain courteous. 

Joe's gaze lowered to the floor, his shoulders rising with the breath he was taking in. He was feeling plenty of things right now: embarrassment, disappointment, confusion, and maybe a little anger. The anger is what confused him, though. Vanessa was essentially a stranger--why is he upset that she left? 

Try to call her, a voice says to him. No, shoot her a text instead, it backpedals. He shakes his head at the thoughts. No, both options were heavily confrontational. He didn't want to come off weird to her, but then again, it was probably too late. Joe lifts his hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back against his forehead. He shuts his eyes only briefly. "She's just a girl." He mutters, lifting his head. For some reason, those words sounded untrue--coming from his mouth. Was it a false statement? 

It doesn't matter--he'll get over it eventually.

Joe slowly turns, now sauntering towards the bathroom. He needed a shower. Vanessa's actions had left him questioning himself again. Was it the sex? His brows would knit together at the thought. It couldn't have been. One thing he knew for sure was that he was damned good at that. His mind would drift off to last night again. 

Joe thought they had spectacular bedroom chemistry. He and Nessa left not a single part of that bed untouched. How they managed to stop themselves from going longer than they already did was beyond him. 

His hand skims the wall, flicking on the lights within the bathroom. He'd come face to face with his reflection in the mirror, finally seeing his disheveled appearance. His hair stood wildly on his head, his curls defined in some spots and tangled in others. He looked well-rested despite getting hardly any sleep at all. The flight to Texas would be irritating with how the twins said Paul was acting. With how Joe felt, Paul might get some of that attitude back. 

He should've left yesterday when he said he would.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: I heard a lot of y'all was judging Nessa for sneaking out the crib before Joe woke up lol

What's that all about? Y'all wouldn't do the same thing after a one night stand? 😂😭

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland @queeny23 @pytbgeezy @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter eight: silver lining

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

Series trope: Fake dating 

Chapter eight summary: Going to a ball with Enzo, you play a game to keep things interesting. 1k words.

Warning: Fluff, no use of y/n, suggestive.

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“My lady,” Enzo smiles at me, arm outstretched to take my hand, the other poised behind him.

I giggle and take his hand. “Why, thank you my lord.”

We walk up the stairs into the ornate ballroom, glistening in white and gold. The place is flush with velvet, silk, and other fineries adorning the room and guests with their bright smiles and heads held high. 

“It’s been years since I’ve been to one of these,” I remark, taking in the grandeur.

“I promise it will be a fun evening,” Enzo reassures me. “Why has it been so long?”

“My mother loved these events and used to take me with her all the time,” I smile at the memory. “When she passed away, her memory haunted me whenever I tried to go. It wasn’t the same anymore. She was radiant, Enzo. An unforgettable woman,” I gush.

“She must be,” he agrees, “to have such a wonderful daughter take after her.”

I lean into him, “oh come now, no one will hear our conversation. No need to say that for The Book.”

“Okay,” he says, “but I mean it.”

I grab a champagne flute to try to hide my blush.

After greeting everyone we knew, we settle into a corner of the ballroom. “So how exactly are we going to make it fun?” I ask.

“Let’s play a game of guess the conversation. Let’s pick people chatting together and try and guess what they’re saying based on how their lips move.”

The champagne fizzing on my tongue makes me bold. “What if we take it to the next level? Would you be able to guess what I say if I move my lips against yours?”

Enzo meets my eyes and visibly blushes. I grin at him, “maybe that’s should be our game,” I say, moving my lips to his ear. “Who can make each other blush the most?”

Mischief glints at the corner of his eye, “oh you’re on.”

“May I have this dance?” He asks as the music starts up.

We make our way to the dance floor and join the crowd. Enzo places his hand on my waist and holds my other hand. I rest my free hand on his shoulder and we move to the music.

“I’ll go first,” Enzo says. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Okay, new rule. You must only say what’s true and not for the sake of the game. Deal?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “I still stand by what I said.”

“Well you’re not too bad either in that suit. You look very princely, but I bet those clothes would look better on the bedroom floor.”

He chuckles, “oh we’re going there? Well, I think if you call me a prince…instead of calling you my princess, would you rather I call you a good girl?”

“Hmm that depends, you can’t call me a good girl when I want to do bad things to you.”

Enzo closes his eyes and groans. “You know bad girls get punished, how would you like to learn your lesson?”

“Using mnemonics,” I quip. “Which, as we’ve established, is not a made up word.”

Enzo laughs at my change in subject. “Thanks for coming here with me tonight. Now everyone in high society knows I’ve claimed you as mine.”

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I did not wink, unless you’d like me to?” 

I smirk and focus on our dance. Beneath the glowing chandelier and the intoxicating buzz of champagne in my veins, it’s getting more and more difficult to rein in my restraints.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

“Thank you,” I tell Enzo after he walks me to my dorm.

“I should be thanking you, this phase of The Book is a success.”

“A lot of words were said tonight,” I begin and Enzo blushes at the memory.

“We don’t have to actually do anything, words can just be words,” he says gently.

I nod and wish him good night. As he turns and takes a few steps away from me, I hesitate. “Wait, Enzo.”

He looks back at me expectantly.

“Will you help me with my dress? It’s quite complicated to untie by myself.” 

He visibly gulps and nods as I lead him to my dorm.

After closing the door, Enzo moves behind me and starts working on untying my gown. String by string, pieces of silk come undone at his touch. I feel his warm breath at the nape of my neck and welcome the sparks of electricity that bloom where his skin grazes mine. I remind myself to breathe.

In the darkness of my room, alone again with Enzo in our own world, I can no longer keep lying to myself. “Enzo,” I breathe out, surprised by how touch starved my voice sounds.

“Yes?” He replies in an equally breathless voice.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I confess. His fingers freeze at my sudden declaration as he waits for me to go on.

I turn around and meet his eyes, “when this all started a few months ago, I was angry and looking to get revenge on Mattheo. I never expected -” I falter and gather myself.

“I never expected to get to know this amazing guy who’s funny, kind and is the best fake boyfriend. I never expected I could feel happy again after everything that happened. Enzo?”

“Hmm?” He asks encouragingly.

“You’re my silver lining.”

Enzo’s face lights up at my confession, “I thought I was the only one who felt something.”

I shake my head, “how could I not? I feel at home with you.”

He smiles, “falling for me, dear?”

I laugh, leaning into him, “actually yes, I am Enzo.”

He pulls me in for a hug. “I caught you, darling,” he says and we both giggle at how cheesy we sound.

When we pull apart, I look into his eyes and admit, “Enzo, I want this to be real.”

“I think it’s been real to me for a while,” he confesses. 

I smile and kiss him. Just like that, the sweetness of the moment is ignited with heat.

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

♡ main masterlist

A/N: Alexa, play Dress by Taylor Swift. The next chapter will be pure smut!

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221 @s0urw00lf @helpimhopelesslyinlove

[tikosblogg]

One shot request: fluff/comforting?

You work with Bad Omens and you’re dating Noah. You get left behind during lunch and he notices. Noah looks for you and takes you on a one on one lunch date. He notices you’re a bit sad on being left out, but comforts you and makes you feel better.

Idk. Thanks!

*Fav pic*

Summary: request, the guys forget you when leaving for lunch. Noah makes it up to you.

Warning: none

A/N: so sorry if this sucks donkey ass.

Noah had always been my little idea of magic. warm brown eyes, and an unforgettable smile, he was the kind of person who could light up a room just by walking in. At 6’3”, he towered over me, but the safety and warmth he wrapped around me were what kept me grounded. We had been together for nearly a year now, and every day felt like a new chapter in a thrilling novel, filled with bends, turns, and unexpected revelations.

Today, however, felt rather ordinary. I was deep in the trenches of organizing files in the studio while the band was busy tinkering away in the other room. They were working on their next big album, a project that had them buzzing with creative energy. I enjoyed the quiet of the studio. I loved the smell of the paper, old and new; the ambient sounds of instruments scattered around the room; even the scent of a leftover coffee that lingered in the air from earlier had its charm.

Suddenly, I heard the murmur of voices rising in conversation and laughter. A few moments later, they faded into the background, and silence fell over the studio once more. I paid it little mind, consumed by an arrangement of lyrics and chord progressions I was sorting through. After all, it wasn’t unusual for the band to take breaks or go out for lunch on a whim.

Yet, something felt off. I checked my watch and noticed that it was far later than I thought. I left the files I was working on and decided to step outside for a moment, eager to catch Noah and the band before they headed out.

As I moved into the main room, I quickly realized that The space was empty, and my heart sank. I hurried to the window, peering outside, and sure enough, they were piling into their van. A wave of disappointment washed over me like ice water. They had mentioned going for lunch earlier, but I thought I’d obviously be invited. I felt hurt and little forgotten.

I turned back to the cluttered studio, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. This wasn’t the first time their immersion into work had caused them to neglect telling me something crucial. And for Noah not to come and get me? That hurt more than I’d like to admit.

“Guess I’ll just eat later,” I mumbled to myself, glancing back at the files waiting for me. I sat down, but the paperwork felt heavy and unyielding, just like the sudden weight in my chest.

Meanwhile, Noah was in the van, but as he turned to look for you, He counted the heads: there was everyone, except for you.

“Wait—where’s Y/N?” he asked, frowning as he watched the front door, half-hoping to see you walk out. When his gaze fell on the door that should have been swinging open, uncertainty washed over him. The laughter from his bandmates faded into background noise as a sinking realization grew. He’d forgotten to grab You.

“Hey, guys. Hold on a second,” he called out, acknowledging his bandmates as he threw open the door, racing back into the studio. He found you hard at work, but the moment you looked up, he saw it in your eyes—a hurt that took his breath away.

“Baby?” he said softly, and the tone of his voice instantly made me feel like a fragile glass sculpture—a delicate thing he could accidentally shatter.

I forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Hey.”

His small smile dropped as he approached me, enveloping me in a warm embrace without hesitation. I leaned into him, seeking comfort. “I’m so sorry sweet girl, I thought you were coming with us. I didn’t realize you weren’t in the room with us, I thought you were right behind me.” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

I closed my eyes, relishing the safety of his presence, but the sadness still lingered at the edges of my mind. “I know, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal, I guess, but I just wanted to be with you.”

“No it’s not fine. I feel like such an ass. I always want you with me.” he smiled, pulling away to hold my face in his hands, his brown eyes searching mine. He pressed another soft kiss to my lips. “You and I are going on a lunch date. Just the two of us.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. “But you were all ready to eat with the guys…”

“Nope,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I wanna spend time with just you. I see those idiots enough.”

With that, he took my hand and led me out of the house, feeling the warmth of his laughter begin to thaw my lingering disappointment.

[lunarmango]

Flickering Lights

Chapter Two is here and in Al's POV!! Though it is a tad shorter I'm quite proud of it! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

TW: None, just Alastor being a pissy, whiny baby.

Chapter Two: Alastor the Radio Demon

Being in hell for a little over a decade does things to people. On earth, there was no such thing as literal power. Power came in the form of money. Money came from knowledge. Or luck, one might say. Either way, it was a huge change when leaving it behind. One that Alastor was more than happy to adapt to.

Being a murderer on earth was fun sure. The thrill of only being mortal as you hunt down someone far too similar to yourself for your liking. Running, sprinting, panting, knowing death could take you anytime if it wanted it so. Stalking the victim, killing ruthlessly to those who earned it almost as if you’re karma incarnate. Positively thrilling memories he holds dear to his heart, as gore filled and dangerous as some of the hunts were, those memories never failed to disappoint.

In hell? It was different. Power was only held by those who were either wise or trained, the unique powers being something surreal, only heard of in books down on earth. As an atheist, Alastor sure got a kick out of going to hell, at first a little intimidated however when he discovered the possible extent of his powers? It was an unforgettable experience. Meeting his victims from earth once more, venturing further into hell with nothing but him and his staff, going on rampages most people would pray to never witness. The rush in his veins was incomparable. Taking down one overlord after another only made him more feral in his hunt for as much power as possible. Giving hell to those who rightfully earned it.

On earth he’s a murderer.

In hell he feels like God.

Still growing accustomed to the burning underworld, something he had not fully accepted yet was the fact that he took the form of a prey animal. How awfully ironic. Soft ears, fuzzy horns and a swishing tail, the same features as a meek deer. Each sensitive in their own way every time they flick or brush against something, reminding him of their presence, making him mentally cringe. Though he is still growing accustomed to hiding his emotions through his tail and ears, his smile never faltered. He would never afford disappointing his mother in any shape or form. Though they’re worlds apart he'll honour her eternally in the ways he knows best.

Situated in a small cottage on the edge of Cannibal Town that his new friend Rosie was ever so kind to provide him with, it had everything he could possibly need. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room and study. It wasn’t home, since nothing could compare to when he would arrive home to the warm smell of his mother’s cooking, the furniture each tailored to his mothers liking. But it was a start, and he wasn’t one to complain… much.

Although he doesn’t technically need to sleep every night since his stamina was in abundance compared to how it was on earth, it was nice to have those little habits that take him back and relieve him of his worries. Letting him forget. This morning, he goes downstairs, his hooves tapping on the wooden floor as he walks down, eager to broadcast his weekly collection of screams to his lovely waiting audience.

He freezes.

The controls were tampered with. A few switches and dials turned astray. Needless to say, Alastor was fuming, a heavy huff from his chest as his crimson red eyes scan the room for anything else out of place. Quickly walking up to his panel, his ears stick to the back of his skull as his eyes flicker into a pitch black, both with a red glowing radio dial in the middle.

It seems his next broadcast consisting of screams was going to air much sooner than usual.

Speaking of which, his mind immediately asks himself if they aired anything on his channel. Lost in concentration, his features return to normal. He turns on the panel, flipping the switches back to normal, turning and fine tuning all the different controls to fit what he was going to air, a small annoyed grumble vibrating from his chest from who dared to enter and disturb his sacred workspace.

Headphones didn’t really work with deer ears, much to his distaste, so he had to resort to using a techy speaker. A particularly new one by the brand VoxTech, owned by none other than the television demon Vox. They’ve talked once or twice in the past, though Vox didn’t really appreciate when Alastor called him Box by accident a few times.

It was an honest mistake.

The man literally had a bright box for a face.

His thoughts trail off to how exactly the person that had tampered with his panel was going to suffer when suddenly, his ears turn to the speaker on instinct, a voice emerging and capturing his attention, asking if he was eager to hear their voice, the speech ever so quiet. Did they even know they have to stand near the microphone for it to work?

Enough.

He needed to rid hell of this pest.

Slowly turning up the volume dial, eager to hear all or any information this person had to share, Alastor clears his throat and speaks into his own microphone. “Hello, dear broadcaster.”

No reply.

Honestly, how rude can one person get? Were they even aware who they were dealing with? How did they even get on the same channel? He never collaborates with anyone, it’s his hard work and he won’t stand someone else tampering with it and messing up his schedule!

He took a deep breath.

Luckily, they weren’t airing anything. Which is a start.

Were they doing this on purpose for his attention?

How foolish.

Baring his teeth and gums in annoyance from the extremely loud volume, your voice booms through the speaker as Alastor quickly reaches out to turn the volume back to normal. So you’ve finally figured out what a microphone was?

Oh right, you had asked a question.

Could he hear you? Sure he can.

A scoff. He couldn’t NOT hear you from how loud he had set the volume. He decided to speak up, his ears perking up and chest puffing out as he sat straight in his chair, clearly proud to introduce himself to this clueless being, knowing his name will very well strike delicious fear into them. He was positively infamous in the pride ring after all.

“Of course I can hear you my dear, Im Alastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you, quite a pleasure!”

Still no response.

It came to his realisation that he should be asking them the same question you had asked.

“Can you hear me my dear?”

Another frustratingly quiet pause.

Clearly not.

An exasperated sigh from Alastor as he slumps back in his cushioned office chair in defeat. Then it came to him. Their panels and equipment were connected, right? Eagerly sitting back up he flicks the lights above the dial on and off, hoping his prey wasn’t so naive as to think it’s merely coincidence.

A reply asking if he really can hear him, their voice now lacking any and all confidence that they once had. Alastor knows the sound of fear when he hears it, an ear splitting grin widening across his face. Was it really that hard to believe that in hell, a place only made of contradictions, some magical source connected them?

It seems that fate has brought him a new plaything.

Oh this was going to be fun.

Until he didn’t hear anything from you for the rest of the day.

_________________________________________

Taglist! <3 - @nyx91, @speedycoffeedelight, @sirens-and-moonflowers

Make sure to comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[mrs-stans]

The Actor Roundtable: Daniel Craig, Paul Mescal and Colman Domingo on Impostor Syndrome and the Dark Roles Women Love

Adrien Brody, Sebastian Stan and Peter Sarsgaard bond over the pressures of delivering a standout performance: "I had a panic attack every night."

BY SCOTT FEINBERG

Former James Bond Daniel Craig, The Pianist Oscar winner Adrien Brody, Euphoria Emmy winner Colman Domingo, Marvel superhero turned Emmy nominee Sebastian Stan, consummate character actor Peter Sarsgaard and Oscar-nominated heartthrob Paul Mescal range in age from 28 (Mescal) to 56 (Craig); hail from around the world (America, England, Ireland and Romania); and forged very different paths to stardom. But they all share one thing in common: Each gave a standout performance in a 2024 film — or, in Stan’s case, two — that led to them congregating in mid-November at Soho House West Hollywood for THR‘s annual Actor Roundtable.

Their characters are unforgettable: a Jewish architect who survives the Holocaust and comes to America (Brody in The Brutalist); a gay American addict in 1950s Mexico (Craig in Queer); an incarceree who finds purpose in art (Domingo in Sing Sing); an angry young man set on destroying the city that betrayed him (Mescal in Gladiator II); a TV exec who oversees live coverage of a terrorist attack at the 1972 Munich Olympics (Sarsgaard in September 5); a disfigured actor who undergoes facial reconstructive surgery (Stan in A Different Man); and a striving young Donald Trump (Stan in The Apprentice). So, too, was their conversation.

Let’s talk about how these projects came to you. Daniel, after your Bond chapter — five films over 15 years — how did you wind up hearing from Luca Guadagnino, whom you’d met before any of that?

DANIEL CRAIG I had no plan whatsoever. I was like, “Maybe I’ll never work again.” But there’s a movie I did quite a few years ago called Love Is the Devil, which Luca is a big fan of. I play the reverse role in that movie [the younger man in a gay relationship rather than the older one, as in Queer]. But everybody gets old! Luca wanted to adapt Queer for many years. The rights finally came free not that long ago, and he approached me. I’d have swept the floor for the guy because I think all his movies are exceptional and individual.

Colman, how did you wind up working on a film with a cast comprising mostly nonprofessional actors, 85 percent of whom had been incarcerated at one time at Sing Sing prison and had been through the program that you guys depict in the film?

COLMAN DOMINGO My director, Greg Kwedar, and his co-writer, Clint Bentley, have been volunteer teachers at Sing Sing for years. They kept saying, “If we can capture what we’ve learned from this Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, wouldn’t it be great to do a film about that?” Greg said he put the idea in his drawer and then pulled it out a couple of years later and wrote a quick treatment, and at the end, luckily enough, he wrote down, “Colman Domingo.”

“For years, sometimes I’d bow and get a cab across town and take my bartending shift,” says Domingo.

Paul, nearly a quarter century after Ridley Scott made Gladiator …

CRAIG You weren’t even born, were you?

PAUL MESCAL I was 4. (Laughs.)

… Ridley begins planning to move forward with a sequel and sees you in Normal People?

MESCAL My dad showed me Gladiator when I was 13 — I was obsessed with the battle sequences. But Aftersun and things like that [indie movies], that’s my bread and butter in terms of what I’m drawn to as an actor. But if I was going to make a big film? And Sir Ridley Scott comes asking? Ridley organized a Zoom, which lasted half an hour — he spoke with me for 10 minutes about the arc of the story, 10 minutes about his dog and 10 minutes about Gaelic football, and then it was offered to me. (Laughs.) I was like, “I could go and look at the first film and see what Russell did so excellently.” But that felt like a mistake because that’s not my lane. If Ridley’s entry point to me was something like Normal People and Aftersun and All of Us Strangers, I was keen to, where possible, draw a performance style from those films and try to bring it to something bigger.

Peter, you were working on the television series Presumed Innocent when you first heard about September 5. The director, Tim Fehlbaum, had made two prior, lower-profile films. What convinced you to ask for time off from Presumed Innocent to go and do this, 21 years after acting in Shattered Glass, another great film about journalism?

PETER SARSGAARD Believe it or not, it started at a concert. Sean Penn, who was in the first movie I ever did, Dead Man Walking, was there, and we hung out for most of the evening. At the end he said, “There’s something coming your way, by the way.” I went, “Oh, great.” He produced this movie. So when I met Tim, to be fair, I was already like, “Sean likes this guy.” Then Tim started talking about all this real footage, and I saw Jim McKay, this sports announcer who delivered the terrible news [on Sept. 5, 1972] without making it about himself, and I thought, “That type of person and sincerity has really been lost.” I started thinking it was a really interesting idea to go back to the first time that a live camera ever covered a crisis situation. Then Tim showed me pictures of all the real [original newsroom] equipment that he had, and a lot of the shit worked — it wasn’t greenscreen on the monitors behind us; we were watching actual images from the Olympics and cutting to the real Jim McKay. I’d say the lead is almost Jim McKay. We’re supporting him.

“That type of person and sincerity has really been lost,” Sarsgaard says of Jim McKay, the anchor who covered the events of September 5.

Adrien, your director, Brady Corbet, is 36. His two previous features are nothing on the scale of this one, even if the budget on this one was less than $10 million. What made you want to be a part of it, 22 years after playing another man traumatized by his experience during World War II in The Pianist?

ADRIEN BRODY There’s a real richness to the storytelling, and it speaks to many things historically that are quite relevant today but also very personal to me. My mother is a Hungarian-born photographer and artist, Sylvia Plachy, and has been a beacon for me in all my artistic pursuits. And her hardships and her parents’ — my grandparents’ — hardships of fleeing Budapest in 1956 during the revolution, losing their home and leaving everything behind and escaping under a bed of corn on the back of a truck and eventually immigrating to the United States? They’re obviously not related to my character and his personal struggles, but I felt very fortunate to be able to represent that immigrant experience. We’re all on a quest to find something of meaning that leaves behind something of meaning, and that’s also the quest of my character, as an architect. Brady is also very much like László. I often just look at my directors and try to channel them. That’s my trick. (Laughs.)

Brody, the youngest actor to win a best actor Oscar, says that experience is the ultimate teacher: “You do not listen until you fail or until it really hurts.”

Sebastian, Donald Trump is probably the most famous — and most imitated — person in the world, so I imagine it might have been a little intimidating to be asked to join the long line of people who have portrayed him.

SEBASTIAN STAN So much of what Adrien just said resonated for me in terms of wanting to be part of something that stands the test of time. I had a personal thing with the American dream because I came to this country from Romania when I was 12, and my father helped people escape illegally. I had heard all about the American dream and have been trying to this day to figure out what this dream is and what it gives us and what it takes away. That overrode any sort of fear about doing it because it was him. I played this little game with myself where I crossed out the names [of the characters], and there was still a Michael Corleone sort of story. And here was this filmmaker [Ali Abbasi] who was European, who’d fled Iran, who’s fearless and whose last film was all about his previous country, coming into this with a fresh perspective, not wanting to play for any team, just removing all judgment. I thought, “Can we just try to find out who the hell this person [Trump] is? What’s beneath this character?” And when you peel back the layers, you get to the core of a powerless child who has been enacting a sort of vendetta of revenge that we’ve all been subjected to, to no end. I think that we as artists, as actors, have to keep reflecting the times that we’re in as best as we can, no matter how ugly they are.

For Sebastian, there were two big-swing projects this year, the other being A Different Man.

BRODY Double feature. That’s so impressive.

STAN It’ll never happen again. It was thanks to the strike.

Stan stars in two Oscar contenders, The Apprentice and A Different Man. “It’ll never happen again,” he says. “It was thanks to the strike.”

Sebastian, your character in that film has neurofibromatosis, a form of facial disfigurement, and you were only willing to play him because your director and co-star wanted you to, right?

STAN With this one, I definitely feel like I took a little bit of what Adrien said about playing your director because [director Aaron Schimberg] also wrote it, and it’s so much about his experience of being a disfigured man. Sometimes I was like, “I’ll just copy.” But he’s been trying to figure out how he can get us to see a movie that represents this disability, and he was finding it very difficult. In his previous film, he hired Adam [Pearson, an actor who has neurofibromatosis] to be in it, and he got backlash because people were saying he was exploiting Adam, so the movie didn’t get seen. But if he was casting an able-bodied actor to play a disabled person, then he’s not really representing, and nothing happens. So he found a way with this movie of doing both.

These performances were ballsy. At what point did you feel most in danger of failing?

CRAIG Every day I was thinking, “This is all failing. Where is this going?” From the moment I got there in the morning until the moment I’d leave at the end of the day, it was like, “What the fuck?”

DOMINGO I was working with men who had the lived experience of being incarcerated, and every day I was like, “I don’t want to be a fraud.”

SARSGAARD If you play a real person — Nixon or somebody like that — it requires a different level of acting. When you play a Roone Arledge, nobody cares [because he’s not instantly recognizable]. You can just take whatever you want from the person. (To Stan) To succeed at what you did [playing Trump] is a whole other level.

STAN I was having panic attacks every night. There was not enough time to gain weight, and the prosthetics test failed badly, so I was fucked. And not only that, but the director, two weeks out, goes, “Originally, I was going to cast a woman to play Trump.”

BRODY That’s reassuring.

STAN “Why are you fucking telling me this two weeks before?! I’m going to die.”

Sebastian Stan in The Apprentice and A Different Man.

Most of you have played recognizable people at some point. What makes the difference between an impersonation and a performance?

DOMINGO You’ve got to find their soul. You’ve got to go deeper. When I played Bayard Rustin [in 2023’s Rustin], I had teeth knocked out and an accent and a wig, but I was like, “I can’t let that be the performance.” You’re required to find their soul.

MESCAL Sometimes those things help though, right?

DOMINGO Yeah. The physical helps.

BRODY You have a responsibility to represent the physicality and something that’s familiar.

STAN I always think of that Apollo 13 scene when they dump all the stuff on the table and they take a triangle and a circle and they’re like, “You’ve got to take this and make it fit into that.” With real people, you have targets — you know where you’re aiming.

SARSGAARD Well, you guys [Stan and Jeremy Strong, who played Roy Cohn in The Apprentice] anchored each other. You fed back to the other person, “This is who we are.”

DOMINGO (To Stan) When I watched what you did, I thought, “Oh, he’s taken away any judgment [of Trump].” I thought that was exceptional because everyone has an opinion about him, but you’re like, “No, I’m going to do the soul work.”

STAN Thank you. I always think of the great [acting coach] Larry Moss. The Intent to Live was a big book for me, about “everyone has a big emotional need.” Is it to be loved? Is it to be heard? Is it for approval? I mean, everything for Trump, from my perspective, is about power. It’s, “I want to be the most powerful person in the world.”

Mescal was 4 years old when Gladiator was released: “This is a mad experience for me, just to clarify. I’m 28 years of age.”

You’ve all worked in the theater — in fact, Paul, you’re soon doing A Streetcar Named Desire off-Broadway. Is there something about being onstage that makes you a better screen actor?

MESCAL Yeah, I think so. Somebody said to me that film is a director’s medium — they have the canvas and you’re the paint — but stage is very much a writer’s and an actor’s medium. Once previews are over, that’s your stage, that’s where you go and play. More broadly, something like Streetcar obviously has a very famous performance history, as does something like Gladiator II. Once I’d been cast in Streetcar, I was like, “I can never go back and look at the film until the dust has settled on it all.” And being onstage, you’re acting in a wide shot the whole time — there’s no hiding, there’s no going again. On a Ridley set, a lot of it feels theatrical because it’s not wide shot then tight coverage then medium shot; it’s all happening in one go.

He has a zillion cameras going at once?

MESCAL It depends. In the scenes in the cell, he would get as many cameras in there as possible — maybe he’d get to five, trying to cram a sixth in the door. Whereas when you’re shooting the battle scenes, it’s 12.

SARSGAARD Twelve?! (Laughs.)

MESCAL Twelve cameras, easy. Camera operators dressed up in costume like Roman soldiers.

DOMINGO Really?! That’s fantastic. (Laughs.)

MESCAL So you save time with the amount of takes that you’re going to do because the coverage is there. But you also gain a sense of freedom because continuity goes out the window.

Daniel, you’ve often returned to the stage in New York. For some of the more theatrical characters that you’ve played onscreen, like Benoit Blanc, I imagine that’s helpful?

CRAIG The first movie job I ever did, I went on the set and the director kept saying to me [complimenting him], “God, you’re so still!” I was like [to myself], “Because I’m terrified!” On the stage, because I’d been doing that for so long, there was just the freedom to be. I didn’t go into film knowing how to do that. That I had to learn — and I’m still learning to this day how to be as free on film as I can be on the stage.

“Oh, it doesn’t go away,” says the Bond actor on imposter syndrome. “But I think as soon as you think you can do it, you can’t.”

A lot of actors are surely thinking about you all, “They are exactly where I want to be.” But that hasn’t always been the case. Colman, your story of the past 10 years is so inspiring. You were almost ready to hang it up, right?

DOMINGO Not almost. Full-out.

You acted in the musical The Scottsboro Boys on Broadway and got a Tony nomination, then you acted in it again on the West End and got an Olivier nomination, and then you came back to the U.S. and …

DOMINGO I was a journeyman actor for years. Sometimes in the same night, I’d bow and then get a cab across town and take my bartending shift — I couldn’t give it up because I was getting $400 a week. That had been going on for many years — I’ve been working for about 34 years now. I came back to New York and was really disheartened because I was still going in for under-fives [auditioning for parts of less than five minutes of screen time], and I just thought, “My talent is not being used. And I don’t want to be bitter about it.” Because you start to feel a little bitterness. After feeling disrespected in an audition, I’d take the sides and put them in the trash before I walked out. Then there was a series of auditions and no’s — like eight no’s in one week — and one just broke me. It seemed perfect for me. The casting director and everyone said it was perfect. I went and met with the director and the producers. And then there was the most insane reason why I didn’t get it. [Domingo has previously said that the audition was for Boardwalk Empire and he was told that the part required a Black actor with lighter skin than his.] I pretty much collapsed in the gym [upon being told that]. I was crying and thought, “This is going to kill me. I have to leave before it kills me.” And right when I said, “That’s enough,” a friend said, “Hey, my managers have been wanting to meet with you.” I said, “No, I’m good. I just dropped my manager, and I’m about to drop my agent and do something else.” He said, “Just meet with them.” I did. Honestly, I felt like it was the worst meeting I’d ever had because I went in there with my arms folded and said, “I know myself. I don’t fit in certain boxes. I know what you see is different, but I do all these different things. But I don’t think that there’s a place for me in this business.” They said, “Give us six months and we’ll make some changes together.” My first two auditions after that were for a Baz Luhrmann series and for Fear the Walking Dead on AMC. I thought, “Fear the Walking Dead? I don’t do things like that.” But then they sent me this monologue that felt like I was doing Richard III, and I thought, “This is beautiful.” Television was starting to change, and I felt like there was a place for me. I booked both jobs — which was odd to me because I hadn’t been booking anything, and those were off of self-tapes — and that gave me a new footing in the industry. I want to be useful in this practice of being an artist. I think what we do at our best is we’re in service. This is a service job. And I want to be in service to this work. (Chokes up with emotion.) I’m glad I stuck around.

We’re sitting here talking during the weird circus that is known as awards season. Some of you have been through this before. Adrien, 22 years ago you went through it with The Pianist, and at 29 you became — and to this day remain — the youngest person ever to win the best actor Oscar. What do you know now that you wish you knew then?

BRODY Oh, that’s a lovely question. No one’s ever asked that. I don’t “wish I knew” because you can’t. You only learn things through experience. CRAIG You wouldn’t listen. My younger self just wouldn’t listen. He’d be like, “Whatever. Blah, blah, blah.”

BRODY It’s absolutely true. You do not listen until you fail or until it really hurts. For a shift to occur, there has to be enlightenment. Enlightenment comes oftentimes through suffering or hardships. I’ve had a very blessed life and career, but it’s never been easy. The thing to know is there are many chapters. To be at this table, both physically and metaphorically, is a triumph, honestly. And there are wonderful, positive career bonuses from accolades. But I think at the end of the day, everybody at this table will tell you that it’s the work — the experience of getting it and making it and enduring it and feeling great about the accomplishment of leaving it — that is the beauty, the joy. I’d been acting professionally for 17 years before that [Oscar]. To a lot of people, I was an overnight success, but I’d been kicking around, paying dues. And it was a remarkable thing, but it was kind of jarring.

MESCAL This is a mad experience for me, just to clarify. I’m 28 years of age. CRAIG Yeah. Why are you here? (Laughs.)

MESCAL When I was in drama school, I became hyperfixated on watching actors that I really admired talk about the work that they do. So I’m sitting here and I’m like, “What the fuck is going on?” For me, anyway, there’s this latent imposter syndrome.

CRAIG Oh, it doesn’t go away. I walk on the set thinking someone’s going to go, “Bluff.” It’s always there, that self-doubt. But I think as soon as you think you can do it, you can’t.

Peter, you once said that after playing a rapist and murderer in Boys Don’t Cry, you were disturbed to find that out in the real world, you got more female attention than ever before.

SARSGAARD Why did I say that? Oh my God. Yeah, that was true.

That’s obviously an unexpected response to your work. What have you all noticed about the way people interact with you in the aftermath of seeing these performances?

MESCAL People think I’m a tough guy. We had a premiere in Dublin, and we were walking past the pub, and there were these Irish lads, and for the first time ever, they were like, “Go on, the Glad [as in Gladiator]! Just walk!”

BRODY No one has seen this movie yet. But it’s funny, people will say, “My mom really likes you.”

DOMINGO Oh my God. Isn’t that the wildest thing? “So you don’t, right?”

What would you be doing today if you had not become an actor?

SARSGAARD I really like being around young people, and I’ve had some experiences with teaching, so I can imagine that route.

STAN Yeah, maybe something with young people because that’s always going to humble you.

CRAIG Serving cocktails on the QE2. DOMINGO I wanted to be a chef. I still cook as an amateur — I love food. MESCAL Something that would enable me to play Gaelic football. BRODY I used to paint and draw before I was acting, and I loved that. I rediscovered it later when I put down acting for some time.

Which living actor with whom you’ve not worked before would you most like to work with?

SARSGAARD It’s going to sound schmaltzy, but I’ve never acted with my wife [Maggie Gyllenhaal] in a movie. We did a film together — when we first met, I got her a part in this movie that I was doing, and she did one scene where we made love. But then the whole film was actually out of focus — we shot it for nine weeks — and the whole film was gone. MESCAL No way. DOMINGO What?! BRODY Oh my God, that’s horrible. MESCAL Michelle Williams. BRODY Robert De Niro. STAN Cate Blanchett. CRAIG All you guys. DOMINGO Adrien Brody. BRODY Brother, that can happen!

[nayziiz]

Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 3

In the weeks leading up to the first race of the season, Lando finds himself grappling with the persistent presence of Gemma in his thoughts. Her green eyes linger in his dreams, and the echo of her laughter plays in his mind when he's out with friends. Despite their agreement to keep things casual and without strings, Lando can't help but entertain fleeting fantasies about what it would be like if Gemma were more than just a one-night stand.

The memory of their night together lingers, the allure of her company and the connection they shared leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. He wonders about the possibility of Gemma being more than just a passing moment in his life. The prospect of having her around as a girlfriend begins to stir a longing within him, a desire for something more profound than their initial agreement.

For Gemma, the morning after their night together was marked by a quiet departure from Lando's penthouse. She slips back into the dress from the previous night, leaving his clothes neatly folded on the coffee table. In a subtle yet deliberate gesture, she folds her panties and places them on top of his clothes—a silent reminder of their shared intimacy. They part ways without exchanging numbers, and Lando realises that he didn't even catch her last name.

As Lando wakes up to an empty room, the disappointment is palpable, tempered only by the acknowledgment of the agreement they made. The absence of contact details and the mystery surrounding Gemma's identity create a void, a lingering question mark that tugs at his curiosity. Yet, he respects the unspoken terms of their encounter, acknowledging that some connections are meant to be fleeting, existing in the realm of memories rather than in the unfolding chapters of his life.

“Mate, you’re so distracted.” Max, Lando’s best friend, comments as they sit in Lando’s Monaco apartment playing video games.

“I think I’ve met the girl of my dreams.” Lando responds.

“Just because she slept with you?” Max chuckles.

“No, not because of that. You didn’t see her. She was stunning, mate. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And, she’s funny, like genuinely funny without even trying. You should have seen how unimpressed she was with the penthouse, like it didn’t bother her.” Lando explains to his friend who pauses their game.

“Why don’t you just ask her out on a date?” Max suggests.

“We agreed for it to be just a one night thing.” Lando sighs as he throws his head back into the couch. “I don’t even have her number.”

“You’re so stupid.” Max comments as he pulls out his phone and opens his Instagram app. “What did you say her name was?”

“Gemma.” Lando replies.

As Max opens the McLaren Instagram feed and navigates to the following list, Lando's curiosity is piqued. The search for Gemma's name yields only two results. Max clicks on the first profile, and after a quick glance, Lando shakes his head, indicating that it's not the Gemma he's looking for.

They move on to the second profile, and as Lando inspects the screen, a subtle flicker of recognition crosses his face. Max hands over his phone, and Lando takes it in his hand, scrolling through the girl's feed. Intrigued, he clicks on a post, hoping to find more clues about the enigmatic Gemma and perhaps uncover a connection that goes beyond the one unforgettable night they shared. The screen illuminates with snippets of her life, offering a glimpse into the world that Gemma inhabits outside the confines of that memorable evening.

“This is her.” Lando breathes and keeps scrolling.

As Lando scrolls through Gemma's social media feed, he's met with a mosaic of her life. The racing gear and karting photos stand out prominently, depicting a passionate and skilled side of Gemma that resonates with his own racing world. The adrenaline-filled snapshots capture her in her element, surrounded by the machinery and thrill that defines the racing lifestyle.

Interwoven with the racing theme are numerous stand-up paddling photos, showcasing Gemma's versatility and love for outdoor activities. The images paint a picture of a dynamic and adventurous spirit, someone who embraces challenges and finds joy in the simplicity of nature.

Beyond the racetrack and the paddleboard adventures, there are glimpses of Gemma's social life. Posts with friends at bars and restaurants capture the moments of camaraderie and shared laughter. Family also holds a special place in her life, evident in the photos celebrating birthdays of loved ones. The snapshots offer a multifaceted view of Gemma—a racer, an adventurer, a socialite, and a family-oriented individual.

As Lando delves into Gemma's digital world, the distance between them seems to shrink, unveiling layers of her personality that go beyond their brief encounter. Each post becomes a fragment of a larger narrative, and Lando finds himself drawn deeper into the mystery and allure of Gemma's life, contemplating the possibility of reconnecting with her beyond the confines of a single night.

“She is quite pretty.” Max concludes as he tries to sneak a glance at the screen.

“Gemma Mayfield.” Lando adds. “I didn’t even get her last name, if I’m being honest.”

“Why don’t you follow her and see what happens?” Max suggests.

Lando nods and pulls up Gemma’s Instagram account on his own phone and clicks on the follow button.

As Gemma enjoys brunch with her girlfriends, the animated chatter and laughter fill the air. Amidst the delightful ambiance, her phone emits a soft notification sound, capturing her attention. She unlocks her phone, curious about the interruption, and opens Instagram to find a new follower notification.

To her surprise, she sees Lando's name on the screen, signalling that he has just started following her. The realisation brings a spark of intrigue to Gemma's eyes, a subtle but undeniable acknowledgment of the connection forged during that unforgettable night. The familiar features of Lando's profile picture and the digital confirmation of his interest draw her into a moment of contemplation, wondering what this unexpected digital connection might signify and where it could lead.

Her friends, oblivious to the Instagram notification, continue their lively brunch conversation as Gemma, with a hint of a smile playing on her lips, delves into the exploration of this newfound connection that bridges the gap between their worlds, even if only in the virtual realm.

“Why is Lando Norris following you?” Ashley, Gemma’s friend, asks as she peers at Gemma’s phone.

“We met last week at the gala.” Gemma explains and locks her screen again.

“A week ago and he still remembers your name?” Ashley retorts.

“Don’t be silly.” Gemma chuckles.

“Clearly you made an impression.” Her friend comments as they sip their mimosas.

“It’s probably just my panties on his dresser reminding him about me, nothing else.”

“Excuse me?” Ashley gasps. “Your panties?”

“We hooked up. Nothing special.” Gemma shrugs.

“You slept with Lando Norris, the Lando Norris.” Ashley states in disbelief.

“It’s not a big deal. We were drunk and fooling around. We said it would be a one night thing.” Gemma explains.

“Yeah, one night thing, but now he’s all up on your Instagram and probably looking at all your posts so he can see you again.” Ashley counters.

“Is that weird? For like a hook-up to follow you on Instagram?” Gemma wonders.

“It's a little weird, but maybe he likes you and is trying to get your attention.” Ashley responds. “Follow him back and see what happens.”

“Did you forget about the fact that I’ve just come out of a relationship? I can’t open myself up to someone only to get hurt again.” Gemma counters.

“Babe, Lucas never loved you the way you deserved. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the signs that are very much there and take a leap of faith.” Ashley suggests.

Their conversation is interrupted by Gemma's phone ringing from an unknown number. Excusing herself from the table, Gemma heads to a quieter spot to answer the call, leaving Ashley with a lingering sense of curiosity about the unfolding dynamics between Gemma and the famous Formula 1 driver.

“Gemma speaking, hello.” She speaks into the phone.

“Hi, Gemma. This is Zak Brown.” Zak replies. “I hope you’re well.”

“Mr Brown. I’m doing well, thank you. I hope you are too.”

“Oh, I could be better. That’s why I’m calling.” Zak states.

“How can I assist, sir?” Gemma asks, confused and still surprised by the caller.

“One of Oscar’s trackside data analysts has unfortunately fallen ill and won’t be able to work for the foreseeable future. We’ve heard some great reviews on your work back at the factory and were wondering if you’d be up to join us in the paddock starting in Bahrain?” Zak proposes. “With all travel and accommodation costs covered. And, a salary increase, of course.”

“That’s very unexpected.” Gemma breathes.

“I thought it would be. I’ll have my assistant email you the contract and you can let us know what your decision is, but we’ll need to know by tomorrow morning so we can make the necessary arrangements.” Zak explains.

“Thank you, I’ll keep an eye out for that.” Gemma agrees.

They end the phone call and Gemma returns to her friends. Ashley shoots her a questioning look.

“They want me to work trackside.” Gemma tells Ashley.

“See, signs. Everywhere. Just signs. This is your time to shine, Gem-bug.” Ashley responds, her excitement evident.

When Gemma returns to her apartment, she grabs her laptop and easily finds the email with the contract in her inbox. She prints it out and reads through it. After pacing around her living room for a few hours reading and rereading the contract, she digitally signs the contract and emails it back to Zak’s assistant.

The following morning, she receives her plane tickets and itinerary for the Bahrain Grand Prix just a week away. She sits on the couch in her small apartment and realises that she’ll have to face Lando at some point and decides to follow him back on Instagram. She knows it was her idea for their exchange to be a one night thing only, but not even her ex-boyfriend was so kind and gentle with her like Lando was. She could still feel his fingers and his kisses on her skin when doing simple things around her apartment like washing up the dishes or doing the laundry. For the first time that night, she was looked after as opposed to being the one looking after those around her.

[meimi-haneoka]

Report of CLAMP's Twitter Space - April 1st, 2024 (part concerning Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card)

As it was quite predictable, CLAMP sensei opened a Twitter Space on April 1st to celebrate this important and special day, which they consider their "birthday" as a creative group. ✨

It is also the birthday of quite a number of characters in their works, but it's hilarious they mentioned later in this Space how April 1st is actually only CCS!Sakura's and TRC!Sakura's birthday, as all the other characters have "ambiguous" situations going on. 😂 I'll delve into this part later.

You will find the full report under the cut, since the post became considerably long once again - it was inevitable since they kept bringing Sakura things up and the Space was almost 50 minutes long! 😅I also wanted to feature as many info as possible, and where I could, I wanted to translate their conversations directly rather than making a summary of it.

CLAMP celebrated April 1st going to a beloved cafè in Kyoto (they later revealed in their IG stories it's called Mont and there's always a cute dog there), spending some nice relaxing time drinking something all four together. That's when they got the idea to open a Space to celebrate with their fans too. CLAMP reiterated several times during the Space how grateful they are for being able to do a creative job like this, even after 35 years. A job none of them really imagined when they were little, as "to become a mangaka" wasn't a specific dream any of them really had.

And then, Ohkawa introduced the part of the Space where they talked about CCS Clear Card, starting by the mention of the release of volume 16 (which happened precisely on April 1st)!

Ohkawa: A serialization that lasted 7 years and a half, isn't it? Mokona: So long, right? Ohkawa: Yeah, quite long! Satsuki: Elementary schoolers have already graduated by now. Ohkawa: Yeah, the readers who were in the first year when the serialization started have graduated elementary school long ago. We had decided that Sakura would start middle school when Clear Card Arc began, and readers of her same age reached adulthood by now. Satsuki & Mokona: Ah, it's true! Ohkawa: They've stayed with us for long time, right? And now the final volume is out. *they all applaude* Mokona: It's quite a happy end, isn't it? Ohkawa: Uh? Mokona: a happy, happy, happy end. 🥰 Ohkawa: 😨...you mean, an APPEALING end, right? (Nekoi echoing her: right?) (note: happy and appealing start with the same pronounce in Japanese) Nekoi: 😅(to Mokona) What are you talking about? Ohkawa: What do you mean, Mokona? 🙃 *Mokona laughs nervously* Nekoi: Is that your headcanon or something? Ohkawa: Is this okay to say? Nekoi: Or rather, is this your conspiracy? 😂

Of course they all joked like this because they wanted to avoid spoiling how the story ended 😂 Ohkawa thanked all the readers for sticking with this story for such a long time. Long time after Sakura Card Arc, when the right opportunity came, they were able to draw this "Clear Card Arc". In that regard, Ohkawa mused that she can't even recall why the previous arc is called "Sakura Card Arc", despite no one actually calls those cards as "Sakura Cards" in the story itself (she said the characters do call them "Sakura's Cards", but not "Sakura Cards"), and Mokona seemed to agree with her, but here sensei was simply forgetting that it was Tomoyo herself the one who named them that way in volume 7 😅(in the beginning she wanted to call them "Sakura-chan Cards", then she settled for "Sakura Cards"....unforgettable Sakura's comment: "It sounds like the name of a credit card..." 😂) It was long ago, we can forgive them. 😉And they made sure to repeat the same thing with Clear Card Arc, since in this story NO ONE ever calls those as "Clear Cards" but actually just "transparent cards" or "new cards". 😂

Ohkawa added that middle schooler Sakura grew up a bit more in the last part of the story, and people who have already read the last chapter can understand what she means by that. She also said that she'd like to leave a more in-depth talk for another time, when they get the right opportunity, but the biggest reason why they decided to open this Space was to talk about unknown "behind the scenes" trivia that the fans could ask about using the hashtag of "CLAMP day" and those of the campaigns organized by Kodansha (in particular, the one to win the big A4 size clear bookmark). She also said that she wanted to give this opportunity to Satsuki and Nekoi to say something about Clear Card since the last time they all talked together, they didn't get the chance. Ohkawa also brought up the last CLAMP Kanbukai podcast, where she talked about the trivia of Fujitaka's iron kettle and that shocked both her colleagues, cause they didn't know about that detail! 😆

Ohkawa: The story I'm about to tell you is something me and Mokona know very well, since there's a precise reason behind this trivia. In Clear Card Arc there's a "key character" called Akiho. Akiho's last name is "Shinomoto" and that was decided ever since the very beginning, but her first name was originally Sairi! Her full name was Sairi Shinomoto. Mokona: It gives off a different vibe, right? Ohkawa: Indeed. I had already decided the kanji for it and all, but at some point, before we even started to draw chapter 1, whenever I talked to Mokona...(to Mokona) please explain what happened. Mokona: Whenever I tried to write the hiragana for あいお (aio) in our conversations on Line, the autocorrect on my phone would change it to 秋穂 (Akiho). (Note: another reading of the kanji in Akiho's name is indeed Ai'o) Whenever I tried to write those hiragana characters, the autocorrect would change it to akiho once the message got sent, and I was like "what's that akiho?? I didn't want to write that". I couldn't understand, because it's not like I had ever used that word with other people (note: she means the autocorrect didn't learn it from other conversations). Ohkawa: The first 2-3 times it happened I was just perplexed, but then as this "akiho, akiho, akiho" kept happening every time, I just asked her "Mokona, are you doing this on purpose??" and she was like "no, not at all!" 😂 She told me "Look what (the phone) converts this into!", but when we tried to do the same on our phones, it didn't come out to any of us! Mokona: But I did show it to you, right? That it came out like that to me. Ohkawa: Yeah, you did! I found it strange cause she said she doesn't even have any friend who's called Akiho-chan, she even tried to recall if there was a character of any series that's called like that... Mokona: Right, but I didn't know any! 😅 Ohkawa: So we started to think about it...Akiho seemed like a really cute name, it combines the characters of "autumn" (秋) with the ear of rice (穂), we pondered about it for 0.02 seconds and then I said "Let's use 'Akiho' for her name". And that's how she became Akiho Shinomoto. Satsuki: You thought that the ear of rice was a nice "opposite pole" to Sakura's spring. Nekoi: What were Sairi-chan's kanji? Ohkawa: Well, it doesn't really matter now but initially, I had designed for her name to bear a kanji only for the "ri" part, and leave the "Sai" part in hiragana. In CCSakura all the characters have their name either in hiragana or kanji, and there isn't any character who's got a name that mixes both. So I thought to do that for her. Ohkawa: Speaking of Sairi-chan, it's a good moment to mention that there's this morning drama show on NHK starting right today, called "Tiger with Wings" where Sairi Ito is starring. I really love her as an actress and I think Sairi is a really cute name, so I had decided for Akiho's name to originally be Sairi, just like hers. It's not like I created the "Akiho" character in Sairi Ito's image, but I just thought that Sairi was a really good name and there was a time when I thought that it would be better for her to have a name closer to Sakura's one, so I had initially decided for that one. But thanks to Mokona's fated intervention, she became Akiho.

Many fans who were listening started to try to type "aio" on their phones and uploaded the screenshots of how their autocorrect would suggest "Akiho" as a conversion! Ohkawa and Mokona looked at the screenshots and commented that the same result can be obtained both on an iOS phone and on a Mac computer. Mokona felt relieved that it wasn't just happening to her! 😆 Ohkawa: It might be that Mokona-san unilaterally changed her name for us, but...😆 Mokona: it's not like I was scheming for it or anything! 😆 A fan also brought up the fact that in the prefecture of Yamaguchi there's an onsen facility called "Aio Onsen" written with the same kanji of Akiho's name, and CLAMP were quite surprised to find that out.

Ohkawa: If you look at the story you'll know what I'm talking about, but in the finale Akiho reveals her true name as a 'final move', and I did think in the past that the spoiler about her true name would show through the fact that we gave her an autumnal name, but Mokona writing that 'Akiho' all those times was just so guided by fate, to the point it shocked us. And it came from writing something trivial like "Yo!" (note: Mokona wrote "ai" as a colloquial way to say "yo", "hi!") 😆 Mokona: It seems like it's quite an unusual name but don't worry, it's not like I was scheming for it! 😅

Then, Ohkawa asked Nekoi and Satsuki if there was a particular scene or part of the story they liked or if they had a fun episode to tell about...while she was waiting for their answers, she said they received lots of praises for the cover of volume 16, with many comments saying how beautiful it is, and for them it's already enough if people can even just look at the cover on the internet.

Ohkawa: By the way, you said the tone used for Kaito-san after his eyes changed was quite bothersome to you, right? Nekoi: Yeah, because I kept forgetting it! Satsuki: I wonder if people will notice...his eyes are so tiny, right? Ohkawa: Were his eyes huge, before? Satsuki: No, I mean, when turned into a tankobon his eyes look so tiny... Ohkawa: Ah, I see, I see. Nekoi: it's because we're used to see it on a screen. Ohkawa: Lots of stuff happened to Kaito-san in volume 15, and....lots of stuff happened to his eyes too, as a result. Because of that, we added a tone finish to his eyes, and it would make me happy if people noticed it. Mokona: There's quite a non-human feel to his eyes, now. Ohkawa: Indeed, indeed.

Ohkawa then asked Satsuki for her own tidbit about Clear Card, and she mentioned a color spread she really liked was the one of chapter 55, with Sakura and Akiho seemingly springing out of water, each on a side of the spread. Satsuki commented it's "a pose quite common in our artworks". Ohkawa recognized it and said the spread was actually two pieces drawn separately (as it's quite deducible by how the spread is composed). Satsuki added that in general all the art of the last volume is quite cute.

Ohkawa: What about you, Mokona? Mokona: As for me.... As you know, right in the middle of the play written by Naoko-chan, they end up in the world of the book. Well, it's not like they really go to another world. When we reach the part of Syaoran's action, both Sakura's POV and Syaoran's POV progress simultaneously...and I think if this were a video, there would be a way to portray it smoothly, but when we were working on it, Nanase told me "I want you to find a way to portray it that is fitting for a manga". So when I've got down to draw the storyboard, I've arranged the panels in a way that was quite understandable to me, but I started to have doubts whether people would be able to get easily what was going on...💦 I could understand it completely because I knew the story, but what about somebody who was seeing it for the first time...? Would it be okay...? I was quite worried about that. Ohkawa: Ooh, I see. I think somehow they were able to understand it.

After this, Ohkawa mentioned Motoko Kumai (Syaoran's, Sumomo, Nataku's VA)'s quote-retweet of their announcement of the Space, where she wished them a happy CLAMP day and said all of the meetings with those characters are a treasure to her. She added "Thank you for pouring your heart in everything you do". It was very funny to hear Ohkawa say "I wasn't the right person to read this, I get embarrassed with these praises! 😳But no, really, thank you very much." ✨

Ohkawa then said "We've been told by Kodansha that they've never had a single manga that continued for two volumes after the end was announced...well, this is our volume 16 that was extended twice 😁"

Ohkawa: I say this every single time, but in my heart, this was the story where Sakura-chan acted as a proper main character, till the very end. I think this is the story Sakura painted for herself, following her own feelings. Sorry, but this is how I feel. Of course I think it's possible to not see it this way and you're absolutely entitled to it, but we think our Sakura-chan really did her best. Mokona: She truly did. Ohkawa: Also, we got lots of comments saying that Touya used too many cheats 😆But I would like to remind everyone that Touya was a "cheater" since long time ago. Mokona: Despite not appearing often, we stacked on him many strong points. Ohkawa: He was really a cheater all along. (note: of course here with "cheater" they're meaning his abilities that allow him to do unexpected and powerful things in the plot, in order to help Sakura at the most convenient moment) I'm talking about Clow Card Arc right now (note: this is a part concerning Sakura Card Arc, actually), but to have a magical power that allows you to transfer all of it to a magical being created by Clow is already a cheat to begin with. Satsuki: he can also see (non-living beings). Ohkawa: Sakura-chan was refusing to do so, but she's also someone who can see them.

While looking at the hashtags, I can't understand if this was Nekoi's personal comment or the comment of a fan, but she said "It's good that it wasn't Touya the one finding the Cards", mocking the way he would've said the incantation to capture the Cards, and Ohkawa replied "Well, he would probably be 'Cardcaptor Touya' now. But he was an high schooler! Feels a bit off..." and Nekoi along with Satsuki mused even more on the possibility of him having a transformation scene like shoujo heroines or if he would just go capturing cards in his school uniform 😂 Mokona: I don't really think Tomoyo would put that much effort in creating costumes for anyone other than Sakura-chan 😂 Ohkawa: Yeah, Tomoyo wouldn't make a costume for him. Therefore, despite it would be quite troublesome because I don't really think Yukito is particularly skilled in sewing, what I can think of is that he would make for him some kind of awkward outfits that don't even look like cosplay costumes. Satsuki: He'll make them by himself. Ohkawa: Well, it's not like Touya would make them... Nekoi & Mokona: There's no reason for him to do it, after all. Ohkawa: He wouldn't be doing this with a serious spirit. Nekoi: So he wouldn't feel a particular reason to change clothes. Mokona: What if he wants to hide his face? What do you think? Ohkawa: Ah, you mean a mask? Nekoi: Well, it's not like Sakura-chan herself had ever any eyewitnesses, after all... Nekoi: He gives me the vibe of someone who would go and capture cards swiftly like he just dropped an item...and hey ho! It would end immediately like a yonkoma (note: four panel manga)! Mokona: He might just pay attention to not get his school uniform dirty. Ohkawa: Then, if Sakura was in Touya's place, she would just go like "Oh, I think I've heard a noise" Satsuki: "There's some rustling" Ohkawa: But I don't think Touya would try so desperately to hide it from her, like she did with him! 😁

Then, Ohkawa tried to bring the topic back to the theme of the day, Clear Card and the release of volume 16.

Ohkawa: it was the first time we happened to draw again for one of our series after almost 20 years. Of course there's been a change in the design, it was impossible for us to keep it the same. I'd be happy if you could enjoy nonetheless. Moreover, at the end of the story, the front and the back of all the Cards changed. We were able to show the back of the Cards when the special chapter was published on Nakayoshi, after the story was over, but as for the front of the Cards themselves, we have just shown a peek. Mokona: Right, and just a few of them. Ohkawa: Truth to be told, we have modified all of the Cards in their manga version. (to Mokona) It was hard, right? Mokona: Yes. Ohkawa: Mokona has rewritten all of their names, too. Because the design is different. Mokona: Yeah. I had colored them too. I thought I would die. Ohkawa: Nekoi and Satsuki worked really hard on them too. Despite that, the truth is we have no opportunity to show the new designs of all the Cards in their manga version! Mokona: It would be good if we could show somewhere the colored version of even just one Card... Nekoi: Since we worked so hard...

Many people in the "CLAMP Day" hashtag suggested for them to show them at the CLAMP exhibition of this summer. Then, back on the topic of volume 16:

Ohkawa: I know there might be people who won't think in that way about volume 16, and everything we're talking about might be a spoiler for others, but I personally think that both Sakura-chan and Syaoran-kun matured little by little during this last volume, and I'd be happy for you to see it. Eriol ended up being that kind of character, as usual... (note: she impersonated him saying something, but unfortunately I can't really understand that line) Mokona: Beside him, the "camera" of the story focused properly on all the other characters, including the Kinomoto family. Ohkawa: This is something I wanted to do since long time ago, but...Fujitaka himself didn't have any powers, and although he didn't understand very well what was going on, he trusted Sakura-chan and in the end told her something like "I knew you were going out of the house at night!" 😁 I'm really glad we could draw that scene for him. I've always wanted to portray at least once what the characters of the "parents generation" did inside the story, it's not like Fujitaka-san was spacing out in a corner oblivious to everything...and I'm glad I could portray that in the story. Satsuki: He's collected lots of suspicious books too, right? Ohkawa: Yes. There's something I asked my three colleagues to depict long time ago, and it's connected to what happens in the end. Akiho-chan in the end says something like "I want to aim for a job like this in the future!", but not only that, she also looks for rare books while travelling to many countries around the world. The first time I wanted to portray what kind of rare books she would be collecting was in a scene of long time ago, when the girls visit Fujitaka's library. I asked to please put an homage to Cthulhu over there. Mokona: It's true! Please look for it! If I remember correctly, they were some kind of grimoires that appear in the Cthulhu mythos. We have included them clearly so please everyone, have fun looking for them! Ohkawa: We have intended all of those as homages, so I'd be happy if you could look at them. (note: the chapter they're talking about is the 26th one)

Mokona: It looks like something terrible is going to come out at any moment from a corner of Dad's library....💦 Ohkawa: Yeah. But Fujitaka is like "any kind of book is welcome here!", even with books like those ones. Ohkawa: And then, there's the matter of the chocomint. There have been questions like "why do you keep bringing chocomint up?" before. Among CLAMP, the ones liking chocomint are Nekoi and Satsuki. Mokona, what about you? Mokona: I've recently started to be able to eat the chocomint ice cream from Häagen-Dazs. Ohkawa: You didn't really like it before, right? Mokona: Yes. People from the "chocomint side" will probably think it's pretty mild tasting, but...😅 Ohkawa: As for me, I can't really eat it. 😅But I feel like when a person you love eats it so eagerly, you can't help but wanting to try it too. That's the reason why we employed chocomint in the story. Maybe people who like chocomint will disagree with me, but to me it's quite a divisive kind of food, you either love it or hate it. Mokona: Its color is so overwhelmingly cute too. I always end up wishing to eat it. Ohkawa: Are you like "ugh! This was a mistake" or "well this is quite good" when you actually try it? Mokona: If I do my best, I can eat it till the end. Ohkawa: Well, we have Lilie, an older character appearing in the story, whose person she fell in love with started to like chocomint precisely because she likes it too. That's something that can happen too, right? Mokona: Indeed. For Syaoran it was the same. Ohkawa: Uhm, right, didn't Syaoran dislike it? Nekoi: Yes, but when he tried it he actually started to like it. Mokona: He could eat it because it was something Sakura made for him! Ohkawa: Isn't that amazing? Mokona: It is 🥰

After this, CLAMP started to read some messages from the fans, and also mentioned that the word "Sakura-chan" ended up trending on Twitter. Ohkawa: We have realized it today for the first time, but among our characters, Sakura-chan is the only one whose birthday is TRULY on April 1st! Satsuki: The double Sakura-chan, right? Ohkawa: Right. First of all, I'm not sure we can consider as a 'birth day' what happened to the existence of xxxHolic's Watanuki. Then we have the birthday of Tsubasa's Syaoran, which was decided deliberately by princess Sakura, so even in his case it's ambiguous. Another one is Seishirou from Tokyo Babylon, and in his case the birthday is a lie. So that leaves us basically with just Cardcaptor Sakura's Sakura and Tsubasa's Sakura as the only characters who are truly born on April 1st? Mokona: In the case of Sakura from Tsubasa, I wonder if we should consider her calendar the same as ours. Ohkawa: Ah, right!! Because she lives in another country, right? Mokona: And another world too.

After reading some more messages, Ohkawa said that she's very happy even just with fans of the old Clow Card and Sakura Card Arc loving the new arc too, but what makes her the happiest is to know there are people who have discovered the CCSakura series thanks to Clear Card Arc, and will keep treasuring it from now on. They also mused over the fact that they've been in activity as authors for more than half their lives and the time they've spent working together is far longer than the time they've lived at their parent's home. All four of them are extremely grateful for being able to do this artistic job as a creative group for such a long time.

Taking the opportunity of a fan mentioning the CLAMP Exhibition in July, Ohkawa gave a warm suggestion to try to visit the exhibition if possible, because judging by the current condition of their original artworks and the difficulties they're having moving them around, they don't think there is going to be another opportunity to do this again in the future. 💦

Then, a fan sent them a particular question: "Do you have plans for another arc of Sakura and Syaoran from CCS? Maybe about their wedding?" Ohkawa: Hum, in my idea it'd be best for everyone to imagine Sakura and Syaoran's wedding in their own hearts, but if there's the possibility of a continuation after the events of the last volume, we will certainly let you know.

The person asked about an xxxHolic continuation too, which of course Ohkawa re-confirmed (they're currently preparing everything to resume the serialization) and asked us to wait just a bit more for the announcement from the editorial team of Young Magazine!

After some more messages from the fans, CLAMP gave their final greetings on such an important day!

Nekoi: We only have you to thank for reaching this anniversary on this day. Thank you very much. (they all clap their hands) There will be lots of things to enjoy ahead, and I invite all of you to gaze at the pink color of Tokyo Tower. Ohkawa: It seems we'll be able to watch it from Youtube too, so please don't miss the chance. Satsuki: I want to thank everyone for your support. Just as Nekoi mentioned, we have plans for more things ahead, there's the return of xxxHolic too, and...I wonder if there'll be a new work too? Ohkawa: (laughs) Well, more than anything, there's the Clear Card anime adaptation too. I think it will take some more time but surely, without fail, the announcement from Kodansha will come, so please stay tuned. Mokona: This one volume marks the end of Sakura's story. (note: the term Mokona uses, 区切り, seems to not be a "definitive end", but rather seems to be indicating more a point of "break", a "delimitation", a "place to stop"; there's still a marked sense of "end" - whether it's just to an arc or the entire story is not clear, so I chose that translation but I wanted to point out the other nuances in the term). I am extremely grateful to everyone who watched over Sakura-chan's growth and even those who grew up along with her! We look forward to your continued support. Also, I would like to add something that is probably a bit off topic, but there are also some anime projects we have created character designs for. Ohkawa: Oh, right, of course!! That's very important. Mokona, I knew I could count on you, thanks for reminding me. Netflix announced the "The Grimm Variations" series, then Code Geass, which we've been making character designs for long time, will have a new series: "Rozé of the Recapture". Moreover, the new season of the Vanguard D anime series was announced too. Please watch those too. 🙏 And then, as a leader, this is my turn for the final greetings. I truly feel like you've been watching over us in many, many ways for the past 35 years. Whether you've liked us before and now you're taking your distance from us, or on the contrary you weren't interested in us before but now you're following us, please know all of you are still very precious to me. If you stopped reading our works, it's all right. I hope we can be reunited with you again one day through another work that you'd feel like you want to read. For the moment, I would like to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for all of your efforts, your strength and lots of energy that allowed us to carry Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Arc to the final act. I'm sure Tokyo Tower will shine with a bright pink color tonight! Please make sure to listen to our podcasts, and to other Spaces we'll open when we can. Thank you very much! ✨🙏

[levanterhaze]

✧ PAST LIVES WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ in a whirlwind of past lives, emotional turmoil, and unresolved history, follow the angsty love story between the chef Carmen Berzatto and a lost soul attempting to mend the fragments of their shattered past.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, just a little bit of fluff but not too much lol

→ 3kish

first chapter: the midas touch

Stepping into Carmen Berzatto's mind was like getting swept up in a lively dance of memories and traumas, a vibrant mix of anxiety, anger, and the poignant notes of grief.

In the whirlwind of working tirelessly and mulling over unspoken feelings, Carmen found his unique forte. Picture him slicing through onions, yet mentally transported to that fateful family dinner where everything unraveled. His hands shook, sweat lingered on his temples, and, ironically, an old faithful cigarette became his solace, a bittersweet affirmation that his lungs were indeed alive.

On the whole, revisiting the past was a vivid nightmare for Carmy, a realm he seldom painted with optimistic dreams. Yet, every so often, his mind would wander back to a face from days gone by, a time when life seemed more carefree and innocent, a canvas where he felt secure enough to unfurl his heart into something beautiful.

Did he yearn for that? It was a perpetual query whenever her image crossed his thoughts—the sweet, well-intentioned girl who appeared in his life like a gift from the cosmos, a surreal deity he deemed himself unworthy of.

Before the portrait of his life transformed into its current state, there was someone. Sweet, cozy smiles. Hands entwined like an unbroken melody. Glances as sugary as stolen kisses. Pledges of everlasting love whispered in the hush of the night. A dream. An obsession. Two hearts shattered like fractured stardust.

Now and then, Carmy pondered the whereabouts of the girl who once occupied a significant space in his heart—the muse of his first love. Nostalgia and melancholy clung to this initial foray into matters of the heart, an indelible mark like the lingering stain of aged wine—permanent, resilient, and unforgettable.

In those reflective moments, a palpable grudge gripped Carmy for breaking that girl's heart—a girl who poured everything into a relationship destined for the shadows. He sensed his own brokenness, juxtaposed with her radiant beauty. He avoided becoming something she could mend, thus choosing distance as his peculiar brand of self-preservation.

But what if...?

These three small words, weighty with possibility, haunted Carmy like an incessant rhythm.

He could have had it all. Or perhaps nothing. Or even the splendid paradox of both worlds colliding. Yet, in the grand tapestry of life, did it truly matter? Carmy had forged a path to his present, and the dreamy girl who lingered in his musings was surely distant enough to forget the whimsical boy who once broke her heart.

Anxiety unraveled the threads of Berzatto's faith, gradually fading like the waning embers of a once-robust fire.

Returning to Chicago, it felt like rediscovering the world anew.

What do you do when your dreams dissolve into echoes, vanishing in the blink of an eye? When every effort seems futile and never quite enough? The echoes linger in your mind, tears poised on the brink, waiting for the opportune moment to make their dramatic entrance.

Life in Los Angeles was meant to be simpler. You envisioned a dream, thinking everything would unfold seamlessly. Young and too naive to fathom the intricacies of the world. Pursuing an acting career in a world where vultures circled fresh talent felt like social suicide. You were never prepared, but for years, you tried relentlessly.

Exhaustion took hold—utter weariness. Voices echoed in your mind: too thin, too fat, perhaps she's passable, but not captivating enough, if only she had more curves, maybe she'd be more fuckable.

Nothing ever seemed enough, and you grew weary of the constant striving.

So, on a Thursday, the decision was made to return to Chicago. Leave the rented L.A apartment behind and embrace the small space that belonged to you. Driving back home, the air in Chicago felt oppressive. Breathing seemed challenging. The dense air, pregnant with memories and echoes of past lives, served as a stark reminder.

It's real. It's Chicago.

Coldness embraced the season, and the darkened apartment resembled a skeletal frame. Fragile white walls, devoid of adornments. It was just you and your ego, weathered by years of struggle.

Then, the need to shop emerged, a necessity to prevent impending insanity. The fridge echoed emptiness, much like your stomach. The nearby supermarket beckoned, and you welcomed the walk. A peculiar sensation enveloped you as you traversed the streets—a desire for recognition, yet a deeper hope for anonymity.

A passing gaze stirred anticipation, only to be met with moistened lips and your hastened steps. Later, as you gazed upon your reflection in the glass of the dairy section, self-loathing consumed you. Disdain for the red lipstick, its inadequacy on your lips. Disgust for the perfume that clung to you. A loathing gaze at your reflection, prompting the question: when would this cease?

Earphones encapsulated your ears, resonating with melancholic '80s tunes at a volume that drowned the outside world. Nearly ten at night, the door beside you opened, prompting a swift move to retrieve that damn cheese. In that fleeting second, blue eyes and a nose akin to Apollo's altered everything. Suddenly, you found yourself in a snug loft, surrounded by abundance, with a boy destined to shatter your heart.

A pause ensued. Earphones draped around your shoulders, seemingly programmed for such moments. Carmy's name hovered on your lips, yet you restrained it. There was an ordinariness, a professionalism in the way he scrutinized the products, evoking a suppressed urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was Berzatto.

"Carm?"

And as if, in some way, time had rewound a few years, Carmen feels something tug at his chest.

There you were. In the flesh.

The twin emeralds staring at you, as if you were something out of this world, suddenly felt like too much to bear. Looking at Carmy was like gazing at that boy you once fell for. Filled with dreams, ambitions, and fears.

You could be mistaken, but you swore you saw his lips move to the rhythm of the nickname: angel .

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're here," he says as if your presence is an impossibility, just a meter away.

"And you're here," a small smile graces your face.

"I-yeah, I’m here. Los Angeles?"

A failure , a shattered dream, a colossal disappointment .

But you simply shrugged, lips twisting into an upturn smile. That's when Carmy gives a hint of a grin.

It's really you.

"I'm sorry," but did he truly feel it?

The silence lingered uncomfortably, both of you staring at each other as if in a standoff. You smiled first, a beautiful smile he already knew. Carmy took a step forward.

"I wrote you an email. When... You know. I'm really sorry, Carm," your eyes sought traces in his outwardly weary expression. He glanced down, just for a few seconds, and nodded, shaking his head.

He didn't know what to say. And what could he do? His inbox was flooded with messages he probably would never read. And knowing there was one message among many, a message from you, made him hate himself even more.

"Are you living around here?"

"Down the next block," you bit your lip.

"I have a place," he suddenly says. "Actually, Mikey had this place, and you probably knew that, but I, after, uh... I'm with the restaurant. The Bear."

"The Bear," you repeat the name with such poise and affection that makes Carmy's heart almost leap from his chest.

"You should drop by if you like," he looks directly into your eyes, like an invitation. "I’d like to," and then, the longing.

You shared another moment of silence, just two familiar strangers trying to connect after years in the shadows. Carmy felt his own body slowing down a feeling that had been cold for a long time. Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this.

"Okay," was all you said.

Carmy slipped you a phone number, never hinting that it belonged to him.

A couple of weeks passed since that unexpected supermarket encounter, and a persistent sense of disappointment clung to your routine. Part of you understood. Maybe Carmy wasn't into revisiting the past, a ghost of what his life once held. You accepted that. Yet, he seemed well, on the surface at least. You figured, at the very least, you could be friends if the history still held some weight.

On the flip side, time has been kind in aiding your healing process. Unpacking boxes in the apartment felt like therapy for a mind that had weathered its fair share of storms. Some items were old enough to consider tossing, like clothes and forgotten books. Amidst these relics, something intriguing caught your eye.

Two sketchbooks. It had been ages since you held one, forgetting that you were once an artist. They were dusty, and as you opened them, a rush of emotions accompanied the doodles of a past version of yourself.

There was Millennium Park, scenic landscapes, a woman on a train, and countless pages filled with familiar green-eyed gazes. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing the depth of your feelings for Carmy.

So many sketches of him, capturing every detail—nose, eyes, hands, lips, his entire essence. Undoubtedly, he was your muse. A mix of drama and nostalgia coursed through you, and amidst the clutter, you decided to keep these memories of a former you.

And thoughts about Carmy? They remained.

One evening, you found yourself outside The Bear. No one seemed to notice you, but the lively atmosphere tempted you to step inside, maybe greet Carmy, and shoot him a teasing look for giving a number that didn't quite belong to him.

But you hesitate.

Chasing someone who clearly wasn't interested felt a bit degrading, and despite your annoyance with life's twists, you weren't willing to go that far.

As the days whisked by, the Berzattos kept popping up, serving as constant reminders. A chance meeting with Natalie at a cozy café unraveled, and she could hardly believe it was really you standing there. She hugged you warmly, apologizing for everything that had transpired between you and Carmy.

In the end, Carmy hadn't spilled the tea about your return to Chicago. And even though you pretended not to care about the opinion of your super-talented ex-boyfriend and chef, there was a subtle sting to your pride. You shared the thing about the supermarket encounter, the email, and the phone number.

Sugar was livid.

In The Bear's kitchen, Carmen's sister stormed furiously towards the office where her brother would likely be sorting out bureaucratic matters with Syd. With a hand on the door and furrowed brows, Natalie burst in like a typhoon.

"What is wrong with you?"

Sydney paused mid-motion, holding a notebook and pen in hand, her eyes shifting from Carmy to Sugar.

"Good morning to you too, Sug" he continued writing something in one of the notebooks, but Natalie had no patience for her brother at the moment.

"I’m not joking, Carmy.”

Finally, he looked at her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Angel ?"

Carmy froze in his tracks.

"What about Angel?"

"Sorry, is Angel a person or...?" Sydney seemed confused, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"You didn't even mention she was in town. And worse, you gave a fake number! What's your problem?"

"Sugar, can we discuss this later?" Carmy already had his hands over his face, sliding through his hair carelessly.

"No, we can't."

"Ooookay, I think that's my cue. Talk to you later, Chef."

And just like that, Sydney was far enough away for them to continue the unwanted argument.

"Care to explain yourself?" Natalie crossed her arms, leaning against one of the walls.

Carmy sighed, feeling defeated.

How could he convey his dark thoughts to his sister without leaving her extremely worried? How would he say that he felt dread at the prospect of something good and beautiful approaching his broken and confused life? How could he explain that sometimes feeling like a victim was safer than letting someone truly enter his life?

"I... Did you-did you see her?"

"Of course, and she seemed really disappointed, Carmy," Natalie poured out to her brother. "Why did you do that? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"No. Nothing. Angel... She's just... Too much, you know?" Carmy felt powerless, like an open wound. "She was part of a version that doesn't exist anymore, and I know it wouldn't work out. Seeing her is like... It just wouldn't work out, Sugar."

Natalie felt sorry for her brother. She knew Carmy, and despite being irritated, she knew he would have a justification.

"Oh, Carmy..." Sugar approached, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Even if you don't want any kind of involvement with her, apologize, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I know you will."

The phone rang three times before you answered.

Pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine, you settled in to enjoy one of your favorite TV series. It was a healing day, for sure. Just wine, television, take-out food, and your own company.

" Hello ?"

"Hm, angel ?"

Involuntarily, your heart did a somersault. Even though you knew who it was, you tried to tease Carmy. "Is this really your number, or is it just another lie you want to tell?"

"I'm sorry."

The time it took for his response was enough for you to sit on the sofa and savor the wine on your lips. "It's okay, Carmy."

"No, no. It's not okay. I’m a fuckin’ asshole."

"I guess, but I understand that you don't want someone from your past in your life, and... well, it was kind of a jerk move, but you don't owe me anything."

Things weren't going according to the script Carmy had planned in his mind.

His house was dark, only the bathroom light on, and the cold wind kissed his face in the dimness of the night. He was afraid that if he pulled his hair any harder, strands would come out in his hand. Anxiety was eating him alive, and the worst part was that he had made his own bed.

"That's not true. How can I make it up to you?"

You smiled to yourself, considering the possibilities. "For lying?"

"For being a fucking idiot, angel. Tell me."

Your sigh made Carmy's heart race. He expected you to yell and curse him with all the names he deserved. But your calmness was worse than he could imagine.

"I don't know, Carmy. You were the one who gave me a fake number. Maybe you have to figure that out."

"Sure, sure. I, uh, will think about it. By the way, Natalie gave me your number, so..."

"I figured."

"Are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon?"

"Maybe..." you toyed with the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Let's grab a coffee or something, yeah? I'll text you then."

"Okay. Goodnight, Berzatto."

Carmy was in the midst of deciding whether he regretted scheduling this coffee.

Strolling through the chilly streets of Chicago, he had the unruly companion in his hands and the smoke flooding his lungs. With every step, it felt like he was ready to take three steps back. As if little devils were rolling dice in the game and angels were rolling their eyes.

He was about to flick the cigarette away when he saw you. And damn , you looked like a mirage.

The face sculpted by angels, the sweetness and wildness in the gaze that only he could recognize. And that red lipstick... He'd be damned to hell.

Approaching, he stamped out the cigarette and watched your face light up. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Berzatto. You showed up."

"We made plans."

"Yeah, that’s why I was worried." and again, the calmness was like a stab in his chest.

During the walk to the coffee shop, Carmy and you talked about life's nonsense and how things seem different now.

"How’s Chicago treating ya?"

" Ugh . It's hard to find something to do in this city. I mean, after I went to Los Angeles, I really thought chasing dreams was something special. You can't imagine my reaction when I found out I wasn't the only one," you smiled to yourself, holding the coffee cup. "I feel like a failure. An imposter."

"Why?" Carmy looked at you and clenched his own fist, tempted to touch you.

"Throughout all the years I spent in L.A, I realized that my dream was getting farther away every day. And every day..." you glanced at him briefly. "Every day, I wished to have my old life back, y’know? Simpler times."

"I understand."

Of course, Carmy understood. He had been through hell on earth to be where he is now, but there was a certain innocence and delicacy in the past that he couldn't leave behind. A moment in his life in which you were also a part.

"The greatest chef Carmen Berzatto sympathizes with the story of a fake rising star?"

And as if it were scripted, Carmy and you stopped in the middle of the avenue, connecting in an inexplicable way.

"You'd be surprised."

And amidst random conversations and reminiscing about people from the past and times that certainly wouldn't return, the night appeared as a pleasant surprise, and you found yourselves again in the block where you had met, in front of The Bear.

"Well, I guess that's it," you said, still trying to stifle the laughter because somehow, Carmy Berzatto could draw some laughs out of you. "Thanks for the coffee and the walk, Berzatto."

The strange silence filled the night air, condensing your breaths.

But at that point, Carmy felt good, so good that his mind had given him a respite.

Without hugs and touches, you awkwardly said goodbye and went your way. "Actually..." Carmy made you stop in your tracks. "I'm kinda starving, and uh, if you want to come in, I-I can whip up something quick. If you want."

Your smile made Carmy feel at home. "Sure."

You didn't understand much, but watching Carmen Berzatto move through the kitchen of his own restaurant was like witnessing art come to life.

Everything was so clean and empty. There was a large counter where you sat, just observing the magic unfold. Seeing him like that brought back memories you weren't sure if you should remember.

There were nights when Carmy experimented with new recipes, and you both spent the night in the kitchen—him as the chef, of course, and you merely assisting, grabbing an ingredient here and there. Even when he claimed it looked like shit , you would kiss him and say it was great, that he was talented. To you, Carmy was Midas.

Watching him from behind, you couldn't help but notice the tattoos and how his muscular and oh-so-masculine arm moved swiftly to stir the contents in the pan. You lowered your head, thinking you might be seeing too much. You knew nothing about Carmy's love life; it was a topic you avoided all afternoon, like a minefield—not safe yet.

"Here." Carmy crossed the small space to the counter, holding a spoon and a coppery liquid close to your face. "Try it."

You almost choked on your saliva but kept your composure as his large, sparkling emerald eyes met yours. You opened your lips slowly, waiting for him to place the spoon in your mouth. Carmy didn't know exactly how much time passed, lost in your lips—inviting, scarlet, as soft as velvet—and your sinless eyes. It was somehow sensual and intimate that he could die. As the taste hit your palate, it was like an explosion of flavors: honey, orange, citrusy, and sweet all at once.

He stood there, waiting for a reaction.

"So good." Your eyes were locked onto Carmy's, and all he knew was your lips, dangerously close, making his heart beat irregularly.

"Yeah?" He approached meticulously, you noticed.

"Yeah."

You weren't sure what you were doing. Carmy wasn't either.

Submerged in a world already known in aquamarine, you felt your heart beat faster. His hand touched the side of your thigh, and that little touch of skin-on-skin made your body burn. Not a common burn. Burning for Carmy. For something you once had.

And this was the worst way to burn.

"Bear," you breathed. He was so near, my God, you could sense the nicotine and cologne, the distinctive essence of that man before you. If you extended your fingers, you could brush against his face, yet you refrained.

The endearing pet name left Carmy suspended. What in the world did he believe he was doing?

Inviting you for coffee after being a colossal dipshit, thinking that cooking a meal could mend the bygone years? Believing that crafting a repast would reconstruct the past and heal the heart he once left broken?

"I’m sorry," Carmy retreated, his hands gracing his temples, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and traversing his entire countenance. "I-I don't know, uh, what I was doing."

"Carmy."

"No. I-I'll serve the dishes, and I hope it doesn't taste like shit." He moved with celerity, evading the recent occurrence. His finesse was so adept that you began questioning yourself.

He initiated the retrieval of plates, the sonorous clink of crockery harmonizing with the cascade of hex he cast into the ether. You descended from the counter, advancing towards him, heart racing, and mind more befuddled than ever. Was this the intended outcome, after all?

"Carmy!" you implored, as if your words were echoes unheard. He appeared agitated, fervently seeking something you couldn't fathom.

"Where the fuck’s that shit? I swear to fucking God, all these fucking assholes stresses the fuck out of me. They come here, cook, and leave everything a fucking mess, and I can't even find the FUCKING WINE CORK!"

Carmy's metamorphosis when angered was perturbing. His visage flushed crimson, veins on the brink of eruption, and words discharged without restraint.

"It's okay!"

"No, fuck that shit!" he forcefully disengaged as you tried to soothe him. Carmy leaned against the stove, trembling hands and bowed head. It was too much. It was enough. "You should leave."

"What?" You could hardly believe it. Humor was almost slipping off your tongue, but the way his muscles moved under the white T-shirt, and how he didn't even look at you, said it all.

"Just fucking go, alright?"

You yearned for a day when clouds were as ethereal as cotton and the sun gleamed unprecedentedly, perhaps a day when Carmy Berzatto's enigma unraveled. Until that day materialized, you’d simply leave. You seized your coat and left.

Berzatto’s downfall was knowing that this was the pattern.

No matter how many attempts he made, worthiness eluded him. Each time, he became the architect of your heartbreak, irrespective of the circumstance.

It was his eternal condemnation.

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part II

This article is the continuation of a previous post.

Any comprehensive history of 20th century Hong Kong is not complete without a chapter entirely dedicated to the architectural and urban planning puzzle that was Kowloon Walled City. Quite unlike any other slum in Asia or elsewhere in the world, the extreme conditions under which its inhabitants lived captured the attention of various international journalists and photographers whose reports of this accidental labyrinth, in turn, inspired some of the most remarkable artistic explorations of our time. In this regard, video games did not remain impervious to the powerfully stimulative imagery, as much a reference today as it was when its hardened concrete walls still stood tall.

Kowloon's Gate Suzaku VR - Jetman - 2017

Kowloon's Gate made a most unexpected comeback twenty years after the original episode via the crowdfunded VR project Suzaku developed by Jetman, a studio founded by and composed almost exclusively of ex-SME/Zeque staff. While it is not the remaster many had hoped for, essentially consisting of a walking simulation through some redesigned locations from the original, it does a commendable job in faithfully replicating its instantly recognizable, light-starved alleyways in competent high-definition. It is also the only VR-compatible entry from this list, granting it a degree of uniqueness over its counterparts.

Stranglehold - Midway/Tiger Hill Productions - 2007

Stranglehold is the result of a collaboration with Hong Kong movie director John Woo, developed as a direct sequel to his heroic bloodshed classic Hard Boiled, featuring Chow Yun-fat in the role of detective 'Tequilla' Yuen in his unending confrontations with organized crime. One of the game's most unforgettable levels, Slums of Kowloon, takes place during a particularly rainy day, seemingly in those last days when the zone had been emptied of residents and demolition work was well underway. The visual representation of the quarter is suitably evocative, its buildings in complete state of disrepair, the remnants of local businesses or places of prayer still discernible from under the piles of steel and cement rubble.

Resident Evil 6 - Capcom - 2012

For all its shortcomings, Resident Evil 6 partly succeeds in taking the first two episodes' concept of parallel storylines and realizing it to a much fuller extent. Its choice of different characters translates into entirely different campaigns, locations and playing styles. The very first scene in Chris/Piers' campaign occurs in the fictional Chinese city of Lanshiang, modelled after real-life Hong Kong. The mayhem in the main streets forces the player to take a detour into a location named Poisawan, which bears a striking resemblance to the Kowloon district. Though an unofficial representation, it is among the most skilled replications of the scenery we find in the vast photographic repository of the area. The degree of minutiae with which the district's haphazard electric installation is replicated, alone, suffices to demonstrate a true commitment to authenticity.

Paranormal HK - Ghostpie Studio - 2020

Few would dispute that Kowloon is, itself, naturally conducive to sentiments of dread and anxiety. Paranormal HK is a 2020 made in China production reviving the defunct neighbourhood in a gripping, blood-curdling contemporary ghost story. The player is the cameraman of a paranormal-themed TV show exploring the zone during the evening of the Zhongyuan festival, a scheme suspiciously akin to that of Akira Ueda's 2004 game, Michigan: Report From Hell. As a result of the thorough research work performed by its creators, as well as the impeccable usage of contemporary 3D graphics techniques to achieve accurate lighting conditions, players may momentarily experience the feeling of walking into a photo of the actual city as it existed in the mid eighties.

Sifu - Sloclap - 2022

Notwithstanding of its renaissance during the 128-Bit era, the beat 'em up genre is commonly associated with the arcade games of the late 80s and 90s, the period of time when it flourished and, arguably, reached its zenith. The simplicity of controls and ease of access sufficed to attract players to the arcade cabinet, while the frequently extreme levels of difficulty of advanced levels ensured a steady flow of cash for arcade room owners and game development companies alike. Nevertheless, the genre has but perished and, in many aspects, recent years have indeed elevated it to unforeseeable degrees of complexity. Sifu, by Sloclap, synthesizes the elation of digital hand to hand combat simulation with the real-life complexity of mastering a martial art.

As is the case of previous entries in this list, Sifu makes no admitted reference to Kowloon or Hong Kong. However, the designers left little to the imagination in what pertains to their inspirations when taking on the task of constructing the game's environments. Another notable coincidence stems from the fact that this production was made possibly with the support from a celebrated independent game funding group going by the name Kowloon Nights.

Stray - BlueTwelve Studio - 2022

Stray is one of the most revered independent video games in recent memory, and justifiably so. The long development process yielded many benefits, judging from the consistency and attention to detail that engrossed many an avid player. That the main character is singularly charming feline may have played an equally crucial role. The creators have made no effort to conceal the fact that the notorious Hong Kong district was a pivotal influence to the design of its nameless city. The first indication can be spotted in the game's earliest footage, in which a black cat traverses a street where a particularly conspicuous sign boasted the initials HK. Stray is less concerned with presenting a precise replica of Kowloon than it is about summoning the very essence of its atmosphere. Moreover, in an exquisitely poignant way, its ending lends an entirely new meaning to the term walled city. In the future, robots may well take the place of humans. Invariably, the Walled City is no more. Slitterhead - Bokeh Game Studio - Work in Progress

An sequence of unconscionable mistakes from the part of Sony Computer Entertainment's management galvanized Keiichiro Toyama to part ways with Japan Studio, as it once was, and establish his own game production label. Their debut title, Slitterhead, is described as a grotesque survival horror experience, a genre within which the author moves with matchless ease. Among the few certainties regarding this project is the fact that it will take place prominently - if not exclusively - within the Kowloon City province. A wide variety of aspects included in the preview footage leave the viewer optimistic as to this being one of the most accomplished portrayals of the district ever seen in a video game. Subtle yet telling signs already demonstrate the creator's in-depth knowledge of the quarter's architecture and history. Take, for instance, the suggestive image of the airplane flying mere meters above the top of the buildings. Although the growth of Kowloon was for the most part ungoverned, buildings did not rise above a certain height, even as inhabitants claimed for increased availability of space. This is due to the fact that airplanes landing at the nearby airport would be required to make their descent at relatively low altitude, performing a tight curve as they soared just above the enclave, thus preventing construction from expanding upwards. Another scene shows a child playing on the rooftops of the buildings, which once again is consistent with the documented habits of residents who, starved for sunlight and open space elsewhere within the city limits, had little alternative than to take the stairs all the way to the top.

Warehouse Kawasaki Arcade

I would be remiss not to make some form of allusion to Warehouse Kawasaki, an arcade built to replicate the Walled City with unthinkable detail. Though its ultimate purpose was for visitors to engage in digital entertainment, the venue was scrupulously put together. Point in fact, many of the objects used in the construction of the five floor amusement centre were imported directly from Hong Kong. Like so many other Japanese arcades, it closed its doors in 2019.

In recent years, a rather similar initiative was taken by the Chinese in their attempts to build unique mall spaces. The 文和友 malls in mainland China, found in Changsha, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, attempt to reproduce the walled city aesthetic. Local residents inform me that these are increasingly lacking in foot traffic, for which reason the majority of their stores are closed. Other digital replicas of Kowloon

A number of other videogames set in or deriving inspiration from Kowloon could not be featured in this article. A frequently cited reference in this context is the action/adventure game Fear Effect, one which I emphatically dispute. No doubt remains as to it being located in a futuristic version of Hong Kong, yet I could discern no parallels with the walled city, save for those scattered second-hand visual motifs that were no doubt imported from sci-fi classics such as Blade Runner or Ghost in the Shell.

The Utelek Complex stage of Deus Ex: Makind Divided presents a similar situation, where the overall atmosphere of the futuristic favela bears some resemblance to Kowloon, without meeting the specificity quota that would warrant a more comprehensive exploration.

The 2004 Shout! original Kowloon High-School Chronicle for the PS2 is a unique case, in that it borrows the city's name despite taking place in a massive, Tokyo underground dungeon that is later revealed to be a maze-like Egyptian pyramid. The odd choice of title remains unclear. Shadowrun: Hong Kong game (screenshot above) contains a very direct mention of Kowloon as the place in which an entire episode comes to pass. Another project still in development, Kowloon's Curse (screenshot below), is following the lead of many popular independent horror games in recent memory by using a visual design and structure that elicits memories of the late Playstation/early Dreamcast era. A short prequel episode was made available earlier this year, for free.

Additionally, I refrained from mentioning the Kowloon maps in Call of Duty: Black Ops or Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, as I perceive both games to be insufficiently relevant to merit study or contemplation.

A space that refuses to be forgotten

(China rooftop stage from The King of Fighters 2003)

It would be a gross overstatement to claim that Kowloon is a recurring location or level design motif in videogames. The relationship between digital games and the real life ghetto has been one of sporadic references. What makes the subject so engrossing pertains to the quality of the relationship, particularly that of a small cadre from among the titles featured in this article. Kowloon's Gate was one of the most relevant game creations of the 32-Bit era, a game deserving of reverence and cult following inside and outside Japan. Likewise, Shenmue II is the second instalment of a truly ground-breaking and highly advertised series whose production costs alone were unmatched until quite recently.

Moreover, this is an affair that is far from concluded. The unexpectedly high number of allusions to Kowloon in videogames released or revealed just last yet demonstrates that its aesthetic is still very much present in the minds and hearts of artists and designers working in the field. The walled city lives on as a digital demarcation that is certain to resurface time and again in years to come.

[amberlynnmurdock]

Blind Faith (Ch. 15)

Chapter Fifteen: Sunday

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You and Matt wake up on Sunday and talk about what's happened and where to go next.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, unprotected sex.

A/N: Thank you all for being here since I started this fic in July. This has been my favorite Matt Murdock fic I've written because of the time and planning I put into it. If you've left a like, or reblog, or a comment on here, THANK YOU. It means the world to me to write fanfic and share it with people who want to read <3 Here is the final chapter of Blind Faith. I hope you like it!

Ao3 Link

Hell’s Kitchen

You stayed with Matt the whole weekend, and the whole weekend seemed to go by just as fast as it had come. One moment, you’re on your way to a date. The next, you’re blacked out and waking up in your savior’s apartment which actually turned out to be your boss’. Yeah, you could say you’ve had a long weekend. 

Your body felt fully recovered from the drug’s side effects, but it was your mind that still needed healing. Despite being saved from that terrible nightmare, you now were taking what you experienced with you everywhere. If it wasn’t you who poured a drink, you wouldn’t have it. 

Sunday. 

Bright and dry. Unlike the previous day’s weather of wet, stormy, and dark. 

And of course, the breaking news on Saturday morning. 

You didn’t want to spend more time than you needed to on him, but when you saw the breaking news flash across WHIH’s channel, your heart dropped. Zack was found by police and arrested for illegal drug possession. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him since the start of that dreadful night, so to see the footage of him knocked unconscious and bloody, tied to his dining room table, you froze. As soon as the image came on, Matt shut the TV off. 

Now, Sunday, you lay in Matt’s bed, with Matt beside you. Sunlight shone through his windows and onto the bed, lighting up the bottom half. You stretched under his silk blankets. 

Your legs felt sore from all the sex you had with Matt, which was going to be quite unforgettable once you’ve left. You looked around his living room through the half-opened sliding door and put it to memory: the brown, ratty leather couch. A mismatched dark blue chair. A light gray patterned rug. The brick walls. This bedroom that you’ve committed to memory of how soft his silk sheets felt on your skin just as you’ve committed to memory of the way he kissed your entire body.

You felt your heart flutter at the memory of Matt pulling you roughly against his body the night before. His hands tangled in your hair and pulled gently for his lips to find their way to your neck. Matthew, whispering in your ear that he’s wanted this for so long—he’s wanted you for so long. 

And there he was, doing it all over again. 

“Come here,” he murmurs half asleep, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. 

He didn’t leave your side once this weekend, and you didn’t want him to. Mostly because you weren’t sure if you’d ever have another weekend like this. A weekend with him. Being with him in general. 

It was a question the two of you were avoiding after that first night: where do we go from here? 

You’ve certainly spent most of the time thinking of this. And you were afraid too much had happened for you and Matt to take things any further. But you haven’t said this to him…because you thought you wouldn’t be able to get the words out. 

You’re damn near close to tears even thinking of it. And you know Matt can sense them in the air. He doesn’t ask you why you’re crying. He just pulls you even closer to his chest and kisses your head. He brushes his fingers through your hair. And you want him, just one more time. Once more, before Sunday is over. 

Matt slowly drags his fingers down your back, slipping under the blanket. He traces over your ass and presses one finger on your wet pussy, a way to ask permission.

You nod your head against his chest, gripping his shoulders. 

Matt gently pushes a finger inside your velvety wetness, feeling your pussy tighten around his finger. He pushes deeper inside you, wiggling his finger to find your sweet spot. He knows he found it when you squirm in the bed and shudder against him. 

“One more time,” you whisper.

You’ve wrapped your legs around Matt’s waist and straddled him in one swift movement. The silk blanket slips off your body, exposing yourself in front of Matt again. 

Matt gasps as he feels your wetness coat his lower abdomen, not quite where he needs you most. His cock is swollen hard under the sheets, and he can hear his own heart beating hard in his chest. You lower your face and kiss him deeply, letting his tongue enter your mouth and lick your teeth. He places a hand on your neck and you place yours on top of his, encouraging him to squeeze lightly, and he does. You move the same hand over your right breast, and he feels how hard your nipple is against his palm. He moves his hand in a kneading motion.

Matt can feel and smell your wetness in the air, it makes him feel an intense need in his chest. You slowly inch your way down and rub your soft pussy over the length of his hard cock. Matt rocks against you and grabs a fistful of your hair, gently tugging. 

You reach for his cock and line it with your pussy. Bracing yourself for the pain, you slowly inch down the length of him, feeling his size stretch your tight pussy until you were completely wrapped around him. You feel full and feel a familiar tightness in the pit of your stomach. 

“Oh, God,” you whine as you feel Matt’s cock fully inside you. You begin to rock back and forth on his cock, the more you do, the more you need to feel him all around, like an itch needing a desperate scratch. Matt bucks his hips up into you, bucks his cock hard into your pussy, feeling you clench his hardness. 

“You feel like heaven,” Matt breathes out, letting you bounce on his cock fast and then slow. You slowly lift your pussy off before coming back down hard and feeling the tip of his cock touch that spot deep inside you. And you keep doing it again, and again, and again, bouncing as much as you need to feel him. 

“Mm,” you moan feeling your pussy clench tightly around Matt’s cock. You tilt your body backward and Matt reaches his hands to cover your breasts. He kneads them and bucks his hips into you, pushing his cock deeper. 

“That’s it,” Matt says in a guttural voice. 

He knows you’re about to come by the way you’re moaning and breathing so fast, so fast he almost doesn’t hear you asking him to come inside you again. 

“Matthew,” you say breathlessly as you keep bouncing on his cock. 

Matt places his hands on your waist and rocks you back and forth on his cock for you, as you’re losing pace from going too fast. You come all over his cock and moan so lightly, it causes Matt to finish at the same time, filling you with his hot come, and feeling it gush inside your pussy. He holds you still as he feels his cock pump come one, two, three, four times so deep, you shiver and fall against his chest. 

“God,” Matt moans against your ear, feeling your pussy squeeze his cock for one last drop inside you. It feels so good to come in you, to feel that tightness in the pit of your stomach, to feel Matt’s warmth fill you. It leaks out a lot, you spread your legs and feel Matt slide out of you and the familiar empty feeling of his size leaving you. You practically collapse on the bed again and watch as Matt finds a towel to clean you with. 

You’re shivering in the bed from your orgasm, and Matt takes no time in holding you against him again, as you come down from your high. 

“Was this all a good idea?” You find yourself asking breathlessly against his pillow. Matt’s next to you, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“What?” 

“What we just did.”

“You mean, what we’ve been doing all weekend?” He smirks. You want to wipe it off, but you feel a shiver down your spine as you imagine him covered with a black mask. It was still strange that it was him. 

“Yes,” you say. You’ve come to peace with Matt being your savior, but you weren’t sure it was something you could live with. Perhaps, now was the time to ask Matt: where do we go from here?

“Doesn’t seem like it was necessarily a bad idea,” Matt says lowly, referring to your wetness. You move to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have found out what we would miss,” you simply say. 

Matt’s gaze moves to you, his brows furrowed. He reaches over to caress your chin, to guide you to look at him. 

“What do you mean?” He asks. But deep down, Matt knows exactly what you mean. 

“Tomorrow is Monday, Matthew,” you state plainly. “Tell me, do Karen and Foggy know you’re Daredevil?”

“Yes,” he answers. 

“Do they know I didn’t know?”

After a small pause, he nods. “Yes.” 

“How in the world do you expect me to walk into work tomorrow after a weekend like this? After they find out about us?”

“They won't think of you differently,” he shakes his head. “They’ll think of me differently.” 

“Matt,” you bite your lip, looking at his hazel-brown eyes. There was a time you were dying to know what his eyes looked like behind those dark red glasses. There was a time you were dying to know who he was behind that mask. “Think about what’s happened—what I’ve been through. We’ve been having this affair since the beginning of summer. We didn’t talk for a month, except at work, before I knew you were you. Friday, I was drugged and you saved me.” 

Matt clenches his jaw at the memory of Friday night. It makes him want to bring you closer to him again. But he doesn’t. 

“Then, I find out the man I’ve been seeing in secret was right under my nose all along,” you explain. “This is a lot for me. I can’t just pack it up and move on,” you reach over and gently run your fingers along his jawline, because this may be the last time you’ll ever be this close to Matt Murdock. 

“So what does that mean for us?” Matt asks, although he knows the answer inside. 

“It means, after today, that’s it. I’m going to resign from Nelson & Murdock tomorrow. I’ll write Foggy and Karen a letter and say—“

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll tell them.”

“They should hear from me,” you gently argue. 

“They will. But I will tell them everything.”

“Okay,” you sighed, “that saves me the awkward part of telling them I’ve been hooking up with you.” 

Matt smiles a little, but it quickly fades as your words echo in his ears. After today, that’s it. 

“Is it really over?” Matt asks. “After I finally reveal myself and we have this weekend, that’s it?” 

“Think about what it took for you to finally reveal yourself, Matt,” you whisper. “Look at how we ended up here.” 

As much as it pained him, it was true. What right did he have, after everything he’s put you through? 

“Okay,” he nodded. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not that I want this to be the end,” you said in frustration, wishing he would understand what you were trying to say. “You’re all I’ve wanted this entire time.” You covered your face with your hands, feeling tears brimming your eyes. Why did it have to hurt so much, to make a tough decision like this? 

“I just—I don’t have the same faith I once did before,” you cry softly. “And I want you so bad. I want more weekends like this, I want to be with you, but—“ 

“Too much has happened,” Matt finishes your sentence, trying to remain composed. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay.” 

“Then why am I still crying? Why does it feel like this?” You wipe your tears away and look around his room again—your safe haven for the weekend. You didn’t want to go. 

“Because what I did to you wasn’t fair,” Matt says softly. “I ruined what could’ve been for us. I have to live with that. Not you,” Matt reaches over and places his hand on your cheek, urging you to look at him. He wipes a tear away with his thumb, caressing your cheek. “Not you.” 

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

After your conversation, the two of you lay in his bed for a few more hours until you decided the longer you stayed, the harder the goodbye would be. You took a shower in his apartment and changed into the clothes his nurse friend left for you. When you finally gathered your things, Matt was waiting quietly on his couch.

“Ready?” He asks. 

“You don’t have to take me home, Matt,” you said, sucking in your tears. “I think it’s best I get a cab.”

“I want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

“I will,” you promised. “Please, Matt. Don’t make this harder for me.” 

Matt nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Let me walk you to the door, then.”

You wanted to smile at his attempts, but it only hurt your heart even more. With every step to his door, you slowed down your pace. Just as you reached for the knob, Matt did too, and your hands touched for a brief moment before Matt is taking your hand and gently pushing you against his wall. 

You close your eyes and let him do what he wants, because you want this, too. He leans down and gently presses his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching. Matt’s strong hands are on either side of your waist, and you’re taken back to all those times he’s held you on your roof, under a black mask. His lips ghost over yours, and it takes you to gently nudge him for him to fully press his lips onto yours. 

Matt holds you still as he kisses you deeply, more deeply than he ever has before. He takes this moment to remember your scent, your heartbeat, your breathing because he’s not sure when he’ll be able to be around you again. This is all he has to remember you. This moment that having blind faith has led him to—both of you. He kisses you again and holds your face in his hands. He pulls back to kiss your jaw, to kiss behind your ear, to kiss your neck. Matt will never forgive himself for this. 

“I love you,” you whisper. “I have to go.” 

“I lied to you, that one night,” Matt says with pain in his voice. “I do love. I love you. And I don’t want you to leave. But if it means anything, it’s the most intense feeling I’ll ever have to hold on to be left by you.” 

And with one last kiss, you’re out the door, out of his apartment, out of his life for a long, long time. 

When he hears you get inside a cab, Matt charges up his phone that’s been out of battery the entire weekend and calls Foggy to tell him everything that’s happened. 

TAGS: @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynnn  @mattmurdocksstarlight @marvelcinematiquniverse @hailey-murdock @yeonalie (please let me know if I missed you!)

P.S. There will be an epilogue!

[harleehazbinfics]

Dear Baby, Chapter 7

Dear Baby, m.list | Author's Profile

WARNING: dialogue of previous sexual and emotional abuse in the first part, read at your discretion! Word Count: 1.1k

Hours before daybreak you find yourself staring at ceiling that was painted beautifully of a garden and an apple tree in the middle. This left a bitter taste in your mouth.

‘Stupid. Why’d you even fall for him. He’s a married man. Just because he helped you, made you feel included, fed you, gave you work… ok this is not helping my case. But the point is, you shouldn’t have done that,’ you thought as you imagined a man with wings and a woman in that garden painting, ‘No matter how complicated his relationship with his wife is… and/or how skilled he may be with his tongue BUT—'

Delving deeper into your head, you recall moments from years ago.

‘Bring that one to my room tonight. Bathe her and dress her up nicely, it’ll be our first night together. Let’s hope she doesn’t disappoint like all the rest did.’

��Haah, hahh. For a lowly baron’s daughter, you are quite an exquisite delicacy. You belong to me from now on, and you will serve me from a very long time.’

‘Worthless thing. You dare be haughty? Respond when you are spoken to, I’d hate to see lashes on my new favorite plaything.’

‘It hurts? You deserve to be punished. You gaze and talk with another man behind my back? Ungrateful wench, you belong to me!’

Then you remember screaming for him to stop, grappling at anything to get away from him. Only to stop and fall into submission as your tired and abused body caused you to feel numb all over.

You sit up abruptly heaving deep breaths, desperately shaking off your thoughts. Your hand falls to your stomach, slowly calming you down.

“My darling, you must promise me. No matter what happened, you must know that I love you very much. You are never a mistake. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and nothing will ever change that,” you whisper while you rubbed your bump.

With one final sigh, you got up off the bed prepared for the day. Today you felt like you were going on autopilot. You’d eat silently, work mechanically, and losing focus a few times causing you to sigh at your 3rd mistake today.

You press the pen down and rubbed your dominant hand as you leaned back against your chair. Feeling the exhaustion creep into your bones from waking up so early. You’re startled to see Lucifer put his hand on your forehead.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem to have a fever, that’s good,” he says in relief.

You blush at the sudden action and hold your forehead when he took his hand away and turn to the side trying to hide your blush.

It was just a couple days after you exchanged your feeling with one another and that very pleasure filled night. Of course, the both of you never got too far with your pregnancy and all. Nonetheless, it was truly an unforgettable experience. So unforgettable, in fact, that you felt hot between your thighs, and you couldn’t help but squirm remembering how his hands, lips and tongue roamed your body.

You blush deeply as your hair puffed up while you replied, “No, I’m just tired is all. I didn’t have a good rest last night unfortunately.”

He looks at you worriedly and says, “Well, you can stop working for today. You can come back once you’re feeling better.”

You gave him a strained smile and thanked him. When you got up to walk back to your room, your legs suddenly gave out. Lucifer, with his fast reflexes, caught you in his arms, his hands careful around your bump. Your hands on his chest looking at him in surprise while his was filled with worry.

Both your eyes flitted between each other’s eyes and lips. You caught a chaste kiss with him until you finally got a hold of yourself and pushed against his chest to stand up properly.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter awkwardly.

“You should be more careful,” he replies in the same tone and carefully removing his hands off your waist with a cough.

“Would you—” he then coughs again to clear his throat before continuing, “Would you like to come with me? Later? I want to show you something. I-if you’re not up to it, it’s fine you should rest as much as possible.”

You watch as he cutely stammers between his words with his hand on his nape with an anxious look in his face making you giggle.

“Of course. I’d be honored,” you reply making him blush wildly.

--

“I need you to keep your eyes closed.”

“Well, you’re making me nervous.”

“It’ll be worthwhile. I promise,” he assures looking at you meaningfully.

He escorted you to, what you assumed to be, the middle of the room when he stopped you and unveiled your covered eyes. What you saw astounded you. You were inside a darkened dome with projections of stars and planets that illuminated the walls and ceilings.

“This is beautiful! How did you—?” you ask, turning behind me to look at him shocked and in awe of the stunning view.

He pulls his hands behind his back and shakes them with glittery dust spewing from them and gives me a mischievous smile before replying, “Magic~”

You couldn’t help but give a chirping laugh and thank him for his gift.

He coughs and steps in front of me. “I have one more thing to show you.”

You give a smile and say, “I wonder what could top this off,”

He gives you a scroll with a decorative ribbon wrapped around the middle of it. You quirk your brow and open it.

‘MUTUAL PETITION OF DIVORCE’

Wide eyes dart back to his and mutter, “What?”

He takes a step closer to you and answers, “I went and asked for a divorce with Lilith. She seemed fine with it and signed it without much thought. But I got this to show you, how much you mean to me and how I want to be part of your life—” he pauses and gently taps your stomach, “your lives.”

You couldn’t help the tears spilling from your eyes. You were incredibly moved from his words and actions that you couldn’t hold back your sob, he worriedly wipes away your tears and holds your hand.

“You cry so easily,” he whispers with a small laugh before kissing your eyes.

After doing so, he raises his eyes and looks up at your and asks cautiously as to not ruin the atmosphere, “So… would you like to let me be the male character in your book?”

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes before nodding your head. He excitedly squeals and peppers your face with kisses, careful as he does so. You giggle at his feathery kisses and try to pry him away from you because of how ticklish you were.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I swear,” he promises as he nuzzles into you.

↪ Dear Baby, Taglist:

@wonderlandangelsposts @spoiled-slutt @roboticsuccubus83 @simbalioness @reachthestars @atlas-rings @luc1fersducky @condy-wants-a-cookie @lovestruck-enby @azullynxx @delightedtosee @beansluvsmilo @cherry-4200 @aria-tempest @lvstyangel @0strawberrysorbet0 @corvid007 @enby-goblin @whydosnakesnotdance @willow404 @psychoanalyze0 @sweetadonisbutbetter @hahalame @manachpo @dionysusismypatrongod @obessivlyonline @idkwhy5000 @gabile18 @bontensbabygirl @rocketxgirl @pastelpinkhobbies @theblueslytherin @purplerose291 @galaxyreader260 @dove @dang-arthurus @sappire904 @user0715991108

[italeteller]

Well, it's officially My Herover

What a god damn bummer

I remember starting the series, feeling not quite satisfied with the MCU at the time and loving Izuku and All Might and the way the series didn't take long to put Bakugo's ego in check

Then the sports festival arc blew everything out the water. Deku's resourcefulness during the obstable race, the cavalry team battle, Bakugo vs Uraraka, my boy Shinso, and the unforgettable Deku vs Todoroki really made me feel like this was a mangaka who could make an excellent story with any character, no matter how little screentime they'd had before

The Stain arc wasn't quite as impactful as the sports festival, but it did wonders for Deku, Iida and Todoroki's growth, and Uraraka's martial arts training was a welcome surprise

The training camp was Deku's finest moment. I don't care what anybody says, "My Hero" is the greatest Izuku chapter and both the manga and anime did magic with it

And then came the peak of the series, though we wouldn't know it for years. All Might vs All for One. I remember being stressed out of my mind that All Might would die, and happy beyond belief when he survived

But then cracks started appearing. The eight precepts arc skipped the all-girls team and gave Izuku a get-out-of-jail-free card to abuse his powers with no consequences whatsoever. The festival arc was great but seeing Nejire in a beauty competition didn't make up for her being skipped in the eight precepts arc

And then Izuku developed a second quirk, and the promise of six more quirks down the line, which was honestly the beginning of the end. I said as much when the chapter dropped and history had proven me right. Because Izuku was already gonna become the strongest hero in history, stronger than All Might, because that's how OfA works. There was no need to give him a swiss army knife of extra superpowers

The villain arc did little to ease my worries. It focused on the three villains that had already had the most screentime and ignored Spinner and Compress who really needed some more background exploration, and it made Shigaraki bonkers levels of powerful

And then there was the war. During the kids' first year of school. Midnight got killed offscreen, because I guess Horikoshi needed someone "important" to die but he didn't want to kill anybody actually important (seriously, go look at the list of casualties of the war. It's a bunch of nobodies and Midnight)

Star and Stripes came and died only to nerf Shigaraki, which wouldn't have been necessary ir Hori could balance his power sets

Nagant came, exposed even more the dark side of hero agencies, got immediately redeemed by Izuku and then blew up

Deku's vigilante arc was. A thing that existed. And it really showed how underdeveloped most of Class 1A were, because the big emotional scene where everybody asks Izuku to remember the good times they shared together was 80% "hey remember this one and only scene we had?". Points for Bakugo and Iida though, they got the good stuff

The traitor reveal arc was also a thing that happened. Woulda been nice if the kids had had some actual time to process their feelings and deal with the fallout of the whole thing

And then the final war. Boy, did that one drag on forever. Bakugo died, then he got better because a hero who never had any screentime with him sacrificed himself to save him except he didn't even die so no biggie

Toga and Spinner could have had something, maybe, but Hori didn't spent enough time to seriously make them impactful. Spinner especially, the whole heteromorph discrimination thing felt way too forced and tacked on at the last minute

All Might busted out a mecha suit to fight on All for One's level, which would've come in pretty handy when they fought against Shigaraki. Then AfO died, but then he wasn't dead and was actually the one who gave Shigaraki his quirk, and he ate Shigaraki's soul and became the big bad, and then he died literally 2 chapters later, and Shigaraki who had enough energy left for one last hit against AfO also died for good. Oh and Izuku lost both arms, which had been built-up to happen since the sports festival, but then he got them back one chapter later so. No biggie

And then the final chapters. Society got better, don't ask for details. Everybody is 8 years older, don't ask for timeskip designs. Izuku is now a teacher, but he gets a new mech suit that shouldn't have taken 8 years to develop considering All Might's took months, and he jumps right back up to be a hero. The end

My Hero feels like the new gen Naruto. A large cast with varied powers that 80% never get properly developed in favor of the big 3, and a very interesting world that barely gets explored

The 1A vs 1B arc really feels like the point where the series becomes something different. Side characters begone, it's the Izuku-Bakugo-Shoto story. Inko, the protagonist's mother, who always had been shown suffering through Izuku's many injuries and even got All Might to admit he hadn't been taking proper care of his protegé, got sidelined and we don't even see her react to the truth of Izuku's quirk. Izuku masters 6 quirks offscreen, whereas before the series made an absolute point of showing the process of him growing and learning and improving

I really loved this series, and I'm damn dissappointed in what it became, in case it wasn't clear. I hope Horikoshi has made enough money to rest for a while. By the end he constantly needed to take breaks because his health was just going down the drain. I hope he gets to kick back and relax, and if he ever writes anything else I'm not gonna read it

Good bye, My Hero Academia. I'll always cherish the first parts and the characters, almost as much as I'll mourn all the wasted potential they all had