#this is a lot longer than I thought it would be

[kerosenee-kisses]

Friend You Can Keep | Zayne

summary: while preparing for final exams, you ask Zayne if you can study his anatomy lol

cw: 18+, mdni, college au, afab reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, lots of kissing, this is literally just self-indeulgent love-making

wc: 3.7k

a/n: I started playing lads a few weeks ago after a lot of resistance (I'm afraid of spending money on them!!) I started playing for Sylus but Zayne really came out of nowhere and assumed the role of my husband. I'm obsessed with him!!

In my mind, I wrote this with a five-ish year age gap between Zayne and reader (reader a freshman/sophmore in college, Zayne in the first years of med school). That isn't explicitly stated here so choose your own adventure. I'm also of the opinion that Zayne would make sweet, sweet love to you to the soundtrack of true yearner R&B. Just me?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Songs from your favorite R&B playlist emanate from your roommate’s speaker. You thought listening to the calm crooning from the nest of pillows and blankets that is your bed would help you study. But the music is more effective at lulling you to sleep, as are the sparkling fairy lights strung around the room’s perimeter. Maybe you should suck it up and turn the horrendous, overhead fluorescent lights on for this. Because the words in your textbook swim together the longer you try to focus on retaining them.  

You rub your eyes hard; flashes of color undulate in the darkness of your closed eyelids beneath the pressure of your fingertips. When you open them again, somehow, the words rearrange themselves even more chaotically. It’s like looking for a prophecy in a bowl of alphabet soup. 

“Is it possible I have late-stage dyslexia? Is that a thing?” you ask. 

Zayne chuckles from his place at your desk. “I believe that’s an indication that you need a short break. And right on time, too.” 

The timer on his phone goes off then, which he shuts off before it can complete one full blare of sound. He opens the desk drawer and takes out two candies. One for each of you.  

“A reward for our diligence,” he says as he deposits a sweet into your hand.  

“What? Where did these come from?” you ask as you unravel the foil wrapper. Candy didn’t survive in your dorm room long enough for you to have a stash to dip into for emergencies like today. 

You have two more finals to study for before you can officially begin a much-deserved winter break. Your roommate had been your study buddy up until her first and only final yesterday. She left for home immediately after she’d submitted her exam, having decided that the papers assigned could easily be completed from the comfort of her own home. And while you were so happy for her and not at all jealous, it meant you were short a study buddy.  

But Zayne, always dependable, offered to swing by and study with you when you’d met up for lunch earlier and bemoaned the fact that you would have to stay focused all by yourself. A herculean task if there ever was one.  

“I managed to hide them while you were fiddling with the speaker. Otherwise, I doubt they would have survived more than ten minutes had you seen them.” 

“Don’t be a hypocrite. Your sweet tooth can be just as bad,” you say. 

You observe Zayne as he delicately pops his candy into his mouth, pushes his glasses back up, and continues to study through your break. He has some biochem final to prepare for. While he had told you he felt more than prepared for it before your complaints about being abandoned, he’s sitting here reviewing alongside you all the same. Your heart warms at how thoughtful he is. Sure, he loves to help everyone, but he always goes out of his way for you. Does he go out of his way for anyone other than you? You're too curious.  

So curious, in fact, that you ask without thinking, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or someone you’re kinda into?” 

Zayne blinks at you, slow and deliberate like a house cat, then shakes his head. Embarrassment and relief coalesce in your stomach. In an ideal world, you would shut the fuck up and go back to studying too. 

But like the glutton for punishment that you are, you sit up on your knees and keep talking. 

"Oh, ok. Good. Well, not good as in you should die alone but good in the sense that...well...You know what, can I ask you something without you freaking out? Like, you have to promise not to.” 

Zayne swivels in the desk chair. A gift from him to you actually. Ergonomic and expensive, he’d replaced the standard rocking chair that the room was originally furnished with since he was concerned about the health of your spine as your future primary care physician.  

Once he’s facing you completely, he says, “I would prefer not to promise something if I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to follow through. That would not be fair to you.” 

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. You're always calm anyway so I have nothing to worry about. I think.” 

Zayne watches you expectantly as you reach for a plushie to hold. Your mouth feels dry now that his attention’s on you. You’re not sure why you feel so nervous, he normally goes along with your schemes. This won’t be so different, right?” 

“So, I was wondering if maybe you’d be...willing to have sex with me?” The words leave you in one breath. 

Zayne stares at you blankly. You might have successfully broken the most collected person you know.  

“Zayne? Did you hear me? I said would you–” 

“I heard you the first time,” he says. His expression hardly betrays anything, but color spreads across his face, up his ears. If he didn’t have a turtleneck on you imagine his neck would be just as pink. “I apologize. I’m a bit taken aback. I certainly didn’t expect that to be your question.” 

“It’s just feels like everyone my age has lost their virginity already. Obviously, I don’t need to have sex, but I’m intrigued, I guess.  And I don’t want to do it with just anyone. And you’re not just anyone so–” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I want to make absolute sure I’m understanding you correctly.” He clears his throat before asking, “You want me to take your virginity?” 

You hug the plushie for dear life. “Well, yeah. You would be my first.”  

Zayne takes a deep breath. You begin to worry about the state of his heart the longer you sit in silence. Because your own is pumping so hard you fear you’ll succumb to cardiac arrest if you’re lucky. Or maybe the earth will miraculously swallow you whole before that happens. You’ll even accept death by wanderer if it means escaping this conversation. 

“May I ask why you wish to lose your virginity to me?”  

Not a flat-out rejection. You can shelf the death wishes for now. 

“Since you’re basically a doctor you know all about anatomy; safe to assume you know how it goes. And you’re hot so...why not?” 

Zayne averts his gaze at your blunt assessment, and you can’t help but tease him a little.  

“I thought we were working on accepting compliments.” 

Zayne smiles faintly but still refuses to face you, “I have to say when it comes to accepting compliments, I’m not very good in front of you. But I suppose there’s a chance for you to teach me.” 

“First lesson starts now. All you have to do is say ‘thank you’ or something.” 

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again. He’s caught you in his gentle yet captivating green gaze. In it, you see acknowledgment of what your relationship to each other could be. A desire to explore a new dimension of intimacy, one that goes beyond childhood friendship. 

“I accept your compliment,” Zayne murmurs. His eyes drift to your slightly parted lips and you feel your skin prickle. 

“This will be an opportunity to learn each other’s bodies together,” he says, almost distracted. He plucks the plushie from your grasp and carefully places it on the back-killing rocking chair beside your desk. “I only hope I can measure up to your expectations." 

“Oh. Ok,” you manage to whisper. You didn’t think he would say no per say, but considering his immediate response you expected a little more resistance to the idea than this. And now you feel nervous, more than you had anticipated. This was your idea after all. 

You go to remove your pajama bottoms, a seemingly imperceptible shake in your hands. But of course, nothing gets past Zayne. He stops you with a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.  

“There’s no rush. This requires ample preparation. I would never want to hurt you,” he says, caresses the hinge of your knee. “Just, let me kiss you for a bit. Like this.” 

Zayne brings the chair up to the edge of your twin xl and gives you a sweet peck. He gives you a few more before he brushes his lips against yours. You follow his lead, revel in the plush feel of his mouth as he kisses you. He rubs his palms along your thighs, squeezing them every so often. His tender touches embolden you as much as they relax you. You hesitantly touch your tongue to his bottom lip and Zayne moans into your mouth. The vibrations of such a gentle yet erotic sound travel through your whole body. You cup his cheeks to pull him closer, and Zayne gladly follows. He rises to his feet and crowds you into the corner of the bed until you’re on your back. He kisses you so thoroughly that you can taste the lingering sweetness of candy on his tongue when he licks into your mouth.  

You slip one hand under his sweater, trace the ridges of his tight abdomen, no doubt the result of all those pull ups he does on the rare occasion you work out together. Zayne’s breath shudders against your mouth and you shiver in response. His receptiveness to your touch makes you desperate to feel even more of him. You grab the hem of his turtleneck and yank it upwards. He pulls away, reluctantly you think, grabs the shirt from between his shoulder blades and tugs it off. The action leaves his glasses askew and you remove them from his face with a giggle. 

“I hope they’re not messed up now,” you say as you carefully put the lenses on yourself. They blur your vision some, but you clearly see Zayne swallow thickly when you smile up at him.  

“I have an extra pair,” he says breathlessly before he removes them and goes right back to kiss you. More of his warmth seeps into you now that he removed his sweater. He presses his thundering chest against yours, and the delicious weight of him renders you pliant beneath him. You smooth your hands along the muscled plains of his back and moan. You can’t think straight in the face of such overwhelming affection. He hasn’t even touched you yet, really, and you already feel so ready for more.  

But for some reason, a pang of guilt lances through your gut. Did you pressure Zayne into this? Are you taking advantage of his goodness, his kindness? You said it yourself, he goes above and beyond for you in all things. You would never forgive yourself if you ever made him do something he didn’t want to.  

“Wait,” you say, and weakly push at his chest.  A gossamer thread of your saliva stretches between both your lips, and your thoughts empty out of your head for a moment. Zayne’s eyes are as unfocused as yours as he looks down at you, cushioned in your fluffy pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” you ask quietly. 

Zayne takes hold of one of your wrists to drop a kiss to your palm that you feel in your clit. Does he want to kill you? 

“Why don’t you touch me and find out.” 

He most certainly does.  

You gasp when he guides your hand to his hardened length. The fact that you could do this to him with just a few kisses turns you on immensely, makes you feel powerful. You squeeze him gently and he groans. You flick the button of his pants free, but he stops your second attempt at undressing before you can even yank his zipper down. 

“Let me take what I desire first,” he says.  

Zayne carefully unbuttons your pajama top, until your chest is fully exposed to him. You sit up slightly to remove it, and no sooner is it off than Zayne starts to knead and kiss at your breasts. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and you arch into him, mewling at the spike of pleasure that zings through you. He licks and teases it into a stiffened peak while he pinches and rolls the other between his fingers.  

Once your nipples are wet and taut from his ministrations, Zayne trails deep kisses down the center of your spasming stomach. He grasps the waistband of your pants and tugs them down along with your underwear.  

While most guys would look at you with lust clouding their gaze, Zayne looks at your naked body like he loves it. It’s enough to make you feel sheepish.  

Zayne fits his broad shoulders beneath your slightly spread thighs and puts his mouth to your dripping core. You’re so stunned by the sight of his head between your legs that your brain goes fuzzy. Obviously, no one has kissed you here before. But you’d still be inclined to say that even if the opposite were true. Zayne full on makes out with your pussy. He licks and sucks at your clit with the sole purpose of making you cum hard. And your entire body sings with ecstasy.  

He eases his index finger inside of your wet heat and you whimper at the intrusion. He searches for that spongy patch inside of you that has your back surging upward. Zayne coaxes more of your arousal out of you with his tongue on your clit and his finger massaging the soft walls of your cunt. You feel strange, like you need release, but you’re almost terrified. Your thighs close around Zayne’s head and he groans into your sex. The sound vibrates through you until you’re a quivering mess. 

Zayne blindly reaches for one of your hands and squeezes. He licks and kisses you as you cum on his beautiful face with a loud cry of his name. He laps up as much of your essence as he can, and you twitch and whine all the while. 

Your back falls onto the mattress once you come down from your high, the first orgasm that someone else has ever given you. You lift yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. He kisses your thighs, your hip bones, back up along your stomach so earnestly. 

 Zayne settles himself over you again and now pumps two of his long, elegant fingers inside of you. They curl against your sweet spot with the skill and precision of a surgeon, and you moan his name. When his thumb swipes at your clit you cum for him again, still so sensitive from your last climax. He kisses you through it. The taste of yourself is a little strange, but you don’t hate it. You deepen the kiss as you cum around his fingers. You didn’t think you could cum again so quickly, but Zayne is nothing if not efficient.  

He removes his fingers from you so he can lay in between your twitching thighs. He rolls his clothed hips into your bare ones, and you meet his thrusts readily. The friction of his pants against your clit makes you feel delirious. Enough to remember what you had first asked of him.  

“Zayne,” you sigh as he moves to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Do you have a condom?” 

He exhales against your ear; you just barely hold in a whimper. 

“No, unfortunately. I haven’t had a need for them before now…I suppose we’ll have to reschedule,” he says, but makes no move to pull away from you.  

“No! It’s ok!” You wince at your frantic tone. Way to go, Desperate. “I, um, grabbed a handful from the resource center before you came here. They’re in my bag.” 

While he had thoughtfully replenished your stash of candy, you had shoveled way too many condoms into your backpack only an hour after your lunch date with him. Now he’ll probably think you're some sex-crazed degenerate or something. How embarrassing. 

Regardless, you feel a teeny, tiny thrill at the knowledge that he doesn’t have any on him.  

Zayne nods, presses one lingering kiss to your lips and goes to retrieve a condom from your backpack. You feel even more embarrassed when he returns with one embossed with a heart and the words ‘wrap it before you tap it.’ He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that, however. Zayne removes his pants and his boxer briefs. His hard cock springs up against his abs and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Long and flushed and too pretty, you think. He settles back into bed, kneels in between your spread legs and tears the wrapper open.  

You watch, wide eyed, as he rolls the latex over the glistening head and down the length of his cock. He lines himself up with your stretched entrance and makes eye contact with you. Despite the heat pulsing through your veins, you shiver. This does not go unnoticed.  

“Anxious?” Zayne asks. He runs his fingers up and down your arm. Slow touches that soothe your frayed nerves. A reassurance, a reminder that he won’t let you feel anything you wouldn’t absolutely enjoy.   

“Only a little,” you admit, “but I trust you more than anyone, so I think I’m more excited than anything.” 

Zayne smiles down at you, small and sweet. You feel even more shy now.  

“You know we can stop at any time,” he says even though his cock is straining against the condom. “You need only tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

You place a hand on his smooth cheek and smile up at him. His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale.  

“I know that Zayne. Thank you. But I think I’m ready now.”  

There’s a slight discomfort. A foreign pressure, a pinch, that he lets you acclimate to. There’s so much tension in his body as a result. You can’t help but feel endeared by how considerate he is of you always. Especially now.  

He places his palm on your belly, and you jolt.  

“Try to relax your muscles,” he says. 

You slow your breaths, try to do as he says until the fullness of his cock feels less invasive, almost comforting. You focus on the intimacy of this moment, of your bodies connecting. Of him being the first person to ever give you pleasure of any kind.  

“Mmm, good, just like that,” he groans. Who knew a voice could get you so hot. And not just his voice, those green eyes of his. He stares down at you so intensely you feel like you’ll melt into a puddle. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask meekly.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says matter-of-factly.  

You hide your face behind your hands and whine for him to stop. Zayne laughs lowly and pulls your hands away. 

“You helped me accept a compliment earlier,” he says, kisses one wrist. “And even teased me for being nervous.” A kiss to the other. He rests them on the back of his neck and regards you with an almost mischievous smile. 

“Now it’s my turn to return the favor. Say ‘thank you’.” 

Your chest is heaving. You can’t believe how seductive he’s being. And so effortlessly, too. Where did this side of him come from?  

He lowers his face into your neck and all the air in the room vanishes when he kisses it.   

“Won’t you accept my compliment? Or should I continue to tell you how lovely I find you? Say that your beauty is beyond measure? That you are my greatest treasure.”  

Zayne lightly sucks on your pulse point. How does he expect you to speak? You can hardly function as is. 

“I’m not as patient as you think I am.” He nips at your neck, and you tense up.  

“Thank you!” you yelp. 

You feel his lips pull into a grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Or should I give you more compliments so you can practice?” 

“Y-you can move now!”  

Zayne kisses under your ear before he pulls his hips back and slowly grinds into you. His pelvis meets your sticky clit every time your bodies meet. He thrusts into you until your moans and sighs fill the humid air between you both. 

You experimentally squeeze around his cock as he pulls away from you and he moans in concert with you.  

“Did you want to see my like this?” he asks, voice hoarse as his cock pushes deeper into you. You arch up against him, your nipples grazing his chest. Zayne dips his head to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth again, sucking and biting at it affectionately. You wrap your legs around his trim waist and try to pull him even closer to you. He’s making you feel so good that you can hardly stand it. All you can focus on is Zayne. The way he fits so perfectly between your legs, the feel of his biceps under your hands. His crisp, clean scent sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You want even more of him.  

You bury your hands in his hair, thick silk between your fingers, and tug. Zayne pulls off your breast with a wet pop and kisses you. He plasters his chest to yours as he rolls his hips into you. Your walls tighten up around him and he grits out your name. He wraps his arms around your waist tight and fucks into you so deep that you swear you see stars. So bright that you clench your eyes shut as pleasure takes hold of your whole body. It’s an ecstasy like no other.  

“I love you, Zayne. I love you,” you babble mindlessly as you cum harder than before. 

Zayne moans and ruts into your body erratically, desperately, until he seizes up and cums with you. Maybe you’re too caught up in the romantic atmosphere you accidentally created– sultry love ballads and low lighting–but you almost wish he had painted your walls instead of the condom.  

He looks ethereal as pleasure contorts and relaxes his features, his muscles. Zayne takes your face between his hands and kisses you hungrily. Like he’ll never have another opportunity to. You’ll make damn sure that’s not the case.  

"I adore you,” he says before he steals another kiss and your breath along with it. You both grip and pull at the other as if you could get any closer. You want to nestle in the marrow of his bones, dwell in the cavern of his heart. 

“I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you whisper between kisses. 

“I have always been yours. Only ever yours.” 

[fuzzandfeathers]

"Oh relax. I'm sure your big royal chicken ain't gonna let anything happen to his peppy lil' fuck doll." You already know the drill, rambles under the cut 😌

As much as I want them to eventually find out about it, I'm glad Blitz didn't know about Stolas' involvement in resolving the kidnapping situation in Oops. With the level of denial he was in, Blitz absolutely would've found a way to spin it into something negative. This art originally started off as an observation on how hard Blitz is projecting his own feelings about his relationship with Stolas onto Fizz's relationship with Oz. That if Blitz had known, the above line probably would've summed up what he'd think of Stolas' actions. The more I worked on it though, the more I realized it kinda went the other way as well, with Fizz doing a bit of his own denial and projection. Fizz wasn't wrong about Blitz missing the mark on Stolas' feelings, but his viewpoint has always struck me as having a bit of the rose-colored tint of exceptionalism, Fizz believing he earns his treatment (good or bad) via performance and separate from being an imp. That if he's good enough being an imp (and disabled) doesn't matter.

(spoiler: you can't succeed your way out of systemic inequality, sorry) Fizz and Blitz (pre-Mastermind) are both in relationships with unequal power dynamics and while I wouldn't consider Fizz and Oz's relationship unhealthy*, there's a sense of push-back against the inequality that isn't present for them but is for Blitz and Stolas. Despite their rocky start, Blitz and Stolas clearly see any inequality between them as something to resolve or address, whereas Fizz and Oz seem more resigned to it (or content to ignore it). Blitz is wrong about Stolas, but his dissatisfaction with their relationship isn't wrong - and Fizz could stand to learn a bit from that. So this piece ended up being more of a two-way conversation than I initially thought (and this post ended up being a lot longer than I planned 😂) *obviously it has room for improvement, but it's imperfect in ways that are realistic and non-worrisome. Even if I'm hoping for a bit of conflict between them going into season 3, I have absolute faith their relationship is solid and would make it out intact. Anyways, have this fun and relevant screenshot:

[angeastrd]

. . . late night calls .ᐟ

natasha romanoff x fem! reader. fluff!

after a hard mission, all she wants to do is talk to her girlfriend

“Did I wake you up?” The hoarse voice of Natasha Romanoff is the first thing you hear in your bleary haze, as you blink, willing yourself to wake up. You stare at the unknown number on your screen – burner phone. She wasn’t supposed to communicate with you during missions.

“. . . Huh?” you mumble. Your eyes glance over to the clock; 2:14 A.M. glares back at you, as you focus back on the voice crackling through your phone. You shake your head, before seeming to remember that she can’t see you on the other side of the line. “No,” you correct, perhaps a little too delayed. “You didn’t wake me. Been up. For a while,” you lie. She snorts. She still didn’t understand why you tried to lie to her– she was a professional spy, for god's sake. She was always going to know. Still you liked to try. 

She doesn’t comment, instead admitting, “I needed to hear your voice.” She pauses. Was that too vulnerable? Sometimes Natasha worries that you may be in love with the Black Widow the world sees, and not the broken-down, morally gray Natasha Romanoff. She was a fragmented soul, and she dreaded the day that you would gain clarity of that and take your leave. Being with an Avenger already wasn’t easy work – hell, the title had at least a decade of trauma attached to it. It probably was in the contract. Being with the Black Widow? That was more trouble than she was worth.

“I missed you too,” you responded simply, and she was thankful that you were able to read in between the lines of what she was not brave enough to say. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” she starts, and before you can reassure her, she continues, words flowing now that she had begun, “I had to exterminate a target today. He was a HYDRA agent. He had a picture of his kids in his wallet,” she confesses, voice cracking as she tries to recompose herself. “You probably think I’m being ridiculous. Having more empathy for this random man than he had for everything I stand in,” she mutters. 

“I don’t think you’re ridiculous, Natasha. I’ve never thought that,” and you can picture the way her shoulders relax at your words. She had always worried that her flaws were too varied – and her strengths too lacking. “I think you’re incredibly strong, especially to feel so much empathy over someone who was not on your side. I love you,” you tack on, almost like a reminder that she's allowed to feel with you – she’s allowed to admit things and be vulnerable and it's okay. 

She clears her throat, and your heart aches for her. Long distance truly never got easier, but absence did make the heart fonder. “When do you come home?” you offer. Natashas' window of vulnerability had closed by now. But every time, that window got a little longer (for you. The S.H.I.E.L.D. appointed therapist still didn’t even have a window). 

She hums at that, and you can hear ruffling on the other line – she liked to talk to you before bed. It was her version of long distance pillowtalk. “Should be home tomorrow night.” she answers, as a yawn escapes your lips. “You’re tired,” she notes, and there's a hint of apology in her words. 

“‘M not even tired,” you mutter in protest, “I have never yawned in my life. Swear,” you grouse, and she lets out a soft laugh at your words. Your lips curve up at that. You always liked being able to make her laugh; she didn’t laugh unless it was genuinely funny. She laughed with you quite a lot.

“You’re a liar,” she chides. “And you snore. I miss your snoring,” she admits.

“That's gay,” you mumble, head lolling against the pillow. 

“So was the phone sex we had last night?” she counters, and you both delve into giggles. Even though the two of you were apart, you can tell that she muffled her laughs in her pillow – just like you did. 

“Shut up. I need to go to bed,” you mutter, trying to change the topic. You would probably never get used to how easy it was to talk to her. “Stay on the phone. Don’t hang up”

“Needy. Have I ever hung up on you?” she asks, the indulgence in her voice ridiculously evident. “One time your phone died,” you retort, before letting out a big yawn. “Tell me about the rest of your day” Mid-way through her story, she hears a soft snore crackle through the line. “Are you asleep right now?” 

“. . .” 

If you were awake, you’d be able to visualize the fond look on her face. “Goodnight. I love you. Sleep well,” she whispers. 

[eorzeaisnotcrash]

I have thought and still think about this a lot.

Even if WoL hasn’t (yet) dealt with any mess that could induce pain/rage/trauma (I was overleveled from sidequests and picked up DRG *before* heading back to see what they’d done at the Waking Sands) Nidhogg is very old and not that stupid -I imagine he would notice those who are troubled with a capital T, AND those who have the potential to become that way. Like someone who’s worked construction for 50 years and can see minor signs that could lead to major damage if not dealt with.

I’m a DRG main and I have Joceline primarily as a DRG. She’s able to ignore anything Nidhogg might tell her during the airship hunt/crystal nonsense… although she DOES hallucinate Livia in the fake inquisitor’s place and use a lot more force on him than she needs to. Then 2.55 happens to her, the trust subscriptions hit, and she thinks her folks are dead and the Ascians are free to act unopposed. Whatever she does will no longer matter -might as well fistfight some nobles and hunt some traitor Braves. Nidhogg doesn’t even need to push her very far, but his influence (“people in power tortured us, took away our loved ones, and lied about it”) makes an already-awful situation nightmarish. That’s why she’ll treat the Aery as a “Dying As Yourself” one-way trip.

You know, I don't think as a fandom we explore what being a Dragoon WoL means the same way we do like, Dark Knight.

Because the Eye of Nidhogg resonants with the WoL when they met Estinien for the first time. The Eye that (iirc) only 'chooses' very specific kind of peoole for Azure Dragoon - If Estinien and to a lesser degree Alberic is anything to go by. Vengeful, angry people. People who have been hurt and are seeking revenge for it.

Personally, I'm of the headcannon that this is because Nidhogg (able to sense where his eye is and kinda feel things through it? Maybe even see through it) is trying to get those people worked up enough to possess them. Like with Estinien during the DRG 50 duty.

So what does it mean for a WoL who is also a Dragoon? Who has done that series of quests and had the Eye look at them and go:

"Ah yes. You. You too feel hatred and rage and pain enough that you could easily lose yourself over it. You want revenge for something, vengence. You want to make someone or something else hurt just as much as you do right now."

Idk I just think it's interesting and feel like I don't see it very much for WoL meta.

[keyaho]

Summary: His duality is confusion, disorienting, but there is a moment of connection with a promise for more.

Authors Note: 1. I know this is shorter than what I would normally post for this series. This isn't a smut heavy chapter. I allude to most of it. So I apologize if it is underwhelming! I really wanted a neutral stopping point. 2. This serves as the end of R.E.L.Ls and the beginning of Regulations. 3. This is the first story/series I've completed since returning to fanfiction! Thank you to all that read and commented and interacted. It means so much that you enjoyed it. Because I enjoyed writing it and I loved being able to share it with you.

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair 

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Nami realized she had slept way longer than usual. She was in Terry’s guest room curled into a ball. The door was open, she assumed so he could check on her. As she rolled to her side she noticed a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. Her body did ache and as she stretched, she cried out in shock from the pain that spasmed through her body. 

“What’s up, sweet cheeks!”

A hand swatted her ass after the blankets were ripped from her body. 

Nami flinched and rolled to her back. Terry stood there with a big smile on his face. His eyes gave him away. Terry was still present. 

“I feel sore.” She whispered. 

“Is your throat hurting?” He asked.  He could see the marks from their session last night all over her body. 

Nami shook her head. 

“Good. Because I want it first. Sit on the floor. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Get cleaned up..” 

The only sound between them was their forks tapping against their plates. Nami was counting the moments for the pain killers to kick in and she could stretch the way she wanted to. Her body was tight and when she woke up to the dark bruises covering her body she immediately thought back to how she got them. The way her legs burned from being bound, her run through the maze, and the way he kept them pressed to her chest as he had his way with her, she didn't know if they still worked. 

Nami reached for her glass of orange juice, the flavor tart as she swallowed. She winced from the stretch. When she had woken up Terry had left some aspirin and a bottle of cool water on the bedside table. It took her a moment to peel herself from the soft bedding and when she did it felt like a semi-truck had crashed into her. 

"About last night," Terry speaks slowly. "If that was too much,-'

"It was a lot." Nami whispered. 

"Was there ever a moment you wanted me to stop?" He saw her eyes wander away from his. "Don't lie to me either." 

"It was so much," she replies. "That was unlike any experience I've ever had." Her fork dropped to her plate as she rubbed her temples. Flashes of who he was last night were hard to escape. It was like He was still there, taunting her. Her eyes flickered to him. 

A grin. 

Fuck. 

"The scene didn't end properly." He says while standing. "That's why you are so tense. No closure. CNC requires it." He rubs a hand around his stomach, scratching slightly. "I'll make it a bit more comfortable for you." 

She began to speak when he shook his head. "No talking. Just listening." 

Using two fingers, he motioned for her to get up. She pushed her chair back and watched him point to the spot in front of him. "Knees." 

Nami let out a long slow breath as she approached. She looked up at him and lowered slowly to her knees, keeping her eyes on his. This man liked to be looked at an admired. He lowered to his haunches in front of her. Pinching her chin between his fingers, he made her look at him. 

"I'm going to enjoy you today." He says. "You know the basics, no touching, no cuming unless I say so, no talking." He stands back up. "As a matter of fact, don't make any noise. You screamed enough last night. I just want you to lie there and let me taste you." 

It could all be so simple. She thought. His expression was too giddy. He might not have tasted her before but the man in front of her knew how wet she got at the thought. 

"Because I don't want you speak, I'm giving you a few hand signals to use." 

Nami nodded and He took a few steps back, plopping down in the chair he had just left. 

"Three taps for permission. The only thing you should think about is not letting yourself cum. This is beyond edging. I'm a hungry man, Mimi, and I just want to eat some pussy so….' he kissed his teeth loudly. "Go get in my bed."  

Her eyes darted up to his face as if she hadn't heard him. Her mouth dropped open like she wanted to ask him to repeat himself. She lifted her hand and pointed towards his room instead. 

"I will change my mind," he snapped. "Go get in my bed. On your back, hands above your head, legs open." 

Nami went to stand, but He stopped her. Pushing her back down, she nearly falls backwards. Catching herself she looks up at him confused. 

"I'm still that nigga, crawl." 

He followed behind her, tugging off his shirt as he walked. He picked up her cuffs from the table as they passed, the lights shutting out as he turned them off. The dark curtains in his room shrouded the room in a layer of darkness. The bedside lamp was just enough to see but not ruin them noir like mood. Nami crawled onto the bed, flipping over to her back and tossing her hands above her head. Terry grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the side of the bed where the light was. It casted a golden glow on them, making the ambience in the room movie like. If it wasn't Him she'd call it romantic. 

He walked to the other side of the bed and bound her writs, tugging them backwards as he hooked her in. He knelt on the bed behind her, placing his knees on either side of his head. He lowered his sweats and she watched his dick slide out, tapping against his stomach once, before hanging just above her face.  His hand dipped between her legs and like he knew, he pushed his dick into her open mouth. 

"Keep it warm." 

He leaned forward and she tugged against her binds. Her legs were pushed apart before two fingers wiggled their way into her pussy. As he leaned, his dick slid further down her throat. He pushed breaths out her nose rapidly, trying to gather herself so she could breathe properly. His fingers began to move, pumping slowly as his thumb stroked her clit. 

He pulled his hands out and she could hear how wet she was. He leaned up just a little, wiping her wetness from his fingers on her inner thighs. He straddled Nami's head and pulled her legs backwards. Throat constricting around his dick, Nami felt so exposed. However, her pussy throbbed. The anticipation made hr clench around nothing. 

He felt her breathing hard through her nose and he drew his hips backwards just a little. Spit was running out the side of her mouth, making it slick just like her pussy. He began to move his hips. The lust came over him and her legs dropped from his hands. Instead, he put one hand on her throat, holding her still so he could fuck her throat properly. Only this time he was deeper, churning up spit he had to pull out so she didn't choke on it. 

"Spit it out." He ordered. 

He rubbed it down her chest before tapping the tip of is dick against her lips. 

"Open up." 

Nami's eyes widened as he pushed forward. This time he began stroking himself with her throat. Back and forth as she swallowed around him. The noises she made wanted to come out so badly. The moans were stuck in her throat and she knew better than to make a sound. Clenching her eyes shut, she did what he told her to earlier. 

Don't cum. 

However, just as much as she liked the feel of his dick deep inside of her, the thought of it also brought out the same explosive feelings. To much 'what if' and she was creaming whatever toy she could find at home. Though he didn't need to know that. So she focused on him. The sounds He was making as he had his way with her mouth. She wasn't able to see but she could imagine his blue-green eyes were closed, his mouth parted just enough for him to let out a shaky breath. He was vulnerable in his passion. Planting her feet on the bed for stability, Nami lifted her head and he instantly grabbed it. Terry held the back of her head in one of his hands. 

He came unexpectedly, the salty liquid mixed with her spit and oozed from between her lips as he pulled out her mouth. Her head turned to the side as she gasped for air, an involuntary motion she hoped he didn't hold against her. Stepping back, he admired his work. 

"You suck dick like you were made for it, Nami." He praises. "Good fucking girl." 

"You can come as much as you want baby," he cooed in her ear. His hips churned between her legs as she gripped the back of his shoulder. Her nails dug into his skin, the permissible area marked up by crescent shapes. "Make all the noise you need to," he whispered, granting her permission He had taken away earlier. 

"Oh shit," she cursed, finding her voice hoarse and broken, but to him the moans sounded symphonic. 

Heavy handed, Terry places warm oil into his hands. He rubbed them together before grabbing her calf. He worked the oil in slowly. Her bath had been long, the water warmed periodically to keep Nami comfortable. He had bathed her, murmuring how proud he was of her for dealing with Him. Between the praise and sensual touch, Nami melted like ice cream in Daddy's hands. 

Now, face down on the bed, she groaned as he worked the soreness from her body. If his hands were this magical on his legs, she knew by the time he got to her back she'd combust. 

"Can I ask you something," Nami says while turning her head to the side. 

Terry was working his way up her thigh when he stopped. "Yes." 

"Why won't you let me touch you?" 

He was silent for a few minutes. His hands worked up her back, then back down, stopping at her waist. He dug the heel of his hand into her muscles, loosening them and making her pliant. 

"Whatchu cryin' for, baby," he asks. 

He notices the tears on her cheeks and softens his gaze. "I'm hitting that spot huh," he gloats, hips thrusting at an angle that made hr see stars. 

"It's not about you." He states. "I want you to touch me." 

She was confused but didn't say anything. Instead, she focused on his hands. How skillful he was with them. How he could be restrained or unhinged or both if the moment presented itself. 

"How does it feel when I finally let you cum?" He asks. 

She turned her head as much as she could to see his face. His expression was neutral, slightly annoyed she had moved, but their eyes met seconds later. 

"When you touch me, like that, I feel like im going to nut all over myself." He admitted. "I'm just sensitive to it." Especially to you. He thought. 

"Look at that pussy," he admired aloud. "Fucking up my sheets, pussy more than soaked," he drew his hips pack, the tip barely poking at her wet hole. 

"Can I touch you like that one day?" 

You can do whatever you want. "Maybe someday." 

He reached beside him and into his bedside table. Pulling out the familiar diamond, he hooked Nami's collar around her neck. He didn't like it worn during their sessions thinking it would break with one wrong move. Instead he wanted it worn as a reminder and a warning. 

He rolled her to her back, his eyes on the collar as the diamond sat against her brown skin. "Perfect." 

They kissed briefly, but it felt different this time. He wasn't rushing, he wasn't trying to take control, he was gentle and giving. Nami brought her hands up slowly, muttering against his lips she was going to touch his arms. A safe place. He deepened the kiss, permission granted as he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. 

She smoothed her hands over his arms. Dragging them towards his shoulders, stopping to give him time to push away. Instead he lowered his body between her legs, resting against her. Hands landed by his neck, her hand attempted to wrap around his. It earned her a laugh as he easily pulled it away and pinned it above her head. 

"You still play too fucking much." 

"I see how much you enjoy it when it do." 

"That's why you got turned out last night," he flicked her nose. "After dominating you like that, there's no going back." 

"I know." She pressed her fingertips to his chest, just barely touching, and saw his stomach clench. "I don't want to. I'm here until you get tired of me. And then I'm here after because I'm your girlfriend."

Over the past few weeks he noticed a difference in her confidence. Her personality was shining and he knew he was giving her exactly what she needed. The longing she had in her voice their first meeting was replaced with comfort. 

"Then I need my girlfriend to roll back over so I can finish massaging her back." 

"You better not touch my butt."

The same eyes that could stun her into submission rolled in humor. He placed a hand between her shoulder places and moved her side to side, getting her to unfold her ams and lie flat. When he had her where he wanted, his hand palmed her ass before shaking the cheeks back and forth. 

Nami laughed, swinging her hand around to try to hit him. Terry's laugh followed and for a brief moment he allowed himself to indulge in the playful dynamic. The nonsexual play was new to him. He felt awkward chasing her around the house whens he fled the bed. However, the gleam in her eyes as she went back and forth behind the table explained exactly what she wanted from him. Just him. 

Wanted in that way scared Terry, though he wouldn't tell her that. However, he was willing to expose himself to her and only her. 

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"You're doing better," the villain said.

"You think so?" the hero choked out. They jumped off the treadmill and took in breath after breath greedily. The villain shot them a look, scanning the hero.

Two months ago, the hero had shown up at their doorstep, bleeding, crying. It was like the villain had found a bird with a broken wing. They had spent the last weeks nursing that bird back to health. And although they tried to keep their distance, they had always favoured the hero from the very beginning - they couldn't exactly deny that.

The hero was still taking in deep breaths and eventually, their soft eyes found the villain's. The villain was tempted to look away, but they couldn't deprive themselves of beauty any longer. Especially when it was right in front of them. The hero wasn't theirs in the first place and the villain knew they would go seperate ways again, now that the hero had recovered.

So, did it even matter if the villain looked at them for a little too long?

In a few weeks, they would be on opposite sides anew, trying to stop each other. The villain took their time to admire every little detail, took in the sight of them famishedly, as if it was the last moment they would ever share.

"Are you okay?" the hero asked. Their breathing returned to normal and they stared back at the villain curiously. Sweat ran down their temples. There were still a couple of bruises that hadn't healed entirely. And the villain themselves felt like they had worked out for two entire hours alongside with them.

"Of course," the villain said. "You have improved significantly."

The hero smiled, almost as if they were shy - which was definitely not true - and tilted their head a little.

"Thanks to you."

"You're doing the running, not me," the villain said.

"Without you I would still be limping." There was nothing to reply. The villain's vocabulary was scarily empty. They had always been rather bad when it came to receiving anything close enough to gratitude that was being tossed towards them, they had always tried to look at the world objectively. No opinion, no emotions, just facts and figures.

But whenever the hero was around, the foundations of their worldview crumbled a little. It was annoyingly challenging.

The hero caught that.

For some reason, they always detected the villain's emotions accurately.

Which was in itself also annoyingly challenging.

"Either way, I still got a lot to work on." The villain said nothing, they simply watched the hero and saw the hero the people longed for, the hero the people mourned at the moment.

Most thought the hero had died. Some speculated they had survived. No one had answers.

And for better or for worse, the villain's heart tightened when they got reminded that, in fact, they were the only one who knew about the hero's whereabouts.

The hero was right here. Right here in front of them. Right in their hand. Using their towels, their dishes. Eating their food and sleeping on their pillows. The hero was here, they were right here. And yet, they knew it was foolish to think that they belonged to one another, wasn't it?

"You'll be back to work soon, right?" the villain asked. Their voice was quieter than they had wanted it to be.

"...I guess so. I was planning my grand return in a month or so. Can you imagine how the city will react?" They let out one of their little giggles and the villain's heart started to rip open gradually. "I hope no one will get mad at me. Licking my open wounds in peace should be allowed, shouldn't it?"

"Of course," the villain said. Letting go wasn't the villain's strong suit. They couldn't bear the thought of an empty apartment. Not to find the hero napping on the couch in the afternoon. To stand alone at the stove, cooking a meal for one. They couldn't imagine themselves staying up past 12 again because there was no hero to scold them.

They couldn't imagine being so far away, so out of reach that they had to wonder if the hero was even looking back at them. Those past two months meant the world to the villain. And if the hero wanted to leave in four weeks again?

Three months are an entire season.

A season of their hero.

"You're so quiet today, are you getting sick?" The hero pressed the back of their hand against the villain's forehead.

"Just tired," the villain said. "I'll lay down for a bit if that's okay with you."

"Don't sleep through dinner, though." The hero gave one of their crooked smirks.

"Wouldn't dream of it," the villain said and they meant every word of it.

[unreasonablerobin]

BED CHEM

Nightwing x Reader x Starfire

Synopsis: Their lover comes home from a mission, exhausted, but they've been away for 2 weeks! Being the loving partners they are, they take care of you.

W.C: 2.4k

Tags: Smut ♤ Dom!Nightwing, Dom!Starfire, Sub!Fem!Reader, oral (f receiving), p in v, grinding/humping (brief), threesome/poly relationship, somnophila

Dick and Kori couldn't wait until their lover got home. It had been two painstakingly slow weeks without them. They agreed that they'd give their lover whatever they wanted the moment they stepped through the door.

The sound of heavy footsteps filled the apartment complex hallway as you trudged in. Your busted-up and untied combat boots dragged along the tile floor towards the elevator. Once inside you leaned back against the wall for support and stared at the buttons for way too long before pressing your floor number.

Dropping your head back it hit the elevator wall with a thud and you whinced ever so slightly. You swore this elevator ride was taking longer than usual, but maybe that's because you don't have two golden retrievers barking about this and that in your ear. You love your girlfriend and your boyfriend dearly, but they could both be a lot. You groan at the thought of all the possible things awaiting you in your shared apartment. You adored them, but my god you were way to tired. You just wanted to relax.

The elevator dinged and you sighed contently, your bed was so close. Pushing yourself off the wall and stumbling into the hallway like some drunk ballerina, you made your way to your apartment door. As quickly as you could. Which wasn't that fast, but you were trying!

You leaned against the doorframe and you shovelled through your pocket to find your key. The hoop of keys and key chains jiggled in your grasp as you unlocked the door.

Stepping inside felt like heaven. The familiar smell of your lovers' cologne and perfume. It was warm and cosy. You shut the door with a sigh. It felt so good to be home. It felt even better to see your two favourite people skid around the corner to greet you in the entrance.

"Sunny!" Kori'ander squealed running over to you, arms outstretched.

She embraced you in a tight hug that lifted you off the ground. Due to height your face got pushed straight into her chest. Not that you were mad about it or anything, it was comfy there. As you pulled your face out from her chest you saw the shadow of a man approach. A family one, thank fuck. Your loving boyfriend Dick, came to the side of you and gave your cheek a kiss.

"Welcome back sweetheart." He muttered into your ear. All you could do was smile.

"Uh, Kori? Do you wanna put them down?"

Kori looked at Dick like he just asked her to shoot you. "Of course not! Why would I do such a thing?"

"Sweetie, they still have there boots on." Dick said blankly.

Kori reluctantly put you down with a frown, her muscular arms still on you as they wrapped around your arm. Dick's reminder that you still had your boots on made you want to cry. Thankfully he can practically read your mind. Before you could move, he had gotten down and began undoing your laces for you.

"Thank you." You tried to speak normally but it came out as a whisper, followed by a yawn.

Once he'd taken off your boots and out them on the rack, his arms made there way around your thighs. He hoisted you up. You let out a very quite squeal of suprise.

"Cmon let's get you to bed." He peered around you as he made his way to bedroom. Kori following suite with her hand in yours and a happy smile.

He dropped you onto the bed and stood between your legs that dangled off the edge. He was trying not laugh at the face were pulling. Squinted eyes and something that couldn't decipher whether it was a frown or a smile. The sank behind you as Kori sat down closer to the headboard. Dick walked over to the dresser to get you a pair of pyjamas. He heared you groan, probably after remembering that you had to take all your gear off. He and Kori couldn't help but watch in amusement as you started to kick off articles of clothing and chuck them on the floor. Tomorrow's problem.

"Allow me to help." Kori crawled across the bed and positioned herself behind you. Looking over your shoulder, down towards your chest where you were struggling with the buckle of a harness.

'Fuck, that's hot.' Dick thought as he stood to the side with your pyjamas in hand. He watched as Kori stared at your neck before eventually giving in and kissing all over it. She sighed in contentment as her hands rested on your tense shoulders. It was almost like the tension left you and wandered over to him. Instead of being in his shoulders though, it was in his pants. He watched as you leaned back against Kori. A few red curls and a bra blocked his perfect view though. Your hands lazily fidgeted with the button of your trousers. Dick made his way over and helped you remove your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear. Kori suckled at your neck as Dick sat before you, a large hand on your jaw. He leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It was a sweet kiss, especially coming from a man with a hard-on he desperately wanted to satisfy. You told yourself no. You were exhausted and battered from the hell of a mission. Not tonight you thought as you kissed your boyfriend and allowed your girlfriend to bring you into her lap.

Your senses had gone haywire. The only things you could see were your own tears and black spots coating your vision. The only thing you could smell was sweat. The only things you could hear were your moaning and Kori's sighing. The only things you could feel were Dick's hands and lips on every accessible part of you and Kori's tongue.

Your back was pressed against Dick's bare chest. Your boyfriend's big, calloused hands roamed every inch of you. He caressed, squeezed and slapped. His lips were the same, roaming every inch of you. No one would be able to decipher what was from your mission or tonight. Usually, you'd tell the addict to be careful; you didn't want people to see evidence of your private affairs. You were too tired to care. Also to indulge in the pleasure Kori was giving you. She'd thrown your wobbly legs over her broad shoulders. They were just hanging there now, spasming occasionally. Her hands gripped your thighs, pushing them apart to make room for her abnormally long tongue. Had to be one of you and Dick's favourite things about her. You swore that tongue was some kind of key to heaven, your folds being the keyhole. Fits perfectly.

Kori sighed a hot breath into you. Her face contorted with satisfaction. "I missed you so much my sunbeam. " She pulled away for a fraction of a second to breathlessly speak. She dived back into ravishing you immediately. Like her life depended on it. Her tongue sloshed inside you, flicking against all the right places. Her hand kneaded your thighs as if they were some sort of stress ball. Much like how Dick's hand kneaded your breasts. Your hands lazily held onto his wrists. His lips were attacking your neck. Your beautiful skin is now covered in many dark blemishes. You could feel Dick's erection against your ass. You were lowkey grinding against him simply from the sheer force of Kori trying to deep-throat your pussy with her tongue.

"Ugh, don't stop." Dick groaned in your ear.

The black spots in your vision only got bigger as your moans got louder. They were breathless and weak, but still loud enough for the other two to be satisfied with them. You sucked in a sharp breath and began to weakly squirm in their strong grips. Your breaths were becoming ragged and tears were spilling from your eyes. Kori smiled against you as you whimpered. She gripped your legs tighter to stop them from closing and spasming. Dick's arms grasped you tighter, his hips rocking into your backside. Your vision began to blur and your ears rung in the distance. A few taps from your shaking hand hit Dick's hand.

"Sweetheart? You okay?" He muttered as his rocking came to a slow. Kori didn't hear you, too engrossed in eating you out.

"I, I'm gonna..." You stuttered pathetically.

"You're gonna cum?" Dick teased as his rocking pace picked back up.

"No, I, I'm..." Your voice trailed off as your eyes rolled back. From pleasure or fatigue you don't know but you sagged into Dick's arms, unconscious.

Kori looked up from in-between your legs, noticing your lack of movement. Her and Dick looked at eachother and then back to you, panicking.

"She's still breathing," Dick said followed by some delicate snores.

"Is she asleep?" Kori asked bewildered. She sat up and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She carefully crawled over you to get a closer look at your face.

"She is asleep!"

"But, she has not reached the climax yet." Your girlfriend sounded so saddened by your lack of pleasure.

Dick was going to say something but you began to stir. Your eyes fluttered open, still drooped and clearly exhausted. Kori took your body into her arms. Hugging you tightly like you might fade away right in that moment.

"I'm so sorry my sunbeam!" She began. "It was my idea and I should have listened when you said you were too tired!" The poor woman looked like she could cry.

"No, it's..." You crumbled in her arms. "Fine."

Both of your lovers held you gently, waiting to see if you'd say more or fall back asleep. All they got was an annoyed groan.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" Dick whispered.

"Keep going." Your forehead rested on Kori's shoulder and your eyes looked like they were on the verge of shutting.

"Huh?" The two questioned in unison.

"Even if I fall asleep again," you stated in an infirm tone. "Please?" Your begging came out as a pathetic whine.Before they could respond you were out again. Your naked body leaning against Kori's.

"May we switch my moonbeam?" Kori held your sweaty body against hers protectively. Dick could tell she was worried about you but that she also wanted to fulfill your wish. He knew the best solution was for him to take over and let Kori baby you.

"Of course sweetie." He leaned in and they shared a brief kiss. Kori and Dick shuffled around, switching positions. Not once did Kori's hands leave your body. She laid on her back with your sleeping figure on top of her. Your head rested on her bare chest. She had an arm around your waist and another on your shoulder blade, both soothingly caressing your body. You stirred in your sleep but didn't wake up. Dick positioned himself behind you, his hands gripped your hips as he inserted his cock into your folds. You were soaked from Kori's job earlier.

"Oh fuck..." He groaned as he slid in out of you. His thrusts got heavier as he got more comfortable with your now semi-unconcious body. The feeling of his pelvis slapping against your ass had slightly woken you up. You were in a very dreary state. Snapping in and out of conciseness. It was like you'd woken up from a spontaneous mid day nap. You moaned and whimpered into your girlfriend's chest, her breasts serving as pillows for your sleepy head. She managed to pull you even closer into her. Your clit barely rubbing against hers from the force of Dick pounding into you.

"You feel so fucking good sweetheart." Dick thrusted into you desperately. "I missed you so bad." He whined and folded forward. Kori took a hand in hers as he began to press feverent kisses to your shoulder and neck. Your back arched and pressed your clit closer to Kori's. She moaned in your ear at the pressure. The pleasure was getting you and teats welded your eyes, sleep beginning to overcome your body again.

"You are okay sunbeam." She hummed and kissed you. Her plump lips encapsulated yours. You sighed as her tongue swiped across your bottom lip. Before you could voluntarily open your mouth Dick thrusted rather hard causing a high pitched gasp to come out of you. Kori slid her tongue in. The pleasure, the exhaustion from the mission and now the lack of oxygen was really taking a tole on your brain. Kori pulled away alowing you tk catch your breath.

"Oh my god..." You panted and squeezed your eyes shut. Shoving your face back into Kori's chest. Your body felt fuzzy and your head felt dizzy. Not one proper thought was flowing through. No thoughts at all when you began to feel a knot form inside you. The tip of Dick's cock hitting the right spot. Kori's strong arms lifted your torso up slightly, just enough for her hand to slip through and rub circles on your clit. That was it. Not even five seconds later you were sent over edge. A pathetic moan left your lips, sending a vibration through Kori's body. You shook as you climaxed. Tears spilled down your face.

"Oh shit sweetheart!" Dick moaned as his cock continued to stroke against your walls. Riding out your orgasm as his came. Kori's hand had found her own bud of nerves and she quickly followed. Mostly getting off your pleasure. You'd passed out almost immediately after your release. Kori held you close as Dick went to get a cloth to clean you and Kori up. She rolled onto her side and gazed lovingly at your sleeping face. She gave a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. Dick emerged from the bathroom with a wet cloth and cleaned your and Kori up before pulling the sheets over you two and slipping in behind you. They snuggled you between them.

"We should do breakfast in bed for them." Dick suggested, his voice muffled by your shoulder.

"Why would we make breakfast in bed? We have a kitchen."

Dick deadpanned Kori, a chuckle escaped him a moment later as he stared at her confused face.

A/N: Just a tad bit of a switch up from my last post! Just a little, itty bit🤏

Don't really like this that much but I wanted to post something.

[jinuaei]

Wait wait wait... TFP S1 E13 the cortical psychic patch with Megatron... Probably OOC Idc

Yan! TFP Megatron x medic bot reader

Uh... middle of the night writing hopefully it's understandable

Word count: 1.3k

Reader is Knockout's assistant and was tasked to basically be Megatron's bedside nurse. To Megatron, you were no one, just a bot that meekly follows behind Knockout or Breakdown. You are usually seen helping Knockout in checking up on him, or helping Breakdown clean up Megatron. But this time you were tasked to make sure Megatron never wakes up.

So Knockout — under Starscream's orders — had you connect to Megatron via the CPP, and gave you orders to stay low and ensure that Megatron stays in stasis lock. You do, observing him killing Optimus Prime over and over and over. You have stayed inside his head long enough to make you get used to the repetitive behaviour and become negligent on your task.

You were sloppy enough to have Megatron notice you hiding behind one of the rocks, tiredly nodding off. You snapped out of your short nap after hearing Megatron's canon preparing to shoot, scaring you half to death.

Megatron questions who you are, thinking you were an autobot and you quickly answer, fearing his wrath, but he doesn't kill you, instead he lowers his weapon, finally remembering that you are that shy little bort Knockout brings with him. Knowing that you are a Decepticon, he leaves you be, but you follow behind him regardless of his glare. 

Over time, he got used to your presence, following him or keenly observing him do whatever he does. The longer you stayed in his mind, the more he noticed odd quirks of yours that he deemed… adorable. Like how you kick your pedes that’s hanging off the edge of the platform above the arena while you observe him, or how you play with the loose rocks by stacking it on top of each other when you are bored.

Additionally, you tend to recharge a lot, understandable considering there’s nothing really happening much in his mind, other than killing Prime of course. He often sees you recharge on the cold platform, occasionally shivering. 

No, he definitely did not think it was endearing that you stop shivering when he gets closer, finding safety in his presence. And no, he did not think it was cute how you would nuzzle close to his servo when he moves to caress your cheekplate, that did not happen and will never happen again.

But when you woke up you found yourself on a berth, a proper berth on top of the platform, complete with a ‘pillow’, as those humans call it. You look over to Megatron in confusion but you find him killing prime (again), but if you only looked closer, you would see him smile as you cuddle the pillow close to you. He did not know how he managed to create that, but when he thought about how pitiful you looked on the ground, it suddenly appeared 

You don’t know how long you stayed inside his mind, you don’t know what day it is, where the Nemesis is or hell, you don’t even know if you’ll ever wake up in your original body again. But Megatron has been oddly sweet to you, or as sweet as Megatron could be. The berth has now expanded, it became a proper house now, complete with 2 berthrooms, a kitchen (that none of you really use but you enjoy the act of ‘making’ something), and a ‘living room’ with a tv (that only plays Megatron’s battles during his gladiator days)

It’s honestly rather cozy, and you noticed that Megatron has been killing Optimus less and less. Now instead accompanying you inside the house, oftentimes lazing on the couch or watching over you when you do something. 

I like to think this reader, though a cybertronian, has a thing for human homes and how domestic it is. So most of the ‘human’ objects came from your mind, doesn’t the CPP go both ways? So it is possible for Megatron to know about human domiciles due to your knowledge passing onto him. (I’m delulu let’s just say I’m correct on this :P)

One time you talked to him about flowers, and described to him how organic flowers look, he summoned one with the best of his abilities but what appeared was an amalgamation of metals that’s in the shape of a rose. Now those roses are planted outside your house accompanied by your flowers.

The moment you remembered that the bot you are with is the Leader of the Decepticons and is actually dangerous was when you tried to explore the place the best you can. When your pede reached the bottom of the stairs his voice called out to you from the top, it was cold, calculating… dangerous. And as you look up, his face is covered in shadows, optics bright, and frame tense. 

He does not like you being away from him.

Since then, you have not strayed far from your ‘home’ and when you tend to the flowers he is often found staring you down from within the home, his silhouette always standing behind one of the windows, looking over you, making sure you never stray away from his sight.

This routine followed the both of you until one day as you were talking to him, him softly responding to you, you suddenly disappeared. One klik you were there, the next, you were gone. He tried to find you within your home, checking every room, every nook and cranny that you could hide in. He thought you were playing that stupid hiding game, of course, he would always find you, but this time, he couldn’t.

And after searching every place he could think of, even outside yours and his home, he flips out. He deemed you a traitor and destroyed every piece of furniture within your home in anger.

How could you leave him? After giving you everything you wanted? All that stupid organic items, that stuffed bunny that you adoringly name as ‘Megatron jr.’, and even the flowers. How could you betray his spark and abandon him?

He started ripping apart the pillows, the sheets, even the walls are not safe. But when he is staring down at Megatron jr. he feels a sudden coldness on his spark.

Why did he blame you? No you would never, you are too kind to even be a Decepticon, nevermind a traitor, so someone else definitely took you away from him. Yes, that’s it, someone took you, far far away from his safe clutches. And he intends to hunt them down and kill them to even dare to touch you. With renowned energy he gently tucked Megatron Jr. inside his sub space and went out to seek you.

When he reached the arena he found himself staring at the autobot scout, enraged, he went to attack him but found himself unable to. Someone from the autobot team must have realized that Megatron is currently in a dangerous state because Bumblebee disappeared from his very optics, but by then it was too late, Megatron already knew the truth that everything was fake, the house, the plants, the battles, were part of his mind. And a thought crossed in his mind that maybe you were also fake… but he refuses to believe that. 

Due to his feral state or perhaps his obsession with you, he somehow manages to wake up from his processor dead state and is now staring at Starscream and Knockout, he ignores them and tries to find you. You were next to him, recharging, ‘forced into stasis lock by one of the autobots’ Knockout said, it was lucky that you would wake up soon, he would hate to kill Knockout if he was wrong.

Megatron then grabs your recharging form, intending to have you rest in his... no, both of yours berthroom. Just because it was all in his mind, does not mean it was fake, he can, and will be keep everything the same, but this time — everything is real.

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (drabble)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, brief PTSD, super light allusions to suicidal thoughts if you wanna read it like that

A/N: this is too damn long for a drabble but look away. LOOK AWAY. NOW. ENJOY<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The sky hadn't changed in days. Same murky stretch of clouds occasionally allowing the stars to peek through, same biting wind. At least it all felt a bit warmer now, either because of the nights spent indoors or due to the slightest temperature rise that the first days of March brought to Mourmelon. I leaned on the outer wall of the barracks, hands in my pockets, cigarette burning too low to draw from. I didn't bother lighting another.

The barrack door creaked behind me. The sound attracted my gone gaze, and I met hers for an instant. I couldn't tell who looked away faster.

"You're gonna freeze out here."

"Ain't that bad." I tossed the stub to the ground, grinding it with my foot. "You lost?"

"Looking for you."

I spared her another look, longer. Her arms, until now crossed, unfolded to fish out a pack of smokes.

"Okay," She lit a cigarette, the flame catching her visage just enough for me to see the dark circles under her eyes. "Let's talk." Plain, simple, with her foot half-turned like she was ready to bolt if it went sideways.

"Oh, now you wanna talk?" I asked, mouth curling bitter at the edges.

She took a long drag, held it, then breathed out slow. "Well, now that I don't wanna blow my brains out, yes."

I scoffed, searching for something in the distance that would distract me from the tightening of my chest and the ghost of the deafening shot ringing in my ears. "You forgot how to be funny or what?"

"I dunno, Joe," she accompanied her quiet response with a shrug. "I forgot a lot of things."

We stood in silence for a beat, the wind rustling through the barracks' roof above us. Inside, someone laughed too loud. It felt like a different world.

"So?" She prompted, shifting from one foot to another. "Do you wanna talk or not?"

I found myself at loss of words, not even knowing where to start. Every sentence I rehearsed came out wrong in my head, and if it came out wrong in my head, it'd sound fatal out loud. So I settled for the thing that felt most true.

"I don't know how to do this." Not without it ending up badly, I wanted to add. I didn't.

She exhaled a defeated sigh. "Makes the two of us."

Another silence followed, heavier than the last but not as sharp. The wind cut sharper, clearing up the night sky ever so subtly.

She looked down at her cigarette like it would give her answers, took another drag and held it out to me, like the gesture alone was a truce.

I took up the offering without a 'thank you', and we stood still, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same smoke like it might fill the cracks we couldn't name.

She inhaled a sharp breath before breaking the quiet. Didn't look at me while doing so. "You think we're friends?" The question hit soft but landed hard. She didn't mean for it to matter as much as it did. An afterthought in delivery. A loaded gun in disguise.

For a change, I took my time to answer —which in retrospective, might have made it all heavier.

"It's something I've been thinking about lately." She filled my reticence with another sentence, another absentmindedly voiced thought. Perhaps to give me time without being too obvious about it, or maybe to cover up the fact that she had made the air between us ache.

I twirled the cigarette between my digits. The paper was torn from her teeth, still damp at the end.

"No." I said, taking a drag, the taste of her mixing up with the burning sensation. "No," I repeated, blowing the smoke away. "we're not friends."

There was no accusation in her expression, only a quiet kind of acknowledgment. She had known the answer before asking, and wanted to hear it from me anyway. Tactless and unceremonious, but sincere nonetheless, as sad as it was.

"Friends don't..." I cleared my throat, kicking a pebble away from me. "They don't treat each other like we do. You know that."

"I know." Her hands buried deep into her jacket, seemingly to preserve the cherished heat we had been missing for months. "I'm just tryin' to place you somewhere."

I spun my head to check on her, only to find her eyes as lost as mine in the horizon of the camp, slightly squinted, as if she was trying to put something together.

"Do you even like me?" Her question wasn't sad, nor angry. It was curious, the way you ask about the the drills scheduled, or whether the mess is still serving coffee.

"You don't gotta place me anywhere." My words had no malice, and I prayed for her not to hear a fight in them.

It should've been easy to say yes. But it never was, not with her. Not when I didn't even know if she fell into that category. Like. Seemed like an understatement. Sounded off. No, I didn't like her, and I wasn't about to lie to her, but the truth was tangled up into anger and denial, and I didn't have it in me to unravel it.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to crack a response that would convey the overwhelming mess I felt for her without digging my own grave.

"You drive me crazy."

Her brow pinched slightly. She hadn't expected that, but it was something manageable, a confession already known among us. She could work with that. She just needed to find her own way to do so, so she asked, "'S that good or bad?"

"Ain't a compliment."

I was fast—faster than what had become usual. It left her stunned for two seconds, having lost practice when it came to giving it back as good as she was handed. With the corner of her lips twitching, she let out a small huff. "Alright, Liebgott."

There wasn't a smile on her face, but some of the tightness had eased out of her shoulders. The cigarette hung forgotten between my fingers, smoke curling between us in slow, lazy spirals. I handed it back, my fingers brushing hers too deliberately to pass as casual.

"Just a kiss, huh?"

I didn't miss the way her jaw tightened. She would have rather chewed glass than have to go there again. But because she humored me just long enough to keep me hooked, she asked, "You're still thinking about it?" Her eyes met mine, guarded, expectant. A bit eager for an answer, a bit confused by where I wanted this to go.

"That what you asked Grant after fucking him?"

"Oh, fuck off." She dismissed me, mentally taking a step back. I was trying to make her jump. She saw it clear as day, and chose not to give me the satisfaction. "Just answer the question." She urged, her lips wrapping about the cigarette immediately afterwards.

I looked straight ahead, jaw locked. If I wanted this to go anywhere at all, it was my turn to relent. "Yeah. I'm still thinking about it."

Stillness on her part. Not a single reaction to my admission, not even a quick glance out of pity. Then—

"It felt good." It could've passed as a slipup, but she was determined. "The kiss."

"Yeah. Fuck." My mouth went a little dry, but I pushed through, just like she had. "It felt good."

She nodded once, almost to herself. "We shouldn't do that again, though." It functioned as a full stop on the topic, but she tried to go further, "You and I... We're-"

"I know."

I cut her off, unwilling to hear what came next. We remained suspended in the moment for a while; two ghosts trying to play house with her burning Lucky Strike and the ruins of a conversation.

"Rumor has it they'll have us jump into Berlin." she tried, flicking the ash to the side, too casual to be genuine.

I latched onto the chitchat like a man drowning. "I heard the drop won't be ours."

"Doesn't matter." She paused, staring back past the shadows casted by the barracks. "One way or another, we're entering Germany."

I hummed affirmatively, disinterested in the superficiality of the exchange, yet not wanting to give up on recovering whatever normalcy we seemed to be regaining.

"How d'you say Nazi pig in Yiddish?"

I couldn't help but snort at the levity of her tone. "What?"

"Come on," she insisted, glancing at me for the first time in minutes. The glimpse of her old self peeking under her shell mimicked the starlight seeping through the clouds. "Teach me a bad word, I'll make good use of it."

"Fuck. Okay, try uh..." I cursed under my breath, rummaging through the memories. "Alright, try schweinehund."

It was her turn to laugh like she used to when I talked nonsense just to get a rise out of her. "Sch-wine-what?"

"Jesus, that's awful." I winced. "Schweinehund."

"Schveinyhoond?" she tried again, lacking knowledge but not determination.

"You're butchering it." I scrunched my nose at her, not bothering to hide my annoyance. Not that she minded it anyway. "You want the Krauts to shoot you twice?"

She huffed, putting out the cigarette against the barracks' wall behind us. "Just say it again."

"Schweinehund." I complied, slower this time.

"Schweinehund?"

"Close enough. They'll know what you mean."

"You sure that's not a compliment?" She attempted a joke that somehow landed.

"Yes, Y/n," I retorted, putting emphasis on her name. "I'm pretty fuckin' sure it's not a compliment."

"Just making sure." She gave me a distracted shrug, sneaking one last tentative glance at me before stepping back, her hand reaching for the door's handle. "Let's go in, yeah? I don't miss freezing my ass off."

Let's go in.

Not I'm going in. Not Wanna go in.

Let's go in, she commanded, so I followed.

[moonsuke]

Blue lock 301 leaks

I saw the leaks… Nagi looks so dead… This hurts way more than 300 tbh the way Nagi was constantly wondering if Choki changed while he was gone (and he was always so happy and accepting of it too), the way he was always so excited when he noticed himself changing, all that wonder just to be thrown back in his face that both of them didn’t change at all… this hurts man.

Choki really is used as a metaphor for Nagi, there's a really cute moe point about that I really like lol, and how Nagi's the only one who has this. I love how he gently set Choki down by his bed with the implication he went to collect it from Baaya? It feels sadder somehow, him collecting his pet cactus and going home alone… Hope to see this expanded in epinagi (in like 5 years…).

And again, knsr is STILL gatekeeping Nagi’s tears from us… Look, I wouldn’t be clamouring for it this much if it wasn’t teased during the Naruhaya scene!! Don’t tell me we’ll only be seeing it in epinagi?? Then what about his backstory??? knsr is just so MEAN. I just know he’s taking joy writing this whole Nagi dying arc and drawing it out.

It won’t end until Nagi hits utter despair though, because no matter how dead he looks it just doesn’t feel like his lowest point yet which means… maybe Nagi tears next chap?? 😭 I really think it’s been set up that his utter despair means tears AND KNSR JUST KEEPS DRAWING IT OUT. I know it’s cause Nagi’s the sorta character where it’ll take longer for emotions and the reality of the situation to set in, and considering this would be his first time experiencing such a set back too it makes sense. I really do like the care knsr is putting to writing his character, reactions and story.

302’s titled “もういい” (That’s enough/I’m done) and idk, it just sounds so depressing and defeated and also so Nagi-ish? His entire narrative is set up to find his inner fire so obviously his story isn't ending here. Plus I love how he's the only eliminated players with such a huge focus lol (except kngm at that time).

Like even with the new covers omg, for both epinagi and bllk, both feature Nagi! knsr sure can't bear to let him go/let us forget him the way he keeps inserting Nagi everywhere, love that as a Nagi stan. You've no idea how happy I was to see him featured alone (with death) on volume 7. 7 is reserved for Nagi and him alone!!

And the Buratsuta cover too with the Nagi coin was honestly so funny. I swear rong fans all share the same brain cell lol, all of us were just thinking of Nagi falling victim to the dirty ways of the capitalist, fat, old, rich swine (plus Ray dark??) and Reo having a financial battle with him (plus some NTR 😭).

Speaking of Reo, I thought it was hot how stoic and angsty he is this chap in his suit and all (Are they in their Egoist exhibition suits?)... Truly future CEO material. Its especially hot because of the contrast with his emotionally wrecked self last chap lol. I wonder what's he thinking and cooking up. Any diabolical mastermind plans?? 👀

-

I also love how we're continuing with the Isanagi moments and parallels. Him and Reo are really the only ones moping about Nagi. When it comes to Nagi's story, it'll always be the 2 of them be it if the shippers like it or not. Isagi regretted he could only say "don't quit soccer" but I actually thought that was really meaningful and I found the Isanagi scene in 300 way more impactful than even the Reonagi ones which were the bulk of the chap. I actually had a lot of thoughts for last chap to the point I couldn't get everything out but basically I just really really like the Isanagi scene lol. I'm just glad we still have Isagi thinking of Nagi this chap, really cements their bond and the importance of Nagi's role in the series.

And about their parallel, as I've said over and over... Their trajectories are meant to be opposite of the other and this chapter further hammers that in with Isagi reaching the peak of his soccer career and gaining recognition, full ego shining in his eyes and all but Nagi?? All dead and alone at home.

It hits especially hard cuz it was NAGI who really wanted recognition what with his whole "hello japan i'm nagi seishiro" and "wait for me, world", he’s all about trying to feel that heat, that spotlight, wanting to shine the brightest (I’m still thinking this is part of Nagi's ego) but all of these again, got STOLEN by Isagi 😭😭😭😭 It's just so sad and honestly if this was any other character besides Nagi I would be wondering how wounded is their pride but I feel like for Nagi's character, issues like "pride" isn't a focus.

Anyway... I wonder if this'll be a way to fire him up seeing Isagi stealing all these from him. Isagi really be stealing from everyone lol, like how he stole Nagi from Reo (kinda parallel how Reonagi views "treasure" differently but I digress). I've honestly no idea what's gonna happen with Nagi's rebirth except that giant hint on Buratsuta's cover... I thought he would be gone from the series for a bit but at the rate things are going, will he even be gone? LOL. knsr really can't let go of him man, I love that.

I wanted Nagi's rebirth to wait a bit before happening but if we're diving into BL tropes of nasty old men and falling victim to capitalism and perhaps exploring the darker sides of the sports world... I'm kinda all for it 🤡

[becausegraf]

Stolas is not Blitz's first rodeo - the case for Blitz' potential history as a de facto sex worker

(Okay, whoop de doo, here we go, if I sit on this essay any longer I won't get around to having dinner.)

Imagine someone you're into knows you've been struggling to make ends meet, and they approach you with this:

"Hey there, I've been thinking, how about we meet once a week to get giggity and have a good time, and in exchange I'll pay your rent, no strings attached."

Since 'this is hell' and not real life, also try to imagine what for example Moxxie or Millie's reaction might be to something like this. How would you envision this might go?

'What the FUCK' would be a completely sensible response. Even if someone agreed to this, you'd expect some reluctance, unease, nervousness, internal conflict... from most people.

And yet, this is basically what Stolas offered Blitz, and even in a hurry, his reaction wasn't at all shocked or confused. We see no hint of awkwardness in his behaviour around or during his monthly visits, not a lick of it.

There's a simple explanation for this: Blitz has done this before plenty of times.

He's quite literally 'used to it' and accepts this as a fairly routine type of agreement, without even questioning the concept of 'that horny head-in-the-clouds dork of a prince had a good time with me, and wants me to keep servicing him enough to offer me precisely what I want'. Stolas is far from unattractive to him, sure, 'why the fuck not'. Of all the ways this situation could have played out, this is one of the less difficult ones to deal with - satisfying people using his body is pretty much a 'shrug' to him, as opposed to having to come up with some kind of manipulation, or negotiating a different agreement, or keeping the grimoire against Stolas' will and earning himself the wrath of a Goetia.

The premise:

There is a long, long list of clues, many of them hiding in plain sight as 'haha crude jokes oh Blitz u so silly' moments, that Blitz has a history of providing sex as a service.

I also believe this is something most of the fandom already implicitly expects or wouldn't be surprised at all if it were confirmed in the show, but a lot of the implications are entirely invisible, and the effects on Blitz' behaviour are VERY easy to read as 'it's a comedy show, they write him this way because it's supposed to be crude and funny'.

Parts:

1) A hoard of hints

2) How this contributes to the massive disconnect between Blitz and Stolas' understanding of their arrangement

3) Some notes regarding the 'stage persona' of a performer, and recognition of achievements - a connection to his VA and co-writer

1) So, let's look at some contextual evidence first. This list is mostly constrained by my limited capacity to rattle off more examples on the fly, I'm sure you can easily find more of these everywhere you look.

- 'It's your night', and other such flat dismissals

This can be read as him just being cold and apathetic towards Stolas, as obviously 'Blitz is an unempathetic jerk-ass boyfriend'. However, if you read this through the lens of Blitz truly handling this arrangement pretty much like a professional, it makes perfect sense.

'We can do what you want, you're the client here buddy. This isn't about my preferences or wants, my job is to please you and not the other way around.'

- 'You know, I'm not really fussed when stuff like this happens' about Stolas rescheduling

Kind of a funky thing to say about your lover asking you if you have time to meet a bit earlier than originally planned, isn't it? Again, this makes sense if you read this arrangement as Stolas being like a client with a monthly appointment, and Blitz as the accommodating professional. The customer is king, if Stolas wants to move their appointment date (for something Blitz can do during his off-hours that aren't likely to conflict with other plans) then sure, it's not like he's going to charge a damn cancellation fee.

- 'But I thought you like it when I talk all dirty and fucky and shit'

The start of Apology Tour is a rough one, but it reveals a lot about the hidden reasons behind Blitz behaving the way he does with Stolas, and why we shouldn't take everything at face-value.

During their encounters, Blitz is in work-mode: h's very deliberate about how he comports himself and how to play to Stolas' tastes, for as far as he thinks he understands them. Stolas responded well to the aggressive stuff upon their first meeting as adults, and from Stolas' POV he had no real reason to clock that as *not actually really what Blitz' own personal preferred style is*. For as far as the owl knows, Blitz truly is unforcedly, naturally just 'like that' - scathing, dominant, rogueish, confident, bold and brash and adventurous in bed.

I think it's likely that Blitz probably *isn't*, maybe partially but not entirely, but trial and error quickly showed him Stolas is into that so... sure, he can accommodate. Whatever the fancy man wants of him, he can stay 'in-character' in that kind of exaggerated role pretty effortlessly.

Blitz glomming to MnM is a pretty big tip-off that he does have a sense of what true close intimacy is like and he absolutely does have a yearning for that. His 'I'm just here for the sex' bad boy attitude does not truly convey who he is as a person in his entirety.

The rowdy sexy assassin-cowboy-imp is the role he plays for Stolas, under the assumption that that is what he's into, and as a way to shield off his own much more vulnerable and conflicted real feelings. When it seems as if Stolas is no longer satisfied, he tries to 'get his shit together' and dial up the intensity, taking the whole sexually aggressive act to a level where it majorly crosses Stolas' boundaries.

Blitz at that point is just SO confused, so in turmoil with himself, and so terrified of losing the one point of connection he has to Stolas (which at that point really is pretty much their sexual compatibility plus a dollop of mutual je-ne-sais-quoi) he gets frustrated and just slips into a blind defensive rage.

(...yeah, that sure went over well, didn't it. 'God damnit Blitz', thus spoke the entire fandom.)

- Blitz' encounter with Chaz

This is a very interesting one to me. This set of scenes shifts very rapidly from one impression of Blitz to another, a triple pile-up of 'lol gotcha'.

'Oh ok , Blitz gets that it's kinda iffy to bang your friends' shitty ex' immediately gets subverted to

'...welp I guess his weird fixation is enough to disregard that entirely', and shortly after to yet another twist:

'-aaaaand welp, he took advantage of the situation without even blinking, because his instinct made him catch a whiff of something, and he took the first opportunity to poke into it a bit more even if said opportunity is banging the airhead randy shark'.

Blitz 100% uses his body like a tool. Any personal pleasure or bonuses that suit his whims he gets out of it is only part of his motivation. His played-for-laughs fling with Chaz is really much more functionally motivated: diving into bed with someone is just one of the several items on his list of things you can do to slip past someone's guard, shmooze them up, get up-close and even have them dead-asleep to create the perfect moment.

Watching this unfold, I personally very much did have that moment of 'oh dear that's a little concerning', that he made it look like he's 'just kind of a morally questionable ass', so casually making it seem like he was having some fun for his own sake when he was clearly going into this with the plan to slink out as soon as he had the shark where he wanted him.

This example also shows that Blitz clearly understands that sex and intimacy and trust are connected, but for him personally, that's pretty much optional (or even explicitly to be avoided).

- 'I've spent too much of my time, energy and holes on getting us set up', (so maybe don't get lame about this Mills)

File under 'haha Blitz so crude' and the easy interpretation of this as referring ONLY to Stolas. This likely concerns all the work he's done over the many years, starting long before the short time he's had the grimoire at his disposal at the time he says this.

He also does note himself as a) business savvy and b) sexy as fuck as the two major assets he has that he thinks of first in this scene. Blitz knows he's capable of capturing 'that kind' of attention, and he's clearly willing to make use of that.

- Finding out later in the series that he has a whole slew of exes that are still upset with him

This 'reveal' aligns with the general impressions we have of Blitz by that point pretty well. I wasn't surprised at all about that one - 'Oh, of course he does'.

Blitz dodges truly close personal intimacy, but he hardly avoids getting into situations that most people would experience as explicitly intimate, vulnerable and personal. His idea of 'boundaries' are very different from those of most people he deals with, and it's truly no wonder he ended up attracting quite a number of people to him only to ditch out once it became clear they were expecting some kind of romantic commitment.

With his natural charisma and easy charm and his *actual* innate kindness, combined with his well-practiced capacity to flirt and fluster and flatter, people that get to know him may very well be tempted rather quickly. They then easily misread his intentions when he's not one to say no if they make a pass and he's passingly interested. Of course, as soon as they let it show they're falling for him in earnest, *WHAM* goes the door, with no warning and often a sound 'fuck you' to seal the deal and ensure they don't come back.

'Why would he go and get intimate with me, if he didn't want to be with me?!'

The sheer confusion only adds to the offense at that point, and it's that lack of a sensible explanation that contributes to the pattern of people struggling to 'get over it'. We want to know 'why', we need the story to make sense, but Blitz does not give people that closure easily.

'Sorry I have a warped relationship with sex and it doesn't mean to me what it means to you as a baseline, AND I have massive hangups about people getting the feefees for me because everyone who does gets torn to shreds, so if we get giggity that's all you're gonna get from me' isn't really the kind of thing Blitz tells people ahead of time or after the fact.

- I may add more later or in a reblog, I could go on for hours honestly...

2) All this is far, far removed from Stolas' entire world

We all understand pretty well that our beloved well-intentioned dork of an owl has had a pretty sheltered existence (albeit frought with its own problems), and has *very* little experience in the realm of actual sexual activities.

If someone more worldly were to encounter Blitz and regularly interact with him in the way Stolas does, I think it would very quickly begin to raise questions.

You know, if someone so consistently treated your 'sexy date nights' the way Blitz does, I think quite a few of us would start to catch on that maybe he's got some, eh, 'circumstances' that inform his behaviour. Stolas however has nothing to go off off - Blitz is the experienced one, and he certainly acts like everything they do is pretty par for the course. Blitz is the role model, the example Stolas learns from about 'how things work' and what the rules are.

The issue is that Stolas is trying to learn how to have a fulfilling intimate relationship with someone, while Blitz is, in some fashion, actually trying (rather frustratedly at times) to teach him the code of conduct around just-business sex work. Over and over and over we see Blitz try to remind him of these rules, and from our POV, this comes across as Blitz being kind of cruel and mean because he's bluntly brushing off every earnest attempt Stolas makes to forge a connection.

Stolas doesn't understand what's going on under the surface, and for the most part, *neither do we as the audience*. We're here for the fluffy love story, and the hilarious impish shenanigans of our kind-of-a-dick of a protagonist. *Neither we as the audience nor Stolas take Blitz' behaviour and push-back seriously* as we don't get to explicitly view things through his eyes with the full understanding of what the world works like for him. He's either acting like a douche, or being erratic and hilarious, all just meaningless funny bullshit - right up until the moment where he snaps and suddenly it's no longer charming.

Stolas hapless persistence with trying to move past these 'walls', as he truly does desire something very different, eventually leads to Blitz giving up on getting him to cut it out, and it really seems as if he desperately tries to interpret he situation as an unruly spoiled but harmless client getting way too into the 'playing boyfriends' roleplay.

After all, what else could it *possibly* be? Love? Ha ha ha fuck you, of course not. What kind of asshole would even suggest that, that's just hurtful, inconsiderate and stupid - don't play with his feelings like that, it's JUST BUSINESS and Blitz needs to keep his head on straight. He's got a job to do and if he fucks this up and lets himself get attached and it all gets too real holy fucking sh- just drop the sky on him while you're at it, why don't you.

NO.

3) There are some themes here, as per the person who plays a big role in shaping Blitz' character

As 'the sassy crass youtube dude' in reputation I wouldn't be surprised if Brandon Rogers himself might be kinda familiar with the effect of people mistaking your 'on stage persona' for who you really are. People at times approach performers like him under the assumption they're always 'like that', and they tailor their behaviour according to that, too, instead of taking a step back and treating them like a regular person with regular boundaries.

At some point Brandon also said one of the things he relates to the most with Blitz is how much it irks him when people low key look down on what he's achieved.

'Nobody just handed him stuff, he and the team put in a fuckton of hard work into getting to where they are now'

This echoes Blitz' derision towards Fizz as someone who seems as if he's being given privileges, resources and support on a silver platter, just for existing as the person Asmodeus has a special interest in.

I will let that lead into my concluding comment:

I'm pretty damn sure we don't officially know the first damn thing yet about everything Blitz has put himself through to make it out of his twenties alive, just for starters, and to then become successful and reliable enough to provide a stable home for Loona and get his business off the ground.

[staringdownabarrel]

I feel like people, especially from overseas, need to understand that Peter Dutton's loss in our election wasn't just a matter of the Trump effect. It certainly didn't help that he spent time trying to cast himself as Trumpesque, but it wasn't the only reason he lost.

For one--and this is really the big reason our recent election is different to the Canadian election--there wasn't a lot of polling indicating that this was going to be a clear Coalition victory. A lot of it suggested that it was either going to be a minority Coalition government or a minority Labor government, or that at most it'd be a very tight majority.

It'd been that way for a while, too. Even six months or a year ago, when the polling more heavily favoured the Coalition, a lot of it suggested the best possible outcome for the Coalition was a minority government. A Coalition government headed by Dutton just hasn't ever been all that popular, even among people who ordinarily lean conservative.

With the more recent polling, it was tight, but the big thing was that there was a lot of undecided voters. That meant that while a tight Labor victory was seen as likely, the kind of huge blowout victory Albanese's had was also always in the cards, too. It's just that a tight victory or a minority government is what the media focused on because, with the exception of Tony Abbott's landslide victory in 2013, slim majorities and hung Parliaments is basically all we've had in the last fifteen years.

The important thing to note here is that there is a preference for incumbency in Australia. Even if there's a leadership challenge and we end the term with a different Prime Minister than we started with, a first term government will usually get a second term. This preference is so strong that the last time a first time government got voted out was in the 1930s. Basically every major politician in federal politics today has acknowledged this as being nearly a force of nature in this country.

Dutton knew this, too. His strategy this term was essentially a two term strategy. What he was hoping to cause enough dissent that while the Coalition didn't gain a majority, Labor would be stuck with a minority government, and then in the following three years, he'd try to capitalise on that so he could win in 2028.

That's the actual point that backfired for him. I don't think he ever presented the Coalition as having a viable alternative, so they just never got the gains he thought he would.

This is the other point that makes our election different from the Canadian election. Trudeau had been in for ten years, so there probably was a laundry list of reasons why people across the political spectrum wished someone else was Prime Minister. Switching to Carney probably was the best possible move for the Canadian Liberal Party at that point.

It's going to take another two terms for there to be a similar level of resentment against Albanese. A lot of people on the left feel he hasn't gone far enough and rightly so, but he's not widely hated in the same way some of our previous Prime Ministers have been towards the end of our terms.

As it stands now, Labor has widened its majority in the House quite substantially. Not only will Dutton not be able to win in '28 because he's no longer in Parliament, neither will the next opposition leader. Chances are that Albanese is gonna be a three term Prime Minister because of how wide his victory was this election.

I think the other point is that we've just gone through a period of time where we switched Prime Ministers a lot. For a lot of years, the Prime Minister that got elected would not be the Prime Minister at the end of that term. It's been about seven years since a PM got deposed through a leadership challenge, but I think there is a feeling among a lot of Australians that we'd like to get off the Everchanging PM Carousel now.

I don't see this talked about a lot, but I think that probably was a bigger factor, at least subconsciously, than most people realise. Incumbency has become a curse in a lot of countries, but we already had our period of changing leaders a lot ten years ago, and we're trying to avoid that where possible now.

As I said at the top of this post, Dutton trying to be like Trump didn't help him. However, I don't think it was the only thing that prevented him from winning this election, and I don't think it was even necessarily the most important factor.

[timeagainreviews]

The Perplexing Politics of Pete McTighe

Hey friends, just a heads up, I talk about real-life abuse and violence in this article. Please take care accordingly.

If I had a pound for every time there was a Doctor-lite episode where Ruby Sunday is staring down the barrel of some folk horror only for it to be subverted into a story about a toxic white male, I would have two pounds. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. “Happened twice” seems to be the theme of season two, so far. Susan Twist’s many cameos have been replaced by Mrs Flood’s many cameos. “Lux” bore a strong resemblance to “The Devil’s Chord.” And now we’ve remade “73 Yards.” It’s like Russell T Davies is pulling an “Evil Dead 2,” with season two. He’s got a bigger budget and better concept. Let’s remake the first one but call it a sequel! Was season one a test run? Had to get limber, did we? Well, I hope you’re warmed up because it’s starting to feel warmed over.

If you read my thoughts preceding season two, you’ll know I was not looking forward to this episode. Ruby Sunday’s entire story arc left me feeling quite let down. I felt like we had a vague idea of Ruby’s character, which is a shame because after “Lucky Day,” I was very pleasantly reminded how good Millie Gibson is in the role. In many ways, Lucky Day acts as a proof of concept for a Sarah Jane Adventures-style show with characters like Ruby. Away from the Doctor, Ruby’s character shines. Seeing her in a more commanding role suits her. Lucky Day also gives Ruby a chance at introspection and self-reliance that I admire. Sadly, however, it also plays into some of the trappings of characters like Clara Oswald, who are given focus through grief and trauma.

The RTD2 era has a bit of a Batman problem. Billionaire Bruce Wayne uses all of his money to dress like a bat and beat up the poor and insane. If you think of it from a campy comic book perspective, you can root for Batman because Batman is the good guy and the Joker is the bad guy. If you wrote Batman this way forever, you would never really need to question Batman’s motives. But then you get writers like Frank Miller who suddenly want to give the Bat some depth. If you introduce pathos, you must also be prepared to answer awkward questions. You have to question the nature of the hero. If the companions experience PTSD to the degree that they require a support group, then we are no longer in an adventure in time and space; we’re in the thick of it. But is Doctor Who capable of staring into that Charlie Brookeresque black mirror?

My poor boyfriend struggled with this episode. For a bit of context, he’s a very sensitive man. I’ve learned not to show him certain films and shows because his capacity for second-hand embarrassment is so strong that he becomes panicked. It’s not just characters in embarrassing situations, however; it can also be characters that personify his fears and anxieties. A mundane story about an awkward couple fighting killer monsters in a small English village was something he had signed up for. But when the tone shifted to the all-too-real storyline of a toxic male podcaster spewing hate into the world, he felt betrayed. He said, “I watch Doctor Who to escape this kind of thing.” He couldn’t even relax during the massage I bought him for his birthday because the episode had him so wound up. This wouldn’t be the first time Doctor Who has used its platform to discuss real-world politics. “The Happiness Patrol” parodied Margaret Thatcher’s regime with the depiction of Helen A. But when I watched “Lucky Day” with my sister, she similarly remarked, “That made me angry more than anything else.” So, what is Pete McTighe getting wrong that Graeme Curry got right?

Perhaps one of the clearest differences between the classic and current eras of Doctor Who is that in classic Doctor Who, the ones shouting “Exterminate!” are pepper pots with sink plungers and in modern Who, they’re throwing up “Roman salutes.” Gone are the days of allegory. The Doctor is now fighting literal Nazis. But if Doctor Who is now asking us to have these serious conversations, well, then we will start having these serious conversations. The best place to start is the place I always start, by asking whether Doctor Who is capable of handling such conversations. For example, is it great optics for “I stand with UNIT,” to be trending in an era of ICE raids? ACAB, except UNIT, amiright? This is why they needed to give Conrad those ableist and sexist lines. Because beyond being a total dick, Conrad’s greatest crime otherwise is to ask for transparency from a secretive paramilitary government organisation. It’s the MCU problem where the villains have a great point, but they must be stopped because they’re also mean.

This makes sense when you consider this story comes from the writer of “Kerblam!” wherein the Doctor gives a rousing speech about how the system isn’t the problem, it’s the people who exploit the system. If you asked Philip Zimbardo, he would tell you how systems can take good people and make them do terrible things. And he would know. You get the impression that Pete McTighe is a well-meaning progressive who also canvasses for Labour without a shred of irony. That’s a bit unfair, I don’t know him, but I do know his writing, and it’s a bit weird. There’s a healthy dose of mixed messaging that I originally chalked up to the Chibnall era’s first draft approach, but it’s starting to look like a pattern.

When the Doctor and Bel find themselves in 2007, it’s only for a brief moment. The vindicator needs to be calibrated, and unlike the last stop, the only things happening of note are fireworks celebrating the New Year. There are no haunted theatres or dead miners, just a little boy and a lucky 50p coin. It was a relatively small leg of the Doctor’s journey to bring Belinda back home, but a huge moment for the young Conrad Clark, who goes running back to his mum to excitedly describe the magic blue box he just watched disappear. Much like the Christmas special, “A Christmas Carol,” I hate how brazenly they depict child abuse. Having experienced domestic abuse as a child, I really didn’t appreciate having to see little Conrad get smacked in the mouth by his piece of shit mother. I really wish Doctor Who would stop depicting that shit so vividly. This episode seems hellbent on collecting various triggers. Yay escapism?

Conrad grows up to be obsessed with the Doctor and the unknown to such a degree that it starts to become unhealthy. He seems to run a very popular podcast about the strange and unknown. It has enough listeners that people from various parts of the world gladly tune in to listen to him interview Ruby Sunday. But his podcast is also Think Tank, which is poised to expose such things as fakery. So were the people tuning in because they’re into some X-Files nonsense or because they want to see X-Files nonsense exposed? Would his audience appreciate this bold new change in direction or would it be like Watcher’s “Goodbye Youtube?” Furthermore, if someone invited you onto a podcast, wouldn’t you at least listen to it before going on? Wouldn’t the Vlinx spend its days combing the internet for disinformation about UNIT? Is UNIT really bad at its job, or does Pete McTighe not understand how podcasts work?

Conrad meets Ruby after following her and the Doctor through an abandoned department store as they went monster hunting for a Shreek. The creepy mannequins strewn about the scene had me hoping for an Auton story. We’ve not had a good Auton story in ages. Instead, the reference to Autons is a painful reminder of the episode we could have had. In the words of Mystery Science Theatre 3000’s Tom Servo- “Never show a good movie in your crappy movie.” This wouldn’t be the first time we got the Auton bait and switch. Remember when “Praxeus” fooled us all with its swarms of killer plastic? “Lucky Day” joins Praxeus in the newly minted category of "Pete McTighe episodes that I wish were Auton stories instead." Creating a new genre of Doctor Who story? That’s quite the legacy. Conrad overhears the Doctor give Ruby an antidote to the Shreek’s vomit, which marks its prey for future nomming. I don’t understand why they need to mark prey. I get that they want to scare people because it makes them more tasty, but getting eaten is already pretty scary. Shouldn’t anyone suffice? If the person they mark could be “anyone,” why mark them at all? The Shreek isn’t Tzim-Sha, for godsake. They’re not big game hunters. Christ, I’m referencing Tzim-Sha now.

Conrad snaps a picture of Ruby and posts it to social media in hopes that someone will get him in contact with her. But what person would violate Ruby’s confidence like that? As it would turn out, that person is Ruby Sunday. Between Conrad’s podcast and Davina McCall, Ruby is proving to be one of the Doctor’s most interviewable companions. It’s really odd to me that not only would Ruby respond to Conrad’s creepy post, but then gleefully recount her exploits with the Doctor in a public forum. It would appear that, along with goodbye hugs, departing companions must also be debriefed. You just gonna spill the tea, huh, sis? Why not just write out the Doctor’s schedule and a list of his fears while you’re at it?

Ruby warms up to Conrad after he tells her that he’s an orphan. Finally, someone with whom she can share the terrible pain of growing up with a loving family. Speaking of loving family, Ruby’s two mums and Cherry are all happy to see Ruby and Conrad start dating. It’s a sign to them that Ruby is getting over the Doctor. Cherry would also enjoy washing her clothes on Conrad’s abs, but that’s pretty par for the course with Cherry. She’s a dirty old bird and we love her for it. Ruby’s other mum, whose name I don’t feel inclined to look up, is also there. Our biggest takeaway with her is that she’s still there. Sitting. I get the impression that we won’t see these ladies much more in the future. But it’s Davies, he’ll probably have them all come back for some grand finale at some point. Probably when he leaves again.

Ruby and Conrad take a little trip. I forget where, as it wasn’t incredibly important to me. His friends are supposedly there to meet her, but we all know how that turns out. At this point in the episode, I was mostly content to watch a relatively mundane monster of the week story. I had resigned myself to that Pete McTighe mundanity that we’ve come to rely on. This isn’t the guy you give big episodes to, this is the guy who writes benign short films starring side-characters to advertise Doctor Who Blu-rays. Doctor-lite stories are his wheelhouse. I did like that Ruby called UNIT to alert them of signs of the Shreek. It gives us a good glimpse into her current state and demonstrates that even when she’s panicked, she can take control.

The control is just the issue, however. Ruby is constantly on alert from her travels with the Doctor, which is very realistic. That need to control the situation stems from her fear of losing said control. I’ve had people say to me, “Wouldn’t it be great to be the Doctor’s companion?” To which I’ve always answered with a hardy “No.” I had a guy pull a gun on me in the Sunfresh parking lot in Kansas City. It wasn’t an adventure, and I doubt that gun being held by a Dalek would have made it feel any more so. It stuck with me for years, remembering how frail I felt in that moment. The Doctor’s adventures would give you PTSD, there’s no denying it. So if your question is “Would you like the Doctor to take you on a trip in the TARDIS to go meet Terry Pratchett?” Then yes. Yes, I would. I love any number of fictional universes, but there are very few of them in which I would want to live.

After triggering Ruby and UNIT into a full-on panic, Conrad and his army of internet trolls reveal the big ruse that any other secret agency would have known about months in advance. They once stopped a Krynoid invasion, and now they’re getting clowned on by podcasters. Ruby falls into a dimension of montage where the world is shown to turn its back on UNIT. Even Trinity Wells is back to stir up some shit. No Trinity, not you too! I thought Trinity’s new approach from “The Giggle” had more to do with the Toymaker’s influence, but it would appear she’s a muckracker like the rest of them. Et tu, Trinity? Ruby, having done the podcast and the big exposé live stream, has become the face of ridicule. Her only choice is to weather the storm along with UNIT.

The usual UNIT team is present, give or take a character here and there. We don’t see Morris, Mel, or Rose, but we do see Kate, Colonel Ibrahim, and Shirley Bingham. I remarked to my partner that I liked that UNIT finally has a more permanent roster of rotating characters, like it did in Classic Who. For years, they were haemorrhaging Brigadiers, but Kate put an end to that. Introducing the Avengers tower-esque UNIT HQ gave them even more opportunity to establish a core team. So when they introduced Jordan Lang, naturally, I took notice. Sadly for UNIT’s and Jordan’s sake, he was secretly a mole on the inside. I hope after this episode, UNIT took a long and in-depth look at its security protocols, because evidently, it’s super easy to infiltrate.

After doing a background check on Conrad, they learn he once tried to join UNIT but was rejected because his vibes were off. They also discover that his mother is still alive, living comfortably in France. His podcast, Think Tank, has over 80,000 subscribers, which, as I said earlier, is confusing. Even more confusing is how that required a background check when a Google search would have sufficed. Even more confusing is how Conrad's live stream kept going when the Shreek's background radiation causes power to fluctuate. I did enjoy that Shirley got to be the one to call out Conrad about being a tax evader, considering he referred to her as a drain on taxes. In fact, I really like everyone’s reactions to Conrad’s sudden intrusion into UNIT HQ. Kate letting the Shreek out is some shit her dad would have done. And Ruby’s “Go to hell,” line to Conrad was a genuine high for her character. I even said “Fuck yeah, girl,” in the moment.  Hot taser lady indeed.

Because it’s Doctor Who, Conrad is wrong and UNIT is right. And because I’m subscribed to the narrative, UNIT are the good guys and Conrad is the bad guy. But the real-world parallels are so distressing and worrisome that neither Conrad’s comeuppance nor the Doctor’s reprimand feels any sort of cathartic. Having been proven the fool by the existence of the very real Shreek, Conrad has been locked away with his arm reattached, but the Doctor isn’t yet done with him. In a very “Oh shit, dad’s home,” moment, the Doctor invites Conrad into his TARDIS to give him a stern warning. The Doctor’s white outfit gives him an air of mercy, but is betrayed by the ambient red lighting, giving him an enraged glow. As Doctor speeches go, it’s one of Ncuti’s best. He brings a lofty weight to the words that sound like they come from somewhere real within his own experience. While heavy-handed and on the nose, the Doctor says some things a lot of us are feeling these days.

The problem arises in the fact that the speech is totally wasted on Conrad. The Doctor’s words fall upon deaf ears. And while it’s some stone cold shit for the Doctor to clue Conrad into the future of his sad death, Conrad laughs that annoying laugh. The Doctor doesn’t leave him chained up in chains forged in the heart of a dwarf star, he just stares at him with the same irritated disbelief as the rest of us. The look on the Doctor’s face is like Veronica from “Heathers,” when she said, “You don’t deserve my speech.” Because he doesn’t. Conrad is the pigeon knocking over the chess pieces and shitting on the board calling himself the victor. The Doctor may as well have been staring at a blank wall. Whether his revelation of Conrad dying angry in a cell at the age of 49 comes true or not, rather depends on what happens when the Doctor leaves. Mrs Flood, in her obligatory appearance, lets Conrad out of jail, informing him that this is his lucky day.

It makes sense that Mrs Flood would want Conrad if she is some sort of God of Storytelling. Conrad understands the importance of controlling the narrative. She seems to be amassing a team now. Perhaps Conrad is to be her new companion. Maybe there will be others. Is Mrs Flood forming her own UNIT-style team of disinformation? Possibly. Speaking of forming teams, do you get the impression that Davies is grooming Pete McTighe for something more? He’s given him the executive producer role for “The War Between the Land and the Sea.” The last person who got this kind of treatment was Chris Chibnall with Torchwood. Pete McTighe ain’t it. And by it, I mean the next showrunner. He might be, but he shouldn’t be. He’s had three opportunities to show what he can do within the Whoniverse, which, as it turns out, is not a lot. This confused and triggering slog was only occasionally elevated by the strong performances of Millie Gibson and the rest of the cast. Everything else was entirely forgettable.

[rc-catalog]

It's that time again—our Creator of the Month event is back in full swing!

Our April Creator of the Month is @cursedbycain! 🎉 Please join us in giving a big round of applause to Aditi for her incredible creativity and contributions—this spotlight is so well deserved! 🌟 To help you get to know her better, we’ve put together a short interview where she shares a little bit about herself and her work ✨! Welcome to the COTM hall of fame, Aditi! We’re so excited to celebrate you this month and beyond! 🫶

💬 1) INTRODUCE YOURSELF! Tell us a little bit about who you are—not just your name, but what inspires you, what you love, and how you would describe yourself beyond your creations !!

🎤: I’m Aditi! I’m in my 20’s and I’m Indian Canadian! I am a chronic gym rat and probably the most annoying morning person you will ever meet. I love all things makeup/fashion/skincare and of course, Cain is basically the loml, despite being a blonde. My main inspiration is of course my loves Elle and Agatha (@kazu-naito and @agattthaa respectively). I make a lot of things either for them or because of them and I could probably talk about them forever so I’ll cut myself off here! There isn’t much else to know about me, pretty much all I do is gym, study, write, and clean. My friends like to refer to me as “insane” but i prefer “organized” so if that doesn’t sum it up, I’m not sure what will.

💬 2) WHEN AND HOW DID YOU FIRST DISCOVER ROMANCE CLUB? What drew you in, and what made you stay? Were there particular characters, stories, or moments that left a mark on you?

🎤: So my first interactive romance game was actually the Love Island game, and because of my interest in that subreddit, Reddit suggested the Romance Club sub! So I downloaded the app, started a story, instantly disliked the artstyle, and then forgot about it for a month! Then I tried it again and started with KFS for the Indian culture, fell absolutely HEAD over heels for Ram, and I was hooked! Funnily enough, I started playing during a diamond rush and thought the free diamond choices was some crazy glitch. But finding out that they have these events was so incredible that I couldn’t stop playing.

💬 3) HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN CREATING? Can be both RC related and in general! what first sparked your passion for it? Think back: when did you realize you wanted to create—whether it was writing, art, or something else?

🎤: In general—we’re coming up on probably 6 or 7 years? I have ALWAYS loved reading and when I discovered fanfic and how much I loved reading fics, I started to constantly come up with ideas and send them to people in asks (this has not changed) and eventually I would think—well instead of sending requests for other people to write things…why don’t I just write it myself? And then I did! I’ve been writing on and off since then, for various fandoms and people and I’ve always loved the outlet it gives me! For RC—I am quite new to the fandom in all honestly, I started playing right around the Feb update and I didn’t start making content until late March/beginning of April! I love participating in fandoms and this one is a bit smaller than I am used to, which meant not nearly enough fics to satisfy my insane urges, so I figured I would write some!! So technically I’ve been creating for a month but wow, it feels so much longer.

💬 4) DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST EVER CREATION? Again, can be RC related or in general! What was it, how did it feel to bring it to life, and looking back now, how do you feel about it?

🎤: I have a vague memory of my first fic, but it is so horrible that I’m gonna talk about my first RC creation instead! I started with a CainLane fic (who could’ve guessed) after yapping in Elle’s inbox about them for a month! I sent her an anon about the idea around the end of March, and then I wrote it! It was basically a fic about Lane being trapped in Baal’s domain and her small interactions with Cain! It was a random idea that came to me, and writing it was actually really satisfying! Characterizing Cain was slightly challenging since it was my first time writing him, and I hate writing things that are OOC, but after some satisfying workshopping, it turned out quite nicely! I hadn’t written fanfiction in about a year, and it shows in that fic, but honestly I still like the way it turned out!

💬 5) IS THERE A PIECE OF ADVICE YOU WOULD GIVE TO YOUR YOUNGER CREATIVE SELF? Or readers in general?

🎤: This is gonna sound so cheesy, but have fun!! I used to literally burn myself out trying to stick to scheduled fic postings and crazy challenges, and writing would almost feel like a chore? Don’t let that happen to you. Above all, creating should make YOU happy. Even if something gets no notes, if you’re proud of it and creating it made you feel good, it’s a win. Everytime my friends mention their “flops” (oh yeah I’m calling you out) I wanna shake them because it really does not matter! NEVER let that kind of stuff discourage you. Focus on creating things that fulfill YOU and not others, because as wonderful as external validation feels, internal validation is so much more important.

💬 6) CHOOSE 3-5 OF YOUR FAVOURITE WORKS AND RAMBLE AWAY! We want all the behind-the-scenes thoughts: What do these pieces mean to you? What inspired them? Were there any struggles you faced while creating them? What emotions or memories are tied to them now?

🎤: Giving me permission to yap is so dangerous of you guys, alright lets do this! In no particular order:

Haircut - Cain x Lane — This fic holds a very special place in my heart because domestic fics are my absolute favourite. I also consider this to be my first proper CainLane fic since it’s in third person and more in character. Like many of my fics, it was inspired by something Elle said about how hilariously well groomed they are in HSR. It was such a funny idea, giving an immortal angel a haircut in the middle of a literal apocalypse that I just really wanted to bring it to life! Sometimes I find it hard to characterize Lane in relaxed moments like this, since the poor girl is always so stressed but it fell into place quite well! I also LOVE to incorporate found family moments of the squad into my fic and I pictured the ending of this one a lot. This fic is still so comforting to me and I honestly love it.

Rooftop - Cain x Lane — You know, you might as well call this interview an ode to Elle with the way she’s inspired all of my stuff. Once again, this is all her doing. I was halfway through my treadmill routine when I checked tumblr and saw her message and damn near fell off. No good morning message, just “lol, imagine lane finds cain crying alone and he immediately puts the mask back on when he notices”. There was nothing funny about this, I cannot believe she started this with lol. Anyways, I had already been left wanting by the rooftop scene in the update (seriously, we couldn’t get a kiss or something?), so I figured I would, in fact, write the loml crying because well, everyone needs a good cry. This was my first time writing Cain being vulnerable, and it took some workshopping. He’s such a guarded character, and crying felt almost OOC for him, so I wanted to make it feel right, which I think I managed! This one really does mean a lot to me. I really enjoy writing vulnerable moments like this, especially with Cain. As Agatha likes to say, he’s just a doll Elle likes to poke and I have joined her in said poking.

Eternity - Cain x Lane — Okay this is just embarrassing now uh this is ALSO inspired by Elle. She told me to make him cry again and I said “well, give me a reason” and she did, and I wrote it in less than two days. So this is probably the best fic I’ve ever written. I wanted to extend the scene where Cain visits her in s2 and sleeps on her lap, and just flesh it out. Elle, of course, brought up Lane’s mortality and how Cain would think about that and his feelings about it. Of course, the thought of this made me cry, and then I wrote him crying. I’ve never written a fic this descriptive and like flowery. It made me really nervous, but I loved the way it turned out. I probably edited it over 10 times to get all the metaphors and feelings of pain in there. Cain is a really complex character, which is part of the reason I love writing him, but it also means I am always doubting my characterization of him. With some lovely help from Agatha, I managed to work out his crying in a rather beautiful way, if I do say so myself. I honestly find myself rereading this fic whenever I’m particularly in a sad mood and just want to wallow a bit. The ending always makes me feel better though, and I always come back to it.

Unlocked - Yan x Lane — This is probably one of the fics I reread the most. I may be a dmitryan truther but don’t get me wrong…Dmitry can’t handle all that and I can! I honestly just love Yan, I think he’s such a sweet character and I just really wanted to expand on this small moment we got in the update. In a book like HSR I am always cravingggg these happy moments so this was a very self indulgent fic. The premise of this one was very random tbh, I kinda just let it come to me as I was writing. Normally I have a vague plot when I start a fic but with this one I was just like, well he’ll get in there and figure it out. I wanted there to be some smut but it didn’t feel right in the context of the scene. I was also very nervous writing this one because there are no YanLane fics on here, so I was really going in blind. Normally, I like to read a few fics to see how other people characterize who I’m writing about before I do my take. I was honestly surprised this did well, I didn’t realize YanLane was popular at all. But more importantly, I really like it! It’s a very comforting soft fic for me to reread.

Hate me harder - Cassiel x Audrey (18+) — Okay a wonderful change of pace here, this one was for Agatha not Elle! She tolerates so much CainLane from the both of us that I had to write this for her. She made a post about how Cassiel and Audrey should have slept together in season 1, and I was just very inspired by it? I think that’s my favourite thing about writing, if I want something to happen, I can just write it happening. The scene in the hallway where he tells her, “I’m gonna lock you in a closet” was genuinely so funny to me. They have such good chemistry in that first season, I love a good enemies to lovers moment. I hadn’t written full smut in a long time so I actually had to go back and consult some of my old smut fics and jog my memory a bit! But the banter during the sex was actually really easy to write, I really enjoyed that part of it. I don’t reread this one as often but I do really like it. I hope to write more for them but their dynamic doesn’t come to me as easily as CainLane and YanLane, which is probably because I’ve played HSR almost ten times now. But ABH is definitely a banger for me so I’m excited to see the ending and write some more Audriel.

🌟 Thank you so much for joining us, Aditi, and for sharing your incredible creativity with us! Your work has truly enriched the RC fandom, and we’re so grateful for everything you’ve contributed. Keep creating, inspiring, and making this community even more amazing! And a huge thank you to you, the reader!! You help us keep the catalog going strong. We appreciate you being a part of this amazing journey! 💛

[yanderenightmare]

silly question maybe, but any tips/rules for how to write reader-inserts? like how far can I take reader characterization, perspective, and such

On Reader Inserts

Really good question! Here are my thoughts!

The basic, safe, unassuming reader

This reader doesn't have any visible characterization, personality, background, or perspective, and usually, they don't even have dialogue.

With readers such as this, most of everything relies on the characterization of the other character, where their inner thoughts regarding the reader and their interaction with the reader are the only things that actually make the reader exist at all.

Here, the reader is treated like more of an object than anything else.

It's quite difficult to make such a reader work. And I'd say it's nearly impossible to keep it up for longer stories, even short stories. But it is quite common to see in drabbles and headcanons.

There's nothing wrong with using this type of reader, but it is very limiting. You sort of have to be an illusionist to make it work. Misdirection really is this type of reader's best friend, as the focus always has to be on something else and reflect back on them in order to include them in the story.

I'd say some authors are experts at it. But other times, I think it comes forth as a little boring, at least in the long run.

The plus side of this type of reader is obviously that almost anyone can picture themselves completely as they are in real life.

But that's really the only good thing about it.

And to me, at least, making sure reader inserts are completely chameleon isn't all that important. People aren't strangers to putting themselves in others' shoes, and I think a lot of the joy that comes from reader inserts is exactly that—the opportunity to be someone else for once.

Further in this post, I'll go over the other reader types, ranging from this type of unassuming reader to more brazen readers who gradually become more and more aligned with what some might call an original character, and the ups and downsides to this.

It's alive!

One of the most common readers you'll see will almost be like the one above, but with a few brain cells of their own.

Call it Frankenstein's monster.

Here, the reader will have dialogue and reactions, but nothing too wild that might alienate people and make them say I would never do or say that!

This type of reader is still very much playing it safe. But different from the completely unassuming reader, this reader might go to college, might work a part-time job, might have parents and friends, but never anything too specific, and no type of personality that might warrant a description.

As you can probably guess, Frankenstein's monster is also quite limiting, so it is more common for shorter stories, as well as drabbles and headcanons.

Author's perspective!

This type of reader is also very common, where the reader will carry the same voice and perspective as the text has—i.e., the author.

The reader is still very much unassuming regarding what they look like and many of the details of their life, but their personality is decided, as the reader and storyteller share the same voice.

Here, as the author, you really have to trust that your perspective is something that'll appeal to the readers.

Common to this is a very "talkative" tone throughout the text, including a lot of thoughts and observations made by the author-reader. It's also common that the text has a somewhat humorous or sarcastic tone.

@yandere-daydreams especially uses this type of reader. Their texts always have a type of tough, smart, self-reflective reader whose perspective is central to the story.

But they're not the only one. Plenty of authors use this type of approach as it's their default to simply write the reader with their personal mindset and personality. I do this as well from time to time.

The downside to the author's perspective is obviously that it won't always translate as an all-inclusive type of reader. Meaning, it won't really be unassuming or reader-friendly.

The other downside is that the perspective will solely rest on the reader and the reader alone. Meaning, there isn't any sneak peek inside the inner thoughts of any other character, just pure speculation made by the reader-character. In other words, the story is only seen from within the reader's head, with the reader-character as the only storyteller, fully dominating the perspective.

Of course, you can always shift the perspective, but it can come across as awkward if the storyteller's voice suddenly changes.

Standardized reader!

Standardized readers usually turn up at the start of the post—I like to write them in the trigger warnings.

Not everyone does this. But I like to, at least when I'm finished writing something, only to notice that the reader has a distinctive personality or distinct features that might not be that reader-friendly.

It sort of works like a disclaimer.

Here are some examples of readers standardized by personality:

♡ CRYBABY reader ♡ MORALLY GREY reader ♡ SASSY reader ♡ BULLY reader ♡ BORN-SEXY-YESTERDAY reader ♡ NAIVE reader

They can also be standardized by body trait or other physical features, like this:

♡ FLAT-CHESTED reader ♡ CHUBBY reader ♡ PETITE reader ♡ SHORT reader ♡ STRAIGHT-HAIRED reader ♡ GLASSES-WEARING reader

Or, the most common, by gender, ethnicity or species:

♡ FEM reader ♡ M reader ♡ GN reader ♡ POC reader ♡ FAIR-SKINNED reader ♡ BUNNY reader ♡ OMEGA reader ♡ ALPHA reader

The OC reader!

The OC reader is, believe it or not, the most common type of reader.

This reader has history. They have hopes and dreams for the future. They have fears and issues. They tend to have a specific career or go to college with specific courses. They have parents, siblings, and friends they talk to on the phone. They live somewhere they pay rent. They might have a roommate. They have ex-boyfriends or people at work they dislike. They have certain interests and hobbies. They have a taste in wardrobe and music. They have a makeup routine. They prefer flats over heels and have other such preferences. They shave. They work out. They might even have pierced tits.

Yeah, they're basically fully-fleshed characters that are still relatable enough for readers to easily step into without it feeling all sorts of wrong.

When writing the OC reader, it's paramount that the author really sells the narrative. If the reader doesn't relate to the OC, then the author must make them assume the OC as themself, regardless, as quickly as possible.

In other words, the reader shouldn't even be able to tell they're an OC. It should feel natural. This can be hard to do, of course, but I'll say the most interesting x reader fiction features an OC reader.

The impossible task!

It is impossible to cater to everyone. We're all different sizes, different heights, and have different capabilities—we're different all around. So it's impossible to write anything that's completely reader-friendly or totally unassuming.

So, to answer your question about how far you can take characterization, there really isn't any answer.

You can go for the unassuming reader I listed at the start, but then you'll most likely end up with a boring story with minimal character interaction. Or you can go for the OC reader and upset those readers who find stepping into another pair of shoes impossible.

I say just write what you want, and list those possibly triggering creative liberties you've taken in the trigger warnings. It's impossible to please everyone, so just make sure you're at least pleasing yourself.

[phoebeegreen3]

Capri Persson (F1) 01. BACK ON TRACK

🏎 SUMMARY: What if the best driver of recent years isn't actually him? What if the best driver is actually hiding something else? Would he still be the best? Or just a simple fraud? 📓 GENRE: secret identity / rivals to lovers / he felt first, she felt harder / soulmates / slow burn 📧 WORD COUNT: 3096 📬 PARTS: book one (two parts) / CP9, book two (one part) 🏆 CAPRIPERSSON.MASTERLIST

Bahrain GP, Middle East. March, 2023

The first years are always a mess, no matter how well your career has gone. People will try to prove that you don't have what it takes to be among the top 20. They'll do whatever it takes to weaken you, even if it means bombarding you with hundreds of cameras as if you were Britney Spears herself. The difference is, I was more like Hannah Montana.

People did everything they could to test how much you could endure, what you were capable of, how far they could push. When I came out of my first F1 race to check in with the other drivers, I had agreed with the FIA and my team on everything necessary to never have to take off my helmet, for any reason. And yet, the officials weighing us started an argument with Jean, insisting that I had to remove my helmet even if the FIA allowed me to keep it on, since they could subtract the weight of the helmet, considering that the rest of the drivers were still holding theirs while stepping on the scale.

A lot was said. They pressured the other drivers to speak badly about me, conspiring with the press. They left them on the edge of a cliff in a dirty and unpleasant game that only media people could scheme up. I ended up being Rookie of the Year and winning Action of the Year for the overtake I made on Albon in the last lap of the Abu Dhabi GP at the FIA awards during my first year. Clearly, I didn't go to collect the trophies. Partly for obvious identity reasons, and secondly, as a protest against how badly the FIA handled my first year, despite our agreement. In my second year, I won Action of the Year again for a move on Leclerc in Monza. And by the third year, I was already a runner-up—but that's another story, probably the worst of my career.

Being a runner-up is even worse than not scoring a single point all season. In fact, there was an episode in the Netflix series that went to great lengths to explain that event. They titled it "No Victory", and I replayed it eighteen times during the winter break so that when I returned to Abu Dhabi this year, I would understand what would happen if I lost again.

Runner-up felt like a joke when I crashed my car on the last lap, just moments away from winning. I just wanted to collect the trophy so I could go home and smash it against the floor. It would have been different if I hadn't scored any points, if my car had caught fire, if something else had happened. But instead, I sat on the couch in my apartment, watching the FIA hand Max that trophy for the second year in a row.

And since then, I haven't stopped replaying it in my head—until now. First race of the 2023 season. Capri Persson is ready to win. Capri Persson will win. That's what sets him apart from the rest.

I could no longer allow myself to trail behind Verstappen and Red Bull. Not anymore.

"Capri?" Jean called from the other side of the door, knocking twice as a warning before stepping in. That pulled me completely out of my thoughts. "Alright," she sighed. I stood up in my suit, my helmet resting on a table in the corner of the workshop room. "Ready?"

"What if I don't make it?" I whispered, consumed by my worry.

"No, no, no," Jean immediately shook her head, stepping closer to me. "Don't say that. Don't even think about it."

"Jean..."

"Look at me." She held my jaw in her hand, tilting my face so I was looking straight at her. "You're going to go out there, you're going to race, and you're going to thrive because you're the damn Capri Fucking Persson. Do you hear me?"

"Yes..." I mumbled.

"I can't hear you. What was that? A little bird chirping?" she exaggerated her motivational speech. "Did you hear me?!" she raised her voice, trying to hype me up aggressively, but I hid my laughter and raised my voice.

"Yes, Jean!" I shouted firmly, and she smiled, satisfied.

"You're already on the ground, Capri. There's nowhere lower to fall. The only thing left is to get up." She winked, placing a hand on my arm. "I know you only see bad things ahead because you feel surrounded by them... but why don't we look at the good opportunities that could come out of this instead?" I sighed at her words. "Instead of asking yourself, 'What if it doesn't happen?' ask yourself, 'What will I do if it does?'"

Go home and train for the next one. That's how things were, how it had always been, and how it always will be.

Winning is great, but nobody ever tells you what happens when you don't. Everything that comes with mourning what you thought you had in the palm of your hand.

Shit.

I could have been champion if it weren't for that mistake on the last corner—THE LAST! I should have lifted Verstappen's trophy, I should have taken that recognition. But I crashed. I got out and saw my car wrecked against the wall while the rest of the competitors drove past me.

While the world spent the winter break talking about Capri Persson's defeat, I was mourning the fact that what I had longed for hadn't happened. I had to carry the grief of that emptiness I felt when I turned on the TV to watch the FIA awards, where I had already imagined myself receiving the trophy and showing the world who Capri Persson really was.

When things don't happen, the focus is on getting back up and trying again. But no one ever tells you how to handle the pain of watching life go on, just not how you wanted it to.

Jean helped me with my helmet, and we left the room, entering the garage to see the new AlphaTauri car I had tested during the break. Nyck was talking to the mechanics, getting ready to step into his car when he saw me arrive. With a small nod in his direction, I greeted him briefly, and he smiled tightly, a little uneasy. It was no surprise how difficult it was for the rest of the drivers to share a space with Capri Persson.

Pierre Gasly had been my first teammate, and even though I knew he wouldn't always be, I think I had grown fond of the idea of seeing him in the garage often, testing cars together in the off-season. We never really talked, but I always had the idea that, after all, he could be the first to know the truth about Capri Persson—mainly because he had been my teammate since I started. But Pierre announced he was leaving AlphaTauri for the 2023 season, meaning I had to change teammates.

Nyck hadn't been too bad—decent, overall. He neither got in the way nor stood out too much, which worked. But it was clear he had an exaggerated respect, almost bordering on fear, for his teammate. That meant I had to get used to having him on track in a very different way than I was used to with Pierre.

2023 meant a big fresh start. A complete reset.

New teammate, new car, new reputation. New season.

We all got into our cars for the free practice lap, and at that moment, I knew that keeping my foot on the accelerator was like planting a great garden. Keeping my foot down meant believing in tomorrow; it meant still having faith that one day, what Turn 16 on the last lap in Abu Dhabi had taken from me would finally be mine.

It was just me, this single-seater, and John, my engineer, whom I could silence if I wanted to. So I gripped the steering wheel tightly, took a deep breath, and watched the lights change.

The circuit starts with a straight, followed by a tight right-hand turn that connects to a wider left-hand turn. Exiting that corner, you accelerate fully, avoiding the outer curb and keeping the car centered on the track to slightly attack the next apex. I had to keep the wheel straight for a fraction of a second and then change direction to the left while still accelerating and shifting gears. The next small right-hand bend is practically straight, but it's crucial to position yourself on the outside at the exit to attack the next corner. Verstappen was leading, for obvious reasons, followed by Charles, Lewis, George, Lando, and me. Sixth place.

There was a theory about qualifying in P6. Jean called it "the devil's position theory," and although I wasn't convinced, I couldn't deny that it never failed. Starting the first race of the season in "the devil's position" meant a guaranteed podium—unless the tradition changed this season or betrayed me.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Jean had said, sitting in my team's hospitality café during the French GP last season. "You started sixth this year in Australia, Miami, Spain, Canada, and Silverstone. And guess what..."

"I don't need to guess."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, lowering her voice when she realized she had spoken too loudly. "You won every single one of those GPs in a way that was torturous for the other drivers. France won't be an exception. Six is the devil's number."

"Actually, it's 666."

"Oh, come on," she looked at me in frustration. "The devil's position is already a fact. You can't deny it."

And she was right. France confirmed it, and then Monza did too. I couldn't deny it, so now I was expecting the same.

"Turn 10 in less than two seconds, Capri. I'll let you know when you can activate DRS," John notified me over the radio. Just as I was ready to take the corner, Carlos made one of the worst overtaking maneuvers I had ever seen.

"What the hell did he just do?" I asked. "Someone give that idiot an extra prize from me for ignoring every other driver so spectacularly while passing. I want to hear you all applaud when I smash his nose against the steering wheel," I spat, completely lost in my anger. John burst out laughing—I knew deep down he was grateful that my radio messages couldn't be shared with anyone else. It was just me and John, though sometimes Franz chimed in too.

"Copy that. But I'm going to ask you to calm down; you can pass him with DRS."

"I know, I know," I muttered. "I can pass him with my eyes closed. Want me to try?" I teased.

"Focus, Capri," John scolded.

I passed Carlos before the next corner, and I think I even heard him curse. The long curve leading into a fast, sweeping left-hander gave me the chance to overtake Lewis for fourth place and steal third from Russell on lap 43/57. I was doing well—I was making it happen.

"Capri, push. If you keep it up, you have a guaranteed podium," John said over the radio.

I didn't want a guaranteed third place. Who the hell did he think I was?

I wasn't going to maintain the pace—it wasn't about that.

"A guaranteed podium?" I laughed. "John, I started in 'the devil's position.' Of course, I have the podium secured."

"Capri, don't push the engine too hard. This is just the first GP; you should—"

"Goodbye, John. Should I call you when I win?" I grinned, though I knew he didn't fully appreciate it.

If there was something I loved on the track, it was knowing what each driver was willing to give in the competition. I believe years of experience mean nothing in relation to the car, which changes every season. Instead, experience matters when it comes to learning how to read the races of others. When you know each driver's blind spots, how they think, what they do—that's when you win. And this season, I was willing to do everything to build that knowledge.

You have to know whether they feel the car or just think about strategy. Or, on the contrary, if they have a perfect and absolutely necessary balance. If they did, they were great drivers. If not, they failed. The balance between feeling the car and thinking about your next move while knowing everything could change drastically in an instant—that was probably the key to driving an F1 car.

That was my formula. Know your competitors and find the balance between reason and instinct.

"Capri, box. We need to box," John notified me, his voice urgent over the radio.

"No, we don't, John. Not on the penultimate lap, and not when I just passed Leclerc for second place."

"Persson, I'm sorry."

"No, John. I'm even more sorry. I'm not pitting—I won't start the season on the wrong foot," I shouted, caught between anger and exhaustion.

"Capri Per—" I heard Franz jump in immediately, and my first instinct was to turn off the radio. I knew this would cost me, but it wouldn't be so bad if I got first place at the end of the day.

Max was ahead. And I felt like we had some unfinished business. Starting the season by taking him out of the lead would be the best way to boost my confidence. But Charles was on my heels, and that was driving me crazy.

"Verstappen is losing power. You need to overtake." said John five seconds after I turned the radio again.

"Is this a joke?" I felt deeply disappointed.

"This is your chance, Capri. Max won't be able to fight back. Pass him!"

I frowned. How was this possible?

"Come on, accelerate," I thought bitterly as I looked at the Red Bull car. My front wheels were approaching his rear ones, and all I wanted was for him to speed up. I wasn't going to win just because he couldn't accelerate. I wasn't going to win because he lost. I was going to win because I beat him fair and square. "Come on, come on, come on," I muttered, and suddenly, I was leading the race. Even Charles had passed him.

"That's it, Capri! You're leading! Keep pushing!" John shouted excitedly. Reaching the finish line, I could see the entire AlphaTauri team climbing the fence, cheering for me.

The checkered flag waved over me, but I said nothing. Reluctantly, I raised my hand to the crowd as if everything was fine—but it wasn't.

The good thing about always having a helmet covering my face was that I didn't have to fake a smile, a grimace, or anything. I just had to raise my hands, wave, and pretend everything was fine—just with my hands.

I parked the car and got out, moving confidently and greeting the roaring crowd. I saw signs with my name, team colors, and the iconic white AlphaTauri helmet. I watched Leclerc arrive in red and Verstappen pull up behind him, getting out in frustration.

"Great race, brother. Congrats," Charles said, fist-bumping me, which I returned. Max turned away and headed straight for the garage.

I watched him, thinking how ridiculous it felt to win almost by default because your rival had a failure. That's not winning—that's surviving. And I wasn't fully satisfied with that.

The team was waiting for me to celebrate, so I did everything I was supposed to do—act like the man of the grid.

If there's one thing I have to highlight, it's the feeling that filled me when I had to act like the man as soon as I won my first F1 race. It's strange, but in the small details, you deeply know that a woman would never be allowed to celebrate like that—because of the comments, the opinions, everything. It feels terrible, but... I couldn't deny that, in a way, it was amazing to enjoy the good parts of all this. Though I don't know how long it will last.

"You have to go to the cooldown room," Jean said, licking her lips uncomfortably.

"What?" I replied in sign language, frowning even though she couldn't see me.

"They demanded that you have to go to the cooldown room this time. Let's not make things more difficult."

"Difficult? Who the hell said that, Jean? What exactly am I supposed to do there with my helmet on?" I keep moving my hands angry and aggressively offended.

"Just go and show them it's pointless, that there's a reason we never did it. Go" she ordered, and with nothing more to say, I followed her instructions.

The team accompanied me to the cooldown room, and as soon as I entered, still with my helmet on, everyone went silent. The camera pointed straight at me as if it could pierce through my visor, and I stepped onto the device that would measure my weight. Max and Charles kept murmuring while watching my back.

I sat in one of the chairs and felt the drops of sweat tickling my face. The areas where the helmet pressed against me felt hotter than usual, and I could feel every bit of its texture. I was supposed to take it off like the rest of my teammates, drink water, put on the Pirelli cap, talk about the race, and watch the screen.

I simply sat there, staring at a fixed point through my visor, thinking about how disappointing the start of the season had been. Yes, the mark said that I won that race, but no for me. I didn't win, he gave up. It's different, and painful to start like this.

"Piastri is pretty good, don't you think, Persson?" Max asked, turning to me. Charles took a sip from his bottle, visibly uncomfortable.

"Yes, he's very good," I answered curtly with my hands, and both of them went silent, discreetly glancing around to see if anyone had understood what I had said in sign language.

It was my first time in a cooldown room. It had been discontinued in 2020, and in 2021 and 2022, the FIA agreed that, for obvious reasons, it was better to handle things like the rest of the drivers outside the podium. I didn't know what had changed now, but if this was good for anything, it was for thinking about the statement I had to write before leaving the paddock. Since I don't give interviews, the federation required me to write a statement after each race, answering certain questions and discussing the event. It was a good moment for me—while the others were doing live interviews, I had no pressure inside the motorhome, typing away on my computer.

But now, I just hoped things wouldn't keep changing like they just had.

NEXT: 02. I DON'T WANNA TALK

taglist: @heyyur @dreadity-dread @moonchouus