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reiding-writing · 2 days ago

Note

i love ur writing sooo much, kicking my feet giggling as i reread your entire cold!reader masterlist

i think it'd be interesting to see some sexual tension between them 👁️👁️

THE CONVERSATION. — SPENCER REID!

after the hotel incident, you and spencer avoid the inevitable conversation until you can't anymore.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | ?? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not really sexual tension, but definitely tension

The flight back to Quantico is suffocating.

Spencer sits across the aisle, book in hand, but you know he’s not really reading. His eyes flick over the words too slowly, the way they do when he’s using them as a shield rather than taking them in.

You don’t blame him. You’re doing the same thing—staring at the report in your lap, eyes skimming over the same paragraph for the fourth time, pretending you don’t notice the weight of his silence.

He’s quieter than usual. That alone is enough to unnerve you.

You should say something. A joke, maybe. Something dry and dismissive to shove things back into place, back into before. But your body betrays you, tense and unwilling to bridge the gap.

So you sit in it. The not-quite silence, the too-loud hum of the jet’s engines, the unspoken weight pressing into the space between you.

But things have changed.

It’s in the way he looks at you—just a second too long, like he’s cataloging every flicker of your expression, waiting for a signal he’s not sure will come.

It’s in the way you look at him, catching yourself watching the way his hands move when he flips through case files, when he tugs at his tie absentmindedly.

You hate it. The awareness, the sharp pull in your chest when he leans forward to adjust his bag and his knee barely brushes yours. The warmth that lingers too long. The way your own body responds before your mind can shut it down.

He doesn’t push. Of course he doesn’t.

Spencer is patient, careful in the way only he can be. He’s waiting—for you to say something, anything, to acknowledge what happened in that hotel room. But you don’t. You can’t. Because if you start, you don’t know where it ends.

And then there’s the team.

Emily teases, because of course she does. Some offhand remark about how you and Reid have been acting weird ever since the case wrapped up. JJ gives you quiet, knowing glances that make your stomach twist.

And Morgan—well. Morgan just smirks and says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s something you two aren’t telling me,”

You brush it off. Pretend you don’t see the way Spencer stiffens beside you, or the way your face feels unnaturally warm.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Except it isn’t, and you both know it.

There’s an awareness between you now. A charged undercurrent in every glance, every movement, every second you spend in the same room.

It starts small. The way you feel his presence before you even see him. The way his gaze lingers when he thinks you won’t notice. The way your body tenses when he gets too close—not in fear, but in anticipation, in something unspoken and unbearable.

So you do what you do best: you bury it.

Your tone stays sharp, clipped, practiced in its indifference. You keep the distance, keep the edge, because that’s easier than acknowledging the way his fingers linger when he passes you a case file. The way they brush against yours, fleeting but deliberate, like he’s testing the boundaries of whatever this thing is.

You pretend it doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It does.

He doesn’t push. Spencer never pushes. But you know he’s waiting.

Waiting for the moment you slip up. Waiting for you to let the mask crack, even just a little. Waiting for you to admit what he already knows—that you feel it, too.

And the worst part?

You almost want to.

The tension is worse when it’s just the two of you.

It sneaks in during the in-between moments—when the rest of the team is occupied, when there’s no buffer, no reason to pretend the air between you isn’t thick with something unspoken.

In the conference room, you hand him a report, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. He inhales sharply, a quiet thing, barely audible over the rustle of paper, but you hear it. Like it’s the first breath he’s taken all day.

You ignore the way your own breath catches.

In the break room, you’re pouring sugar into your takeout coffee when he walks in. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge the way his presence shifts the entire atmosphere of the room. But you feel him. Standing just close enough to press at the edges of your space, just far enough to keep it appropriate.

When he speaks, his voice is softer. Careful. “You should try decaf in the afternoons. Too much caffeine can increase cortisol levels, and you already don’t sleep enough,”

You roll your eyes, sip your coffee anyway. “Noted.”

It’s clipped, controlled. Everything about you is controlled.

But the silences are getting longer.

The pauses between words stretch too thin, stretched tight like a wire pulled to its limit. Every unspoken thought, every question neither of you dares to voice, hangs between you.

One day, something’s going to snap.

—

A week passes, and the tension becomes unbearable.

It’s everywhere. In the hallway, when you walk past each other just a little too close. In the team meetings, when your eyes meet across the table and neither of you look away. In the casual brushes of hands—when your fingers touch for a fraction of a second, a spark you both feel but don’t acknowledge. Every accidental touch lingers too long, and every word is too charged with meaning, too heavy with what’s unspoken.

You hate it. You hate how easily you fall into this strange, uncharted territory with him, how you can't seem to escape the gravity of what happened. And yet, every time you think you’ll address it, every time the words almost slip out, something pulls you back into the silence.

It’s late, way past normal office hours. The rest of the team has long gone home, but you’re still here, hunched over case files with Spencer.

There’s a strange, muted quiet to the space between you, and for once, it’s not just the weight of all the cases you’ve been working on. It’s the weight of this—the silence that surrounds you both, thick enough to choke.

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a long while. You’re both too immersed in the reports, in pretending to focus on the paperwork instead of whatever's hanging between you. But then he puts the file down, leans back in his chair, and the words come, simple and deliberate.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. And the air in the room shifts. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard. Your mind instantly races to shut it all down, to run from the conversation you’ve been avoiding for days.

You open your mouth, prepared to deflect, to push it all back into the vault of things you don’t talk about. But then you meet his gaze.

His eyes are earnest, softer than you’ve ever seen them. There’s hope in them, and maybe something else—something fragile, something vulnerable. He’s not pushing you, not demanding anything. Just waiting.

And suddenly, you realise that you don’t want to run anymore.

You feel it in your chest, that sharp pang of wanting to bridge the gap between you, to close the distance that’s grown between you both over the past week. Maybe you don’t have the right words. Maybe you never will. But for once, you’re not afraid to try.

You swallow hard and finally speak, your voice quieter than usual, rough with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Let’s talk.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick with everything you’ve been holding back. And then—something shifts. The air between you crackles. You both lean in slightly, but neither of you makes a move. Not yet.

And then, without another word, Spencer stands, stepping toward you with that same quiet intensity. It’s a move you didn’t expect, and for a moment, you freeze. But then he’s closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you realize that he’s waiting for you.

Your heart races, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the distance, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

The kiss is slow. Tentative at first, like both of you are afraid to shatter the fragile moment. But it deepens quickly, and it’s everything—everything you’ve been feeling without knowing how to express it. His lips are gentle but insistent, a soft pressure against yours that makes your pulse spike.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing that matters, because in this moment, it is.

The kiss lingers in the air, charged and unresolved, as you both pull back just enough to catch your breath. You’re still close, too close, your faces a breath away from each other, and the space between you hums with something different. Something new.

You break the silence first, your voice tinged with that familiar edge of sarcasm that you use to shield yourself. “That’s not exactly us talking.”

Spencer freezes for a moment, his expression shifting from confusion to a slight grimace. He knows you’re not exactly serious about it, that the tone you’ve carried throughout the whole exchange has been more about self-preservation than actual disappointment.

But the weight of it still settles on his shoulders, and he winces at the mild reprimand, even though he understands it’s more a defence mechanism than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters quickly, the apology falling out of him without hesitation. His eyes are a little wider than usual, like he’s bracing for something more, but he also knows it’s not really warranted. You’re not angry with him. You never were.

But the words are enough to make you exhale sharply, and you roll your eyes as you shift back slightly, breaking the proximity just enough for your mind to catch up with everything that’s just happened.

You study him for a moment, watching how his hands twitch slightly at his sides like he’s trying to keep himself together. His eyes are wide, darting between yours, looking for some kind of confirmation.

“I like kissing you… sorry—” he blurts, his voice cracking slightly as the words tumble out in a rush, and then he keeps talking, his words pouring out like he’s finally letting go of the tight grip he’s been holding on everything.

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was scared that you wouldn’t be into it. I mean, I’ve seen how you act with me, and I get it, I do, I just—” He stumbles over his own thoughts. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us. You’re—well, you’re you, and I’m me, and I didn’t know if you’d even want that, you know?”

You blink at him, trying to process the flood of words, and for a moment, it’s overwhelming. He’s still standing too close, so you take a step back, crossing your arms defensively as you try to steady yourself.

“Spencer,” you start, your voice gentle but firm, “you need to breathe.”

His eyes flicker at your words, and you see the immediate tension in his face relax a fraction, but only a fraction.

“Listen,” you continue, your voice steady now as you push past the weight of the awkwardness. “I’m not exactly a romantic person, okay?” You can feel the vulnerability creeping in, but you don’t let it overwhelm you.

“I don’t—” You sigh frustratedly. “I don’t know how to do this, or what I’m supposed to say, but… I don’t want you to think I’m rejecting you. I just— I need to know where we’re going with this. And I need to know what you want.”

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but falters, clearly still unsure of how to navigate this strange, new territory with you. You take a deep breath, feeling the space between you growing thicker with every second.

“I need you to be straightforward, Spencer,” you say, softer now. “Just— tell me what you want from this,”

For a moment, Spencer just stands there, eyes fixed on you, as though trying to read between the lines of what you’ve said. And then, finally, his shoulders relax as he nods.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, his voice earnest, “but I do want this. And I want you to know that, even if I’m nervous and all over the place, I’m not trying to make things difficult. I just want to— be with you. If that’s something you’re open to.”

You chew on his words for a moment, and the weight of them hits you all at once. He’s not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give, and he’s not rushing you, either. The idea of having someone like Spencer—someone who isn’t expecting perfection from you, who’s patient enough to understand your walls—feels almost… safe.

You take a deep breath.

“I’m not good at this. But I don’t want to screw it up either.” You step forward a little, trying to meet him halfway. “I can’t promise all the right words or the grand romantic gestures, but if you’re okay with that…” You pause, meeting his gaze squarely. “I’m willing to try.”

Spencer exhales slowly, his eyes lighting up just slightly, the weight of relief crossing his face. He doesn’t move closer, but the air between you feels a little less tight, a little less heavy.

“That’s good enough for me,”

The words settle between you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no tension—just the quiet understanding of what comes next.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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russellbee · 21 hours ago

Text

DONE LOOKIN’ FOR SIGNS IN THE GAPS AND THE SILENCE (LN4, MF)

lando norris x childhood bff!reader x max fewtrell (she/her) summary. the timeline of your friendship with lando and max, leading up to the day they finally become yours. (writing, small smau) (5.2k) warnings. conflicting thoughts on polyamory, cursing, mentions of drinking alcohol, a nameless older sister that's basically a plot device :P andi's note!! IT'S HERE!! i hope you all enjoy :D! gonna go eat dinner 😊 (title from decode by sabrina carpenter) -> the inspiration/original

nav+masterlist • tags: @aykxz98 & @makanirock05 :)

July 2013 — 14 years old

You've come to the decision that you hate Italy. Which is not true, but the heat clinging to your skin has made you a bit irrational. It's not all the heat, but it's easier to blame something intangible on your bad mood than your actual problem. Your sister speaks — something about water or the weather — before walking off. You're not sure.

You watch her leave, the anger festering in you releasing through you harshly pulling your arms out of your suit. The sleeves flop beside you, resting on the pavement. You stare at them for a second, feeling sick in the stomach.

A liability. Why do you even keep going, then?

In November, your parents will tell you what you already know, but they'll dress it nicely. The harsh version is: You have no future in racing; you'll have to find something else to do. There's still a couple of months, but you can feel yourself already missing the thrill of karting and getting a cool trophy to decorate your room with. It's not fair, truthfully, but your sister had been a warning. You're just following her footsteps now.

This whole week, you've watched the boys around you, the ones wearing the same suit as you, racing carefree because they don't need reassurance that they can go far. They will, most likely. You've had a bitter taste on your tongue since overhearing your father's phone call. You shouldn't have listened.

"Are you okay?" You blink, looking up at who spoke. He's wearing a Ricky Flynn suit, bright and obnoxious. But he also looks genuine, like he cares about how you're doing. That's new.

"Um, I'm fine." As an afterthought, you add, "Thanks." He could be about your age, but you wouldn't be surprised if he's younger. He's probably around the same height as an elf.

"Do— Would you want to get lunch with Max and me? It's not— like our parents are gonna be there. Obviously. But we think you're cool, and we want to hang out with you." When he's stopped speaking, he lets out a breath like he didn't breathe the entire time. "I'm Lando, by the way." Max? He can't be talking about Verstappen because you're pretty sure he went home directly after his race. So, Fewtrell, then. The longer you squint at Lando, the more you remember him hovering in the background of your memories, Max Fewtrell by his side.

"I'd have to ask my sister." His whole face lights up, and it's ridiculous but endearing at the same time. "Yeah, cool. Cool."

You get lunch with Lando, Max, and their families. Your sister exchanges your parents' information with theirs, and there's a silent promise to hang out again. It's nice, a bit of weight off your shoulders.

You even get to spend your weekend in Italy, a rare permission from your parents. When you get home, your digital camera, the one you'd gotten for your most recent birthday, is full of photos. Your sister helps you get them printed out, and together you decorate the walls of your room with your photos. At night, you stare at the singular framed photo on your nightstand; you, Lando, and Max huddled together in a restaurant booth. It stays there until you move out.

December 2015 — 16 years old

The cold air bites your exposed skin when you step out onto the street. Lando hisses like a cat at the feeling, hunching his shoulders, and bringing his arms closer to his body. As you laugh, you can see your breath in the air, like a fog. Max pulls his beanie off his head, fitting it over Lando's, who squeaks at the sudden intrusion. "If you don't stop pouting, I'm taking it back." He adds, rolling his eyes when Lando huffs.

"I'm not pouting! I'm just saying we could've left earlier, and it would've been a bit warmer." Max pushes Lando in the back, urging him to start walking. They fit themselves beside you, Max on your left and Lando on your right. "How are we supposed to see the lights then? The whole reason we're leaving now is to see all the decorations and stuff." Max teases, raising an eyebrow at Lando. He goes to speak but he closes his mouth, eyes trained on your face.

"Right. Yeah, ‘bet they'll look cool." Your face feels too hot for this weather. You keep your eyes forward and try to ignore the feeling of their eyes on you, sneaking glances like you don't know. Once the Christmas market is in your view you speed up your pace. Distantly, you can hear Max speak — such a suck-up, mate — and Lando's offended noise. You can imagine how red he must look.

"Hurry up!" You yell, not even looking back. You stop near the entrance to the market, pulling your camera from your coat pocket. Scratches litter the outside, but luckily not the lens, some that you've covered with random stickers you've come across. There are also two distinct signatures, small but noticeable. So when we go pro you can sell it, be as rich as us. Lando had said, and you had rolled your eyes and told them earnestly you wouldn't sell it. They both turned bright red, and you chose not to acknowledge it.

You turn it on, panning the camera around the market to see if your photos might look good. They won't, you know it. Your camera's too old, and it was never excellent even when you first got it. But you like the memories, even if your favorites are too blurry to understand. You finally turn around, Max and Lando coming into view on the tiny screen. Before they can notice, you take a photo, laughing at Max's groan when he realizes. He'll always complain about you and Lando's theatrics, but he's just as dramatic.

In the photo, Lando is smiling bright, his cheeks rosy red. Max is blurry from his sudden movement, but you can make out his smile in the mess of colors.

You stay at the market till it closes, eating too much food and drinking an absurd amount of hot chocolate. Your SD card is full when you get home because Lando had snatched your camera when you were distracted. It's only 10 pm when you get back to your sister's apartment, so you decide to watch a movie on the pull-out couch.

When the light floods through the windows in the morning, you're still there. Lando is on your right, and Max on your left. They're both turned toward you, their heads resting on your shoulders. Lando's curled up against your side, and one of Max's legs rests on top of yours. It's too much. You wouldn't mind if it was just one of them, but both is suffocating. It feels wrong, to have them this close to you.

You hold your breath and leave the couch as quietly as possible. Your sister's bedroom door is ajar, and you slip into her bed like you were supposed to last night: Sharing beds like you had ten years ago. She blinks at you as you get comfortable, tugging her comforter closer to you. "I was wondering when you were going to join me." You huff, turning so she can't see how flustered you are. "Nice night with your boys?"

"Stop talking," You grumble. She laughs and lets it be; for now.

Lando and Max leave in the afternoon, heading back to their parent's houses. You lay on the couch, knees tucked against your chest as you go through the photos on your camera. The ones Lando took are noticeable, a bit blurrier than yours, and much more focused on human subjects. You and Max, specifically. In some of the photos, Max's annoyance at Lando is visible, but you can see underlying fondness in his smile and his eyes. You blink at the photos of yourself, finding similar qualities in your own face, with no difference for who you're looking at. You turn off your camera and stare into space for a bit. Your boys.

It feels greedy, to like them both. But then, if you have one, you leave out the other. There's no winning, is there?

Your sister flops onto the couch, her legs invading your personal space. You glare at her, extending your legs in retaliation. She doesn't acknowledge it, instead asking; "How'd your photos come out?"

You stare at the blank screen for a second, remembering the warmth in your eyes as you looked at Lando behind the camera. "Fine." She raises a brow, used to your rambles and rants about your pictures. Her foot nudges your ankle, bringing your eyes back to her.

"Is it what I said?" Your body goes hot, and you focus on anything other than her. "No." She sighs, pulling her legs closer toward her, giving you space. The silence is uncomfortable as you both think of something to say.

"It's fine if you like both of them, you know?" You barely think before you speak, spitting out an answer as fast as possible. A shield from your actual wants and feelings. "It's not normal." Your sister frowns before her lips twist into a teasing smile.

"Since when have you been normal? Or, any of you." You stare at her, not saying anything but not backing down either. "It's not— If all three of you like each other, you could date. It's a thing people do. If you think for whatever reason that dating them isn't going to make you happy, don't. But I know you like them and they make you happy right now. You could...try."

You can't speak, unknown words lodged in your throat, and a war in your mind. She leaves you to think, and you don’t talk about it again for a while.

November 2018 — 19 years old

Lando's birthday is no longer something intimate, spent in one of your bedrooms or a random hotel room with a shitty pre-made cake. Apparently.

When you get to the pub Lando had sent you the address of, you don't expect to see multiple tables pushed together, heaps of people you've never seen before sitting around them. You know Lando's becoming a bigger deal. He'll be an actual F1 driver in a couple of months. It's just different, but you won't complain.

You spot Max near the end of the table, and his eyes light up when he spots you. He waves you over, and you notice a chair beside him, his puffer coat taking its seat. You fight back a smile at something so simple. Nothing but a friendly gesture, right?

You maneuver through the chairs around the tables, too many people squished together in an effort to be included. Max has moved his coat so it rests along the back of his chair, and as you near him, you can hear him asking people to shuffle their chairs in. He smiles at you as you sit down, bright and charming.

"There's more people than I expected, to be honest." You mutter, looking for Lando in the mess of people. You recognize some: like Alex and George, sitting not far but clearly in their own world. "Yeah, I know, right." It's not a question, more of an annoyed grumble. You follow his gaze, finding Lando with a girl hanging off his arm. She's ridiculously pretty, maybe a little older. A model, or an influencer? How did Lando meet her?

"I— Is that like his girlfriend or something?" You whisper, your voice weak. Max glances at you, and his eyes seem to study your face before looking back at Lando. "I mean, I dunno. He's never mentioned her or anything."

"But she's here?"

"Yeah." Max sounds a little dejected, and you wonder if he knows how hard he's gripping the neck of his beer bottle. His face looks tight: his jaw clenched and eyes piercing into Lando. Who hasn't looked over; nor spared you a glance since you arrived. Did he even see you?

You slip your hand over Max's, prying his fingers from the bottle. He looks at you, a silent question in his eyes before he lets you take it. You both stare at each other as you bring the bottle to your lips. The second you taste the bitterness of the beer, you screw your eyes shut, but drink it anyway. Max lets out a short laugh as you put the bottle back on the table, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"That's horrible." Max smiles, not as bright as before but, still him. "Yeah, but it's a good distraction from...that." He waves his hand in the general direction before freezing. You have another staring contest, and for a second, it looks like Max might say something, but he doesn't.

"Well, we have each other, right?" It's awkward, the silence painful. Then, Max swallows heavily, a weak yeah, leaving his lips before he takes the final swig of his beer.

You don't talk to Lando the entire night, and when it becomes clear that he'll be going home with his mystery stranger, you offer Max a night at yours.

You stumble on the uneven cobblestone street that leads up to your apartment, having split too many beers with Max. Though, he is considerably more sober than you. It feels like the air is punched out of you when Max's hand hesitantly touches your waist. You look up at him, his eyes shiny under the streetlights and a small smile on his lips. Then you back him up against the nearest building and with a quick glance at the street number, realize it's yours.

"You good?" His words are a little breathless, his hand hovering instead of touching now. Your right-hand grips the collar of his jacket, your left probably holding his hip too tightly. "Yeah, all good."

"Um." Max looks around a bit, and you realize he might be waiting for you to let him go. You don't want to. "I like you." Your words become one, but you know Max hears you because his eyes go wide. He relaxes a bit, his smile returning.

"Yeah, I—." You don't let him finish, pulling him into a kiss as soon as you know. His words turn into a small groan, and he finally grabs your waist for real. It's everything you ever wanted; a kiss from one of them. Your boys. One of Max's hands gently touches the back of your neck, moving you closer to him. When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

"But I...y'know." You can't get yourself to say it, but Max knows. "Lando?" Of course, he knows.

"Don't," He takes a breath, cutting himself off and pulling away slightly. "Me too, honestly."

You drag Max into your flat, and stay up late, talking about all the things you both want from Lando but are too scared to ask for. In the morning, you wake up with Max on your left and your phone buzzing on your right. Lando's pissy about you apparently not being at his party, and you wake up Max with your argument over the phone. He helps you calm down, assures you that you haven't accidentally torn your friendship apart, and then takes you on your first date. You can't win, but having Max by your side is close.

July 2019 — 20 years old

Max picks you up from a bus stop in Silverstone and immediately pulls you into a kiss. You make a surprised sound before kissing him back. His passion is overwhelming but not bad.

He's got a big, bright smile on his face when he pulls away. "Hello, uni grad." You roll your eyes, pushing him away with a muttered, fuck off. Max laughs, pulling you right back to him.

"I really wanted to be there, y'know." His playful tone has slipped away, replaced with fondness and a tinge of guilt. "I know, it's fine. My parents miss you, by the way." You kiss his cheek, your pointer finger hooked in his shirt collar to pull him toward you.

Max grins, tugging you toward his rental car, right hand in your left. "They're my biggest fans, I think." You split, letting go of his hand to head toward the passenger seat. "That's not true. You've got me cheering for you." The, and Lando, goes unsaid but, you know he heard it.

In Max's hotel room, your bag gets thrown to the floor in the haste of pushing Max onto his bed. Your hands creep under his shirt, cold hands on his hot skin. "Hi," You grin down at him, hovering above him, your legs straddling his. "Missed you." Max pulls you down for a kiss, his hand heavy against the back of your neck.

You inch closer to him, hands sliding further up his shirt: feeling every inch of him. Max's other hand grabs your thigh as he leans up, deepening the kiss.

"Oh my God!" You jump at your sister's voice, flipping over so you're lying on the bed beside Max. "What the fuck?" You curse, eyes going from Max to your sister, then Lando. He looks like he ate something sour, lips screwed up weird.

"Max texted us that you were here," She explains with a teasing smile that falters when she sees Lando's face. "We need to talk," She grabs you by the wrist, pulling you into the en suite. The door shuts harshly behind her, and she locks the door. She's dressed in a papaya polo because Lando vouched for her to get a job on his team. He's complained about her constant mothering, but he asked for it.

"What about Lando?" She seethes, voice quiet because you both know how thin hotel walls can be. You stare at her, your arms wrapped self-consciously around yourself. "We— It's just better this way, alright? He doesn't need any more unnecessary attention. Plus, he doesn't even—."

"Don't say he doesn't like either of you. I have seen him smile like a fucking idiot at your group chat. I have suffered through his questions about whether he's pissed you or Max off because you're 'taking too long' to respond to a text. He likes you. Stop being stupid. Both of you, honestly." She rolls her eyes, her gaze just as harsh as her words.

"You good, mate?" Max asks after a beat of silence, both of them having watched the bathroom door slam shut. His eyes have a sheen to them Max doesn't want to acknowledge, and his lips have been stuck together like they've been glued. "Why didn't you tell me?" Lando sounds hurt, devastated that you'd gone behind his back. Max gets it, but he's had time to figure it out. Neither of you have been hiding it.

"I mean, we thought you'd figure it out?" Truthfully Lando knowing was never really discussed. A silent agreement had hung over the both of you because neither of you wanted to know how Lando would react.

"Congrats, I guess." Lando scuffs his shoe against the carpet, not looking at Max.

"Right. Thanks."

December 2019 — 20 years old

yourusername 🏔️🩵 (tagged landonorris, maxfewtrell)

liked by yoursister and others

maxfewtrell 👋🩵 (liked by yourusername)

landonorris sick pics 👍

yourusername thanks lan 🙃

yourfriend cuteee! (liked by yourusername)

yoursister no lando?

yourusername he's in the last pic? 😐 yoursister not what i meant (commented deleted by author) yoursister right didn't see him there!

August 2020 — 21 years old

You walk into the bedroom in your flat that you share with Max, a plastic bag in your hand. Guilty pleasure foods and sugary drinks. An in-the-moment fixer-upper. You turn on the light, finding Lando lying on Max's right, head on his shoulder, watching him mindlessly scroll on his phone. No one says anything for a bit before Lando goes to get up. "You can stay," You swallow heavily, feeling like there's a lump in your throat. "If you want." He stops, sinking back into the bed.

It's fine. It's everything you've ever wanted, but it's not true. Max is yours, and Lando's like an addition. He'll be here tonight, but maybe never again.

You drop the bag on your desk chair, pulling off the hoodie you wore to the shops. It was too hot out for it, but you didn't want to let go of it; Max's cologne clinging to every thread. One of them makes a little noise as your shirt rides up like the hoodie doesn't want you to go. Lando probably. You know what Max sounds like.

You hesitate before slipping into bed, to the left of Max. Lando's on his other side, clinging a little. His head is back on Max's shoulder, and his arm is wrapped loosely around your boyfriend's. You shuffle closer to Max, and he hesitantly wraps his arm around you, eyeing you. Are you okay with this? You sling your arm around his chest with ease, your hand resting by Lando's face. Yeah. Obviously.

You're all silent except for your breathing.

Max huffs after a moment, dropping his phone so it lays on him. "It's too hot for this." Truthfully, it is. But you don't want to admit it, and neither does Lando. You roll your eyes, "The fans on. We'll be fine." Max shifts, putting his phone somewhere else without moving away from either of you. You close your eyes, your head tucked near the crook of Max's neck.

"Go to sleep," Lando mumbles, and you can hear Max grumble. His body relaxes under you, and you can feel his head move, tilting toward Lando. It's the quickest you've fallen asleep in months.

You wake in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and lying half on Max. Lando's eyes blink at you in the dark, but you can't make out the rest of his face. You move your hand, your fingers gently brushing against his face. He breathes in harshly, eyes darting to Max's sleeping figure. "We both want you here, y'know? I don't mind. I'm sure Max doesn't either."

Lando blinks, then again and again. "Yeah, that's cool. I'll...I'll be here. When you want me to." His fingers ghost your hand, and you can feel the heat of his hand even if the touch is barely there. "We always want you." He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and then you can't see the shine of his eyes anymore, and the heat of his hand is gone. You hesitate before moving your hand, letting it linger near him. If he ever wants it back. You back.

August 2022 — 23 years old

In your hotel room in Ibiza, room service has been ordered. Lando is digging through his suitcase, and Max is looking at a collection of photos on his phone; taken over the past few days. You've only been in Ibiza for a couple of hours, work keeping you from joining them sooner.

You're basically sleeping, your head resting on Max's shoulder and looking at the photos through bleary eyes. Fucking early flights. There's a knock on the room door, and Max gets up to answer it. You fall onto the bed with a groan, curling up into a ball. Lando laughs in the distance.

A finger prods at your spine, and you bend your back, trying to get away from it. "C'mon, get up. Food's here." You nuzzle your face in the sheets with a muffled, "Let me sleep." Max moves, footsteps trailing off in the distance.

"You hate cold food. Get up." Lando's hands prod at your sides, and you squirm, sitting up to get away from him. "Asshole," You curse, ignoring the heat in your face. Lando giggles, heading toward the balcony where the plates have been set. You stretch, groaning at the feeling, before joining them on the balcony.

You sit next to Max and go to dig into your food when you notice a wrapped box on the table. "What's that?" Lando visibly brightens, grabbing the box and extending it toward you. "I was gonna give it to you at Silverstone ‘cause I thought you were coming. But, y'know." You take the box hesitantly, nodding along to what Lando says.

You had intended to go to Silverstone with Max, but then a project at work was fumbled by a coworker, and you had to pick up the pieces. It was nice to hear Max's recaps of the day, with Lando's comments in between; on the phone with them like you had when you were younger.

The box is wrapped badly, so at least you know Lando wrapped it himself. You hook your finger in an opening, tearing off the paper. At first, you think you're going crazy, your sleepiness jumbling the words on the box. Then, you're dreaming because in what world is Lando buying you a €4,600 camera? "Lando." Your voice is a bit harsher than you intended, and you see the worry fill his face. "You— Why would you buy me this? I barely take photos anymore." A Leica Q2: the camera you had recommended for Lando. Not for you. Because you knew he had the money and wanted to be artsy and dramatic. You didn't need this. You're fine with the camera you picked up at a second-hand shop after your digital camera gave out.

"I thought it was just ‘cause you had a...bad camera. I can return it. I just thought you'd like it. When you recommended it, you sounded like you were in love with it. And— You deserve it." Lando's eyes flicker to Max's, who have been more focused on him than you.

"I'll keep it, but don't spend this much money on me again." Your fingers gently touch the box; hesitantly because this camera just became the most expensive thing you own. Lando laughs weakly, awkward because Max hasn't taken his eyes off him.

You go out to eat later in the night, and when Max disappears to the bathroom you get a text.

max 💞 he likes you

100%

you shut up

max 💞 i looked up the camera it's fucking expensive

you i know (6:38 pm)

max do you think he likes me too? (6:44 pm)

You don't respond to his text, but when he comes back to the table, you squeeze his hand in silent reassurance. Lando watches from the other side of the table, looking guilty. Neither of you notice, too caught up in your thoughts.

July 2023 — 24 years old

2nd mother don't forget what we talked about!

lando 🙄 ik

"Are you listening?" Lando looks up from his phone, immediately shutting it off at Max's annoyed look. The apology is on the tip of his tongue, but Max rolls his eyes and keeps talking.

"I was thinking about that restaurant down the corner for Wednesday?" Lando's nose scrunches up, thinking of the sushi bar just a few buildings down. Apparently, Max can read his mind. "Not the sushi place, the one with all the...plants and stuff. I don't know the name, Y/n does I think."

"She's uh, coming with us then?" Max's eyes narrow, and Lando shrinks because he read this wrong. He thought it'd just be him and Max, and now he can't flirt with Max in front of his girlfriend, can he? There's also the uneasiness in his stomach when around you both at the same time that he doesn't want to feel. He feels left out; and wants to be a trio again, preferably with more physical affection, thanks. "Yeah, well. Neither of us have seen you in a while."

Lando stares at Max for a second, sees his anger in the tightness of his shoulders. He should spit it out already.

"I just— I don't want to be your third wheel anymore."

"Then get a girlfriend. I'm sure you've got enough girls in your dms to find one." Max sounds pissed, but that's not what Lando was trying to say. He groans, leaning against the counter in his kitchen, head in his hands.

"That's not what I meant!" He looks at Max as he says, "I want it to be us three again, like a trio or a fucking throuple. I want both of you and I have been excluded for years. I'm desperate at this point, Max."

"You're kidding." Max's voice is weak, staring at Lando like he's grown five heads. "No, I'm not."

"You should've said something sooner, you muppet." Max's hand gently touches the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Lando groans, gripping onto Max's t-shirt like he'll float away. He could stay in this moment forever, but there's still someone missing.

On Wednesday, you meet Max and Lando at the restaurant down the street from Lando's London apartment. You hadn't been able to attend Silverstone, again, stuck in another country for work. But you're here, and they're smiling brightly when they see you. You don't even get to say 'hi' before Lando pulls you into a hug, restricting but very warm and familiar. "I missed you."

"I missed you too. Now, let go. I don't think I can breathe." Lando laughs, letting go of you so you can hug Max. They both look happier than they have in a while, and you can't help but question it. You don't get to voice your opinion before you're pulled into the restaurant.

The table is a slightly bigger single table, so there's enough space for all your plates. You sit with your back to the rest of the building, Max on your left and Lando on your right. Things feel like they've shifted; Lando seems more like his old self around you two — another question to ask.

Max is discussing something with Lando about Quadrant when you feel something tap your ankle underneath the table. You eye Lando, who's got an impish grin on his face.

You forget about it until his shoe bumps your ankle again, causing you to hit your knee against the table. Max stops talking, looking at both you and Lando. "Everything all right?"

"Yep, all good," You say before kicking Lando's calf underneath the table. He tries to hide his pain, but Max can tell, rolling his eyes. "You're both terrible. I swear I can't take you anywhere together."

"Well, that's gonna be a problem, isn't it?" Lando murmurs, and they've both got matching teasing grins.

"Alright, what's going on? All of a sudden you're like reading each other's minds. Tell me."

"Lando wants us to be a throuple. You, me, him." Max grins, and well, that explains a lot. You barely think before you speak. "You're kidding."

Lando rolls his eyes, "Is it so hard to believe that I could like both of you?" You look at Max, who shrugs, "Well— I love you guys, just accept it. Deal with it. There's no going back from here." Lando cuts Max off, grabbing both your hands and dragging them toward the center of the table.

"You're all mine now. Double WAGs...Wait, can Max be a WAG or is there something different for that?"

"Just stop talking. That's probably the least of our worries."

i'm thinking of making a lil addition of this from like fans/internet perspective if anyone's interested? cause i love writing stuff like that lol 😊 tell me your thoughts?

#russellbee; writing #russellbee; polyfics #russellbee; ln4 #russellbee; max f #lando norris x reader #max fewtrell x reader #nortrell x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando norris imagine #max fewtrell imagine

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danisbrainrot · 2 days ago

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ugh, there is just something delicious about the parallel between mistynat and jackieshauna in the first two episodes of the new season. i barely know where to start.

obviously, misty and shauna lose their best friends. they're both to blame/blame themselves for nat and jackie's death, because essentially, they killed them.

misty actively kills nat whereas shauna passively kills jackie, which shows the difference in their relationship. but at the end of the day, once they realised what they'd done, they have a similar reaction. screaming 'no' in disbelief and holding them in their arms. they refuse to believe not only their best friend is dead, but they've killed them.

OH! and they're both too late to save them. shauna is too late to save jackie from the cold and misty cries, 'it's too late' when tai asks her how to save nat. i can't believe i almost forgot this!

another obvious parallel, misty wearing nat's jacket!! we see that shauna can't seem to let go of jackie's butterfly top, treating it as a security blanket, and now in the adult timeline misty clings onto nat's jacket. both items of clothing are physical reminders of their 'best friend' that they lost.

finally, what parallel stuck out to me the most: misty and shauna became the versions of their friends they THOUGHT they were. shauna marries jeff and becomes a suburban housewife, misty dresses like nat and goes to a bar to do whisky shots and pick bar fights.

however, nat was more than an alcoholic, despite being reduced by misty to a caricature. she feels purposeless after the woods, she's broken and from what we've seen, isolated. nat barely leaves her hotel room except to do risky shit like chase the blackmailer or help shauna dispose of adam's body. the most we see her reach out is to kevyn, who she immediately pushes away when he tries to break down her walls. she's built up this alcholic, uncaring, asshole wall to keep people out.

so when misty plays her as some rough, badass femme fatale, she's demonstrating to the audience that she hardly knows nat. she only knew nat's exterior, and nothing like her true character. to put it frankly, misty never truly knew nat because nat didn't want her to. so when misty 'becomes nat' she's becoming the shallow understanding she has of her best friend.

this ties into shauna never truly understanding jackie's true character. not because jackie hid it from her, but shauna's resentment of her did. every action we see from jackie is protective of shauna—giving her valium to calm down, saving her from the plane explosion, and even 'allowing shauna to eat her.'

however, shauna can't see how much jackie loves her because of her own bitter resentment. even as a ghost jackie is seemingly punishing shauna for letting her die, but most importantly, for hating her while she was alive.

'i don't know who you are anymore shauna.'

'maybe you never did.'

if anything, it should be completely switched around. shauna doesn't know anything about jackie. shauna is projecting this mean girl persona on jackie that just isn't there.

misty is projecting this badass, gets in bar fights and tries to light men's dicks on fire persona onto nat. sure, nat has done those things, but that isn't who she is at the core. just like how being a mean girl isn't who jackie is at her core (i've gone more into depth before, here).

i love mistynat as much as the next yellowjacket fan, but we have to be honest, for the most part, nat was always cagey with misty. something happened out in the woods that made her distrust misty, and i think they're going to explore that this season. especially with the whole, misty telling shauna that nat knows where coach ben is.

both misty and shauna make up these fantasies about their best friends to connect with them after their deaths. it's just so fascinating the writer's have decided to parallel these characters, because when i think about it, misty has always been written as this desperate character, craving attention and love. . . but so has shauna.

they've been narrative foils this entire time and it took natalie dying for me to realise it.

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #natalie scatorccio #misty quigley #jackie taylor #jackieshauna #mistynat #parallels #narrative foils #danistalks #danisbrainrot #yellowjackets season 3 #yellowjackets analysis

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kitts-mechanix · 2 days ago

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Oh my gosh....I might need a tissue for this....this very much sums up the cycle of abuse in a sibling dynamic.

@lexicorp, @ichbinmeltdown and I have been having a huge discussion about the Seeker Trine and the cycle of abuse, but this comic captures it in a very real way.

The drama in Thundercracker's show acts as a form of foreshadowing. Starscream barges in and starts treating his brother like dirt, and judging from Thundercracker's reaction it's obvious that Starscream has been abusive to him. Starscream only bothers Thundercracker because he needs him to help him defeat Megatron, aka something that will benefit HIM. Thunder isn't eager to do it, Starscream starts rambling off fake apologies and pointing out his brother's shortcomings (eg, "I've forgotten how sensitive you can be but I didn't think you'd actually leave over it"). Now that being said, I don't think Star's comment about how it hurt when Thunder left is entirely untrue, because I do like to think he was confessing at that point, having an inkling of regret--but even then that's only to get what he wants. When Thunder brushes him aside, Starscream cracks and admits he's sorry for everything he's done, names what he did and says he won't do it again. But is he truly sorry? Thunder doesn't buy it so Starscream uses his interest of the Earth to get him to do it. But it's obvious Thunder has reached a point where he doesn't want to keep putting up with Starscream's bullying. No matter how much Star pleads and begs, Thunder finally calls him out on his rash actions, like telling him that he's obsessing over usurping Megatron and shouldn't have tried to mess with him. He's had to watch Starscream constantly destroy himself, and his own brothers, out of self-interest. When Starscream realises he didn't get his way, he went back to blaming his brother and destroys the TV--the one thing keeping Thundercracker sane--out of anger. Thunder points out this is the problem with Star. He's done EVERYTHING for his brother but it's never enough, and he's had enough of trying to please him. Enraged, Star attacks him and calls him a traitor because he knows he can't get Thunder to do what he wants.

Meanwhile Skywarp is just standing there watching the whole thing and not intervening, probably out of fear. Star leaves and makes Skywarp go with him, leaving Thundercracker alone.

I honestly feel bad for all three of them. Starscream was HEAVILY abused by Megatron and he internalises that abuse on his own teammates, and even his own brothers (okay, I know the Seekers being brothers is a fanon thing, but I headcanon it). But to be fair, even his brothers--at least in G1--honestly kind of allow Megatron to abuse Star and even assist him in trying to punish or harm him. And this is likely more because Star treated them like dirt and less because they were afraid of Megatron. WIth this vicious cycle, I can see why Star kicked his brothers off of Astrotrain in the middle of space in TFTM. I firmly believe Megatron is at fault for fracturing the Trine's sibling dynamic with his abusive "leadership", but it was Starscream--the most abused of the three--who carried on that cycle.

Thundercracker is tired of the abuse. Starscream won't stop it because he needs to feel powerful and be in control when Megatron isn't choking the life out of him. Skywarp is too afraid to stop him for fear of getting the laser treatment.

I won't delve too deep into my personal backstory here, but one of the reasons this comic hit me so hard is because the dynamic reminds me of myself and my younger sister. I didn't have a great upbringing that I'm slowly realising was more abusive than I thought. My sister had it much easier since I suspect she was the favourite. To put it lightly, I was like Starscream/Skywarp and she was like Thundercracker. I'm not proud of it, especially looking at this and knowing my sister still sees me as this version of Starscream.

I really want to write a fic where they manage to break the cycle of abuse. I know, it's easier said than done and probably wouldn't work in real life....maybe I just want to give these guys a happier ending with their sibling dynamic 💔

It's a canon event.

[Follow up to this post.]

#this comic seriously gave me the feels #I love the Trine and just want them to have a happy relationship again #obviously I do NOT condone what Starscream does here because he can do better #but the person I want to punch is Megatron for basically orchestrating this fractured dynamic #transformers #starscream #skywarp #thundercracker #elite trine #seeker brothers

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shiiro-arts · 1 day ago

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Fairy tail 100 Year Quest SPOILERS AHEAD

Okay so there's this one thing that is making me kind of crazy and it's the whole "wishes" deal in 100yq

As they said in the beginning, they would be granted anything their heart wished as long as it was from earthland, and we get a vague idea of what they want.

We only get to read about 3 wishes tho, Lucy, Gray and Wendy's.

Gray wanted a cat like frosh, and I have a little theory that Fortune may become his cat

Erza seems very skeptical about the whole thing (I can't really blame her)

Wendy wanted a bigger chest (I'm not taking this as valid because it's dumb as fuck)

Lucy, obviously, was going to wish for Aquarius's key, the thing is, she has it already, so her wish is now unknown.

And then we have Natsu, who doesn't say shit about it, AND IT KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT

I would have expected him to mention something, anything, even if it was stupid, like an infinite amount of food idk, but he doesn't say anything.

I think I saw someone say something about him wanting to ask to bring Igneel back to life, but I hardly believe Natsu would do something like that, he has already accepted his death and messing with it wouldn't bring anything good.

So we have Natsu and Lucy left for the wishes, and you know what is giving me mad anxiety?

The fact that both of them having their wishes not revealed may be related to this

I have absolutely NO IDEA what is going to happen, there is a possibility of obvious angst, BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHO IS GOING TO BE INVOLVED. Trying to connect the dots that I have it would be Natsu, Lucy and Aquarius, giving Nalu a chance to develop but this is just my desperate Nalu ass talking lmao.

#natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #erza scarlet #wendy marvell #nalu #fairy tail #fairy tail nalu #natsu x lucy #shirotalks #fairy tail 100 years quest #fairy tail 100 years quest spoilers #ft 100 years quest #ft 100yq #shiro's nalu analysis

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goblin-jr · 2 days ago

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Between a Rock and a Hard Place

pairing: clark x reader

summary: y/n gets blasted with meteor shards, clark (literally) can't get any closer to save her.

words: 4.4k

a/n: i am so glad the tom welling renaissance is upon us

💌 💌 💌 💌

The Torch office buzzed with the usual energy of an afternoon at Smallville High. Stacks of old newspapers were piled against the walls, the smell of fresh ink lingering in the air. Chloe, seated at her desk, tapped away at her keyboard with practiced ease, while Pete leaned back in his chair, flipping through the latest addition to the infamous Wall of Weird.

“So, let me get this straight,” Pete said, shaking his head. “This guy gets struck by lightning, falls into a coma for three months, wakes up, and now he can hear people’s thoughts?”

Chloe grinned, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Smallville never fails to deliver. I’d say it’s a classic case of meteor freak syndrome.”

Clark Kent, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed, smirked. “And you’re sure he’s not just really good at guessing?”

Before Chloe could respond, the door to The Torch office swung open, and Y/N strolled in, a bright smile on their face. “Talking about the latest addition to the Wall of Weird without me? Rude.”

Pete grinned. “You know us, always knee-deep in the strange and unusual.”

Chloe gestured to the board dramatically. “It’s a gift.”

Y/N chuckled, walking over to take a look at the latest entry. “Mind reading, huh? Sounds like the plot of a bad teen drama.”

Clark chuckled along with them, but there was a softness in his gaze as he watched Y/N. They caught his eye, and for a fleeting moment, the air between them changed. It wasn’t obvious, nothing overt, but there was something there—an unspoken awareness, a hesitation that hinted at something deeper.

Pete, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. “You guys ever notice how Clark always smiles the most when Y/N’s around?”

Chloe turned from her computer screen with an amused look. “Oh, definitely. It’s like clockwork.”

Clark, instead of getting flustered, simply shrugged, his smirk growing. “Can you blame me?”

Y/N rolled their eyes but couldn’t help the small smile playing on their lips. “You guys are hilarious.”

Pete wiggled his eyebrows. “We try.”

Chloe, sensing an opportunity to move things along before Clark turned into a full-blown tomato, clapped her hands together. “Anyway! Y/N, do you still want to check out that crime scene after school? I heard from my contact at the police station that something weird went down.”

Y/N perked up, curiosity lighting their expression. “Oh, absolutely. I live for ‘something weird.’”

Clark frowned slightly. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Chloe smirked. “Relax, Boy Scout. It’s just a little investigative journalism.”

The school bell rang, signaling the end of their free period. Clark took the opportunity, straightening up and turning to Y/N. “I can walk you to class.”

Y/N tilted their head, amused. “Oh? You don’t think I can find my way on my own?”

Clark shrugged, his signature shy smile appearing. “I just figured, you know, since we’re headed in the same direction…”

Pete let out an exaggerated sigh. “Man, just admit it already.”

Clark shot him a look before turning back to Y/N, who only laughed before nodding. “Lead the way, Kent.”

As they walked out of The Torch office together, Chloe and Pete exchanged a victorious glance. Some things, after all, didn’t require a meteor freak’s mind-reading abilities to see.

–

Y/N’s phone buzzed against her palm just as she was about to leave for The Torch. She glanced down at the screen. Chloe: Crisis with tomorrow’s edition. Gotta reschedule crime scene sneak-around. Sorry!

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes fondly. She should’ve known Chloe would get caught up in some last-minute journalistic emergency. Still, that left her with an entire evening free. She bit her lip, debating for a second before pulling up Clark’s contact and hitting call.

It barely rang once before his voice came through, warm and easy. “Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

“You busy?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

“Little bit,” Clark admitted. “Dad’s got me helping with some stuff on the farm. What’s up?”

Y/N shifted on her feet. “Well, since Chloe bailed, I figured I’d see if you wanted to hang out.”

There was a pause, then the sound of Clark exhaling like he hated saying no. “I want to, but I can’t get away just yet. How about we meet up later?”

She smiled at that, picturing him running a hand through his hair like he always did when he was torn between responsibilities and spending time with her. “Alright, Boy Scout. Later it is.”

Clark chuckled. “Boy Scout, huh?”

“You tell me, Kent. Are you wearing plaid right now?”

A beat of silence. “...Maybe.”

Y/N laughed. “Then the nickname stays. See you later.”

After hanging up, she stared at the screen for a moment. She could just stay home, wait for Clark to be free. Or… she could go check out the crime scene on her own.

Her curiosity won out.

–

The scene was a burned-out husk of what used to be an old auto shop on the outskirts of Smallville. Police tape crisscrossed the entrance, but it was quiet now, no officers in sight. Perfect.

Y/N ducked under the tape, stepping carefully over loose debris. The air smelled of scorched metal and something chemical, and every shadow seemed to stretch just a little too long. She ignored the shiver crawling up her spine and pressed forward.

At first glance, it just looked like a regular fire. But something didn’t sit right. She crouched near the remains of a shattered workbench, running her fingers over the charred edges. The burn patterns were strange, too precise.

Then she saw it.

Amongst the rubble, half-buried under twisted metal, was something glowing. Faintly.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she reached for it. The light pulsed, a deep green, refined and sharp. Meteor rock.

Smallville was no stranger to these things, but this one was different. More polished, more concentrated than the fragments that littered the town. As soon as her fingers brushed its surface, a jolt of energy shot through her arm, like static electricity but deeper, crackling beneath her skin.

The floor creaked behind her.

She whirled, but before she could react, a loud boom erupted from somewhere in the back of the shop. A shockwave tore through the air, sending her flying. The world blurred—fire, debris, heat—before she hit the ground hard, her vision flickering.

Her skin burned. Not from the fire, but from inside. Like something was crawling through her veins.

Then—darkness.

–

Each breath burned.

Y/N’s limbs felt like they were moving through molasses, her muscles aching with every step forward. The night air was crisp against her damp skin, but it did nothing to cool the feverish heat lingering beneath the surface. The burning in her veins had faded, but in its place was something almost worse—a weight, a fog thick enough to make her thoughts sluggish, her vision swim.

She needed help.

Clark’s farm was closest. If she could just get there…

Each step forward was a battle. Her legs wobbled beneath her, her muscles aching like she’d run a marathon, but she pushed forward. The flickering glow of Smallville’s streetlights faded behind her as she stumbled onto the dirt road leading to the Kent farm.

It was quiet except for the steady rhythm of crickets in the distance and the occasional hoot of an owl. The peacefulness of the countryside stood in stark contrast to the chaos surging inside her.

Her hands trembled. She flexed her fingers, watching the way her skin seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. The effect was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Something inside her had changed.

Two miles.

It felt like an eternity.

By the time she reached the weathered red barn, her vision was swimming. The soft glow from the house in the distance was warm, inviting. She could go straight there.

But she didn’t.

Her body moved on instinct, guiding her toward the barn instead—toward Clark.

The large doors creaked as she pushed them open, the scent of hay and earth filling her senses. The loft seemed impossibly far away, the stairs an obstacle she barely had the strength to conquer, but she climbed.

She gritted her teeth, gripping the wooden railing as she pulled herself up, each step more taxing than the last.

One more.

Another.

Her arms gave out just as she reached the top, her knees hitting the floorboards with a dull thud.

The loft was quiet, moonlight filtering in through the windows, casting long shadows over the worn-out couch and the wooden floorboards. Clark sat near the edge, a book in hand, his flannel sleeves rolled up as he flipped absently through the pages.

At the sound of her collapse, his head snapped up.

“Y/N?” His brows furrowed in concern as he tossed the book aside and stood. “What—”

She reached for him.

Something inside her screamed for comfort, for stability, for him.

“Clark,” she choked out, her voice weak. “Something’s wrong.”

She expected him to rush forward like he always did. To scoop her up in his arms without hesitation, to be the rock she could lean on. But instead—

He stumbled back.

His face contorted in pain, his breath hitching sharply as he clutched his chest.

“No,” he gritted out, shaking his head. “I—I can’t—”

Confusion twisted inside her, layering over the dizziness already clouding her mind. “What…?”

She tried to move closer, but he staggered back even further, his body curling inward like he was sick.

Y/N froze, horror creeping in.

“What’s happening?” Her voice cracked. “Clark, what’s wrong?”

He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the wood of the railing behind him like he needed something to hold himself up. His breathing was ragged, his normally strong posture trembling beneath some unseen force.

“It’s you,” he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s—whatever happened to you. I can’t be near it.”

Her stomach dropped.

She looked down at herself, at her hands, her arms—she wasn’t glowing anymore, wasn’t burning. She felt off, but she wasn’t—

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Clark swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes were pained, conflicted. “Y/N… I need you to listen to me.” He winced again, pressing a hand to his chest. “You need to go inside. My parents—they’ll explain everything.”

She didn’t move.

None of this made sense.

Clark—the person who had always made her feel safest, the one who had been there through everything—was afraid to come near her.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, a mix of fear and frustration bubbling up in her throat. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Clark clenched his jaw.

“You’re hurting,” she pushed. “Because of me? How? Why?”

His lips pressed into a tight line, his breath coming faster.

“I can’t tell you,” he admitted, voice breaking slightly. “Not yet.”

Her stomach twisted.

Clark had secrets. She knew that. There had always been moments when he was just a little too fast, a little too strong, moments where things didn’t quite add up. Once upon a time, Clark had told her one of the things he liked about her was that she didn’t pry the way his other friends did. That she was content with secrets.

But now, standing here, this was different.

This was a wall between them.

And she didn’t know how to tear it down.

Her body swayed slightly, exhaustion sinking deep into her bones. She was too drained to argue, too overwhelmed to think.

“Please,” Clark tried again, his voice softer, pleading. “Just go inside. Let my parents help.”

She swallowed hard.

Her head was still clouded, her limbs still aching. If she pushed too much, she’d collapse again, and Clark—he couldn’t even catch her if she did.

That thought alone sent a pang through her chest.

So she took a breath.

And she nodded.

Without another word, she turned on shaky legs and made her way toward the ladder, gripping the rungs harder than she needed to. Each step downward felt heavier, the weight of uncertainty pressing against her shoulders.

–

Clark followed Y/N at a careful distance, unable to approach too close for fear of hurting her. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse, but he couldn’t help but feel helpless as he trailed behind her. The Kent farm seemed so peaceful from a distance, but up close, it always had a strange, intense energy, especially now.

Y/N stumbled toward the house, gasping for air. Every step seemed to cause her more pain, but she kept moving, trying to hold herself together. When she reached the door, she almost collapsed, but with great effort, she pushed it open.

Inside, Clark’s parents were in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones, as they usually did in the early evening. They hadn’t noticed yet, but Martha’s sharp eyes caught the way Clark’s face had changed the moment he stepped through the door.

“Clark?” Martha asked, noticing the strain in his expression. She stood quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s wrong?”

Clark couldn’t look at her. His eyes were still fixed on Y/N, who had collapsed into a chair by the door. The air around her seemed thick, almost suffocating. Martha immediately noticed the way Y/N was shaking, her breath shallow and erratic.

“Clark?” Martha repeated, more urgently this time.

Clark finally forced himself to look away from Y/N. “The meteor rocks,” he said, his voice tight. “They’re in her bloodstream. It’s the only explanation.”

Martha’s heart sank, her face paling as she glanced from Clark to Y/N.

“I can’t believe this is happening again,” Jonathan muttered as he entered the room. He had been out in the barn but now stood beside his wife, eyeing Y/N. “The last two people this happened to... they died.”

Y/N’s body jerked, her arms wrapped around her midsection as if trying to hold herself together, but it was no use. The pain was overwhelming, and she could barely catch her breath.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Clark asked, stepping closer, but he stopped himself, instinctively keeping a safe distance. It hurt to see her in this state, but he knew that getting too close could only make things worse.

Y/N looked up at him, her face pale, sweat beading on her forehead. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t form any words. Her eyes begged for help, but the words never came.

Martha immediately went to Y/N’s side, her hands steadying her. “We need to get her to the living room,” Martha said quietly, her voice filled with concern. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you to the couch.”

With Martha’s help, Y/N managed to stand and shuffle to the living room, her steps shaky and slow. Clark watched her go, his mind racing.

“I have an idea,” Clark said suddenly, his eyes intense. “The spaceship in the cellar... It neutralized the meteor rocks once before, when Tina Greer tried to take my place. Maybe it will work for Y/N too.”

Jonathan’s expression shifted immediately, his brow furrowing. “Clark, absolutely not. We can’t risk exposing the ship. This could reveal everything.”

“I know,” Clark said, his voice raw with emotion. “But it’s the only chance we have. We can’t just let her die.”

Jonathan’s face softened, but he didn’t back down. “You’re talking about revealing everything. You’re talking about putting us all in danger.”

“I get that, Dad,” Clark replied, his voice desperate. “But if there’s even the slightest chance the spaceship can help her... I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

There was a long silence, as both father and son stood there, staring at each other. Martha, who had been comforting Y/N in the living room, glanced up at them from the doorway.

“Clark’s right,” she said quietly. “We have to try. It’s the only way.”

Jonathan sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. “And what happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if it kills her instead? It protected you, Clark. It only did that because it was saving you from Tina Greer. It won’t help her unless... unless you’re in danger.”

Clark’s heart pounded as he processed the words. He had no choice but to take a risk. The thought of losing Y/N was too much to bear.

“I know,” Clark said quietly, his eyes intense. “But if it works for me, it could work for her too. We have to try. If we don’t, she’ll die.”

Jonathan exchanged a look with Martha, her expression unreadable. He sighed deeply, weighing the consequences. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but firm.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll do it your way. But we’re doing this carefully. No one can know what’s down there.”

—

Jonathan guided Y/N carefully down the steep, creaking stairs of the storm cellar. The air in the underground room was thick with the scent of dust and old wood. Every step felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, as though the pain pulsing through her body was more than just physical—it was an ache that seemed to stem from her very soul. Her skin burned with a feverish heat, and her heart raced, erratic, unsteady, as though she were on the verge of something much worse.

"Clark will be with you in a second," Jonathan said softly, though the concern in his eyes was unmistakable. His hand remained on her shoulder as he guided her, but his grip tightened slightly when they reached the last step. "I’ll be back in an hour," he continued, his voice trying to offer reassurance despite the unspoken weight of his words. "By then, the ship will have done what it can. Just hang in there, Y/N."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, a rhythmic thrum of panic. She wanted to say something, ask why things had gone so horribly wrong, but her throat felt tight, constricted by the weight of it all. Her hands shook, and every part of her screamed for answers, for clarity. Why did this happen? What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she stop the pain? And why had everything changed the moment she touched that rock?

The storm cellar door creaked shut above her, plunging her into the silence of the underground. Her vision swam as she leaned against the wall for support, the dim light of a single bulb casting long shadows that made everything feel far too close.

It wasn’t just the pain. It was the uncertainty. She had always felt like she had a grip on her life, a sense of control. But now, it felt like her body was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any given moment. Her breath quickened as her chest heaved with each inhale, but the air felt heavy, oppressive. The sharp, burning sensation from the meteor rock coursed through her veins, and her muscles tensed as if her body was trying to fight against something invisible.

The door creaked open again, and Clark’s silhouette appeared in the dim light, but the moment he stepped inside, something changed. His face contorted with pain as he staggered slightly, one hand clutching his chest as if something was crushing his ribs from the inside. His breath was shallow, labored. His body, strong and capable, now seemed like it was being torn apart.

“Clark?” Y/N whispered hoarsely, trying to push through the haze of pain and confusion to understand what was happening.

“Y/N” Clark managed through clenched teeth, his voice strained. He took a step back, his face a mask of agony. “I don’t think the ship will work with me too close... It’s... It’s reacting to the meteor rocks in your blood.” He winced, another wave of pain overtaking him, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. "What’s happening, Clark? What is this?" Her voice wavered with a mix of terror and desperation, the rawness of the moment sinking in as she realized, truly realized, the enormity of what had just happened.

Clark stared at her for a long moment, slumping against the far wall with his eyes full of silent conflict. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t let him.

The silence between them stretched on, thick with the unspoken. Time seemed to slow. Seconds stretched into eternity. And still, no one moved.

“I—” Clark finally managed to speak, his voice unsteady. “I don’t think the ship thinks I’m in danger. It hasn’t done anything.”

Y/N blinked, confusion clouding her mind as she tried to make sense of what he said. “Ship? What ship?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if her words might break her. “Why are you in pain, Clark?”

Her gaze flickered toward him, and despite the raw pain in his expression, the worry that gnawed at him, he forced himself up the wall and took a step closer. Y/N recoiled instinctively, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself from his approach.

“No,” she gasped, shaking her head violently, “I’m hurting you. Stay away.” She was trembling, her body stiff with the urgency to put distance between them. She didn’t understand any of this, but she knew one thing: she couldn’t bear to hurt him, especially not when he was already hurting.

Clark didn’t retreat, though. His determination surged through him, despite the agony that washed over him in waves. “I don’t care, Y/N,” he said quietly, his words thick with the effort it took to speak. “I can’t keep hiding it from you. You need to know.”

He lowered himself beside her, his breath shallow, his body still trembling. She watched him, unsure of what he was about to say, yet unable to look away.

“Clark?” Her voice cracked slightly, the fear still lingering beneath the surface.

Clark swallowed, his eyes meeting hers with a vulnerability that was foreign to him. “I’m not... I’m not like everyone else,” he said, his words coming slow, heavy. “I’ve... I’ve always known something was different about me. But I didn’t know what it meant, not really.” He paused for a moment, his breath coming faster now as he fought through the pain. “The ship... It’s... It’s the one that brought me here on the day of the meteor shower. It’s the reason I have powers. I can’t get too close to you right now, because the meteor rocks in your blood, they hurt me.”

Y/N’s heart beat faster, and for a moment, she almost couldn’t breathe. It felt like the ground was shifting beneath her feet, her world suddenly tilting in a direction she couldn’t follow. She’d heard the rumors, the whispers, the talk of “meteor freaks” and strange occurrences around Smallville. But this? This was something else entirely.

“I thought... I thought you were just another one of those meteor freaks,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she leaned back against the cold stone wall, lost in thought.

Clark stiffened slightly at her words, but when he saw her expression, a small smile on her face filled with understanding and acceptance, something inside him softened. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned back until his back was resting against her front. The proximity made him ache, but he didn’t care anymore. It felt right, even in the midst of all the chaos. Even as the room swirled with shadows and unanswered questions, for the first time, he felt a small sense of peace.

Y/N moved closer to him, her fingers gently grazing his skin as if offering some comfort despite the pain they both shared. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

The words hung between them like a promise, fragile and unsure, but real.

Clark’s breath hitched slightly when he felt her small kiss press to his forehead. It was soft, fleeting, but something about it made his skin burn—alive in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like. To be normal. To feel cared for.

Y/N’s lips brushed his skin again, this time more than once, and the sensation sent a jolt through Clark’s entire being. Was this what regular people felt? Was it worth the pain, the isolation, the secrets? The fire in his chest flared, but in a way that didn’t hurt. It sang through him. He wondered if the pain was just part of the price of something better.

Suddenly, the spaceship in the cellar emitted a loud whirring sound, and Clark’s eyes widened in shock. A bright, blinding flash of light filled the room, surrounding them both in a wave of energy.

The pain in Y/N’s body disappeared, and with it, the fire in her veins. Her breathing slowed, steady, as if her body had just come back to life.

Clark blinked rapidly, his hands still trembling. But the storm of pain in his chest had abated as well, and he could feel something else now, something brighter, clearer.

Y/N looked down at her hands, surprised and awestruck. The glowing sensation had stopped. Her blood no longer burned, no longer felt like it was being consumed by the meteor rock. The ship had done it. It had worked.

Y/N looked back at Clark, their gazes locking for a brief, electrifying moment as they both leaned in, drawn toward something unspoken and yet undeniable. But just as the space between them began to shrink, the cellar door creaked open, and Jonathan and Martha’s heads peeked in, breaking the moment. “All good in here, kids?” Jonathan’s voice carried a mix of concern and curiosity, disrupting the quiet tension that had settled between them.

💌 💌 💌 💌

#smallville #clark kent #clark kent x reader #smallville clark kent #smallville clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman x reader

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dellamortethelesser · 2 days ago

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The Wigmaker Job

Notes and Thoughts - Part 6

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5 | pt6 |pt7 (FINAL)

DISCLAIMER: These posts I'm doing are my own analyses and are done with the intentional eye to examine the relationship between Lucanis and Illario. I try to source all my assertions from what the text is giving me. This is not Lucanis critical nor should it be taken as such.

"That globe was keeping the Veil intact." "So you stabbed it?!"

So glad that everyone pointed out that Lucanis "my plan is knives" Dellamorte gets to have a taste of what this feels like during the Weisshaupt mission in Veilguard. LMFAO. This just makes me giggle. Poor Illario <3

"You said yourself vengeance was the best I could offer." ← LITERALLY ILLARIO DID NOT SAY THAT. WE JUST HAD THIS CONVERSATION WITH YOU LUCANIS. Thankfully Illario does come to his own defense lmfao thank god!

"No!" Illario retorted, his breath heavy from exertion. "My exact words were: 'We can't help these people.' I said nothing of vengeance. You're the vengeancey one."

I need Illario carnally for saying the word 'vengeancey' in full sincerity. Who said that wow a little gnome just ran by

Lucanis is the one losing sight of the mission! This is really starting to tie back all of the previous conversations and observations together that Lucanis has made throughout this story. Why does he associate Illario with that? Why does he put that on Illario? So someone can share the blame? So he doesn't feel like he's going off alone?

"Trust me—to Ambrose, turning his creations against him is a fate worse than death." "I'm sorry—did the contract ask for 'a fate worse then death'? Usually, it's just death."

Again. They're assassins. They have a set contract with set terms. Death, usually. Illario tried to kill this guy in the previous scene in the other room and you didn't stop him. Now Lucanis is trying to rope him into another change of plans—a far riskier one!

"I thought the plan was to have a few laughs, slit some throats—not release a demon swarm!" "Plans change." "Well, for the record, I preferred the other one." "Noted."

To be fair. Illario never really knew the plan beyond "slit Ambrose's throat". And he still prefers that one. I would be so frustrated at this point and Illario still deflects with sarcastic responses. It's probably the case that he is more annoyed than he lets on!

"There's no alarm. Ambrose should've found the bodies by now." / "Don't question the Maker's miracles, cousin." ← hmm. me once again thinking about the Andrastian influences here… although this may be one of those just culturally appropriate things to say

They come into the room and see that Effe is cleaning the floors and has moved the bodies. She yells at Lucanis for not killing him, and expresses fear about him finding out she helped. Lucanis reassures her that he's going to kill Ambrose.

Illario accuses Effe of telling on them, and Effe insists the only spoke to the other slaves. She tells Lucanis that "you promised to kill [Ambrose]", and Illario retorts with "and you promised to keep your mouth shut."

Notes from this above dialogue: Does Lucanis see himself in them? Trapped? Where does his sympathy towards the slaves come from? Not that sympathy is a bad or irrational thing, but that Illario doesn't seem to share it, and their profession doesn't lend itself toward it. Assassins don't free slaves.

"Take her," Lucanis told Illario. "Find the others." "Other what?" His eyes darted to the elf. "Slaves? Absolutely not." Lucanis continued as if Illario had agreed. "There's a statue with a passage—like the one we used before. It's not far. You should be able to escape in the chaos."

'Lucanis continued as if Illario had agreed' is that not the thesis of this whole short story?

I like that he does actually give Illario an actionable plan here—but he's not looking for Illario's consent! He's just telling him what to do and expecting Illario to obey without question! And it's yet ANOTHER change in plans!

They continue to go back and forth, with Lucanis giving further instructions and explanations—the name of the elf from earlier, Athima, and that she'd meet them at the docks.

This tells me that Lucanis always had an escape plan ready? Whether for himself, or the slaves, or the slaves and ILLARIO, we can't be sure. But he did have an escape ready.

He keeps barreling through Illario's attempts at interruptions before Illario finally loses his temper.

"Lucanis!" Illario shouted. "We are not revolutionaries!" Lucanis inhaled, his nostrils flaring. Illario was right. The Antivan Crows were assassins, not freedom fighters. Back home, people liked to romanticize, but Lucanis knew what he was.

We are not revolutionaries <3 The line that changed it all for me. He is trying to get through to Lucanis in the only way he knows how.

I actually do like this reference to "back home" = Treviso. It DOES reinforce the narrative Veilguard gave us that Teia is taking advantage (and she also does, to an extent, believe in) the revolutionary reputation that the Crows sometimes has.

Lucanis here says he knows what he is. I don't think he does. Well, no. I think he does know what he is. I think he wants to be different. I think he wishes he wasn't what he was, because then Illario wouldn't be arguing with him on the "right" thing to do. The "right" thing to do is subjective. They're both… right. The "moral" thing to do is the harder question.

Still, his fingers twitched. "They are not responsible for their master's mistakes."

I think this is closer to how Lucanis feels about himself and his relation to the Crows and Caterina. This is a very revealing statement.

He locked eyes with his cousin. Illario tried to remain resolute, but it was like touching hot steel. Sighing, he cursed and turned to Effe. "Come on," Illario snapped. She glanced toward Lucanis. He gave her a reassuring nod. "My cousin may be a snob, but he's true to his word."

Can you be nice to him for one fucking second without taking a shot at him? Genuinely this one is almost beyond the pale. You just fucking stared him down and again browbeat him into going along with YOUR changed plan, AGAIN, despite his protests, and you're going to… insult him again to the face of a stranger?!

Of a woman who you also put at risk by dragging her into this, even if you're going to get her out now.

'True to his word' at least there's that. Illario is going to get her and the others out safely, and Lucanis trusts that—trusts her to trust that, too.

"Are you?"

"The Wigmaker will die tonight."

ough. okay. we're almost done. I think I can do a final push and do all of the last of my notes tomorrow in one final post.

Quotes are either paraphrased or taken directly from The Wigmaker Job, written by Courtney Woods.

#dragon age #dragon age analysis #dragon age meta #tevinter nights #the wigmaker job #my analysis #long post #illario dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte #caterina dellamorte #house dellamorte (meta)

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ts-janus-rp-blog · 2 days ago

Note

Remus blinked once Emile got up, he opened his mouth to say something but...stopped once Emile started talking.

The younger one peeked out from the older ones chest. He thought he was going to get in trouble for causing a scene, or for going somewhere without his owners permission. But, what he heard made him stop. He... Does he mean it? Is this a joke? He seems serious, but this is a new owner, he may be lying, he can't tell. He dared himself to crawl over to emile, where he grabbed emiles arm and nodded. He looked up to emile with massive puppy eyes. He wanted to stay here. With Emile. The first person in his entire life that treated him with kindness.

The other two, on the other hand, stayed behind. They weren't so eager to stay with someone they just met. It'll take a while for them to warm up to emile...if he wants them to stay too, that is.

"A bodyguard... Huh, I didn't think Remus cared that much about Roman to consider a bodyguard. Hm, I don't blame you, not after what happened earlier... I thought I could trust them and...you saw what happened. Wait..." Logan stopped, "Me? Interested? I mean... I'm...not really the bodyguard type... I'm more suited to being in front of a computer screen than throwing punches... But..." Logan glanced down at the hybrid, "He may be interested." Then he blinked, and smiled softly, "Of course. I am grateful that you trust me that much, Virgil. That warms my heart. Thank you. I know you do. That's another reason why I'm willing to help you on your quest, you're trying so hard to be good but...life wants you to be bad. I want to see you prove life wrong."

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

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1anvi · 1 day ago

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i love angst so much oh my god

also, i got a question once about why does hidan looks so angry at arika sometimes. i didn't really know how to answer properly cuz there's a bit too much to explain and i feel a little shy doing that, but since i dropped another angsty thing ig it's my duty now to explain this thing somehow

ok so very shortly, arika actually can't feel any emotions and doesn't have any moral principles, so she's unable to feel the difference between good and evil. since hidan is pure definition of the concept of 'evil' itself, he was quite stunned when some pretty girl he just got as a partner didn't see anything bad in him. like "bruh wth this chick doesn't fear me, actually respects me and even treats me kindly sometimes no one does that what da fuck!!!" so he obviously came up with an idea that she might be in love with him or just likes him at least but!!! no she can't even understand the concept of love itself, arika's care about him is a pure sign of respect towards the older teammate and there is no personal feelings in it. and so on hidan's feelings for her grew progressively and always shattered slightly when he remembered that she is unable to even see what things he feels, but that is not the end!!! jashinism actually forbids any good personal relationships with anyone (it was written in novel and i know it's not very canon but since we don't have much canon info about hidan's religion i think it's valid to use this thing) so he just found himself on a crossroad of decisions: kill arika to not feel these conflict feelings inside of him and obey the rules of his religion or keep her alive through suffering emotional breakdowns every now and then and also keep trying to make her at least become attached to him somehow cuz he doesn't really want her dead actually and deep down believes in a light future with her. if you think arika didn't suffer much here you're kinda right but no she did omg everyone must be in pain!!! after hidan got buried alive and kakuzu got rasensurikene'd she actually realized how good it was being partnered with them. she lived to boruto's times and now blames herself for not saving them, even now as an adult civilized citizen who shouldn't really be sympathetic towards terrorist organisation that literally started a goddamn war lol so i guess it is yeah sorry if there's a lot of grammar errors or whatever i'm typing this without a translator my head hurts

#oc #naruto oc #oc x canon #naruto #naruto shippuden #hidan #fanart

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candyskiez · 22 hours ago

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Jonathan sims is like. I don't think I've ever loved anyone in my life. I've loved everyone I've ever met and it eats me alive. None of this is my fault how DARE you be even a little mad at me. All of this is my fault how are you even looking me in the eye. Nobody cares about me and I don't blame them. I will drop everyone to save the people that hurt me, even at the cost of my own life. I will never forgive them. I've never truly connected with anyone in my life. These people who I barely even know made such a deep impact on me I will kill a woman with her face to avenge her and steal his autonomy to save him. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I want to hurt people so badly. This is a woman I care about deeply, and I never forgave her, and never plan to. I will advocate for her friend to kill her, and I will grieve her once she's gone. I can't stop being open. I've never been open about my emotions in my entire life. I never want to be around anyone. I'm so tired of being alone. I don't think I've ever loved anyone. How do you know if you love someone? Is it just caring about someone? What defines love? Am I doing it wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Elias, am I still human? Was I ever human? I deserve how people treat me. I hate them for it. I shouldn't hate them for it, I can't even blame them. But I do. I do. I want to destroy everything. I just want things to be okay. I want to be loved and accepted and I will never believe anyone who tells me they do. I wish I was dead. I never want to die. I deserve to die. I'm supposed to be dead. I don't want to die. But I do . But I don't. Have I ever cared about anyone but myself? Would I even know? If I died, would anything bad happen? Or would it just be sad? If I died, how many people would be relieved? If I died, and nobody missed me, could I forgive them for that? Have I ever forgave anyone? Have I ever gotten over anything? Have I ever stopped being angry? Did I ever move on? Will I ever move on? What am I even moving on from? Did any of it even matter? I don't think I've ever loved someone. I think I was supposed to die. I think everyone would be better off for it. I don't want to die.

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #jonathan sims #im having a normal one guys #pushing the jon is aro and autistic and has a hard time telling what his emotions are #especially love.

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very-straight-blog · 1 day ago

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I'll never understand why Louis is so cruel to Lestat and Armand (I'll be talking about the second one here).

After everything that happened in Paris, Louis doesn't know that Armand is fully responsible for Claudia's death - he thinks Armand was forced to betray them. Nevertheless, he still blames him - first of all, for lying. And he knows he'll never forgive him.

But he stays with him and this scene with Louis, Armand and Lestat is absolutely disgusting.

Louis is literally hurting both of them here. Lestat, for obvious reasons, but also Armand - Louis makes it clear that the only reason he's with him is to spite his previous partner. It's Louis's conscious decision to hurt one person and keep hurting the other for the next years.

As a result, in the fifth episode we find ourselves here:

Like, really? Maybe you'll leave then? Louis seems to want everyone around him to suffer because he suffers. Yes, Armand stayed in this relationship too - for many reasons, but in his case it's mostly related to his trauma and Louis just chose to be an asshole.

And when they fight, it's Louis who starts hitting Armand's most painful points, knowing which words will surely cut him deeply.

Like, really? Is there anything worth saying here? He talks about the sexual abuse Armand was subjected to over and over again.

If you can't forgive a person, leave them? What's the point of torturing Armand for years, reminding him of his mistake over and over again, and hating him, calling him "boring" just because he's trying to fix everything?

Armand, they could never make me hate you.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #anti louis de pointe du lac #armand #opinion

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umbrellajam · 2 days ago

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@silverwhittlingknife's OG tags:

#Tim actually has many people who care about him b/c he is a sweet kid with many good qualities!!! #he just doesn't see himself that way #i just want to give him a good pep-talk ''tim people DO care about you i promise'' #weirdly enough Tim really needs to learn to take other people for granted a bit - an odd problem to have BUT HE HAS IT #he just needs to learn to TRUST that other people care about him the way that he cares about them - because they do!!

#i blame jack drake's c+ parenting #and the way he blows hot and cold and abruptly loses interest in tim from time to time #for Tim's 'i am constantly braced for the ppl i care about to lose interest in me w/o warning' Thing #Jack teaches tim to assume that even effusive interest and expressions of love can't be trusted! because next week his dad loses interest! #but being shuffled between boarding schools and having a million temporary friendships probably didn't help

#he starts second-guessing Dick & the Titans ...not out of NOWHERE exactly but still he's got very little reason to be as anxious as he is #he's VERY quick to jump to the conclusion of ''okay you don't actually want me in your life anymore'' #he mentally figures all those relationships are temporary until he changes schools / stops being Robin / quits the Titans / etc.

#interestingly Dick also has a bunch of self-worth issues but his are very different from Tim's #Tim's always surprised that ppl still care about him #whereas dick doesn't doubt that people care about him the way tim does #but he tends to sorta...discount their caring because to HIM what matters is whether he's helping people #so when people don't call him for help he feels like it's a Judgment on Him and on the friendship - and his feelings are really hurt #(Donna when she doesn't tell him about Robbie - Wally when his wife disappears - Bruce when he calls on Azrael instead of Dick - etc.) #plus Dick thinks that if he's screwing up at crimefighting then he's a bad person who doesn't DESERVE to have friends #so then he actively drives them away or avoids them so that he can be miserable & ashamed by himself #they are both idiots and i love this about them

also from @chiyana:

#tim “I have friends” drake immediately followed by tim “wait I have friends??” drake #like BOY

Top 10 moments of Tim being an insecure disaster

(I was reading this lovely post and felt like making it way longer.)

So something I find interesting about Tim Drake, Veteran Boarding School Kid, is that he's pretty good at making superficial friendships...but he's also way too quick to assume all his friendships are shallow and temporary and will disappear if he, like, mildly annoys someone or falls out-of-touch for a bit. Even with friends he's had for a really long time and cares about a lot!

This is sad for Tim, but delightful for me, because I enjoy characters being unhappy, and I especially enjoy characters being resigned that no one cares about them... only to discover that actually people do care. Please enjoy my ten favorite panels of Tim being insecure and/or oblivious. <3

1. Tim assumes that everybody at Gotham Heights will instantly forget about him once he changes schools and that their promises to keep in touch don't mean anything (Robin 74):

"They'll move on without me. I'll become a stranger. We all know that."

2. Tim worries that Bruce won't want him as Robin if he goes back to boarding school (in the same issue):

"Hey... you wouldn't... fire me, would you?"

3. Tim worries that Young Justice doesn't want him back on the team (Young Justice 46)

A few issues earlier, Tim quit the team briefly, upset that his friends didn't trust him (they suspected him - wrongly - of conspiring with Batman to create secret files on them). Here, he wants to rejoin. But when they scowl at him, he hastily backtracks:

Tim: Well...okay...I mean, if that's how you feel, I can respect th--Conner: Oh, don't be a jerk! Of course we want you on board!

4. Tim's "if I quit Robin, Bruce and Dick will never talk to me again" monologue (Robin 120):

"If I quit Robin, Bruce won't be in my life anymore. At all. I'll probably never see him again. Never hear of Batman at all. None of them will be in my life anymore, not even out of their costumes. They won't be able to. Even Dick..."

5. Tim worries that Dick doesn't want him in Blüdhaven or in the Wayne family (Nightwing 110):

When Tim's dad dies, he moves to Blüdhaven, where he knows exactly one person: Dick. Buuuut Dick's avoiding him (because he's in a shame-spiral over Blockbuster's death! not because he's mad at Tim!).

Anyway, Tim naturally jumps to the conclusion that Dick is mad at him for moving to the same city without asking permission first, and also that Dick would be offended if he let Bruce adopt him:

Tim: You're not mad I'm, like, in your city or anything? Dick: NO! No. I'm honored. You have more of a right to be here than I do. Tim: Is it the adoption thing? Dick: The what? Tim: 'Cause I was a little worried about that. That's kinda part of why I said no. I mean, that and the uncle thing. I was just thinking it wasn't really all that long ago since he officially adopted you, which was kind of a big deal, you know, emotionally or whatever, and to me you're like totally his son and I don't wanna step on that or anything.

Tim's worry is tragicomic because earlier in the issue, Dick spent his inner monologue moping about how Tim is so great and Dick loves him so much and therefore Dick has to avoid him because he's ashamed of Tim seeing him like this (Dick Grayson: also in possession of severe self-worth issues!).

6. Tim assumes that his firing is IMMINENT at EVERY MOMENT (Robin 139 and others)

In other surely-this-relationship-is-temporary-no-matter-how-long-we've-known-each-other news, I can't add all of Tim's many "THIS IS THE END!! Bruce gonna fire me from Robin!!!" panels, because it would take too long. Here's another one, though:

7. Tim's blindsided when he disappears for three days and his friend Zo is... shockingly... worried about him (Robin 156-7)

One thing I enjoy about Tim's self-worth issues is that they not only make him anxious and miserable, they also cause conflict! Tim has a tendency to assume "out of sight, out of mind"... so he forgets that his friends, like, worry about him if he disappears. Which means he can be...kind of a bad friend in terms of keeping in touch.

Here's Tim being stunned - and later apologetic - when he discovers that his friend Zo was worried about him when he was apparently kidnapped and then out of touch for days (who could've seen that coming? not Tim!):