#This is all I can picture for how this introduction went down

[dekariosclan]

*Gale and illithid Tav, holding hands and standing in front of Gale’s mother, Morena, as Gale finishes introducing them as his betrothed*

Gale: …in conclusion, mother, I know you will be as delighted as I am to welcome my darling Tav into the family (affectionately kisses Tav on the forehead)

Morena (visibly stunned, speechless):…

Tav (telepathically, tentacles quivering nervously): It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Dekarios.

Gale: My love, there’s no need for such formality! (laughing gently) You may address my mother as ‘Morena’ from here on out, and—

Morena: GALE DEKARIOS, have you absolutely lost your mind?? (shaking with anger) I’ve heard barely a peep from you for over a year, you show up here with no prior warning, you bring your illithid betrothed to meet me, and you dare to state that they may casually address me as ‘Morena’?? What in all the hells can you possibly be thinking?!

Gale (shocked, confused):…mother, I—I thought you would be delighted—Tav is the love of my life, and—

Morena: Not another WORD (turns to Tav)

Tav:…

Morena (throwing both arms around them, pulling them into a warm hug): Oh my dear, I DO apologize for my son’s absolutely dreadful manners! Telling you to call me ‘Morena’—what absolute NONSENSE, you must address me as ‘Mother’ from this moment on, I will accept nothing less, you’re a part of the family now!! (grabs Tav’s clawed hand, starts pulling them into the house eagerly, leaving Gale standing there blinking) I INSIST you tell me everything about how you two met, I want to hear it all! TARA!! (shouting down the hallway) Tara, do come out and meet Gale’s stunning betrothed! Our little Gale is finally getting married!!

#This is all I can picture for how this introduction went down #Morena would be a 10/10 mother-in-law I refuse to believe anything else #Braiding Tav’s tentacles to look good for the wedding& tossing out anyone who gives even the slightest sour glance at her new family member #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale x tav #bg3

[psychronia]

I've been rewatching Avatar: The Last Airbender because why not and I'm losing my mind at Zuko's proper introduction. I don't know if it's hindsight, shifting characterizations, or just me not watching this in a long time, but this was amazing.

We start off showing he's an impatient and very angry kid. Reasonable, and the sort of flaw we might expect to see in a villain. Kinda funny that he expects to go up against an adult and fully 4-Element realized Avatar, but the kid is desperate and Iroh clearly expects his nephew to get the banishment-denial kicked out of him.

What's important here, though, is Zuko's introduction to the Southern Water Tribe.

Here, we have a very intimidating entrance where his entire ship just sails through the ice right up to the village's front door. It's quite ominous and this is our first proper introduction to how the Fire Nation interacts with a foreign people.

Sokka charges, I'm assuming fully prepared to die, and Zuko casually knocks him out of the way. Okay, so clearly the Water Tribe are entirely outgunned.

He asks "Where are you hiding him?" and the people of the Water Tribe go silent. I assume they're either just too scared to talk or actually protecting Aang.

Whatever the case, it's important to note that the Southern Water Tribe know the terror the Fire Nation can inflict. We have a whole episode dedicated to tracking down a division of raiders. Sokka was able to not only identify the ash-mixed snow as signs of an incoming attack, but estimate how many ships the amount of ash measures to. These are a people who have experience being terrorized and are probably expecting something terrible to happen.

And then, after they don't answer, Zuko grabs Gran-Gran. There was a horror sting to it, and everything the tribe knows about the Fire Nation suggests that Zuko is about to threaten or straight up hurt her to get answers. Classic "terrorize the elderly" bad guy stuff.

And then...

He goes "He's (the Avatar) be about this age and is a master of all four elements!?" and lets her go.

And all of a sudden, the tension that was built up is shattered as Zuko went "I know, I'll give them a reference for the person I'm looking for because clearly they're confused and I wasn't specific enough."

This went from a show of villainy to a show of Zuko being totally socially awkward and misreading the situation entirely. Not helping is that when he does try to menace them a moment later, his fire is slow and angled quite safely.

It still worked on the Water Tribe because they're understandably scared, but all I could think of is that this was the equivalent of a playground bully trying to make someone flinch with that fake-out lunge thing.

Because the fact-and something we'll come to learn-is that Zuko is TERRIBLE at being a Fire Nation oppressor. He's capable of doing morally dubious things and is a competent fighter. But he's lousy at terrorizing people and cruelty-that's kind of the point of his banishment.

And while we can see the story paint this picture of Zuko's true character as the story goes on with hints of good and conflicting loyalties, here we get to see just how bad he is at being "the bad guys".

#avatar the last airbender #atla #you're not an imperialistic conqueror you're a BABY #a BABY BEAN #diffused tension #bad at being bad #can you imagine how horrible this would have played out if Azula was the one that came? #psychronia

[alotofpockets]

Roommates | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Gorry!Reader & Katrina Gorry x Sister!Reader

Where you start dating your sister's bestfriend after she becomes your roommate.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

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"You're still going to pick up Kyra from the airport and drive her to her introduction at the Arsenal training grounds, right?" Your sister has asked you this question at least ten times now. Her Matilda's teammates, and one of her closest friends Kyra Cooney-Cross was making the move from Australia to the UK, just like you had done two years ago, and your sister had asked you to look out for her there. 

"Yes Mini, don't worry. I will pick up Kyra and drive her to London Colney. You can go to sleep and stop worrying, I promise I've got her." 

Katrina seemed to finally relax a bit, "Okay, text me when she gets there? I told her to do that too, but she'll probably be too tired from the flight to remember.” Your sister loved Kyra like family, and it was sweet to see how similarly she cared for Kyra as she does for you. 

“I will text you when I see her at the airport, now please go to sleep.” You laughed at the slightly annoyed sigh that escaped her mouth. “Thank you again, and goodnight.” You hung up the phone after wishing Katrina a good night as well.

You finish your workday, and run some errands, before you head home. You made a funny poster to welcome Kyra to London before you head to bed for an early wake up call to head to the airport.

When you saw Kyra walk down the gate hall, she looked exhausted from the long flight, a feeling you knew all too well yourself. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie, combined with a messy bun. When she laid eyes on your poster her face lit up. Welcome to London, my favourite Tillie!

"Oh we're so showing Mini your sign." She greets you with a hug. “Yeah, let's send her a picture. I promised I'd text her when you landed.” The two of you pose together with the sign, while someone next to you takes your picture. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask while you take half of her bags. “I ate on the plane, but am in desperate need of a coffee.” In the coffee shop you catch up for a bit over coffee, and breakfast for you, before Kyra gets a call. She walks out of the shop to take the call, while you scroll on your phone.

“What’s wrong?” The panicked look on her face as she walked back in immediately grabbing your attention. “That was the landlord of my apartment, he just let me know that he accidentally double signed. In other words, I don’t have a place to stay anymore.” Without a second thought you had a solution for her problem. “I’ve got a spare room that I never use. It’s yours if you want it.”

The following week you helped Kyra get settled and went with her for her introduction meeting at Arsenal. Initially you would just drop her off and pick her up later in the day, but she had insisted you’d join her. Together you got the Arsenal tour, and you sat to the side for all her video and picture moments. All in all, it ended up being a fun day.

The two of you had gotten close quickly over the days that passed, sure you had known each other already, but now living together brought you on a whole new level of friendship.

Tomorrow would be Kyra's first training session at Arsenal, as well as meeting the team for the first time. Besides her Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin, she didn't know anyone more than a familiar face. You had known she was nervous, but you didn't realise just how much until she knocked on your bedroom door.

“Hey Ky, what's up?” The usual smile the girl was wearing was replaced by a frown. “Were you homesick when you first moved here?” You had been so adamant that she was just nervous, that you hadn't taken the move to another continent into consideration. “Yeah, I did. Come here.” Patting the spot on your bed besides you, you offered her a place to sit. 

You talked for a while before you both fell asleep. The next day you drove Kyra to her first practice with Arsenal. You were just going to drop her off, but when you saw Caitlin get out of her car, you had to go say hi. You knew all of the Tillies from the many times you had met them in the family and friends hall after matches. 

“Y/n, hi, what are you doing here?” She greeted you with a quick hug. You point back to your car where Kyra appeared from behind the trunk. “Ky has been staying with me.” 

On queue Kyra appears beside you, and drops her bags to hug Caitlin tight. While the two of them embrace, another player walks up to greet you. You knew it was Katie, but as far as you remembered you had never properly met. “Hi, I'm Katie, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand. “Y/n, nice to meet you too.”

Katie inspects you, trying to figure out where she knew you from, until it finally clicked. “Oh you're Gorry’s little sister, aren’t you?” Kyra stepped out of her hug with Caitlin to defend you. “She's her own person you know.” It was really sweet, but you really didn't mind. “It's fine Ky, I am.” You rolled your eyes at her defensiveness, but behind that facade you secretly loved how she stuck up for you. 

From then on Caitin and Katie picked up Kyra for practice, since you basically lived on the route to the training centre.

Kyra joined you in your room on more days than not over the next few weeks, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t enjoy the moments you spent together. You were quickly falling for her, and every part of you hoped that she felt the same way. 

Then one morning you woke up with Kyra cuddled into your side, and her leg draped over yours. You lift your hand to gently play with her hair, she hums with enjoyment and cuddles further into your side. “Good morning to you too.” You were like a deer in headlights, caught by the fact that she had, unbeknownst to you already been awake. “Don’t stop.”

You release the breath you were holding and continue. You must have laid there for another hour before you got out of bed. “Can I maybe take you out for breakfast?” The way her eyes lit up at your question was enough for you to realise that she did indeed feel the same way. “I would love that.”

The two of you had been together ever since, just keeping it to yourselves to enjoy your time together away from prying eyes. Which is why you were stressed since your sister had called that she was coming to visit with her family, because she was meeting with the West Ham United team. You had offered your home as a place for them to stay while she had her meeting, and while her and Clara would be looking at homes for their family. 

“Relax babe, we never changed my room back to a guest room, so they won’t notice a thing if we act like just friends for a couple days.” Kyra tried reassuring you. You had talked about telling her, but ultimately you decided that you weren’t ready to tell her yet, and Kyra was fine with that. 

Kyra offered Mini and Clara her room, while she took the couch, and your niece Harper was overjoyed to be having a sleepover in your room for a couple of days. It was nice having your family around, and you were excited to have them closer after the move as well. 

Mini and Clara were out house hunting while you and Kyra spent some time with Harper. Harper insisted on some painting, and you could not stop laughing when the girl had started painting Kyra instead of her paper. While Harper was dancing and singing her little heart out to Frozen, you cleaned Kyra’s face. When you were done you placed a quick kiss on her lips. “All done.”

Meanwhile a few blocks over Mini’s mind was on something besides house hunting. “I think they’re together.” She stated to Clare, who was busy inspecting the kitchen of the place they were currently in. “Who?” 

“Y/n and Kyra.” This got Clara’s attention. “What makes you think that?” Mini went on and on about how Kyra’s room looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks, that you looked so comfortable together, the glances she had noticed between the two of you, and just the general vibe when the two of you were in a shared space. “Well, if they are, what would you think of that?” Mini thought for a moment before ultimately deciding that she thought the two of you would be cute together and good for each other. 

Mini had not expected to get answers to her question on if the two of you were together or not, but when she put Harper to bed, her little girl snitched on you right away. “Did you have fun today?” The girl nodded her head enthusiastically before telling her mom all about the things that you had done today and finished her story with, “Oh and Auntie and Kywa was kissing.” Mini smiled to herself. “Oh did they now, sweetheart? I am glad you had a good day. Sweet dreams.” 

The next morning you head out to breakfast all together, before your sister and her family fly back for a couple more months. “This place is great, y/n. Where did you find it?” You’re glad that they are enjoying the food just as much as you do. “I took Kyra here when she was all settled in.” You were soaking in all the time with your little niece as much as you could, so you were helping her colour in her drawing while you were speaking to the adults at the table.

“Oh, did you go here for your first date?” Since you were so focussed on the colouring you didn’t think before speaking. “Yeah- oh.” Your head shot up at your older sister, though you relax when you see the proud smirk on her face. “You knew?”

Mini points to Harper, “We’ve got ourselves a little snitch on our hands, she saw you two kiss yesterday. I did also have a feeling already.” You felt relieved now that your sister knew, because she was the person you were most scared of telling, with Kyra being one of her best friends and all.

You drove Mini, Clara, and Harper to the airport with Kyra, where you said your temporary goodbye’s. Knowing that they would be back in two months to move to London. You couldn’t wait to have your family close again. 

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#kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross imagine #katrina gorry #katrina gorry x reader #clara markstedt #harper gorry #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #matildas x reader #matildas imagine #matildas #tillies #auswnt #auswnt x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines

[anikaluv]

I'LL ACCEPT YOU —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw:  suggestive, nudes, Mrs. Morales a lil mean to reader at first (motherly instinct at its finest)

❤︎︎ summary: You were at the dinner table, meeting Miles' mom for the first time, when he excused himself to use the bathroom. As you sat there you noticed a polaroid picture of your breasts on the phone case that Miles had left behind. Now, you had to figure out how to explain this unexpected and embarrassing situation to his mother.

❤︎︎ w/c: 2.1k

❤︎︎ a/n: Everyone describes about how you and Rio would be best friends, but ion know, I feel like she’ll be a little skeptical about you like she was with Gwen in the movie. It's her little boy we’re talking about here. <3

Today was the day you finally met Miles' mother, the most important person in his life.

You wished you could have met her sooner, but her demanding schedule at the hospital made it impossible until now, after seven months of dating Miles. You had plenty of time to think about what to say and do, but it didn't stop the nerves from fluttering in your stomach.

"Baby, you'll be fine," Miles reassured you, rubbing your back affectionately. He knew how much meeting his mother weighed on your mind, but he had no doubt that the two of you would get along. As he rang the doorbell, he placed his hand on your waist. "She'll love you, promise."

Though you nodded in response to his kind words, your mind still raced with anxiety. You understood the importance of this dinner and were determined not to mess things up. Your hands started to rub against your jeans, becoming sweaty from the nervousness.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing Mrs. Morales herself, wearing a kitchen apron around her waist. She immediately looked towards Miles, speaking as if you weren't there. "Miles! What's taken you so long to come home? You know you can't-" It was then she finally realized your presence.

She paused mid-sentence, turning her attention to you, giving you a quick up-and-down glance that made you feel insecure about your outfit choice. You knew you should’ve went with the sweater instead of this stupid T-Shirt. "Oh? Hello there, who are you?" she inquired.

Feeling put on the spot, you started to mumble a small introduction, but she asked you to repeat yourself. Before you could gather your thoughts, Miles came to your rescue. "Mamá, este es mi pareja, [your name]” (Mom, this is my lover, [your name] ). Even after Miles introduced you, you could sense that Rio was still on guard, her protective instincts clearly showing proudly.

You held up the little vase of flowers you had bought as a gift for her, feeling a bit on edge as you offered it to her. She took it with a skeptical look in her eyes. " [Your name], it's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Morales," you greeted her politely, extending your hand for a handshake. However, she merely stared at your hand and didn't reciprocate the gesture. Instead, she spoke with a hint of disdain, "Charmed to meet you," leaving you feeling a little embarrassed as you withdrew your hand.

Miles chuckled uncomfortably at the situation and attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Mama! I can smell something from the kitchen all the way from here! Is dinner ready?”, he said, acknowledging the delicious aroma of the food. Like a switch, Rio turned to her son with a warm smile.

“Yes, mi chulo (cutie). I’m almost finished, come eat.” She started to turn around and walk back inside, but then paused and turned her head, giving you a cold stare that seemed to pierce through your soul. “Ah, and you too, I suppose.” You felt a pang of disappointment as you looked at Miles, realizing that things were going downhill so quickly.

He met your gaze with hopeful eyes and spoke to you, "She just needs to get to know you, that's all." It was meant to reassure you, and while you appreciated his support, you couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling in your heart. You sighed deeply.

This was going to be a very long night.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, you’ve been eating for 30 minutes and it was just, awkward.

You could sense Mrs. Morales' disapproval lingering. Miles did his best to ease the atmosphere, cracking jokes and attempting to bridge the gap between you and his mother. However, it seemed that no matter what he did, Mrs. Morales remained distant.

You tried to engage in small talk and show genuine interest in her life, but your efforts seemed futile. Mrs. Morales gave brief responses and didn't seem interested in getting to know you at all. You felt like you were walking on eggshells, afraid to say or do anything that might upset her.

Miles held your hand tightly the whole time, providing you with a comforting anchor as you navigated the tense conversation. Rubbing small circles into your hand as you clenched his tightly every time you were being shot down in discussion . Miles was your rock, he supported you and helped you through everything. You were so grateful that he was always there-

“Hey, ill be right back, I have to use the bathroom.”

What the hell?

Mrs. Morales lifted her head from her food and nodded at him, “Okay, honey.”, however, you weren’t so ecstatic at the idea of Miles leaving you alone with his mother.

"Miles, what on earth are you thinking?" you whisper-shouted to him, panic evident in your voice. He chuckled at your anxious tone. "You'll be fine, trust me, mami. Here, I'll leave my phone here so you know I won't take long." Miles placed his phone on the table, but you couldn't spare it a glance, too busy giving him a look filled with betrayal. "I'll be right back," he reassured, leaving a tender kiss on your temple before standing up and excusing himself one last time.

“Well this is just great”, you thought. Your plate was finished 15 minutes ago, so you’ve just been with talking to Miles and trying to include Rio in you two's conversations, but now that he’s not here, you’ve settled at twirling your food on your fork.

Suddenly, Mrs. Morales cleared her throat loudly, catching your attention. Your neck snapped up weakly to meet her gaze. She crossed her arms, her posture becoming more assertive. "So, what exactly are your intentions with my son?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow in a challenging manner. Your posture straightened, and you swallowed nervously, your mind going blank. Desperately searching for something to focus on other than Rio's piercing gaze, your eyes landed on Miles' phone case.

That's when you noticed it.

Sat inside Miles clear phone case was a polaroid of your breasts. You gasped seeing the picture, trying to figure out when Miles even did this. It showed them cupped by Miles hand, nipples erect and outward, with bruises left by him all over your skin. You body instantly flushed, how long has Miles phone been sitting on the table? Has Rio seen it?

"Hey, what's that?" Rio asked, her voice pulling you back to the present moment. You realized you had completely forgotten about the current situation, causing you to hastily flip the phone to the other side and let out a nervous "Nothing!" You hoped to divert her attention, but Rio remained unfazed, her gaze fixed on your phone.

"Is that a picture of you on the back of Miles' phone case? That's… cute. Let me see," she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. Your heart skipped a beat, panic setting in.

You knew you couldn't let her see that polaroid. "No! You can't! It's really… embarrassing," you mumbled, your hand instinctively scratching the back of your neck as you tried to sound as convincing as possible.

In response, you could see Rio's eyebrows raise, her interest piqued even more. You knew things were getting out of hand but before you can attempt to change the subject, Rio stops you.

“Wait, is that what I think it is?”

Your heart rate spiked; did she figure it out? You were certain she'd be furious. The mere thought of not being with Miles was unbearable. These rapid thoughts flooded your mind, each one appearing before the last could finish. Before you could answer, you heard Rio burst into laughter.

"Dios mio (Oh my god)…that's hilarious!" The cold demeanor she once had towards you melted away as quickly as it came. You joined in her laughter, relieved that she didn't seem mad about the situation. The bonding moment between the two of you felt genuine and comforting. You had expected her to be more strict, but her laughter was a welcome surprise.

As the tension subsided, Rio looked into your eyes with warmth, a smile lighting up her face. "Jeff used to do that too, take embarrassing pictures of me hang them up in his room. I can see why you're embarrassed. You probably made a really silly face, huh?" You nodded along with her until she reached the last sentence. She thought the picture on the phone case was of you making a silly face?

You laughed awkwardly, shifting in your chair as you tried to play it off. “Yeah! I was making a really foolish face in there, haha.” Your hands waved around dramatically trying the explain the picture to her, anything you made up immediately coming out of your lips. She chuckled at your dramatic performance.

She shook her head taking a sip of the tea she made, “That boy and his tricks, he reminds me more of Jeff everyday…”. Her face slowly turned toward a framed picture of the three of them. Jeff having Miles in a headlock rubbing his head while they’re both laughing, Rio smiling as she took the picture.

The memory depicted a happy and complete family, and you could see the love in Rio's eyes as she looked at the photo. She turned back to you, her tone delicate, filled with the fear of losing her son again. "My son can't lose another person," she whispered.

Rio placed her hand on the table, leaning forward to speak directly to you. "Just promise me you'll always be there for my boy, and I'll accept you," she said, her words sincere and heartfelt. You placed your hand gently on top of hers and replied, "I intend to be there for him until his last day, Ms. Morales." The seriousness in your voice conveyed your commitment.

Rio hummed, processing your response, and then smiled, sitting back into her chair content with your answer. Maybe you were the one who could make this broken family complete again, she thought.

As Miles walked back into the room after using the bathroom, he immediately sensed the warm and playful atmosphere between you and his mother. He sat back in his chair, casually draping his arm around your neck, joining the conversation. "What did I miss out on?" he asked with a playful tone. Both you and Rio exchanged knowing smirks, teasing him with a simple "nothing," which only made Miles grin even wider.

As you answered Rio's questions about you and Miles relationship, Miles let you and her bond and decided to bring his phone out on the table and scroll through social media, accidentally leaving the back in Rio's line of vision. Suddenly, you heard Rio gasp loudly and choke on her tea, causing you to exchange concerned glances with Miles. Worried about what had happened, both of you turned your attention to where she was looking; realizing what had caused her reaction, you both fell silent.

Rio now had a lot of more questions than before.

EXTRA: You screamed at Miles as soon as you left the Morales home, play hitting him as he chuckled at your rage.

You screamed at Miles to keep going as you clenched the sheets as he layed kisses and bites all over your chest. Every bite harder than the last then met with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings that had you on the edge of losing your mind.

“Miles, how could you do that! You made me so scared!”, you complained. Holding his hand as he walked you home. Pouting as he laughed at you not taking you seriously.

“Miles, how are you doing that? You’re making me feel so good!”, you babbled, mumbling little praises to Miles as he marked you, pinching your nipples as you wiggled in his grasp with your wrists held above your head.

You couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore as he tickled you. “C’mon, ma. Don’t make that face at me. I’m sorry, really.” He bent down and kissed your cheek as you crossed your arms at him.

You couldn’t hold in your moans anymore as he made you his. You were almost there but you felt Miles shift and get up and come back with a object in his hands as you continued to squirm.

“You just looked so pretty mami, I had to memorize it.” Miles flashes his signature grin at you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was too handsome, you'll just have to get back at home some other way.

“You just look so pretty mami, I have to memorize it.” The camera flashes, capturing your beauty perfectly as Miles grins, carefully placing the polaroid on his desk, for safekeeping, at least for now.

ENDING A/N: I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE RIO THAT MEAN LMAOOO, but I feel like its also a lil cannon yk? After losing the love of her life, Miles is the only one she has left so yeah, she’s gonna be protective as hell over him. 

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld @spidrstar @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @popeheywardssecretgf @lumineliax

TAGS:

#anika❤︎︎writes #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x you #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles #atsv miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader

[spitdrunken]

i keep thinking about essentially being like. velvette's 'charity case' model and how your relationship develops from there.

notes: fem!reader, velvette calls you ugly LMAO, beyond that... no warnings, really. surprisingly the most healthy vee relationship ive written yet!

velvette's typical models all look similar, reminiscent of the modeling industry back when you were alive. tall, skinny and, more important than anything else, human-looking. most of them could pass for humans in a costume.

you… do not. you just didn't get quite that lucky with your demon form! really, you can say that the vast majority of people drew the short end of the stick, at least by the kind of standards that people like velvette set. maybe you're a bat, with a snout you've deemed as pig-like taking up most of your face. or a sheep, your single-slitted, dead eyes making even you uncomfortable. perhaps you're more formed after an object than what you would consider a person, or plant-like in nature! in any regards, due to the way lucifer chose to have you reborn you firmly do not fall within hell's beauty standards.

all of that means you were absolutely not expecting to be accepted when you went ahead and applied to a job with someone as famous and perfectionistic as velvette. it had started as a joke, really. you'd posted a purposefully horrible picture of yourself on vitter, with a stupid caption like; "do u think that :skull::heart: would kill me for submitting to open casting looking like this lmaooooo" (you have to use emojis to talk about the vees, as the socials owned by them are notorious for taking anything remotely negative down.)

and unexpectedly, your post randomly did some pretty big numbers, with people egging you on and some practically begging to tell you what kind of insults she would sling at your head. you saw some people copying your original as well.

so you're like! whatever!!! you don't think that you'd even get through the application process, much less velvette herself. nothing will end up happening, so, who cares? but then, somehow, despite everyone and their mom wanting to model for velvette, you get… through? and you even get an interview scheduled with velvette herself?

she takes one look at you as you walk in, and just goes: oh my god. this really is grim. and you're hardly seated, before she continues. look, i don't have the time for niceties, and introductions are entirely unnecessary. i'm sure you already know this, but you're not here because of your looks.

yeah. you figured that. …i guessed so. but i'm still sitting here. so, why?

instead of getting a real answer, you're shuffled off into a shoot, different outfits flashing on top of your body, faster than you blink, velvette's face settled into a scowl, till it suddenly lights up. it doesn't go… super well, you've never really done this and, if you had, velvette's attitude surely wouldn't help. you never really get clarity as to why you're being hired, when a contract is shoved in front of you.

(the reality of the situation is that velvette had seen you trending, not trending-trending, but still a noticable. she realised the demand for someone like you, a 'relatable' every-demon being thrust into this new world, and documenting it online. her company can claim they accept 'all kinds of demons', and some poor suckers will feel less excluded when looking at her fashion, buying it more quickly. win-win-win!)

she tells you to you're face that you're the ultimate challenge. if she can fix someone like you up to in a half-decent model, it just shows that she really is a fucking goddess. maybe you're not as pretty or as used to everything as the rest of the models, but that doesn't mean you don't put in any effort now that you're there. the other girls won't associate with you whatsoever, but you do listen in on their conversations, pretending to mess around on your phone, coming to know the kind of make-up velvette likes. you tirelessly browse online, mostly on vikvok and vitter, figuring out the current trends. and after a while, velvette takes a look at an outfit you picked, and actually says…

this is pretty decent. it won't look good on you, but i can use this. maybe, somewhere along the way, you become more of an assistant or outfit suggestor for velvette, only occasionally stopping in for shoots. velvette never accepted anyone in a similar position to you, even though vox tried her to get an assistant for ages, and she wouldn't have accepted you either if you'd obviously being vying for the position. but you weren't, and your position just kind of naturally developed that way.

your shtick as a 'charity case' has somewhat been abandoned, though velvette still dumps clothes in your arms sometimes and tells you to try them on. maybe you're one of the few people who gets her to laugh, and the only one who she freely bitches to about all of her models. (she does this to vox and valentino too, but it's not the same. they don't care as much, nor do they really know who she's talking about.) she lets you sort through some of the open casting applications and help pick out the theme for a shoot.

of course, absolutely everything you do has to go through velvette first, and she still criticizes you aplenty, but you can't help but feel she has grown… fond of you, in a sense? sometimes, you swear you see her wearing outfits you'd picked out for another model… and while she shittalks everything that moves, you just happened to listen in on her giving a model a tonguelashing for talking bad about you. either way, you've certainly come to like her a lot more. you're now even mutuals on vitter and vikvok! much to the delight of the tiny following you'd grown on there. she even posted a picture of the two of you on there! …that means you've really made it.

maybe at some point, when her company has hit a new milestone and, in a rare slip-up (or perhaps valentino gave her a super strong drink on purpose, thinking its funny) she gets pretty drunk. you end up sitting opposite of each other in a bar, with her having decided on the spot to put some make-up on you, leaning in close to check her work, fingers gliding slowly over your skin. a situation that feels entirely too intimate for this setting, not helped by the half-lidded look in your eyes. …i have changed my mind. she mumbles, slurring her words are little. you can look pretty, after all.

you sputter out a oh really, and you only realised that now?! in order to break the heaviness of the air, the unspoken tension that makes your heart skip a beat, and velvette laughs.

(maybe there's hope for the two of you yet.)

#hazbin hotel x reader #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #hazbin hotel #velvette #cha.velvette

[kuromochimi]

Of weddings and what ifs

sakusa kiyoomi x wedding organizer f!reader

♡ You loved your job and the joy of being able to bring to life the weddings that couples could only dream of, before they had met you. The only downside to it was that your job sometimes reminded you of a certain ex fiancé. Fortunately, he hasn’t made an appearance in your life since you broke the engagement off. But with the red string of fate connecting you and your ex fiancé not being totally severed yet, it was only a matter of time before it brought you back into each other’s lives. Only this time, he’s tied to another.

Content Warnings: ONE SHOT, angst, little fluff and comfort, no closure break ups, not proof read, a small hint for an open ending, lmk if I missed any!

With the final arrangements settled, you finally felt free enough to take a breath and appreciate the (once again) perfect event you’d managed to organize. It was exhausting to say the least, but the happy couples who would often tear up out of joy while thanking you? Yes, it was definitely worth it. And it was a job that paid fairly well too. Moments after you’ve had the time to look around the venue, a notification from your phone caught your attention. It was a notice from your secretary about new clients. She reminded you that you had to meet them the following day. You then made sure to set up alarms and reminders as you were sure you would oversleep otherwise, after all, the current event would definitely last til the late hours. And that it did.

The following day, you tried your best to make yourself look freshened up and awake. You arrived at the meeting place quite early. You double checked all the files and documents which you might need. Thankfully, not long after you finished fixing your papers, the client arrived. She approached gently before speaking “Hi! I’m keiko. You’re yn, right? I saw your picture on the pamphlet” she smiled shyly. You noticed just how soft spoken and beautiful this lady was. She definitely has that “soon to be married” glow. “Hello, yes! It’s me. I’m glad to finally meet you, keiko!” You stood up to shake her hand. You both settled down after the introductions. “Will it be just you for today?” You asked her before you started discussing anything. “Oh my fiancé will be here soon. He just suddenly had to run an errand for his mom. He’s..” she grabbed her phone to check on something, probably a message. “Oh he’s just parking his car now” you gave a nod of acknowledgment at that. With your seat facing the entrance, you could clearly see the people who walked in and out of the cafe. Which meant that when sakusa kiyoomi walked in, your eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He started looking around, eyes landing on you. Or at least you thought they did, before keiko looked back from her seat, immediately getting up to hug sakusa once she was made aware of his presence. She guided the man back to your table. You tried your best to mask whatever feeling was forcing its way out of you. “Yn, this is my fiancé. You can just call him k-“ . “sakusa, you can call me sakusa” he cut her off. Keiko was a bit taken aback by her fiancé’s interruption but she was quick to ward off the confusion. While the discussion went on, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and even more tired. You weren’t sure if it was because of last night’s event execution or if it was because in front of you was your ex-fiancé, asking you to organize his wedding. The fiancé who was too busy for wedding planning. The fiancé who thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. The fiancé who left.

The world felt like it was nothing but air. You couldn’t feel much at all and you were probably only functioning out of pure muscle memory acquired from all the times you’ve done this pre-planning orientation for engaged couples. Your consciousness was jolted awake when keiko stood up. “Yn I’m really sorry but I’m being called in for work. One of my patients had an emergency. Please just settle the rest with kiyoomi, I’ll see you again soon!” She hurriedly left. Her absence immediately making way for the awkward silence filled with all of the unspoken thoughts you and sakusa tried to keep in for the last hour or so.

“I’m sorry”. The words felt unreal. They felt empty, and fake though you were sure kiyoomi would never say something he didn’t mean. “What are you sorry for, sakusa?” He visibly flinched at the name he suggested you called him by, not even an hour ago. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be.. all this for you” the moment made your ring finger feel heavy despite the absence of the ring that used to wrap itself around it.

His words brought you back to the day he left after he’d had enough of your complaints about having to plan the wedding all by yourself. He was starting off as a doctor back then, a new resident who wanted to do all that he could to establish his career. You were both fairly young back then, which was probably why you both thought getting married at that point of your lives was surreal. For some, maybe it was so. But for you two? Apparently not. Because not long after he proposed, he soon found that the demands of being a surgical resident wasn’t something to take lightly. While you were also working, you never failed to make time for wedding planning. Of course, you knew that his schedule was much more taxing than yours but it still pained you to make invitations on your own, taste test cakes by yourself. “I want whatever you want” was what he’d said as compensation for his absence. But when you were trying on dresses and you looked at yourself in the mirror gown and all, the weight of keeping everything in came crashing down because “he should be here” was all you could think. Sakusa wasn’t superstitious so he certainly wouldn’t give a fuck about seeing you in your wedding dress before the wedding day. Heck, he even said he’d love to pick one out with you. But he wasn’t with you. So when he came home from work, tired and not thinking straight, he was met with your equally tired looking figure, sitting on the couch, crying. He didn’t even get a word out before you spoke your mind and while he did understand, he didn’t have the energy to argue further. Because in his head, you should’ve understood why he couldn’t be there. And even when you both reconciled that night, nothing had changed. The same cycle continued until neither of you found enough reason to keep the promise of getting married. Though you wished he would’ve at least said goodbye instead of leaving a shitty sorry note on top of your counter, along with the apartment keys.

“It’s fine. Let’s just forget about it” you tried your best to sound sincere but you couldn’t exactly lie your way out of a confrontation with someone with whom you literally intended to spend the rest of your life with at some point in time. “Do you.. do you want me to find another planner? I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was gonna be you, yn. I promise I never intended to-“ he stops as you held your hand up to signal your request for silence. “Sakusa, it’s fine. Like I said, let’s just forget about it. I promise not to let what happened get in the way of your wedding planning.” The day went by very slowly, both you and kiyoomi moving and speaking like virtual characters merely accomplishing tasks assigned to them. “Well, that’s about it. Please let your fiancé know about the details she missed and… congratulations for the engagement” you chimed before briskly walking out of the cafe where sakusa was left dumbfounded and extremely confused as to how he was going to address this wild turn of events.

Throughout the planning, you’ve come to learn that keiko was an amazing person. She was passionate about her work advocacies, she was kind and soft spoken, extremely understanding, and though you didn’t mean to have such thoughts, whenever she spoke of kiyoomi, you never seem to miss the times she’d tell stories about how busy the man was and that she understood him anyway. Because she loved him. Because she was the same way sometimes. Something you weren’t able to do for him during such a challenging time in his life. It caused conflict in your heart to learn all of those things. Because it warmed your heart to see such a happy bride to be. She radiated happiness and everything in between whenever she was with kiyoomi and kiyoomi looked at ease whenever he was with her and that’s something because kiyoomi rarely looked at ease. They were happy but as much as you wanted to take that happiness as a sign to let your hurt go, it just didn’t work that way. To be quite frank, until now, you still harbored a little (or more) hurt from the fact that someone you had initially agreed to marry, was capable of leaving you without even saying it to your face. Before you came home to an empty apartment with his goodbye note, you were even going to propose the idea that maybe you guys should just postpone the wedding and maybe wait for things to settle in before you resume planning. Instead, you were met with your ex-fiancé’s absence. His clothes missing from the closet, medical books out of the shelves, even his favorite mug was nowhere to be found. It was as if only the note he left behind could serve as proof that you were once in a relationship with him. You tried contacting his family and closest friends but most of them ignored your calls and those of them who answered obviously tried their best to dodge answering your questions. You were at your lowest then. You took a long leave from work, barely ate, barely showered, was often sick, and would constantly wonder how things could have been had you just kept your mouth shut instead of nagging a tired kiyoomi.

It wasn’t helping that you were thinking about all of this a few minutes before the couple’s consultation with you. The wedding was moving closer and closer and you’ve been spending more and more time with them and it still honestly feels like the world is caving in every single time. It’s an unexplainable feeling. You wanted nothing more than to see them get married, sincerely congratulate the couple, let go of all that’s been bugging you in the past, and finally move on with your life, something you haven’t been able to do since you and kiyoomi broke things off. Your thoughts were cut short when someone entered your office. It was keiko and she was alone. “Yn? Hi, I just wanted to talk to you real quick” “quick? but we have so much to do” she smiles gently before taking a seat across your desk. “I don’t know how else to put it but… I know about you and kiyoomi. I didn’t know when I first met you but he told me everything and I just want to tell you that it’s okay if you want to talk to him about it. You both need it, yn. I know it’s none of my business but I hope you think about it. Don’t worry, I understand.” Ah. You see it. This is the woman he fell in love with. This was the woman worth the change and this was the woman able to match him perfectly. There’s no fighting that. “Keiko I don’t know, you don’t have to” she softly reached for your hand to hold it in both of hers. “You deserve an explanation, yn. Kiyoomi might have changed since then but I’m not about to marry someone who’s able to leave someone just like that. If you feel like you don’t need to speak with him, I respect that. But if you want to talk to him, let him know, it’s okay, don’t worry about me.”

You took up the offer. Maybe if keiko didn’t come up to you to say that it was okay to look for closure, you would have spent the rest of your life swallowing your need for an explanation from your ex.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk, yn.” You only gave him a light nod as you looked far into the expanse of trees ahead. View from where you were seated at a nice private little cafe. “Kiyoomi I just want to know. Why did you leave like that?” With fidgety hands, you tried to calm down. “I just felt like I didn’t deserve you anymore. I hurt you after I asked you to marry me. I didn’t deserve that ‘yes’ anymore” after a nod, you responded “So you just? Wrote a note then dipped? Kiyoomi I still wanted to marry you then. I was going to postpone it but I still wanted to marry you.” He knew that. “It’s exactly why I left. Because you still wanted to marry me even after what I did. I didn’t deserve you anymore.” “Kiyoomi, for the longest time, I wanted to tell you that I was willing to wait for you and that I was sorry for nagging you that day. Then I was obsessed with trying to find out which one of us was at fault. I wanted someone to be at fault because how does it happen that two people love each other so much but still end up separating just like that? But it’s been a while now and I think… I think maybe we should forgive each other now. I honestly felt bitter lots of times even til only recently but seeing you with keiko.. she’s a great girl and she deserves all the happiness. We should close this part of our lives now, shouldn’t we?” Kiyoomi stood up and you thought he was about to walk out but he pulled your arm to get you to stand up before he gave you a tight, warm, and sincere hug. One unlike any other he had given before. It wasn’t an I missed you hug but not a goodbye one either. It was one of acceptance and peace. Though it didn’t feel familiar, none of his embraces have felt as warm as this one. After pulling away from the hug, you grabbed your purse, as you got ready to leave. “Omi, I sincerely wish you and keiko the best” this time, you said it with utmost sincerity.

Wedding day

With flowers and good food and genuine smiles, the wedding went by without a hitch. Much to your relief. You decided to stay a little but longer for the reception, snack on a fee things before leaving. With a glass of champagne in one hand and your purse in the other, you walked around the venue, checking on things here and there. Well, not until someone bumped into you knocking the glass of champagne off your hand, spilling champagne on your dress, shattering the glass on the pavement, and causing you to fall on your bum all at once. “Hey, you okay? Come here” the tall man gently guided you to stand up. He immediately removed his coat to wrap it around your frame to hide at least a little bit of the stain. “You hurt anywhere?” It took a while for you to respond. “Oh- oh yeah I’m okay, no worries, sir” “it’s Suna. Suna Rintaro”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #haikyuu angst #sakusa angst #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi

[jinnie-ret]

im not sure if this is an ask but ive been thinking about skz with a younger sister reader who debuts as an idol !! imagine her being in newjeans since skz already enjoy their songs (looking at changbin and lee know 👀) I think it would be so cute !! them cheering her on and singing her songs at award shows !! or even them mcing together or meeting at isac 💗💕💖

its just something I wanted to share and I enjoy your posts so much I thought I would drop it here to see what you think 😭😭💗 feel free to write about it tho if you would like !!! 🫶🫶

so say it ditto

stray kids x sister!reader

genre: fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 0.7k

summary: the boys support their sister's venture in joining newjeans

I hope you enjoy! Sorry it's a little bit crappy haha, but if you did enjoy or wanna be added to my taglist then let me know! :)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Being the youngest of your siblings, and all of your older brothers having debuted in a Kpop group together, called Stray Kids, you had definitely felt the pressure to debut. Your family was complicated, yes, with your mum having multiple different partners in the past, the reason why most of your siblings had different surnames, sans a few of you.

Meaning Lee Know's dad had been out of the picture until your mother rekindled her relationship with him and that's how Felix came about. But she had been staying with your dad, the one you shared with Jeongin, and you think she was settled now.

With this stability it felt like the pressure lessened yet you wanted to show your brothers too that you could do what they do. You could copy them. You could imitate them. Like ditto.

They were so proud when you debuted in NewJeans, alongside your fellow members, Hanni, Haerin, Minji, Danielle and Hyein. They'd be constantly sending messages to their fans over bubble and texting you directly as well about how excited they were for you.

Some fans thought that it had been done on purpose. You were already known in the public eye as Stray Kid's younger sister, but now you had created an image for yourself. And quite frankly, with how viral your songs had gone, you didn't need that label attached to you to be successful.

And your brothers never failed in reminding you just how viral your songs were. Whether it was through tiktoks they uploaded or if it was clips you had seen of them singing karaoke. Not to mention the videos they'd send into the groupchat.

"Cuz I-I-I-I! Know what you like boy!!!" Changbin yelled into his phone, before Lee Know and Han came up behind him in the video and screamed the second line.

"Thank you, brothers, I can no longer hear," you deadpanned into your own phone camera as you sent back a video of your own, which was meant with either laughing messages or mocking ones.

But those are brothers for you.

You couldn't even avoid their teasing when you were working too. You were MCing for Music Bank, where they had just performed their new song 'S-CLASS'. And now it was time for you to interview them.

"Welcome back to Music Bank! We're joined with Stray Kids who just performed their new song, 'S-CLASS', here they are, jaaa," you introduced them and made a cute little awkward sound, one that resembled Seungmin's 'Staaa'.

Chan and Felix, who were stood right next to you, did their best to muffle their laughs as the camera panned to them. You were thankful for that because it meant you could fan your flustered face.

"Jaaa, 1, 2, 3. Step out! We are Stray Kids!" Chan led your brothers into their introduction, making fun of the little sound you made.

"Hyunjin ssi," you began professionally, making the others gasp.

"Ssi? I'm your brother!" Hyunjin gasped, and you looked panicked at the camera before seeing the crew laughing as well.

"Yahhhhh! They pranked me saying I needed to be formal!" you whined as you crouched down with your cue cards.

"Ok, let's try this again, welcome Stray Kids oppas!!" you smile this time and the interview went much more smoothly, yet you still sighed with relief once it was over. It had been even more difficult this time as you were handling it on your own without your usual co-host.

"Wow that was the hardest interview I've ever done! And we've had all of Seventeen sunbaenim here," you rested your hands on your hips as you looked up sternly at your brothers from backstage.

"Just because our little Y/Nnie was nervous," Seungmin ruffled your hair, making you groan as you pushed him away.

"Hey, hey, she's still new to all this," Felix helped you flatten out your hair.

"I'm doing good though, right?" you looked up hopefully, not joking around this time and wanting their approval.

"Are you kidding me? Of course you are!" Han burst out.

"Your songs are so addictive as well, you're really going on a good path here," Changbin nodded as well.

"We're all proud of you," Jeongin nodded patting you on the shoulders.

"You're doing so great," Lee Know nodded too.

And that was exactly what you needed. Even though it was an awkward funny interview, having their reassurance meant the world to you.

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz sister #stray kids sister

[leclsrc]

stay, at least for breakfast ✴︎ cl16

genre: angst, just. angst, fluff

word count: 9.2k

You love once and miss always.

notes... internet translated ita/fre, non linear format so might b a tad confusing but thats it

auds here... this fic is a tad long sry. many thanks to mack who recommended the most painful songs to me that got me through writing the last couple of scenes. ik i said i wasn’t sure when i’d release this but here it is :)

You’re the only person Pierre knows in New York, so you’re the first one he calls. You suggest you meet just at your place, so you can smoke more freely, because so many people complain about the smell these days. You stall. You say the L train is broken. You say you’re tied up with work at the firm. But Pierre sees through you and eventually you meet anyway.

He looks the same, and just seeing him reminds you of so much. Shadows and outlines of memories long gone. You try to keep up the pretense of being okay, to remember that truly, your mind has been elsewhere lately—off everything, off the memories, on work, on cases. You try not to bring him up, even if it’s inevitable that he arises; you keep conversation to a polite minimum. 

Pierre offers a cigarette, a Camel light. You’re a fourth’s way through the stick.

“He asks about you, sometimes.” And then just like that, your world has ceased to turn.

“Oh?” A beat. “What do you say?”

“Just the usual. You’re working on this and that case for the law firm… you went to Greece in the summer.”

You and Pierre are still close, but it’s difficult to forget why. You two are connected by Charles, by a friendship so sacred it warranted a dinner for a Pierre-exclusive introduction. You’d grown close then, and when the breakup happened, it became hard for Pierre to maintain close contact with both of you. 

Selfishly, you wanted him to see how broken you were, so he could report it all back to Charles, etch every last detail of your pain. But Pierre is more mature than he’s given credit for.

“Okay.” You say blankly, unsure of how to bridge a less tense topic.

Perhaps sensing the apprehension, Pierre does it instead. “Do you remember when we bought shaving cream and made Charles look like Santa?”

It was in here in Manhattan, you recall, when Charles had dragged Pierre along with him to visit you over winter, when he’d been dating you for nearly two years at the time. Your flat was just above a bodega that had a comical amount of cheap cans of shaving cream that you and Pierre had found so absolutely silly, birthing a series of Charles-related pranks. After your grocery run, you’d returned to your place, where your boyfriend was fast asleep, mouth half open.

Shh. Quiet, you’d said, spurting shaving cream along his chin, his jaw, laughing silently.

Pierre had followed suit until finally, a beard of Nivea Men bounded down to Charles’ torso. You’d snapped a picture; the shutter sound had woken him up to a red-faced you and Pierre.

He was a good sport about it, kissed you with laughter, so you, too, had a beard of froth. Pierre took a Polaroid with a gifted camera of you on Charles’ lap, arms entwined around his neck, both of you bubbly with the cream, cheeks achy with smiles and laughter. You pretend to forget where it is, to forget that it’s tucked in a box you open once in a while. 

“I miss him sometimes, you know.” The confession rips through you, exacerbated by the cigarette.

“I know.” Says Pierre, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You realize maybe it is.

I still have so much love for him, you wish to say. But where will I put it? Will I keep this inside of me forever? A great, monstrous, shameful thing it is, to love somebody who’s left. But here I am doing it, trying to fill a void that feels like a crater. Where do I put this love? Maybe I can give it to somebody else, somebody new—but I’d say it’s not the same.

You think you’ll always hold a torch to Charles, even when the fire burns through the wood, ash trickling onto your arm until it hurts. And even then, when the light’s gone, when the flame’s wounded you and licked deep into your heart and bones, like it has now, you’ll linger, still holding this torch, still yearning, still unwanting to let go. Still loving. How desperate, you think. How human.

You clear your tobacco-flavoured throat. “It’s em—it’s embarrassing,” you say instead, throat closing up midway, in a futile attempt to water down your intense emotions. They threaten to crawl up your throat, force secrets out of you with the ease of ripping a piece of paper in half.

“Is it?” He asks, open-ended. “N’est-il pas honorable d'être si aimant?”

“Pas si ce n’est pas réciproque.” You scoff.

But he’s relentless, persistent in his pursuit to prove a point. “No. Love isn’t embarrassing, or pathetic, when it’s one-sided. It means more that way, when it’s not reciprocated. It means you’re selfless. It means the love is real.” He turns toward you, and in a billow of smoke, asks, “Does it not?”

You stare, left speechless. All you muster is: “Va te faire foutre.” 

—

You exit the room at eight-thirty with your toothbrush still foaming in your mouth. You stretch your arms over your head, combing a hand through your bedhead. Your eyes are half-shut, and already you smell it before you see it.

Pausing in your tracks, you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Charles?” You call out, still out of the kitchen’s view. You try to remember if he was in bed when you crawled out, but your mind was still cloudy then, and the desire to pee took precedence.

You turn toward the bedroom door. “Charles, come out here. I think something’s on fire in the kitchen. Babe!”

You speedwalk, concern taking over—you didn’t pay enough attention to fire drills in primary school, clearly. Once you peek into the kitchen, however, your concern is only exacerbated, but not nearly as much as the extreme confusion that begins to well up inside you. There, at your stove, is your boyfriend himself, clearly fully awake and conscious, and holding a frying pan in mid-air that’s billowing smoke.

Having heard your voice already, he feels your presence and turns slowly. His gaze blinks from the pan in his grip to your totally incredulous stare.

“I can…” He pauses. “I’ll try to explain.”

“Very smart save, babe,” you say, but it’s muffled by your toothbrush.

“You sound stupid,” he retorts.

You remove the toothbrush and try to speak as coherently as you can through the spearmint foam. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be giving me criticism right now.”

“Fair,” he says, flitting his gaze over to where he holds the frying pan in mid-air. “I will explain as soon as you rinse your mouth. I promise.” You narrow your eyes, wondering if maybe this is another tactic to get himself out of trouble, but you figure it makes sense. If you’re going to scold him, might as well not spray toothpaste everywhere.

You grab your phone on your way back, where the disarray has not subsided in the least. He’s wearing your kiss the chef apron, stained with grease and pancake batter, both vital ingredients to bacon and flapjacks, neither of which are to be seen anywhere.

“What’s going on, Charles?”

“I wanted to cook you a surprise breakfast. But I can’t get the stove right.”

“Tu es fou.” You laugh, inspecting the smoke-scented pan. “Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas simplement pris à emporter?”

“Je voulais être pensif!” He defends, pouting. “Sorry. I’ll clean up the mess.” He deposits a batch of dishes at the sink as you watch in amusement. Your boyfriend is usually a good cook, you’ll say—he makes a mean stack of pancakes, and anybody can cook bacon, really. You suppose this is all just one honest mistake, born from a desire to surprise you on this morning.

He’s scrubbing at the pan when you wrap your arms around him in a backhug. “Thank you anyway. You’re the sweetest, Charles.”

He turns, a bubble of dish soap on the tip of his nose and hums. “Does this get me boyfriend points?”

“Alright, Jesus, a hundred of them.” You smile fondly, meeting his lips in a soft kiss. He makes you toast as compensation, takes the time to cut the crusts off the bread and the pulp out of the orange juice and the big bits out of the jam. He does his best, perfecting the art of toast and breakfast and, by extension, making you happy.

—

“Un amaretto sour, une bouteille de rose et un dirty martini,” you order smilingly in smooth, sure French.

The waiter nods and after thanks are exchanged, he leaves your table alone. In your limited knowledge of Paris, you’ve chalked it up to a few things: many people will be rude, the serving sizes will be petite, and the men will be anything but trustworthy. You’ve tried them before and they all go the same way, slipping out of hotel rooms with disarming desolés, buttoning their polos as they go.

So here you are, characteristically silent, because your friend is flirting with a guy and you refuse to do the same. 

“You speak French?” The guy across you asks curiously. He talks like he’s always smiling, eyes turning into half-crescents. He’s accented, but you’re unsure of the origin—it sounds French, in the same way it kind of doesn’t. You nod politely.

“Ah? Où est-ce que vous l'avez appris?”

“Université,” you respond. “J’ai etudie le langue français, mais… est trés difficil.” He laughs, nodding like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world. Half-crescents.

“I’m Charles. I grew up—I’m from Monaco, so I speak it. And Italian. Joris and I.” He elbows his friend, who your friend is flirting with. Oh, Monaco. So… not French.

“I’ve never been,” you say, letting yourself loosen up a bit more. 

“It’s very small. You should go sometime.” An implication of something hangs in the air, like clouds over France. You smile, bashful, nodding along. 

“I’ll make sure to.” The drinks arrive and flow through the night, laughter passed along the table like wine. At some point you and Charles get up to dance, but are quickly put to your chairs by the waiter—you mutter some slurred remark about how why play music if you can’t dance?! 

But he is funny, and charming, and pretty. You find yourself staring at him in a very desperate, schoolgirl crush way, lip bitten and cheeks warm when he catches you.

Later that night, tipsy off the alcohol, Charles the Monegasque presses a kiss to your cheek and asks, shyly, if you’d like to come to his hotel. You tease him, just to see the half-crescents again, and then you’re in his car and in his room, top pulled off and bra unclasped, laughing drunkenly into his neck when the pleasure reaches its crux. And you hope he doesn’t ask you to leave the next day, drifting into sleep with his arm slung over your waist.

—

You like Charles’ voice in real life.

This is because it means you feel it more than hear it, a low thrum through his chest and into your ear. It lets you know he’s close by, which is the best kind of reassurance, because he never usually is. It doesn’t matter what he talks about—the day past or about to begin, racing, family—all you can really digest is the amount of love and care he puts into his words.

Most of the time you hear his voice through the layered, stuffy audio of your phone or your laptop, when they can’t quite catch up to his lips, when the Internet lag is just that awful. If you’re lucky, he sounds more like himself, but nothing compares to hearing it for real, the whispers and murmurs and roughness of it all. He’s here, and you’re home, content just to listen.

You’re in Monaco; it’s your fourth day here. You’re off school for two weeks before you dive into midterms, so you spend it in Europe, because you haven’t seen Charles in ages. Lately he’s been pixels, voice memos, bubbles of words. But now he’s Charles, real, tangible, yours.

Life has become easier when he’s around, a fact wholly owed to his presence. When he’s here, you feel at ease, like laughter is effortless and loving is natural. But there is a ticking timebomb you sleep on, and it’s your impending departure, your flight back to the city, your resuming of normal life. Of life without him.

“I’ll be in Geneva next week,” he tells you, voice throaty from having just woken up. They’re the first words out of his mouth after he hangs up the early morning phone with Andrea. It’s an invite, even if it’s phrased as a statement; he awaits your affirmation, should it come. He invites you to these things often, as a way to introduce you more into his world. The words rumble through him, slowly onto your fingertips that waltz silently across his bare chest. They skate while you formulate a response.

“Okay,” you say quietly, half-asleep still. “I have… a huge recitation coming up, so I don’t think I can make it. Criminal law.”

He tenses, and you feel it. But his words say something else. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I could,” you say, as compensation. It’s what you’ve both grown used to lately, wishing. Wishes that, for all your trying, never seem to come true. I wish I could make it. I wish I could visit. I wish we could celebrate together. I wish I was there for the podium, or the grades release, or the job offer phone call. I wish, I wish, I wish, and not much of anything else. Just wishing. Wishing, wanting, never getting.

“Yeah,” he says, sighing. “I wish you could, too.”

The dissonance between the voice that rumbles through him and into you—comforting—and the words that leave—a touch too sharp—strikes through you like electricity. “I’m sorry,” you say achingly, and the morning is silent as you both fall back into ignorant, blissful sleep.

—

“Aaaaand that pretty much evens us out to a solid 12-3.”

You finish tracking the score on your Notes app, closing your phone and facing your boyfriend’s pouting face of defeat. 

As always, the loser packs up the chessboard first—the wooden pieces click noisily against each other as he folds up the game, to be won (by you, no doubt) another time. Between work and the general upkeep of a relationship that’s constantly long distance, you and Charles find it difficult to begin and maintain romantic traditions.

But there’s always the assurance of chess. To air out grievances, to pass the time, to play footsie under the table. You and Charles always play, keeping a seasonal tally of near-daily games—during flights, pre and post race, after sex, at brunches with family.

“You’ve been cheating,” he accuses jokingly, storing the chessboard and inviting you onto his lap.

You’re in Nice today, housesitting for a friend while Charles spends time off racing. He claims it’s sufficient practice for when you one day buy a place together; two, at that: one in New York and one in Monaco. The days have passed in chess games, pots of coffee, and slow dances in the kitchen while you wait for pasta to boil or rice to cook. 

“You’re just jealous,” you tease, clambering atop him. Your arms loop around his neck, his around your waist. “Don’t worry. The tally will restart in September.”

“I’ll best you then.” Here, in this still moment of silence, where the sunlight from outside filters in just right and illuminates every detail of Charles’ face, you can almost feel your heart swell to an unimaginable size. You connect the moles and freckles with the tip of your pinky, traveling lower until it rests softly against his lips. He smiles, flexing against your touch. 

“Sore loser,” you say, flirtatious, playing with his hair.

“I think I keep losing,” he starts, hands tightening around your frame, “because every time I see you, I forget how to do the most ordinary things.”

You bite back a smile. “Hey, don’t try to charm yourself into a win.”

“Can’t help it, the winner’s too pretty,” he teases back; your lack of retort leads you to press your face into his chest. He smells like he always smells, clean and woody and a bit like your own perfume, your pretty boy. You inhale, breathe him in and ground yourself. Here, miles away from Monaco, even farther from Manhattan, you are home.

—

“How do you tell people you broke up?”

“I say we wanted different things,” you reply, two puffs into your second Camel.

A white lie, a half-truth, a rehearsed answer after being asked the same repetitive question so many times. You and Charles broke up because at that point, nothing about you made sense. You were growing older, and with age came the stupefying realization that nonsense wasn’t always romantic. If it didn’t make sense, it never would. But you did want the same things, you suppose, at least to some extent.

You know you wanted marriage. After law school, it had to be, and in Europe, somewhere sunny and windy and flowery with a sea nearby. A small affair, family and friends. You know you wanted kids, two or three, a bunch of Charles lookalikes, tufts of light hair and bouts of crazy energy. You know you wanted a house—not a flat, a house, a brownstone in Manhattan, a big property in Monaco. You wanted so much of the same things.

Perhaps that is why Pierre will never understand the magnitude of the way you miss Charles. You dream of him when you’re awake, of the times you spent together that finished abruptly. You look for him in everyday objects. You keep the tissue paper conversations, you want to say, even if it’s so, so mortifying, so raw to admit it.

“But you didn’t,” says Pierre, because he knows it.

“We didn’t. But what other explanation is there?” Where a concrete summary of your breakup is supposed to be, there lies grey matter, webs of explanation spanning years and months and questions unanswered. 

“I get it,” he replies. But he’s not you, or Charles, so he doesn’t.

—

Charles looks at you and imagines your smiling face in every moment of his future. Holding a child, under a veil, half-asleep in the morning, flushed and warm after a few beers.

You’re—you’re you, and he just loves you, in a way he will never be able to articulate. He drives for a living—he looks at all kinds of statistics, worded and encoded onto machines and computer screens. But this love isn’t quantifiable. Not in numbers, not in speed, not in words, stanzas of Italian. His love for you is indescribable; it exists in a wordless plane, massive and all-encompassing, carved and chiseled finely.

When you’re absent, the world seems duller, a bit more empty. But it’s okay, he thinks—you’re here now, across the room, in nothing but lingerie, your dress pooled at your feet. You’ve both just arrived from another social gathering, with so many people, and an afterparty arranged by Max.

You’d utilized your well-used secret signal for parties that directly translated to “let’s go home”—bringing up peanut butter meant you were well past exhausted and needed to leave. One “the dessert would’ve been so good with peanut butter” later and you’re here. Years of being together means you’ve both created a vocabulary all your own, lexicon and phonetics making up a language of love and familiarity. Nobody else will ever get this, he thinks. It’s just yours.

You’re removing your makeup in the mirror, and oh, well, you’re beautiful. He wonders what he has to do now to be able to find you in the next life, to be able to meet your eyes again for the first time and fall in love with you the way he did.

You’re what he looks for after a race, after a win, after a DNF. So he can, if just for a moment, let his guard down and allow himself to be yours, yours and only yours, collapse into your arms from ache and overwhelm and find reprieve there. With you, he lets himself go, lets the façade fall, lets himself stay in your touch before he deems himself ready to be with the rest of the world.

“Hey, you,” you call, and he blinks. “Eyes up here, buddy.”

“I just love you,” he says sleepily. 

You tug on a nightshirt—his, from ages ago—and crawl into bed beside him, raising a teasing brow. “Sex is off the table.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to get into your pants.”

“Good,” you half-yawn, yanking the lamplight closed and nestling yourself beside him. “I look horribly un-sexy.”

“The shirt’s kinda doing it for me.”

“Go to sleep.”

—

It’s raining today, for the first time in a dull stretch of weeks. The fall comes in angry, noisy sheets, made more furious by the wind. Wrapped in one of his hoodies, you clasp a mug in your hands, staring sullenly out the window, wondering when Charles will be home. Something has shifted in the weeks since you last saw each other, since you flew back out to New York and Charles didn’t finish in the last race.

Sometimes everything feels impossible to touch, like you don’t know what the next step is, let alone how to take it. There’s a certain uncertainty to where you stand, a possibility that, if the seconds tick just right, everything will crash down. This isn’t a feeling you’ve ever had before, but you suppose this is the only way to learn how to deal with it.

It’s comforting, then, when you hear the keys jingle at the door.

Your flat, as expensive as it is, has a quirk to it; the door only opens when you jerk it with your knee twice. You hear it, the double thump, and in almost childish excitement, you set your mug down and pad gently over to the foyer, so you’re ready for him when the door opens. Everytime you’re apart for this long, the routine is standard, and first thing you do is hug—so hard, so tight, your legs wrapped around his waist, his face in your neck.

“Hey,” Charles says, seeing you wait idly by the front door. You inch forward, but freeze. He heaves his luggage in, smiling softly, tiredly almost, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek and then disappears into the bedroom. The lump in your throat doesn’t go away when you slowly realize the hug you’d awaited, prepared for even, does not come.

You follow him instead, to the bedroom, where he’s still quiet, shirtless and picking out something from the drawers. He turns when he hears you. “Have you seen my grey hoodie?”

“Yeah, it’s in the wash.” You pause. “I used it last week, sorry.”

“I tol—it’s,” he says, inhaling, “it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taken aback by how affected he is. “I can get it dried.”

“It’s okay.” He insists, a bit sharply, tugging on a different shirt instead.

The air is thick, threatening to break, and you’re hopeless, lost, left wondering—what the hell is going on. You try your best anyway, humming as you take a seat on the bed and fold the bits of laundry you’d abandoned in the morning.

“Pascale’s inviting us over tomorrow,” you open, finishing a pair of shorts and depositing them into the drawers. Your arms wrap around him, and he holds them there. This is good, you think. This is okay. “For brunch, because Arthur’s going to be home. I told her okay—since I’m back in New York by Tuesday and you’ll be in Italy then, too. We haven’t had brunch with your family in forever. God, they’re going to be asking questions about marriage, and engagement, and ki—”

“Stop.” The room goes still. “Why did you tell her okay?” He asks, disengaging the hug and turning toward you fully. 

You’re like a deer in the headlights, confused, lost all over again.

“Charles?” You prod, gently. “Is… are you okay? I mean, we always greenlight brunch.”

You watch him pinch his nose bridge, exhale, close his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You echo, stepping forward. He steps back, avoidant.

“Don’t,” he says. “Please, just… don’t.”

You’ve heard this often lately. In fact, no—you’ve maybe felt this more than heard it. This—this distance, this space, this push. Every call unanswered, every flight missed, every text answered with a brief, apathetic OK. You can’t quell the fear, the panic swelling in your chest, because you can feel him floating away, just out of grasp.

“Talk to me,” you say, because it’s the only thing that can bring itself to leave your mouth. It’s weak, it’s desperate, lacking composure and firmness. “Nous pouvons travailler à travers cela.”

“Non,” he says, as if he knows it already. “This, I—I just. I think I just need some space.”

Space.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“No, I’ll go,” he insists, like he’s doing you a favor. I’ll save us the nasty fight, he seems to convey. I’ll go. So he does—grabs a coat and wrestles himself out of the door, with barely anything left to reassure you, just a short kiss and a hand on your hair. It’s performative, you know this, but you’ll take it. You don’t have much to accept these days.

The night passes, still and quiet, without the jingle of keys or the double thump at the door.

Even in memory and introspection you will come to find this moment and remain capable of recounting every thread of detail, ones as small as the eyes of needles, every prick of pain that pokes at you. Because even if you see him the day next, and even if he greets you with a kiss, and pulls you aside to apologize profusely, and even if you feel so loved in this very moment, with hugs from Pascale and jokes from Arthur and check-ins with Lorenzo, the fact has secured, burrowed itself into the dark crevice of your heart.

You will look back on this one day, and think, with the kind of certainty so crushingly absolute: yes, this is when it all went wrong.

—

“Is he seeing anybody?” Halfway through the third stick.

“No,” Pierre says, blowing smoke out into the air.

“Be honest.”

He snorts. “D’accord. An Italian girl, few months ago, but it’s over. It was quick. Very. And you?”

The information makes you weak in ways you refuse to share. “Just… testing things out with this guy.”

“Does he know about Charles?”

The silence is telling. “About Charles” is an awfully broad topic. 

Charles was such a big part of who you are, and who you’ve been, and what you’ve been through. How would you even begin telling somebody about you both? The bits and pieces, the great figure eight, the tiny infinity. The moments within the moments, memories within memories. The love. The way you loved, the way you sought him, the way you have yet to replicate the feeling of loving him, the way you wait for the next life, so you can seek him all over again. 

There is “does he know Charles,” and there is “does he know about Charles,” and the two are so cruelly separate and different. Anyone can know Charles; he is, after all, world-famous. You don’t know how he’s doing in motorsport these days, because a lot of the time the Google search for his name suggests ex girlfriend right beside it, and that’s enough to stun you into not searching again. But still he’s famous and renowned, so of course he’d be known. But for someone to know about him, what he meant to you—it feels like you’d be reciting a novel in an effort to explain how the both of you began, became, and ended. Reciting sonnets and stanzas of prose, of moments painfully intimate, of habits that have yet to die, of things you wished to be taught by him. 

“So, no.” You nod softly.

—

The possibility of spending Christmas with either of your families grows thin as December begins. Between final exams and racing meetings, neither of you give, discussing over hours-long calls and coordinating calendars. You find that your only common free day is the seventh of January, which is effectively well past the holidays. You’ve sunk into a pile of misery at the very real chance of spending the holidays by yourself. It’s not a pretty idea, despite the fact that you’ve befriended loneliness lately.

Outside your window, Manhattan is caked in snow; it reminds you of Santa Claus Charles, with his foamy frizzy beard and kisses of froth and the Polaroid on the fridge. You wonder if Charles, wherever he is in Europe now—traveling multiple times a day—remembers you, too, in these little mundane things.

He’d called on the third of December, when it was three in the morning in New York. You picked up after two rings, busy studying, and mumbled a sleepy hello into the receiver.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, clearly excited over something. 

“Bit early, honey.” You’d said back amusedly, highlighting phrases on the textbook.

“Just saying it now, because the next time you hear me say these words, it’ll be in New York.”

You didn’t register his words until you realized you’d tinted two entire paragraphs fluorescent yellow.

You blinked. “Wait, what’d you say?” 

“I’m there by the twenty-fifth, evening. Found a sweet spot in my calendar thanks to Joris.”

“If you’re joking, Charles, I swear—”

“I’ll see you then,” he had said; even then you could hear his smile through the scratchy audio of international calls.

That’s what you’re doing here, over your stove cooking chicken to commemorate your first Christmas together. You stick a thermometer inside it, busying your mind with thoughts of dinner instead of the fact that you haven’t spoken to your supposed guest in over a week.

Like many fights lately, this began over something irrational and grew into a serious, temperamental discussion about your future.

About moving in together and how impossible it seemed. About raising kids or getting engaged. Everything was written on different pages for the two of you. Your plans were always years too early, years too late, never aligning. Bilingual paragraphs eventually devolved into exhausted intermittent texts, check-ins if it mattered, and barely any concrete discussion at all.

It’s mortifying to have to say the phrases “like many fights lately.” You wonder what it proves about the two of you, about the relationship you share. Has it gone sour? No, you tell yourself. But this yogurt dip will, if I don’t put it in the fridge. You wipe your hands off after you do, rechecking your phone; still no texts or calls or updates. He’d texted this morning, a brief and simple see you soon, but hadn’t responded to your text.

Chicken, mashed potatoes, candles ready to be lit. You fiddle with the pink Bic, lighting and unlighting, sighing. 

You dial the airline eventually. They man both public and private flights, so they should know something about his jet. Something, anything—any tidbit of information is useful to you right now. You’re embarrassed, alone on Christmas in a dress you thought was beautiful hours ago but now only seems over the top and mocking. A woman picks up your call after it’s transferred thrice.

I just need to know the ETA of this flight, you say. Under Charles Leclerc. He gave me the flight code. 

Silence. You hear the bustle of the airport on the other end and wonder if Charles is there in that bustle, in his puffer jacket he uses in the winter, holding a suitcase and waiting for the delayed plane. Or maybe he’s already here in your timezone, in a cab bumbling with excitement, or in the elevator, or right outside, fist posed in front of the door—

A snowstorm, she says, her voice tinny through the phone. The pity in her voice makes you want to smash the landline to pieces. So sorry. If you’d gotten your husband to book just two days earlier, you two would’ve been together. Why don’t you call him, sweetie?

She is right about the unsolicited booking advice, wrong about the title. Charles is not your husband. You hang up after mumbling something you can no longer remember, too exhausted to be rude or polite at this point, and turn to face your dining room. Your texts go unanswered, and in your earlier effort to save energy, the lack of heating has caused your phone screen to grow cold to the touch. The roast chicken is getting cold now, too, the mashed potatoes cool, the sourdough stale, the butter melted into ugly coagulated puddles, the wine sweating all over the table.

You eat two bites before depositing a clean plate at the sink. The flat smells of pine and citrus; it’s stronger because you’re by yourself, with no Charles to cloud the room with his own scent. Your phone remains silent, your heart drowning slowly in a cloud of imprecise sorrow. And you realize, remembering the airline officer’s words as you unplug the lights from the Christmas tree and let the moonlight swallow the room, that Charles is not your boyfriend, either.

He texts the morning next, says he’ll make it on the next flight, twenty-six. He doesn’t apologize and you unwrap presents alone, from friends, shipped from family. You wallow in your loneliness, humiliated by your need for him, a need that is met only on the seventh of January.

—

“Are you and Charles okay?”

Lorenzo is always the first to ask. He’s intuitive, and you think maybe it comes with age, but damn if it isn’t infuriating when he knows something is up before anyone else. You purse your lips, hope your laugh is a good enough substitute for an answer.

“Are you?” Obviously, it’s not.

“We’re… we’re just working through things.” You’ve had two glasses of bourbon, and your eyesight is blurring the way your words do. You’re in a big Manhattan ballroom, just several floors underneath your hotel room. Charles is somewhere socializing, because of course he is, and you can’t take your mind off school, because of course you can’t.

“But you’re good, right?” He sounds hopeful, like your answer is the only thing that can convince him. Does he think you aren’t? What has Charles been telling him? Your breathing quickens, grows frantic.

“Yeah.” It convinces nobody, not even yourself. He nods, smart enough to drop the subject, and you’re alone again. This is the umpteenth gala you’ve been to this week alone, all for something or other along racing. You grow used to the faces, the introductions, the gentle nos when asked if you two are engaged, because why would you be? It’s a farfetched idea, engagement. 

The bathroom is half-full when you usher yourself inside in your gown, almost tripping with how fast you try to make it to the mirrors. There are two middle-aged women beside you lazily drawing lipstick onto their faces, their French accents thick as they converse.

“…So I decided to divorce him.”

You stare deep into the mirror. You look like a caricature of yourself, a puppet. Where is Charles? He overestimates your capability to be alone.

The other woman goes, “I can’t believe he didn’t see it coming.”

“I know! You’d think he would notice, no? Bah, men.”

“You’d felt it for a while then, too.”

“Tch, I really did. Just goes to show.”

Before you digest it, you’re turning and intrusively asking: “How did you know you wanted to divorce him?”

They exchange a look that’s as condescending as it is patronizing. Here you are, a naive twenty-something asking for relationship advice like you’re some know-it-all. You feel like a child suddenly, meek and curling in on yourself. Answer me, you want to say, tell me how it feels, tell me how you knew. You look petulant.

“Well,” she says, eyes meeting yours as she closes the tube of lipstick, “sometimes, dear, you just know.” It clicks closed.

“Yes,” says the other. “You just know. When you wake up one day and you feel it, that’s just it.”

Bullshit. Easy answer. You won’t know, you want to say.

No matter how stupid, how cliché, it sounds, you’ll never know this feeling. This feeling of nonchalance over a relationship lost, of laughter over unsuccessful love, of casually coloring the same lips that talk so abrasively of a lover. Because you have Charles, and Charles has you, and what else is there to know?

The rest are candles on a cake, kisses under a blanket, orange juice served over toast, arguments that end with compromise and a hug. The rest is love. These two know nothing about it. They know hurt and heartbreak and denial. They know nothing but this sad, sad feeling.

It must be sad to know, you think, even if the exact suffocating feeling crawls up your spine and wraps around your throat on the elevator ride back to the room.

—

This is boring

You scan over the scribbled phrase on the embossed, no doubt above asking price, tissue paper given at this (granted, boring) charity ball. Stifling a laugh, you fish a pen out of your purse, rereading the words and judging your outgoing response. In neater penmanship, you quickly write a message below it.

OK let’s end things.

He laughs when he reads it, eyes crinkling into half-crescents, mouth in a wide, silent smile. He mulls over a response and when you get it—

No goodbye sex? Quelle poisse. You giggle, rolling your eyes and squeezing his hand underneath the table, putting your little game on pause lest you get in trouble for not listening to the speaker onstage. This kind of lovely, comedic push and pull is what keeps you always entertained with Charles; he always, without fail, manages to make you laugh. Your easy, instant, but equally profound connection to one another constantly has you revisiting the idea of soulmates, of destiny.

Prior to meeting, your and Charles’ lives were barely entwined. You were a law student in America, Charles a racing driver based in Europe. A year ago, to the date, you’d been in Paris on vacation, when a friend invited you out to get drinks somewhere along the Seine. You had three case studies waiting on your laptop, but something tugged at you to accept the invite. 

Had you not been up for drinks in Paris that night, for instance—you’d never have met. And the drinks wouldn’t have been suggested in the first place if Charles got home from a meeting early, expressing boredom over the phone to Joris, who relayed it to the girl he was currently flirting with, who relayed it to you. You would never have talked if you didn’t order cocktails in French, prompting him to ask where you learned the language. 

And if you hadn’t, in a haze of rosé and amaretto sours, accepted the handsome guy’s invite back to his hotel—where would you be now? The series of little things make up where you are now. 

“Je t’aime,” he whispers into your hair.

But, then again, Charles has never felt like a stranger. You’re so sure that if you’d declined, or if Charles’ meeting ended on time, or if Joris was single, or if you ordered in meek English instead, you’d still be here, laughing over irrelevant tissue paper conversations, holding Charles’ hand under the table.

“Moi aussi,” you murmur. So sure.

—

God is the best scapegoat.

You first realize this when you’re ten and your favorite necklace snaps in half. You’d been running around, you moved too fast, it stuck on a branch, and became forever unfixable. You’d skipped on the usual nightly prayers as some sort of petulant, rebellious counterattack. You’re fifteen when you’re friendzoned, a first for you. You convince yourself it’s God playing tricks on you. You’re sixteen when you get an F for skipping class too often; you tweet God wtf is happening to me and you giddily watch it get thirteen likes. You’re not alone in this revolt, you think. You’re seventeen and a half when you lose your virginity; it sucks. You’re on top and you learn the art of faking. So you lay on your bed and bemoan Him for the misleading introduction to sex.

It becomes easy to blame God, moreso than usual, when the matter is one of life and death and danger. Being with Charles puts you in this position often. You curse God when something happens during a race that causes your heart to snag in itself and skip a beat or go five times faster. Inversely, it’s dreadfully difficult for you, innately unreligious, to pay thanks to God. Charles knows this, and is always the first to say “thank God” when a race goes well.

You throw around the phrase a few times, but it’s rare. Most, many, all times—it’s “oh, thank fuck” or “I’m so happy you’re safe.” It’s almost like you actively avoid the phrase, so whenever you say it, Charles is momentarily stunned; sometimes it’s after a particularly nasty circuit, or a rainy race day when you physically cannot withstand the stress of watching the love of your life drive fast under such bad conditions.

You have nothing to thank God for.

The hotel room is thin-walled and cold. Just last night you’d been tangled into each other for warmth, but now you’re throwing your suitcase onto the same bed and shoving laundry inside. No folding. No organizing. You make quick, messy work of it to avoid the conversation Charles so desperately tries to coerce out of both of you. The chessboard from last night’s game—5-7—lies abandoned, folded up at the foot of the bed. You ignore it. 

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he says, lazy almost. He seems to say oh, fine. If you need me to say sorry I’ll say it, here.

“You don’t understand.” You say, cutting phrases short to avoid saying anything you’d rather harbor inside yourself.

“Then enlighten me,” he shoots back. “Please, really. Dis moi tout.” He sounds sarcastic.

“I don’t fit here,” you respond cuttingly. If he chooses to be sarcastic, you think—then be it. You’ll be blunt. You’ll exaggerate. You’ll be impulsive, if for once in your life, you have to be.

“Here, in your life.” You clutch a shirt to your chest. “We don’t make sense. We never did, and you know what? We never will. I honestly don’t know why we keep trying. It’s pointless to believe this could ever work. In between our careers, friends, and schedules, it takes more work for us to see each other for just a day than to push a fucking rock uphill. Ç’est inutile et tu le sais—tout ce travail pour rien.”

Your words sting, join the draft leaving through the crack in the window, turn into dew that stains the vines of the hotel exterior. The ones about to leave his mouth, though, stay put, cement themselves in the grooves of your brain. You’ll think of this exchange years from now, and the words will never blur, sore on your tender heart.

A pregnant silence follows your soliloquy, prompting you to look up and meet his eyes. He says it then. “Pourquoi se disputer pour rien? Let’s just end things.”

“Fine, let’s just end things.” You repeat. Struck, hurt, and angry, you say one last thing, in a valiant attempt to get the last word in. “Thank God.”

The seconds tick by like days, where you look at one another, thinking the same thing. So that’s it? When did it all turn to this? You push past him, bearing your suitcase and messily wiping your face of tears, pretending not to notice the hitch in his voice when he mumbles a quiet goodbye.

Your steps to the elevator tick by like hours, and you take the time to think of how you’d lived much of your relationship thinking that, with how strong your and Charles’ personalities are, a breakup would be messy. Loud. A yelled out fight, tears, thrown curses and hurtful names. You’d always thought, with much conviction, that you would end with a bang.

Many previous fights had gone something like that. There was Thanksgiving, where you ushered him out of your family home to avoid anything escalating into a yelling match. Bang.

There was post-race, where, in the throes of frustration, you two had a heated exchange and you left the paddock in tears. Bang.

There was nothing, however, that couldn’t be solved without a shag and a kiss and an apology. So, reasonably, you expected the final fight to be the loudest. The angriest. This relationship, you were so sure—this would end in a bang. Because you and Charles love the same way: strongly, with so much conviction and noise, and the line between love and spite is more frail than you think. A great big bang, where finally you collided in ways you’d never done before, every frustration, every complaint, thrown back and forth like comets, like war.

But you are wrong. It doesn’t. 

It ends with you softly sighing, arms crossed over your torso to shield yourself from the ache in your chest, tears slipping then falling unstoppingly in the elevator. It ends with a night’s sleep taking up one side of the bed. It ends with Charles deceiving himself into thinking you didn’t just thank the Lord that your relationship has just crumbled to nothing in the bounds of this thin-walled, cold hotel room.

—

“Say something to me,” you say quietly, like you’re afraid to disturb the still morning silence of Paris. “In Italian.”

It’s a corny, cheesy request, no doubt inflamed by the butterflies in your stomach when you think about the night before and one romantic comedy too many. But you ask for it, anyway, your leg bumping his under the too-thin cotton blanket of his hotel. You found yourself here this morning after a night of sweet French alcohol and slurred, flirty conversation.

“Assomigli al resto della mia vita.” He says, smiling.

“Okay. What’s it mean?”

“I won’t translate it for you, because it’s a bit cliché.” He narrows his eyes.

“All of European language is cliché.” You laugh. “Come on, tell me.”

“I will one day,” he says, “I promise. I swear!”

The promise of “one day” is upsettingly romantic. Barely a day after you first met, first bonded, first kissed, first had sex. Okay, fine, you two hadn’t really gone the traditional route of dating, but here he is waxing poetic in Italian, finger tracing your bare arm. “One day,” you say, just so you’re sure.

“Yeah. One day.”

His hand finds yours, and fingers are laced together. Words wrestle themselves out of your throat nervously, a question that might seal the morning. “Should I go?”

The question rests in the air. How do you want your eggs, he wants to ask. Or would you want pancakes or waffles or bacon? Or bread, a croissant with coffee and compote? He wants to know all these things, hear all your answers, watch your eyes twinkle with amusement at the silly questions. So he’ll ask them, he figures. He’ll ask them if you don’t go.

“Stay,” he says. “At least for breakfast.”

—

Pierre leaves after a few more hours. He says Yuki texted him about some Mexican place they need to try. The night next, he is brought up in conversation: “Who were you with last night?”

“A friend,” you explain. “He’s an old friend, Henry.”

Henry Maxwell, the Wall Street guy you’re seeing, who’s inviting you to a charity ball a month into dating. To you, that’s basically a sign to end things, but you allow him to explain his invitation. Babe, don’t you think networking in New York is a gold mine for everything great these days? Don’t you think we need to network if we ever move in together?

“Henry, n—I mean. It’s just going to be another one of those stuffy city galas where everyone tries to out-wealthy one another,” you half-joke. In truth, the reason why you’re so adamant on not going is because this is just about the worst first date idea ever conceived—from experience, you’re sure you’ll have barely any time alone to get to know each other, whisked away to socialize with groups of other people.

“Oh, lighten up,” says Henry, with a sheepish smile. “You’re my plus one on the RSVP, so you can’t complain.”

“Am I?” You ask, chuckling. It’s a bit weird. But he’s excited, and asking, and convincing, so you tug a green silk dress out of your closet and take an Uber to the hotel address. Nevermind the fact that you’ve been here before.

You squeeze Henry’s hand when you walk into the massive ballroom, and not five minutes later you’re facing a crowd of people, drowning in taffeta skirts and wool suits and champagne and snooty small talk. Henry is charming, Henry is kind, Henry is a smooth talker.

He’s the ideal prototype of a guy you should be dating right now. His hand never leaves the small of your back, playing with the satin of your dress, laughing into your neck. You’ve faced several groups of business magnates and supermodels; right now, he’s introducing you to a big journalist for the Post.

She’s in the middle of talking about some hippie retreat to Thailand or somewhere or other when your eyes glide across the room, bored, searching for something to occupy you. To be frank, you really don’t care about ayahuasca.

The hands on the clock seem to halt just for you, just for now, suspending this moment in time like a mosquito in amber. Your eyes meet—and if you’d been less careful or maybe more tipsy, you might have mistaken his gaze for a stranger’s. But your heart demands hurt, demands the memories, demands the sick, sweet nostalgia threading through you like needle to cloth. Your heart demands you to remember, but the demand is so painfully easy to obey because you’ve never forgotten. All at once hate and love arise in you, like great big waves conflicting against one another, until you feel swollen with longing and spite, finding reprieve in the green of his eyes.

Timing, destiny, God. Whatever it is, it’s decided to play some silly joke, because here you are. In the precarious balance of a memory and a figment of your imagination, here you are. In the gap between never and always, here you are. You might appear to be strangers, stranded across opposite ends of this marble ballroom, but to both of you, the idea is almost unfathomable. No, not strangers; you two are anything but.

You are you, and he is Charles, here again in the place where it all ended.

He is never a stranger, and he could never be. He is Charles, your Charles, the beautiful boy who took up years of your life and explored every inch of your heart and mind. He is Charles, who broke your heart, he is Charles, whose heart you broke. But now, he is just Charles Leclerc, racing driver and charity gala attendee, conversing with the same crowds, mingling as he always does. Did. The usage of past tense is a painful pill to swallow.

Charles feels like it’s torture, suffering, a slow punishment, to be rooted to the ground and to do nothing but look. How can he look away now? He is rooted to the tiles, thick vines keeping him here, even if his heart tells him to go, run, now. He is stuck, tacked by the stillness of the memories that play back through his head, the love and the sorrow. You’re still you, hair a little shorter, brows a little darker, but you’re still you. The you he had once, held once, loved and lost once. The you he wishes to have, hold, and love once again.

For a moment, a fleeting, short, moment, he wishes to blink, to nod and to signal for you to meet him outside, on the balcony, so he can straighten his tie and press a polite hand to this person’s shoulder and say excuse me and leave, slip quietly into the night. So maybe you can tug on Henry’s suit jacket and say I’m sorry and join the crowd of gowns and satin and leave, run, go. Because you’re you. And what a sweet lie it would be if he said he wouldn’t do anything for you.

In the end you stay, and you stare, rooted still, time moving the way grass grows. When he smiles, you smile back, and the answers to what if are quietly fabricated in the limits of your imagination.

—

“I miss you. I know it’s—I know this is weird to say, after so long. After not talking for such a long time.”

“No, I understand. I miss you, too.”

“Right… well, how have you been?”

“Same old. You?”

“Yeah, same. How’s everything?”

“It’s… it’s okay. How’s life?”

“Tough, but great.”

“I noticed you were with someone.”

“Yeah, no. That’s—it’s sort of—I don’t see it going anywhere, really. It’s kind of over.”

“Oh? Is it?”

“Listen, I’m… sorry. For—just for everything. I’ve lived the past few years thinking about everything and still hoping I could someday apologize properly. I’m just glad I’ve been given the chance. And I think things ended without… without… I just don’t think we were mature enough. And sometimes now I think—it’s you, it’s still you.”

“Don’t apologize. Can you believe it happened right here?”

“I know. It’s almost crazy—”

“You left a bottle of scent at my place. It’s… it’s still half full. Sometimes I—nevermind. I mean, I think of you a lot. Probably too much for my own good. I think of us, our past, our relationship.”

“So do I.”

“—I love you. I try to stop it, I keep trying but I always end up here. Always here, back here, loving you.”

“If you didn’t see me tonight—would you have felt this way?”

“Oh, I feel… I feel it everyday. I think I’m always going to love you.”

“I’m always going to love you, too.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader

[iateyourparents]

can you do one like the medium but for sam? 🙊

medium | s.g.

pairing: sam golbach x fem!medium!reader

summary: you’re a guest in sam and colby’s video.

warnings: place they are exploring is made up by me, mentions of death, physical hurt, use of y/n, bad writing and grammar(i’m sorry but english isn’t my first language), wasn’t proofread

an: thank you! i wrote it kinda differently than colby’s one but i hope you like it <33 here’s colby’s version of medium.

pictures are from pinterest:)

“What’s up guys! It’s Sam and Colby!” Colby started the video.

You stood next to them waiting for them to announce your presence.

“Today we are exploring haunted hospital. But it’s not just a hospital.” Sam said “It has graveyard in the backyard. People laying there were murdered by doctors and nurses here and then they were buried behind the hospital by cleaners to get rid of the bodies.”

“Exactly.” Colby nodded „We will tell you more about the history of this place in a moment but now let’s welcome on our channel ours today’s guest! Y/n, Sam’s girlfriend, will be exploring with us!”

You smiled and waved at the camera while Sam cointinued Colby’s introduction of your person “Most of you probably don’t know but my love is a medium. So we’re positive it will give us more perspectives on this place. Baby, how do you feel about this experience?”

You were about to answer when Colby interrupted with a cheeky smirk “Good, thanks babe.”

You only laughed while Sam shook his head with a smile and again looked at you.

“I feel excited, that’s my first time in so haunted place.” you laughed “I already can tell there’s so much bad and sad vibes in this place.”

“Great, then let’s start.” Colby clapped his hands.

You all walked into the hospital where waiting for you was yours tourguide. He quicky gave you a tour and said some things about this place to the camera and the left you alone.

„Okay, so like Mike said, the graveyard is called the most active place on the hospital’s grounds. So why won’t we start there?” Sam offered.

You went to the exit into the backyard and just as you walked through the doorframe you could feel shivers running down your spine. You felt overwhelming sadness and brutality. You literally could feel emotions of spirits here but as fast as it came it was gone.

“When I walked through the doors I felt shivers all over me and I felt like I was one of those spirits. I felt their emotions. But it was quickly gone.” you said to the camera.

“You just can feel this…sadness.” Colby added “I don’t know if it’s only me but I feel like I’m being watched.”

You and Sam agreed with his words and you explained to the viewers “I’m honestly not surprised we feel like it because we are being watched. I feel so many spirits here. I can see only couple of them but I’m sure that those I can’t see are also looking at us. But honestly I don’t feel…threatened? Like, I was expecting to feel not okay, to them not being okay with us because of how they ended up here but it’s actually opposite. They are curious but don’t feel need to harass us or something.”

“That’s actually a big relief because this place is known for people getting attacked in many ways.” Sam said. „Baby, could you describe who you see?”

“Sure.” you shrugged and looked around “Most spirits I see are pretty young. But I can see some olders ones too. They all are just standing or sitting around, I think they may be in places where their bodies are.”

“That’s so sad.” Sam pouted “Imagine dying here and getting buried here without your family knowing so they couldn’t even visit you and when it all was discovered it was too late to find everybody’s relatives.”

“We should probably start investigation.” Colby stated after a moment of silence. “We will start here with the spirit box but we were thinking about doing an estes method here outside later.”

You took a rempod from Sam and placed it on the stone that was gravered with story of this grounds as a memory of all these victims of bad care system and cruel people working here.

It wasn’t long later when rem pod started going off.

“Alright, whoever touched that, thank you.” Colby said „We want you all to know we come here in peace and just to get to know more about you and what happened here. We don’t want to disrespect or harass you. We promise we won’t do anything you don’t want us to but we’re hoping some of you will communicate with us.” rem pod went off again. “Thank you.”

“I can feel that most of them actually came here after your speech.” you stated and boys smiled.

„If you want to say anything to us, just say it to this thing and it will say it to us.” Sam explained turning on the spirit box.

Not a second later box said “dead” and “doctors”.

„Doctors killed you? Unfortunately we know, that’s awful what happened.” Sam tried to hold the conversation.

Box answered “body” and “here”.

„Your bodies are here?” Colby asked and spirit box confirmed.

You were asking more questions when suddenly you could feel emotions around you changing.

„Guys, for some reason some of them are starting to get angry. I think it might be because we are reminding them of everything.” you frowned when some ghost confirmed your words using the spirit box “We are sorry for reminding you…” you couldn’t continue because you felt like something scratched your face and you hissed placing your hand on burning place.

Sam immediately frowned in worry and stood next you carefully taking your hand away from your face just to gasp.

“Holy shit, something scratched you.” Colby pointed camera at your cheek where were two red lines.

“I think they don’t want us here anymore.” Sam said and you could hear worry in his voice so you squeezed his hand to let him know you’re alright.

“Yeah, let’s go inside.” Colby offered.

You went to take rem pod off the stone when it suddenly was swept off of it and landed on the grass.

“Holy fuck, did you recorded that?” Sam asked shocked picking up the rem pod.

“Yeah, camera was pointing there so I think it was captured.” Colby said and pointed camera at himself “Holy shit guys, it’s so sick.”

You took all your things and went inside where you decided to start investigation in the waiting room.

And again you didn’t have to wait long for some signs. Just as you were about to place your equipment you all heard a serie of knocks and then footsteps.

“I hope you guys can hear it too.” Sam whispered to the camera “It’s coming from this way.” he pointed at one of the examination rooms

“We are currently in the children ward but I don’t feel any children here.” you frowned “There’s only adults. Were the wards changed?”

“No.” Colby shook his head “There’s nothing about this anywhere. It was children ward to the end.”

“That’s weird.” you sighed and a moment later you could hear a scratching noise, like a chair against the floor.

“Shit.” Sam said with camera facing old chairs next to one of the walls. What attracted his attention was fact that the chairs weren’t in places they were a minute ago.

Next moment later your attention was turned to hissing Sam who hold his side with one hand.

Colby quickly took camera from the blonde while you lifted your boyfriend’s hoodie just to see a red handprint.

“Oh my god.” you gasped and Colby zoomed camera to give viewers a better look on the red spot “It literally looks like someone slapped you. Did it felt like it?”

“No.” Sam shook his head squeezing your hand in his “I felt like something was touching my side and then it suddenly felt hot.”

Before anyone could say anything more, Colby hissed and you could see handprint starting to show on his collarbone.

“It felt just like you described it.” Colby frowned “Is there something?”

“Yeah, it looks the same as Sam’s handprint.” you stated taking camera from him to show both boys and the red spots.

Then there was a loud noise coming from the same examination room as earlier.

You went there, boys following you and when you were in the room there wasn’t anything special but then the doors closed themselves loudly behind you.

“What the hell?” you pointed camera at the closed door and Sam went to open them. They, thankfully, opened and you quickly got out.

“Okay, something is wrong.” you stated giving camera to Colby. Sam looked worried and stood next to you. “I can’t explain this but I just know that something is so not right.”

“Our equipment.” Sam pointed out suddenly. Their equipment was scattered carelessly around the floor. It wasn’t like that when you went to that room.

“It’s dead.” you said picking up the spirit box that wasn’t flashing a red light anymore. “Or broken.”

“Shit, it must drained energy from it.” Colby said.

Suddenly you felt like something pulled your hand and you thought it was Sam but when you looked behind you, Sam was good few inches away from you.

“What the hell, something just grabbed and pulled my hand.” you frowned and Sam grabbed your hand giving it a squeeze.

Then something pulled Sam’s hair and you all could feel temperature in room changing. It was freezing.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked massaging his scalp.

“Someone is angry and feel need to be violent. I think it might be a doctor because it has, like authority aura around itself.” you explained.

“There was this one doctor that died here.” Sam told you “He died because of hypothermia in the winter.”

“It would explain the temperature changing.” Colby deduced.

You heard big thud from examination room.

“It wants us there.” Sam offered and started walking that way but you stopped him grabbing his hand and shaking your head.

“We shouldn’t go there, it’s luring us there with bad intentions in mind.” you said and boys looked impressed.

“It has a lot of energy if it’s the same one who was doing sounds during our tour.” said your boyfriend.

Again, big thud, this time closer to you.

“We should get out boys.” you stated “Something bad is about to happen. And it won’t end well for any of us.”

Sam and Colby knew your intuition was almost never failing so they just started packing and Colby said to their viewers “Remember that your health is the most important while things like this and that’s why we don’t wanna risk now, especially with y/n with us.”

“You cannot follow us home or hurt us.” Sam said sternly.

You quickly got out of the hospital and you could hear constant thuds, knocking and footsteps behind you that ended just when you were safely out of the building.

“It’s mad we got away.” you informed boys. They gulped and quickly said few words to the camera as an outro and you all got into the car and drove away from the hospital.

“I think we should go back there after some time. And take more people. And do that estes method in the backyard.” Sam said holding your hand between seats.

“Yeah, that’s good idea. We should take Nate and Seth.” Colby offered.

Not longer later you were in your and Sam’s hotel room sitting on his lap.

“Your cheek is more red than before.” he pouted kissing delicately the scratches.

“It will go away in few days.” you assured.

“It might scar.” he frowned.

“It’s okay.” you knew he felt bad for taking you there “Don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault and I wanted to go there.” you reminded and he just sighed and kissed you.

“I’m glad it only ended with scratches and not something worse.” he started peppering your face with small kisses and you smiled.

“Me too.”

This time you started a kiss.

#sam golbach x reader #sam golbach #samuel golbach #colby brock #sam and colby #snc #katrina stuart #sam #colby #jake webber #medium

[lovetei]

I'm Tei, the owner of LoveTei

I just like writing as a past time hobby and to relieve stress.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN AGAIN!!

For further elaboration I'm like "Oh shit... That seems like something this character would do." and I'll open this app, write it then post it.

And this page is 18+

That's all, thanks!

♠️ - Fluff

♥️ - Smut

♦️ - Angst

♣️ - Crack

✴️ - Dark

◾ - Demon Brothers

◽ - Side Characters

♠️ ◾◽- Things that the citizens of the Devildom witnessed that will prove that this Human have the characters at their beck and call

✴️ ◾◽ - What are the most toxic thing they will do in a relationship just to make you stay with them?

♠️ ◾◽- The characters comforting you after you experienced an extremely frustrating day

♥️◾◽- Their reaction to Sheep!MC turning into their human form, naked, in front of them

✴️♥️◾◽ - Are you the Ex because you're MC or are you MC because you're the Ex?

♦️♠️◾- Mammon consulting MC after he tried to do the did with her but she refused and he went to ask Asmo and he found out MC is actually insecure

♥️◽- Mephistopheles as your everything because he's my everything

♣️ ◾◽- As bad students

♠️ ◾◽ - Comforting a MC that broke down in the group chat and what are specific things they'll do to comfort you

♠️◾◽ - Their reaction when they found out their MC can sing

♠️♦️◾◽ - Them sending you a letter after you had a fight

♠️♣️◾◽ - MC playing filp the bottle except if they landed it, they go make out with Solomon

♠️◾◽ - Their reaction to Sheep MC changing into their human form at the end of the exchange program

♠️♣️◾◽ - MC taking the brothers in Disneyland and everything is already paid

♥️✴️◾◽ - MC and their boy toys or the characters with a toxic MC

♥️◾◽ - Sheep!MC turned back into their human form meaning they have their human throat again

♠️◾◽ - MC who thinks Cerberus is just a giant puppy that derives love cause he's a good boy

✴️♦️◾◽- The characters meeting you in their own wedding, and the bride was not you

♠️♣️◾◽- Their reaction to finding out MC is Solomon's spouse and they find his cooking edible

♥️◾◽- MC was affected by this mysterious potion that makes them crave for some back-breaking fuck

🌑 - Heartslabyul

🌒 - Savanaclaw

🌓 - Octavinelle

🌔 - Scarabia

🌕 - Pomefiore

🌖 - Ignihyde

🌗 - Draconia

♠️♣️🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗 - Everywhere I go I keep his picture in my wallet like: Take a look at my boyfriend

OBEY ME: Royal Universe

Scenarios: Introduction

PART 02: How did you turn them from hostile wolves to meek lambs of hell?

OBEY ME: Idol Universe

Scenarios: Introduction

PART 02: If you had been there, if you had seen it! I bet ya, you would have done the same!

TWISTED WONDERLAND: Purge Universe

Scenarios: Introduction

OBEY ME: Swapped Universe

Scenarios: Introduction

OBEY ME: Lillian Universe

Scenarios: Introduction

OBEY ME

What type of bottom are they?

🕛-🕧-🕐-🕜-🕑-🕝-🕒-🕞-🕓-🕟-🕔-🕠-🕕-🕡

"Baby, can't you see? I got everything you need." Only a genius can love a human like me!

🕛, 🕜, 🕔, 🕟, 🕞

TWISTED WONDERLAND

"Baby, can't you see? I got everything you need." Only a genius can love a human like me!

♥️, ♦️, 🦁, 🍄, 🪙, 🍎, 🦇, 🐉

🔲 - Obey me

🔳 - Twisted wonderland

PART TWO

🔲 - [Crack] Side characters as bad students

🔲 - [Fluff] Comforting a MC that broke down in the group chat and what are specific things they’ll do to comfort you

🔲 - [Fluff] Their reaction when they found out MC can sing

🔲 - [Fluff-Angst] Them sending you a letter after you had a fight

🔲 - [Angst-Dark] Their reaction to Sheep!MC changing into their human human form at the end of the exchange program

🔲 - [Fluff-Crack] MC taking the side characters in Disneyland and everything is already paid

🔲 - [Smut] MC and their boy toys or the side characters with a toxic MC

🔲 - [Smut]Sheep!MC turned back into their human form meaning they have their human throat again

🔲 - [Fluff] MC who thinks Cerberus is just a giant puppy that deserves love because he’s a good boy

🔲 - [Crack] The characters finding out MC is Solomon’s spouse

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

🔲 - Royal Universe 03

🔲 - Swapped universe 02

🔳 - Purge Universe 02

🔲 - Lilian Universe 02

REQUESTS

🔲 - [Fluff-Suggestive] Female MC putting her hair up in a bun

🔲 - [Fluff-Suggestive] MC who has a huge crush on Mephistopheles

🔲 - [Fluff] MC who cooks like a michelin star chef

🔲 - [Angst-Fluff] MC finding a box with their lost things in it and got emotional

🔲 - [Angst] MC whose family died and came back looking like a mess

DRAFTS

🔲 - [Crack] Mortician!MC whose aesthetic is black turtlenecks and standing under the rain

🔲 - [Smut] MC getting spanked as a punishment for turning them on so much

🔲 - [Angst-Fluff] MC comforting an insecure Mammon

⚫ - My asks are always open

⚫ - I might not write requests that includes disabilities or illnesses, not because I'm against them or anything but because I'm not knowledgeable enough and might offend people who's experiencing them...

⚫ - When asking for an alternate universe, I'll first write an introduction and you can ask again what you want to see in that universe like "How would Royal AU react to this scenario?"

⚫ - I'm open for requests

⚫ - #🖤 tei talks is my tag when answering non-requesting asks you can block it if you want

#obey me #twisted wonderland #obey me masterlist #twisted wonderland masterlist #masterlist #omswd #omn #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me fluff #obey me angst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland crack #obey me crack

[1000sunnygo]

The fun thing about long running series is that you can trace a character's narrative evolution in real time.

The Law we saw pre-timeskip clearly aimed for One Piece.

Unless it was an elaborated lie to his crewmates (which I guess is the in-series explanation at the moment), it's safe to assume that his D lineage and self assigned suicidal mission didn't exist as a concept back then. The goal is eventually re-established with a context.

While drawing, I assumed Kidd would become important, but I didn't think LAW would move forward like that. So it's youu?? 😱

Weekly serialization, it's a Wonderland.

Weekly serialization means adding oomph on micro scale. I have a particular theory extrapolated from this statement: Law's introduction in Punk Hazard wasn't planned at all.

It might sound far fetched for how integral Law is to Punk Hazard's plot. But it's not an uncommon event, and not just in One piece. Editors often suggest heavy changes to accommodate strong cliffhangers and quick surprises. Eleven supernova were created because early Shabondy lacked oomph, Law might have appeared in Punk Hazard for the same reason.

Even without Law, the straw hats would've anchored in Dressrosa to save Kanjurou, Zou to reunite with Raizo, and in Wano to escort their friends back home. Law just happened to have something going on in all of these places.

I think both Law and Kidd's post timeskip debut was planned to be in Wano arc. Law's competitive dynamic with Kidd and Luffy in Wano is more consistent with Shabondy than anything that came before.

Doflamingo was initially one of Kaido's strongest allies to be defeated within Wano country (confirmed in volume 98 SBS). It means Dressrosa was entirely different from what we got.

Given the similarity in their Jolly Roger, Oda may have always planned Law to be Doflamingo's ex-subordinate with a complicated history, keeping his and Doflamingo's conflict reserved for Wano. But Law was popular, resourceful and the story needed a boost after a monotonous Fishman Island arc. Thus, Law gets his early screentime that snowballs into a dramatic Dressrosa arc. I'm sure Oda didn't mind.

Tldr, I think this is how it went down: Oda decides that Kidd and Law would return and fight alongside Luffy in Wano -> Punk hazard is written and introduces Kinemon -> Punk Hazard falls bland and editor pesters Oda to bring Law early -> Law appears and proposes an alliance, so the plot is now directly chained to Wano -> Oda realizes ope ope makes a good device to explain Imu's immortality -> Oda makes Law a D as he's now connected to endgame plot.

Even if the theory above is wrong, it's a fact that Law was not a part of the bigger picture but became unexpectedly relevant. To work with him, Oda had to figure the smaller details of his personality slowly as the story progressed; such as his honesty and the suicidal tendency.

Law roped straw hats into his revenge scheme while deep down wanting them to leave Dressrosa safe and unharmed. But Law in the draft for this scene looks more... certain. Maybe Robin wasn't wrong to suspect Law after all.

I guess, by the time Oda actually reached the scene, the shadiness didn't suit his personality anymore. Corazon would not approve.

Wano Law was the best written Law. His personality was fully ironed out, not just the revived rivalry with Luffy-Kidd but also a reluctance to be nice while time and time proving it's mostly just talks. It's a mix of his personality traits that were decided at his very introduction and the later decided improvisations.

This post was getting too big and derailed so I had to cut it short lol. Maybe I'm reaching with my speculations but it was a fun topic to brainstorm about.

Edit: Here's a bit of extension of this theory.

#one piece #one piece manga #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #is it meta or theory #I'm just very sleepy #one piece meta #one piece theory #eiichiro oda #monkey d. luffy #donquixote doflamingo #mine

[chrissv4mp]

bury a friend; the introduction

summary: matt has been known for struggling with anxiety, and lately it's just been getting worse. when you come in the picture, everything starts to feel more... real, and not in a good way. matt can't shake the feeling that something's up with you.

pairing: fem!reader × matthew sturniolo

content warnings: angst, vulgar language, panic attacks, arguments, bad thoughts, self-doubt, etc. (will add warnings as this story progresses.)

a/n: this isn't super long, butttt... it's an introduction so !!

"no," matt gasps, jolting upright in his bed. his eyes are wide, and his breathing is heavy.

looking down at his sheets, he exhales deeply. his head whips around, scanning the room with his eyes.

he can't help but feel the paranoia that washes over him, couldn't shake the feeling that someone was under his bed.

matt takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before lying back down. he stares at the ceiling, taking a moment to look closer at the paint.

his mind still raced with the endless thoughts that carried over from his nightmare. those self-deprecating ones.

"you're not good enough. you'll never make it." and even, "they don't love you, you're a burden. you're all alone."

it felt as if someone were whispering them into both of his ears at the same time, overlapping voices of the people he loved. he could never escape them this late at night.

what time was it, even? matt thought, his head turning to look at his nightstand.

3:32am. the voices got louder, and matt couldn't help but grab his pillow and put it over his head.

"shut up," he muttered, his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing shallow.

his body shook now, his head consumed with the feeling of self-doubt and sadness, anger even.

zzz, his phone buzzed, and matt quickly sat up to take it off the charger.

grabbing his phone from his nightstand, he sat against his headboard, unlocking it and slowly getting used to the brightness of the screen.

his eyes were squinted, tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he slid down for notifications. a message from nate was the only one aside from the thousands of likes on his socials.

3:33 short guy🦌: MATT!!!

3:33 you: why are you up??

3:33 short guy🦌: i should be asking you the same thing...👀

3:34 you: 🤷‍♂️ woke up from a nightmare like a minute ago, you know how it is

matt sighed, biting his lip as he looked around. someone was watching him, he could feel it.

or maybe it was just him being paranoid, he never went to sleep as early as he did last night.

still, he could feel someone something inside of his room.

3:35 short guy🦌: i'm sorry dude wanna hang out today?? it'll help get your mind off of things, and i heard the fair is still open for like a few more days🙏

3:35 short guy🦌: we can go w the others, too if you want

3:36 you: sounds good, i'll set my alarm thanks, nate

3:36 short guy🦌: no problemo

the brunette boy smiled, shutting off his phone and placing it back on his nightstand.

he couldn't feel that eery presence anymore. it's as if talking to someone made it disappear. like it was scared.

but then, a new feeling entered matt's head. emptiness, like he wasn't complete without that paranoia.

he never understood what he was feeling, never understood what would make him feel complete again.

matt lay down again, pulling the covers up over his head before getting comfortable again.

. . . . . . . .

taglist: @thc-bolter

#Spotify #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x reader #nicolas x reader #nick x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nathan doe #nate doe #nate doe x reader #nate doe fluff

[thewiz9062]

Smiling Critters: Together, We Resonate (No.7) - Dogday

NOTE: THIS IS NOT RELATED TO CANON IN THE SLIGHTEST. An accurate description of this au is that I took every playtime.co poster art and promotional material from the game and lit up the rest of canon in a bonfire. This means that EVERY character is part of one big cartoon. That's it. No bigger bodies project, no child souls, no experiments, just a depiction of a cartoon. PLEASE do not ask me to do anything suggestive with anyone.

Here's our final main character, THE main character's introduction, dogday!!

OK, so I'm my general ideas post I specified that dogday is the new kid, but the reason for that is he was tutored for the time being....at an orphanage.

Yeah, no parents in sight here either. Difference being that dodgay has never had parents, he was abandoned week one. Ever since then, he's lived in an orphanage.

Dogday was 'raised' there, but just barely. The workers tried their best but there were like 50~ children to take care of, giving them all equal attention was nigh impossible. Dogday raised himself via media, books or the TV. In this media, there was a common trend: Happiness. Everything was positive, and seeing how everything in th orphanage was dull and sad, he decided that he was going to be happy, and bring happiness to those around him.

This led him into a one-track mind, where he can only really comprehend happiness, and his brain filters out any other emotions, seeing them as 'bad'.

After years of being home-schooled he wanted to go to school to make friends. Eventually, he managed to convince his caretakers to let him go to an actual school.

OK, here's an oversimplified of how he befriended the other critters:

Craftycorn: gave her the much needed push into her talent of art, planting the first seed of rebellion from her shitty ass parents, set up the after-school meetings

Bubba and kickin: managed to pass their friend filter test, invited them to the after-school meeting

Hoppy: really just appeared after school and said, "yall chill" so she joined

Bobby: Also appeared after school and liked the group, offered to bring snacks and it became routine

Picky: invited via bobby

OK, now we pick up where we left off yesterday: Catnap.

And so, the next time bobby met up with catnap, she brought dogday with. She had to go to take care of her siblings this time around, leaving the two of them. So, dogday tried to start up a conversation, which ended up more like a one-sided ramble. Everybody in the group was very animated, so someone to just sit and talk to and they would just listen was very refreshing. A few meetings later, dogday assured bobby that if she had to do other things, he would be more than happy to accompany catnap. Catnap also seemed to be a little bit more lively. By that I mean instead of the blank stare he'd give Bobby, he listens to dogday with a slightly amused or interested glisten in his eyes. When interacting with Dogday, he never had to be unsubtle with his response. Bobby was very awkward when trying to talk to him, usually waiting for a response, but with dogday, just a simple eyebrow twitch or grunt would be enough to prompt him to continue. Even though catnap had never spoke to him directly, it still felt like a conversation.

One day, during one of their exchanges, dogday accidentally brought up the fact that he lives in an orphanage. Dogday clammed up as he saw Catnap's face widen in mild suprise, and then was confused and surprised when he saw his mouth turn upwards slightly. He got up and gestured for dogday to follow him. They went deeper into the forest and reached catnaps shack house thingy. Dogday asked if this is where he goes to hang out sometimes. Catnap shook his head. He then asked if this was where he lived. A nod. Catnap moved over to a corner of the room and showed dogday a picture of his parents. Dogday asked if they were still around, and catnap shook his head. Catnap then sat down on the floor and used one if his gestures to signicate that he was listening, essentially asking if he wanted to talk about his own. Dogday went on about how the only thing he knows about his parents are that they left him. It turns into a vent once he starts asking himself if he did something wrong, or were they just terrible people, or maybe he just wasn't worth their time. He was already on the verge of crying and was about to say something along the lines of "but it's ok" to try and 'cheer himself up, but was suddenly tackled in a hug from catnap. And for the first time since he met him, he spoke to say that it wasn't OK. That's when the dam broke, and they both sat there hugging while dogday cried.

-

Tears? Wdym I'm a waterbender I'm just displaying my superior abilities to your mortal soul

that one was a doozy

Additional notes:

- before you ask yourself, "Are they shipping them" I genuinely don't know if I want to or not. Sun and moon characters are just kinda like that sometimes and I certainly didn't help it ngl. If you want to see this as a ship post, go ahead, but it's not canon here

- I love the trope where polar opposite characters make each other see the other side of things in a similar situation so yk I had to rid them both of familial love :D

- I never specified, but catnap did not go to school. Like at all. He does, however, know how to read, write, speak, and do basic math. You ask him what 12 x 94, and he'd give you the answer, but if you ask what's the powerhouse of the cell is, he'd give you a "wtaf r u talking abt" look. (Poor soul doesn't even know people added the alphabet to math......actually he's lucky ngl)

Anyways I'm gonna give an aftermath post that includes the end of the school year, then introduce side characters, THEN I can finally get into actual content. Sorry my schedule and motivation varies alot so I apologize for inconsistencies. Byeeee

Edit: New Art!

here is the old one for classics sake :]

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters poppy playtime #TWR! Dogday #Dogday #smiling critters au

[shuttershocky]

So what's Gigantic?

One of my favorite games ever made, and one I thought lost forever until now.

Gigantic was a free to play 5v5, third person action game released on PC back in 2017, though I first played the game back in 2015.

A weird and wonderful mix of MOBA mechanics, platforming, and third person action game combat, a match of Gigantic tasked each team with destroying the other team's Guardian to win the game.

Now in a traditional MOBA like Dota or League of Legends, this objective would be a building. In Gigantic however, the objective is a massive kaiju, willing and able to squish you underfoot. How are you supposed to slay a beast the size of a building you ask? Simple. You use your own.

Each match in Gigantic is a race to empower your Guardian faster than the other team. This can be done by capturing checkpoints and placing a creature on it to start mining for power, killing other players to steal their power, or the ballsiest move—attacking the enemy Guardian to steal the power it's already got, preferably avoiding the laser beams it fires from its eyes to fry you on the spot.

Empower your Guardian enough and it will rampage across the map, bulldozing over enemy players and smacking the enemy Guardian with an earth-shattering strike. While your Guardian has the enemy Guardian pinned down, you can then attack it to deal damage without it being able to fight back. However, even an empowered Guardian cannot keep the enemy's Guardian pinned for long, and once it breaks out your own Guardian retreats, and the power race begins anew.

But a MOBA game is nothing without its cast of characters, and on that end Gigantic had among the best in video games. These were just some of the many incredibly varied, gorgeously drawn faces you could find.

These guys made the most out of their medium being in 3D rather than the isometric top down view of most MOBA games, with many having skillsets greatly inspired from a wide variety of different genres, from first person shooters to fighting games.

That woman with the eyepatch? That's Imani. A classic sniper character, her gimmick was that her skills changed what sort of ammo she carried, from regular crossbow bolts, to freeze bolts, to fire bolts, to bombs. Imani's unrivaled range meant she could take over parts of the map that were too open, while her ammo types gave her utility to help her team with rather than simply be a DPS bot.

The frog? That's Wu. A proud fighting game reference, he could do a tatsumaki, a rising flip kick, even a shoryuken for his Focus move (ultimate).

Now the thing about Gigantic's combat is that rather than go the MOBA route of building items and increasing stats as you level up to get stronger, Gigantic instead went for the action-game approach. There were no item builds or gold to consider, and rather than mana, every character had a stamina bar that was used to activate skills, but also allowed each and every character to dodge, sprint, and jump around. Levels were merely to put in more skill points that added new features to your existing moves rather than to increase your stat lines. Good stamina management and clever movement could allow you to dodge an entire team's worth of skills, and the lack of gold or items meant you could never be too far behind to outplay a stronger opponent. I've come back from near impossible matches where my Guardian was on a sliver of health while the enemy's Guardian was untouched, all from the team rallying and playing to the absolute best of their limits.

If you would like a more visual explanation, here's a quick introduction to the first character in that picture, the acrobatic assassin Tyto the Swift.

And over here is a video of a full match featuring somebody playing that character as a hypermobile assassin, leaping all around the map, making fine use of verticality and enemy blind spots to swoop in, deal damage, and get out.

I'm so glad Gigantic is back. it can't be allowed to die again.

#Gigantic

[tf2-headcanon-quotes-confesions]

How good is each merc at cooking?

Merc Cooking Scale

Soldier 0/10

Everything he makes is poison. Or radioactive. Or stone. Or some combination.

That is, if there’s even anything left of anything after he’s done

Many, many, many, wild explosions have happened. Stuff that’d make Demo amazed.

He is banned from the kitchen.

Sniper 2/10

This man lives off instant meals.

He’s just the kind of guy who learned how to make what he likes and has stuck to that.

Not only that, but he would absolutely suck if he tried anything else. He’s not interested in learning, either.

He will eat plain wild game to survive if need be. He's got such bland tastes you can't convince me otherwise.

He does not like trying new food.

Medic 3/10 

 I don't trust him.

Pyro 4/10

They’re actually a pretty okay cook when they can focus! They enjoy helping around the kitchen.

Usually, they enjoy finger food that doesn’t require a lot of prep. They make those faces/pictures out of platters.

They are an excellent sweets maker. But when working with complex savory stuff things get much harder for them.

And when the stove is involved... well...

Somehow, though, their damage has never been bad as Solly’s.

Engineer 5/10

Man can cook a solid meal. He doesn’t, usually, but he enjoys it when he does.

His cooking is always super greasy.

His meals are also pretty limited. Really only knows how to make meat-based stuff like bacon, BBQ, eggs, chili, and roasts.

He’ll try his best if you can't/won’t eat meat but it's not the best.

His breakfasts are so good though.

Heavy 6/10

He’s actually a very decent chef but is brought down by the limited resources he had growing up

He’s had to find pretty much every way to cook a bear there is. His family and him are tired of bear meat but to fresh mouths it’s delicious!

He’s slowly learning how to include more variety in his cooking. Sandwiches were an easy introduction and are now his favorite food.

Cooking has become a hobby of his but he’s limited by his own pallet.

His cold meals (meals that don’t involve stove/oven/crockpot/etc., not literally cold food) are very good!

Spy (7/10)

He knows how, of course. He can make plenty of gourmet meals if need be like any respectable gentleman.

The problem is he hates actual doing it.

He can make a bunch if specific fancy meals very very well. They are delicious. They are beautiful. They are perfect.

But he can only make those things. He’s got absolutely zero creativity in the kitchen and could not tell you the basics of cooking.

He can follow a recipe but won’t bother to learn why you take the steps you take in it.

Demo (9/10)

He’s actually got a very similar story to Heavy but without the lack of resources.

He’s a mixologist. He’s a chef. He’s Husband Material.

After he went to live with his parents again, cooking became favorite chore.

As they got older, it also became an obligation. One he fulfilled with love and service.

He loves cooking for other people. He won’t ever really do it for himself. He likes sharing his meals much more than eating/preparing them.

It’s the social aspect for him.

Scout 10/10

Scout? How’s Scout so high up? It feels like he shouldn’t know how to do more than make toast, right?

WRONG.

His oldest brother is the best god damn cook in all of Boston. You bet your ass he spent his childhood eagerly observing him and their Ma.

From the time he was old enough to grip a spoon was eager to help out and prove himself.

He’s an excellent chef—and a resourceful one. He can make a gourmet meal out of five bucks.

Everyone is absolutely SHOCKED the first time he cooked for them. Spy accused him of ordering it from a restaurant to fool them but he was too genuinely knowledgeable/passionate about it.

His chicken meals are exquisite.

#tf2 #all mercs #headcanon #tf2 headcanons #soldier tf2 #scout tf2 #sniper tf2 #medic tf2 #demo tf2 #spy tf2 #heavy tf2 #pyro tf2 #engineer tf2

[yuurivoice]

Laying in bed having a think.

As I try and tackle three intertwined (four? fuck) narrative stories more meticulously than I've crafted any of my narratives thus far, I find myself making several realizations.

BitterSweet is a product of me being at several mental low points but failing upwards. BitterSweet wasn't even intended to be a real narrative, but rather an introduction to Seth then sort of a choose you own adventure, listen to either "path" type thing. When the story revealed itself to me it was very exciting, but I was just going episode to episode and seeing where I'd end up.

Chapter 2 had more planning, a pretty defined outline, and was executed just about to perfection. I think 2 is probably the strongest in terms of knowing wtf was going on and seeing it through.

Chapter 3 is one I feel deeply conflicted about. Plans had to change on the fly multiple times. The scale got out of hand. I was on the struggle bus and only managed to write an episode two at once. It was a mess. We hit some high marks, and some of my favorite performances are in there, but there's this dark cloud over it for me. It's a shame, but it got done.

I can see really clearly how my struggle with my mental health, ADHD, etc. played significant roles in hindering me. So on one hand, I'm thrilled that I was able to make something cool that so many people appreciate and enjoy despite how challenging it was. On the other hand...there's a lot I wish could have been different.

Those wishes have informed many of the choices I'm making now as I tackle Shattered and Echoes, as well as BitterSweet and the unnamed thing. I'm not hitting the big red launch button until it is complete. I've never done that. But I want my writing to be tighter and more cohesive. I'm lucky that making shit up as I went and hitting the broader strokes I knew were there worked out as well as it did, but also I've tripped over myself a time or two.

As ambitious as I'm trying to be with weaving these stories, I want to make sure that when you step back and look at the big picture, it makes sense, but is also really fucking dope.

That's my hope.

This next batch of work is going to be special for me. I'm in my medicated era, but I'm working with a lot of the bones put in place by a version of me that was operating well below capacity.

Reading those first drafts I wrote last year was humbling. God they were bad. Frustratingly so because when I took a hammer to it, what I cooked up in significantly less time on the second draft was so much better than what felt like I had to pull teeth to accomplish before.

I try and tell myself not to look at all of my work through that lens of "I could have done so much better" but it's frustrating. I've gotta cook with the groceries that version of me brought home lol.

It boils down to this. When these next projects launch and the dust settles, I don't want to be glad it's over. When I finished BS3, I breathed a sigh of relief because it felt like I just got out of a year long brawl.

When I finish these projects, I want to be proud. I think that's the conclusion I reached. I was not proud of my work, because it was tainted with compromise and frustration that outside factors fucked with several aspects of it.

So I'm trying to prove to myself that I can do better than that. For myself. I've shaken off the frustration that I'm an entire year behind schedule. I've committed myself to completing it all before it sees the light of day. I've streamlined the process. I really tried to set myself up for success.

When I was struggling I'd cut every corner, I'd phone it in, I'd toss out ambitious ideas for the sake of just being able to call it done.

There's a lot less of that happening now. I'm able to at least try and hold myself to something resembling a standard. Now I just hope I can execute.

Thanks for reading. Sorry about all of whatever that was.