#first of all i feel like all my days recently are just blending together if that makes sense

[pucksandpower]

Lessons in Anatomy

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: studying can be hard … good thing your boyfriend is more than happy to let you get some hands-on experience

You let out a heavy sigh as you flip through the anatomy textbook in front of you. As a first year medical student, you’ve been spending most late nights recently trying to memorize every muscle, nerve, and blood vessel in the human body.

Lately you’ve been completely absorbed in learning about the upper limbs — the shoulders, arms, hands and fingers — and it’s all starting to blend together.

Closing the textbook, you stand up and stretch your arms above your head, feeling the pull in your deltoids and biceps. You’ve read so much about the muscles, it might help to actually palpate and feel where they are on your own body.

You lift your right arm out to the side until it’s parallel with the floor, palm facing down. Gently, you place your left hand on your right deltoid and feel the round contour of the muscle. You trace your fingertips along the borders, visualizing how the muscle attaches on the humerus bone.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice behind you. Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him come home.

“Oh, I’m just, uh, palpating my deltoid muscle,” you say sheepishly as you drop your arm back to your side. “Trying to get a feel for where the muscles actually are.”

Charles grins, his bright green eyes twinkling with amusement at finding you in such an odd pose. “My talented girlfriend, always studying so hard,” he says.

You can’t help but smile back at him. The two of you met in school years ago, long before Charles became an F1 driver and your life became a whirlwind of travel, media attention, and hardly getting to see each other when coupled with your own studies. Moments like this — relaxed, easy, normal — have become few and far between.

Charles walks over to you and surprises you by taking your hand and placing it onto his upper arm.

“Here, feel mine instead so you don’t have to contort yourself,” he offers. “I’ll be your anatomy model.”

You laugh lightly and begin palpating the hard, defined muscles of his arm through his thin t-shirt. You locate the boundaries of his deltoid, impressed by the athletic development.

“Very nice delts,” you say teasingly.

“Why thank you, I work out sometimes,” Charles replies with a cheeky wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. His playful arrogance is one of the things you love most about him.

Slowly, you map out the contours of his shoulder, mentally labeling the muscles — supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor. Charles watches your focused expression with affection.

“How’s it going so far?” He asks. “Am I a good model?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur absently, engrossed in your exploration.

You move down his arm, wrapping your hands gently around his biceps. You note the two distinct heads of the muscle.

“Can you flex for me?” You ask professionally.

Charles obliges, flexing his bicep and causing it to bulge up under your hands.

“Excellent, thank you,” you say, impressed by the muscle definition. Your fingers drift down his arm to his forearm, tracing the brachioradialis.

You are hyperaware of Charles’ eyes following your every movement. There’s an intimacy to having your hands on him like this that makes your heart beat faster. You try to remain focused, but with him standing so close, his warmth radiating onto you, it’s difficult to think clinically.

When you take his hand in yours, turning it palm up to examine the tendons along his wrist and fingers, you’re struck by its elegant beauty.

His hands may spend most days encased in racing gloves, but they still hold such graceful strength and capability. You find yourself tenderly tracing along the lines of his palm, the indentation at the base of each finger.

You look up to see Charles watching you, his expression soft and affectionate. Impulsively, you lift his hand to your lips and place a kiss along his knuckles. His eyes widen slightly in surprise before he smiles.

“I don’t think that’s part of the medical curriculum,” he says, his voice low.

You grin. “Just conducting some independent research.”

Charles lifts his other hand to lightly trace his fingertips along your jawline, leaving a trail of tingles along your skin.

“Well in that case, I think you need to continue your in-depth examination,” he murmurs.

Your pulse quickens as his fingers trail down your neck and along your collarbone. Gently, he turns you around so your back is to him and sweeps your hair over one shoulder. You shiver pleasantly at the feeling of his hands gliding along the slopes of your shoulders.

“It’s important to know the trapezius muscle,” he says close to your ear. His fingers skim down from the base of your neck, tracing the borders of the trapezius down toward your shoulder blades. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation.

“Mmm yes, very important,” you breathe.

His hands span across your upper back, gently kneading into the muscle. You let out an appreciative sigh, the tension you’ve been carrying in your back dissolving under his touch.

Charles places a kiss to the curve of your neck as his hands work their way down your spine, counting each vertebrae.

“The vertebral column is quite elegant, don’t you think?” He murmurs against your skin. You hum in agreement, eyes still closed.

When his hands come to rest just above your waist, your breath catches in anticipation. His touch is driving you crazy but you don’t want him to stop.

Slowly, he slides his hands around your waist to your stomach, splaying his fingers possessively across your abdomen. He pulls your back against his chest until no space remains between you.

“How am I doing as your study partner?” He asks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Mmm, top of the class,” you reply a little breathlessly.

He grins against your skin. “Maybe we should move this study session somewhere more comfortable.”

You turn around to face him, draping your arms lazily around his neck. “I’ll have to clear my schedule. My boyfriend’s this really busy, important Formula 1 driver, you know.”

Charles smiles, leaning in close until his nose brushes yours. “I think he can make time for you.”

He closes the remaining distance, bringing his mouth to yours in a kiss that curls your toes. You melt into him, all thoughts of anatomy and studying dissolving from your mind.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. The chaos of life fades away and you’re reminded why you endure the challenges of his demanding career.

Because at the end of the day, you have this — your love, steadfast and true. The rest of the world falls away and you’re home.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc drabble

[snailsrneat]

Yandere Vil Schoenheit Headcanons

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

TW: Kidnapping, Stalking, Posioning

-----------------------------

I think if anyone got literally any of the overblot boys as their yandere they'd be pretty fucked.

Mostly because the overblot boys hold a lot of power and have tons of magic.

Vil, specifically, however is one of the few who won't ever use his magic on you.

No instead he'll just use potions on you (:

When you two first met, it wasn't exactly love first sight, more like first word.

Cause when he saw you, he wasn't impressed.

'This is the prefect everyone's been so obsessed over? Really?'

He honestly thought that you'd be more impressive, more magnificent and elegant if you will.

His first impression of you however immediately changed when you had begun barking orders at fellow freshman in an attempt to defeat him.

Never once has he seen a freshman, one as weak you, calling the shots amongst the student body.

Something must be different with you. And he had to figure out what.

From then onward he recruits Rook to spy on you and learn what your day-to-day patterns are like.

In the process Rook also listens in and learns all your secrets. All of which he reports to Vil.

The Vil learns about you the more he falls in love with you.

He obsesses over every single detail of you, from little moles in unseen places to the formation of stress wrinkles crowding over your forehead.

Every minute detail that he can find, he wants pepper with kisses and tell you just how weak in the knees you make him.

A part if him feels silly for getting weak for someone as mediocre as you, but the other half of him wants to steal you away and lock you in his bedroom so you never have to be troubled by those horrible boys you call "Friends".

In fact...that's a fantastic idea! Why hasn't he thought of this before? That way he can watch you up close.

No longer will he need Rook to do all his stalking, not when you're already here and so close.

When he kidnaps you he does it under the guise of you try a new tea blend he was given. But, unfortunately for you, the tea just so happens to be spiked.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry dear, I didn't think one of my own fans would try to spike my tea! Here let me help you get to the infirmary~"

He's an actor so he's very good at being melodramatic.

Instead of waking up in the infirmary, you wake up his bedroom, with your arms chained to the bed posts and dressed in expensive satin pajamas.

When Vil comes into the room and notices your struggling, he chides you for bruising you beautiful skin.

He doesn't release you from the chains, but he does his best to keep you comfortable.

"Only the best for you, darling. You shouldn't worry yourself with such needless things. What you should be thinking of is me, and only me. Understand?"

If you ever try to escape, don't.

I'm warning you, if Vil catches you trying to escape it'll be worse than just staying chained to his bed all day.

It's even more terrible if you've been getting "closer" with him recently, because now he knows that he shouldn't trust you fully. Ever.

If he catches you, he'll no longer allow you to be comfortable.

Instead of that nice comfortable bed, you sleep in a dog cage in the corner of his room.

And the days have started to blur together now, he started poisoning your food to make sure you don't do anything.

Most days your too tired to anything, let alone fight back or come up with escape plans.

If he has to start treating you like a baby he doesn't mind, he likes making you depend entirely on him.

"You know you did this to yourself, right? Trying to escape was a foolish endeavor and you must face the consequences of your actions..aw, you're crying darling. Don't cry, it'll give you wrinkles. Don't worry my love, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Now drink this."

-----------------------------

#Y'all remember my yan Epel headcanons? Yeah I think this was supposed to go with it but I forgot to post it. #Whoops #Bruh why am I so forgetful #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere #Twst Vil #vil shoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil x reader #Twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland #disney's twisted wonderland #interactions are appreciated #tw kidnapping #tw stalking #tw poison

[runningfrom2am]

kinda famous - d.s

summary: after your debut album charts in the top 100, you somehow get invited to the obx3 premiere. you went there to make connections- but maybe not the exact kind you ended up leaving with.

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: no warnings! just a meet-cute :), drew x musician!reader

requests

nav/masterlists

February 16th, 2023

Not a day went by this past year where you didn't consider yourself incredibly lucky. Your debut album saw some medial success, landing you in the Spotify top one hundred with the help of a TikTok trend to some of the lyrics from your first single. You could hardly believe it was real, sometimes. What always helped, however, is having connections.

Your best friend was a makeup artist to the stars. Working on movies like Avatar and even a few marvel films, but most notably and most recently, she's been working with Madelyn Cline. They've taken a liking to each other, having been in touch about every event, shoot, and movie she's been working on in hopes of having her new friend styling her look for the occasion. Luckily for you, your best friend is your number one fan- and hardly ever does she have a client who isn't forced to sit through your album while she's blending out the makeup on their faces or curling their hair.

Madelyn, apparently, had taken a liking to it. In the words of your best friend, "She was just gushing over it! She requests your music every time she's in my chair. I swear." So that, is how you ended up at the OBX3 premiere, shaking hands with one of the most beautiful actresses of your generation while she complimented both your dress and your music.

"I am seriously such a big fan. B/F/N put me on and I am literally obsessed." Madelyn smiles, dropping your hand.

"Oh my god, you're such a sweetheart- stop." You laugh, waving her off.

She smiles and leans in, resting her hand on your shoulder as she whispers in your ear. "Between us, I can't confirm anything just yet, but I'm working on getting you a soundtrack offer for season four."

You gasp, your hands flying up to cover your mouth to hide your shock. "No- you're literally joking!"

The blonde smiles and shakes her head, giggling and clapping her hands together excitedly. "We all listen to you on set- it's growing on the producers I think."

"Oh my god- Obviously I am so down! Allegedly, of course." You smile, winking at her.

"Yes, of course, Allegedly." She laughs, matching your wink. "I have to run, but we'll jump in for some photos together on the carpet, yeah?" Madelyn grins, giving you a quick hug and brushing past you in the direction of the curtain where everyone lines up for photos.

Feeling absolutely giddy, you're quick to lift your dress and shuffle over to the makeup room, where B/F/N was still working with some other clients doing some touch ups. "Oh my god!" You smile as you approach her chair, where she's just wiping up. You cringe internally at the sound of your music playing over her desk speaker, hearing the way you swore that the man you wrote this song about was the love of your life, and you'd be a fool to let him go. It wasn't long after the release that you ended up having to, discovering he was cheating on you with a girl from his hometown.

"Y/N! Hey girl! Did you get to talk to Mads?" She asks, looking back at you over her shoulder.

"Yes! And I have some serious tea to tell you later. Well- not serious, but good! It's definitely tea." You explain vaguely, knowing she'll understand.

"Yay! Okay, we'll debrief after." She nods. "Did you talk to anyone else?"

You instantly shake your head as she turns to face you. "God, no, I'm petrified." She doesn't answer, holding her finger up in your face and digging through her kit and pulling out a brush.

"Look up." She says, pointing to the ceiling and you oblige as she touches up the shadow under your eyes and brushes away some flaked mascara while she talks. "You need to. You've got to make some more connections- I can't carry you forever." She teases, placing the brush back in her belt when she's done. "They're a lovely cast, trust me."

You nod a little, taking a deep breath. "I just like... don't know what to do. Do I just walk around and talk to people?"

"That's the beauty of it! You're already doing it. Just show that stunning face of yours to the cameras with this beautiful dress, smile, make small talk, and opportunity will fall into your lap. I know you- everyone will love you regardless." She muses, quickly adjusting the waistline of your dress. "And report back to me- of course."

"You're not gonna come? I want some pictures with you. The world needs to see the artist behind this face." You grin, gesturing to your face of makeup and wiggling your eyebrows.

"Yes, of course." She giggles, smacking your shoulder playfully. "I'll change and come find you."

You smile and clap your hands together, bouncing in your heels. "Let's go together! I think I have to because I'm basically your plus one."

"No- absolutely not." She dismisses you quickly, closing up part of her kit and doing some quick organization. "You, my dearest Y/N, need to prove your independence in the industry. Just because you put out your Lover Era album doesn't mean you can't stand proudly on your own after the breakup. Your energy will draw all the cute boys to you. I just know it." She jokes at the end, but you know she's serious about her sentiment.

Your breakup wasn't fresh anymore- she was right. It didn't hurt and keep you up all night over heartache that you had assumed would never get better. You're thriving now, you feel like yourself again. "That's not why I'm here and you know that." You giggle.

"Of course not... It just would be a nice bonus." She shrugs. "Now shoo! You're distracting me. I'll see you in a few." She pushes you away, winking at you before returning to her cleanup duties.

You take a few breathes as you turn around, making a conscious effort to smile as you walk over to the curtain where crew is organizing people and sending them out onto the carpet.

Luckily, you spot the bar not far away, and quickly make your way over to grab a quick glass of wine before you have to step out. You try to sip on it casually, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but craving the buzz and freedom that comes with being a little tipsy around strangers.

"You're Y/N L/N, right?" Someone approaches you, and you quickly turn to the source of the voice.

"Yes, that's me." You smile, securing your glass in one hand before holding out your hand to shake. The woman takes it, smiling politely as she shakes it.

"Lovely. We're ready for you whenever, just go check in with that lovely gentleman by the curtain and you're free to walk when you're ready." The woman smiles, quickly taking off to go deal with more crew business.

You lean back against the bar, nursing your drink still and glancing in the direction of the dressing rooms and hoping your best friend would walk out in time to join you. You give it another minute as you finish your drink, feeling adequately warmed by the alcohol in your system before approaching the curtain.

"Hey! Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N L/N." You greet the man with the clip board and he nods, giving you a thumbs up and holding the curtain back for you to step out. You take deep breaths and focus on smiling (and not tripping) as you take the few extra paces behind a wall before you'll be in view of the many cameras you can already see flashing at the cast and their friends standing already in their full view. You hear lots of voices as you walk up, but they somehow get a million times louder as you step into the lights.

This isn't your first red carpet, but it is your first premiere. Besides the backdrop curtain, they have a variety of props from the show, including the Twinkie itself, making you giddy with excitement. You make a mental note to yourself to not leave without a picture of you behind the wheel for your instagram.

"Y/N! Look over here!" You hear a dozen voiced calling your name and you decide your best move is to smile and wave, stopping and placing one hand on your hip and just glancing across the whole crowd of camera men and interviewers behind the small fence. You give it a few moments to capture hopefully enough photos for their portfolios before an interviewer pulls you over to chat with them.

"Y/N! So nice to meet you. You look absolutely stunning!" They grin, shaking your hand and holding the mic up to your lips.

"Hello! And thank you so much! It's lovely to meet you too. What's your name?" You ask, smiling at them and giving a quick wave to the cameras still flashing in your face as they record you with one closer up.

"I'm Noah. I'm with Netflix just documenting everyone here tonight." He grins. "So, we were all excited to hear you would be coming tonight! Are you a fan of the show?"

"Oh my god, I'm a huge fan." You gush, looking around at the other people on the carpet. "I was just so lucky to be invited- I was ecstatic when I got the invitation from Madelyn. So nervous, though. So, so nervous."

"I can't imagine!" He chuckles, agreeing with you. "If it makes you feel any better, we've heard from a few members of the cast that they were looking forward to meeting you."

"That does actually help a lot, thank you." You giggle, a blush covering your cheeks. "You mind telling me who, though? I'd love to know who wants to talk to me and who I should probably not bother." You joke.

"Oh, nobody to avoid here. This is one of the nicest casts I've ever worked with." Noah assures you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "That being said, the boys seemed extra keen." He winks, making you laugh.

"Oh god, okay, I'll keep that in mind." You go along with it, looking around and seeing the rest of the cast goofing off a little ways away.

"So, I have to ask, Y/N- keep in mind you don't have to answer if you don't want to, about your breakup- how are you doing? Your album is absolutely amazing, you told a beautiful story, but we've all heard about what happened afterwards." He says, and you glance down nervously, trying to maintain your smile as best you can.

"Yeah, totally. Uh-" You pause for a second. Your ex has never been in the public eye- you were highschool sweethearts, which gave your album a sense of purity and authenticity that was almost rare in modern music. With that, however, comes a responsibility to keep him out of public scandal in the fallout of the albums success. "I am doing really well. I believe my ex is as well. Of course he was always a huge inspiration for me, and he always supported me and my dreams, so I know he's still cheering me on, which is a nice feeling." You nod, smiling as Noah drops his arm from around your shoulders, patting your back.

“Well, you’re stronger than I am because I would want him to be punching the air right now.” Noah laughs.

“No! God, no, I’d never want that for him. I wish him all the success in the world, which just means something different for both of-“ You try to explain, when you get bumped from behind and stumble slightly forward. You let out a little squeak and try to turn to look what happened when someone steadies you by your waist.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to knock you there.” A man chuckles, making sure you’re steady before letting you go. You’re met with blue eyes that reflect the lights and the matching colour of his suit just beautifully, and you quickly recognize him as Rafe- quickly racking your brain for the actors name. Drew- yes. That’s it.

“No! No you’re fine- I was in the way.” You say sheepishly, laughing it off and adjusting your dress again.

“Drew, Welcome back! While I’ve got you both here,” Noah says, holding the microphone up to him as he nods, leaning down a little in anticipation of the question. “Have you listened to Y/N’s album? We were just talking about it.”

Drew nods, smiling and locking eyes with you again briefly. “Yes, of course. It’s both Maddie’s favourites right now, they’ve always got it playing on set. If it wasn’t so good I’d be sick of it.” He chuckles.

“Aw- thank you!” You grin. “Thanks for listening even if it’s against your will.” Your eyes connect again and you feel yourself blushing once more, he just has this aura about him that shows he’s really listening and really cares what you have to say. “Not to plug it here or anything, but we’re almost at ten million streams on spotify so I’m feeling really proud of it, it truly was a passion project for me. Sorry…” You explain, looking back at the interviewer again, trailing off when you realize you’re acting selfishly.

“No, don’t apologize. You worked hard on it- you deserve to talk about it.” Drew cuts in before Noah can speak. “Everyone stream it- you won’t regret it.” He says, pointing to the camera.

“Yes, absolutely.” Noah agrees. “We won’t take up any more of your time, but I’ll let you know we’re all looking forward to your next album already.” He smiles, giving you a quick hug.

“Thank you!” You wave as him and his crew are quick to move onto someone else. You take a deep breath, turning and jumping slightly when you see Drew still standing there, looking down at you as you clasp your hand against your chest. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t know you were still there.” You giggle, quickly adjusting your hair.

“Sorry.” Drew chuckles, holding his hand out to you. “We haven’t properly met. I’m Drew. Or you might know me as Rafe, I guess.”

You smile, taking his hand and shaking it. “Y/N. You might know me as the girl who got cheated on right after releasing an album about how amazing her relationship is.”

This makes him laugh, dropping his head back as he lets go of your hand. “Hey, it’s good to have a sense of humour about it I guess.” He says, locking eyes with you again. His charisma is truly captivating- it’s rare you meet someone in the Hollywood scene who seems to care about anyone other than themselves.

“I’m coping.” You shrug, laughing it off with him.

“Let’s grab a few pictures together, then maybe a drink?” Drew suggests, guiding you back towards where the rest of the cast was taking photos with the beat-up van parked on the carpet. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“Yeah! Yeah- thank you.” You smile, glancing over your shoulder and seeing your best friend stepping out. She quickly waved at you, giving you an excited look and a thumbs up, which you return behind his back.

No doubt the pictures of this moment will embarrass you tomorrow, but at least the debrief with your best friend in the uber home will have a lot of good things to cover.

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury (i just tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

reblogs and feedback are very appreciated as always :)

#rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #drew starkey #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x you

[cybrsan]

Treasure — J.WY [Pt. 1]

STORY SUMMARY: Wooyoung is moon-blessed, a waterbender born under the Siren Moon that rises once every 88 years. His blessing is believed to be his unique and powerful healing abilities that he has coined “Wavesong.” However, his true gift is that of his prophetic dreams, glimpses of futures yet to unfold—and you just happen to be the subject of his recent visions.

PAIRING: Waterbender Jung Wooyoung x Non-Bender F!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; angst, fluff, eventual smut ; ATLA au, enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNINGS: Minor POV switches

A/N: This story has been a long time coming. It is the second addition to my "Ode To ATEEZ" series and the first to my "Together in Harmony" series. I decided to split it into chapters because I believe it will flow better that way. I hope you enjoy!

LINKS: Ode To ATEEZ Masterlist | Together in Harmony Masterlist | Cross-posted on AO3

Masterlist | Next ↠

Crossing the Desert of Eden is not for the faint of heart. It is one of the world’s greatest paradoxes, a place where nature's most wonderful and most dangerous creatures coexist in a delicate balance. Even the sand itself is an example of this—crystalline and beautiful, ever sparkling under the light of the sun, yet each granule is as jagged as splinters of glass. Without proper foot bindings, your journey cannot even begin.

Amidst the harsh landscape, pockets of life burst forth in brilliant defiance. Rare desert blooms dot the barren terrain with bursts of color. Some hold the power to heal, their petals emitting a fragrance that soothes both body and soul. Others are laced with deadly venom, capable of stopping a heart with but a single touch.

Sand serpents slither through the dunes, their scales nearly translucent, giving them the ability to blend in seamlessly with the landscape. One bite is all it takes for total paralysis to overtake you, rendering you incapacitated for mere minutes to hours at a time. Celestial birds soar overhead, searching for prey, their wings casting shadows on the ground below.

And even if you’re able to avoid those threats, blinding winds carry grains of sand like lashes, stinging skin, obliterating landmarks, and disorienting even the most skilled navigators. The desert swallows the unwary, erasing their footprints from existence.

It is in this very place that Wooyoung finds himself, accompanied by seven of his fellow benders. In normal circumstances, he would avoid a place like this at all costs, his sense of self-preservation persevering over the curiosity of what secrets the desert holds. But things haven’t been normal for a long, long time. 

He feels like he’s been walking for days, his legs heavy and leaden. Despite his protective robes, the wind and sand have whipped at his skin, leaving it battered and raw. Just one look at the faces of his companions is enough to prove he isn’t the only one feeling this way. The only one who seems miraculously energized is their de-facto leader, Hongjoong. He moves forward with ferocity, a tinge of madness in his eyes.

To his left, Yeosang stumbles, nearly falling onto the sand below. Wooyoung reaches out for him, a second too slow, but luckily San reacts quicker, catching him by the arm. The exhaustion has begun to take its toll. Everyone comes to a stop, nervous energy flowing between them. Everyone except Hongjoong, that is. Seonghwa, the eldest of the group and the one with the most power after their leader, places a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to rest, Joong. Look at the kids—they’re exhausted. Yeosang almost collapsed.”

‘The kids.’ Wooyoung frowns, the endearment not sparking the same joy that it used to. Seonghwa and Hongjoong may only be a year older than the rest of them—two in Jongho’s case—but they’ve always referred to them that way. Wooyoung used to find it cute, often teasing them about how they acted like an old married couple. He supposes that the recent distaste for the nickname comes from the fact that Hongjoong hasn’t been the same ever since he told him about his dream.

It takes a moment for Hongjoong to comprehend what Seonghwa said, thoughts still elsewhere. Yet once his eyes find Yeosang, he immediately acquiesces, apologizing for not stopping sooner. His entire demeanor seems to soften, making him seem more like himself. Wooyoung already feels like he can breathe better because of it. 

“Hopefully we aren’t too far from a Dweller community,” Hongjoong says, taking out his compass. “Let’s go.”

The Dune Dwellers are natives of Eden, having found ways to thrive in even the most unfavorable conditions. They aren’t particularly fond of outsiders, regarding any so-called adventurers as naive and stupid more than anything else. They often find the remains of the less fortunate, bodies lost to the sand. Dwellers are some of the only people who know how to navigate the desert and survive, but even they won’t wander into it aimlessly, searching for a treasure that may or may not exist.

Luckily, it isn’t long until they find one of their communities with Hongjoong’s guidance. Tracking their location becomes easier when you familiarize yourself with the signs the locals leave for one another, like a carving in a rock or some shimmering paint on a cactus. Things that are easy to miss when you don’t know what you’re looking for. 

The town is small, cut through the middle by a bustling market area teeming with vendors trying to pawn off their goods. Wooyoung immediately feels some of his tension fade away, the lively environment making him feel more at home. You wouldn’t expect any place in such a barren landscape to be so full of life, but the Dwellers have a thriving community of their own despite their living conditions.

The sounds of haggling and bartering are music to his ears, and he quickly finds himself imbued with newfound energy, eager to start talking to people and fishing for information. Maybe he’ll be able to find some clues as to Pandora’s location, and Hongjoong can finally be appeased. He makes a quick plan with the others to meet at the town’s small inn at sunset before wandering off on his own. 

The scent of spices, freshly baked bread, and cooking meat mingle in the air as he walks, making his mouth water. He stops at a stall selling juice made from prickly pears, kept cool by the waterbender who continuously refreezes the ice it sits upon. In exchange for a few copper coins, he buys a glass and greedily gulps it down.

He shivers, the cold drink a shock to his system in the hot, dry climate. It is both tangy and sweet and he hums, pleased, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and returns the glass to the merchant. Just as he goes to pull his hand back, the man grabs his wrist. Wooyoung's heart jumps in his chest and, though he tries to keep his composure, he is sure the shock shows on his face. Dwellers may not greet outsiders with open arms, but they’ve never shown any outward acts of aggression toward them before.  

“What are you doing here, nakuto? You’re a long way from the Water Tribe.”

Wooyoung gently removes his arm from the man’s grasp, though he is no longer fearful. The term nakuto, a respectable term for ‘young one,’ brings back memories of his home and instantly puts him at ease. “How did you know I was a waterbender?” 

“I don’t see many of my own kind out here; most are exiles from the Fire Nation or native sandbenders. Your necklace gives you away.”

Instinctively, Wooyoung reaches up, fingers caressing the delicate shells around his neck. He supposes it is reminiscent of the Water Tribe, but he’s worn it for years and barely remembers that it’s there. It was a gift from his brother, a good luck charm given to him when he left for the Fire Nation seven years ago. 

The man continues, “Did something happen to your Tribe, boy? It’s not safe out here.”

“No, it’s not like that. I’m here with a group of other benders—we’re looking for the eternal library, Pandora.”

“Pandora,” the man scoffs. “A myth. You should turn back while you still can.”

“I’m afraid turning back isn’t an option. Come on, pakana. Surely you must know something.” 

The man harrumphs, though Wooyoung can tell the use of the honorific pleases him by the slight smile that tugs at his lips. “You can call me Marok.”

“I’m Wooyoung.”

“Well, Wooyoung, there really isn’t that much information out there about Pandora; I probably don’t know much more than you do.” Marok creates a small stream of water from the melting ice, absent-mindedly spinning it around his fingers as he talks. “I’ll tell you what—go talk to ol’ Nadira. She’s a sandbender, and been here almost all her life. If anyone were to know something, it’d be her. Go west of town and look for a purple tent with yellow flags.”

“Thank you, Marok—I appreciate your help. Yui remoi.”

“Bayui jilok.”

Wooyoung nods, acknowledging Marok’s blessing, and starts to head west. The sun has begun to set, and he suspects he has less than an hour before he has to meet the others at the inn. Hopefully, whoever Nadira is, she’ll be cooperative. With the town being as small as it is, it doesn’t take him long to reach the outskirts, and the bright purple tent is easy to spot, a beacon of color amongst the sand. Just as he reaches the entrance, a girl pushes the flap aside, nearly bumping into him as she exits in a hurry. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, barely acknowledging him as she rushes back to town. 

The hair on the back of Wooyoung’s neck stands up. He doesn’t get a good look at her face, but her voice and white robes… He stops himself, shaking away the uncomfortable feeling of familiarity. Her eerie similarity to the girl he’s been seeing in his dreams for the past few nights is of little importance. He’s not trusting his visions ever again and will do whatever he can to avoid those uncertain futures. He quickly enters the tent, ready to get some answers so that he and the others can leave this town and the girl behind come morning.

You rush past the boy entering the tent, barely sparing him a glance as you hurry back toward town. Your conversation with Nadira was unsatisfactory, to say the least. She couldn’t tell you much more than you already knew, which is that Pandora is near impossible to find and even harder to get into, especially as a non-bender. It’s rumored to be buried far under the sand, sealed shut by an elemental lock. However, she was surprised by the map you carried with you, saying she hadn’t ever known there to be someone who successfully cataloged all of Eden. She couldn’t confirm whether or not the entirety of it was correct, though she did verify that certain locations lined up with her own knowledge of the desert.

You relax your steps, an exasperated laugh slipping from your lips as you realize you were practically stomping out of frustration. You take a moment to center yourself; as tempting as it may be to sell the map to the nearest street vendor, you’ve traveled too long and too far to give up now. Freedom is nearly in your grasp—you can feel it. You will claw your way to it if you must.      

Double-checking that the map is secure inside your sling bag, you tighten the strap around your torso and head through the doors of the inn. The atmosphere is much livelier now that it’s late afternoon, with talking and laughter nearly drowning out the small band playing in the corner. The bar area seems to be where most people are congregating, chugging down mead and ale. The one serving maid is busy juggling orders from all directions, delivering filled mugs to rowdy drinkers who seem to enjoy cheering each other on for every sip taken. 

As you weave through the crowded tables in search of a seat, you can’t help but notice a group of travelers that stand out from the crowd. You could sense their disharmony from a mile away—two members seem to be locked in a heated argument, heads close together as they speak in hushed voices. A few of the others seem to be playing a drinking game that involves making silly gestures and mimicking one another while one boy gazes off into the distance, lost in thought. Your interest peaked, you take a seat at the bar, right next to a man who has several empty tankards in front of him. He doesn’t seem too inebriated, but surely he’s drunk enough that his lips will be loose. 

You place a few coins on the counter, ordering two drinks. You slide one to the man to capture his attention and nod in the group's direction, asking, “So, what do you know about the new guys in town?” 

The man eyes you, scrutinizing your appearance. He must see something that he likes because he decides to indulge you, taking the ale in hand and relaxing further into his seat. “Heard from the barkeep that they’re some adventurers tryna find the library of Pandora.” He huffs and takes a long drink before adding, “A buncha fools.” 

You bristle, wanting to defend them as their goal seems to be the same as yours, but you stop yourself, not wanting to discourage the man from sharing more information. “I see. Are they benders?” 

He nods. “Yeah, far as I know. One of ‘em is apparently tryna get some information outta Nadira.” 

You think back to the boy you saw entering the tent and curse yourself for not paying more attention. You could have talked to him, asked him why he was seeing Nadira, and proposed some sort of alliance. Winning one man over would be easier than winning over seven all at once. But alas, that seems to be your only option. Taking one last swig of your ale, you hop off the bar stool and give the man a two-finger salute.

“Thanks for your time—enjoy the rest of your night.” 

He raises his mug and bids you farewell as you turn around, steeling your nerves as you march right up to the group of benders. One of the quarreling men who dons a head of striking red hair notices you first, his eyes instantly narrowing upon your approach. He slides closer to the others, almost protective in his movements, seemingly forgetting his previous argument. 

“Can I help you?” 

His voice is steady, laced with none of the heat you had expected. Instead, his words are cold, punctuated in a way that cuts you like a knife. However, you refuse to let him intimidate you.

“Yes, actually. I heard you were looking for Pandora.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Why is that of any interest to you?”

“I’m looking for it too.”

“And?”

You grit your teeth, his standoffish attitude grating on your nerves. The man he was fighting with places a hand on his arm and steps slightly in front of him, greeting you with a smile. You can immediately feel the difference in his aura, the gentleness radiating off of him. He is the water to the red-headed man’s fire. Perhaps literally.

“Sorry, Hongjoong is just a bit… on edge lately. I’m Seonghwa.” 

He takes a moment to introduce each of the others before asking for your name in return. You’re surprised to find that they’re a pretty well-balanced group, with at least one bender for each element. That will definitely come in handy when it comes to the elemental lock. You almost can’t believe your luck; after all this time, maybe things are finally turning around in your favor.

Yunho, an airbender who was a part of the group playing the drinking game earlier, chimes in. “So, you’re looking for Pandora too?” 

You nod. “That’s right. I think we can help each other.” You reach into your bag and wrap your fingers around the map. “You see, I—”

“Wooyoung!” 

You’re interrupted by San, a dimpled firebender, who gets up to excitedly greet the missing member of their party; Wooyoung must be the boy you bumped into earlier. Now that you have a moment to actually look at him, you suppose that he’s quite beautiful, with a sharp nose and full lips. His hair is like nothing you have ever seen before—silver on top with blue ends, comparable only to how it looks when the light of the moon meets the sea. 

Your lips barely part to greet him when he turns to you, eyes ablaze with hatred. “What is she doing here?”

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @nebulousbookshelf @ad0rechuu @seonghwaddict @sanniesbunnie @wooya1224 @tournesol155 @ja3hwa @pocketjoong-reads @lovandr

#wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung smut #ateez smut #wooyoung fic #ateez fic #jung wooyoung fic #kpop writers #kpop writing #my fic

[italianlobster]

This Love

PAINNN </3

Summary: You and Matías were perfect for each other, until one day, he called it quits. He starts dating Malena Sanchez, and you're left all alone, mourning over the loss of your first love.

BTW the story is named after the song from Pantera, if you like that band, ily =)

--

As you entered your apartment, your eyelids felt heavy. This was due to crying. Why? During the day, your ex-boyfriend Matías had asked if you'd like to stay over at his house so he can give you one of his acting lessons. You had suddenly gained an interest in acting recently, and Matías was eager to teach you. He was a good actor, too, and had time to teach you today. Before you can say yes with a smile on your face, the familiar sight of a thin, pale woman had captured your eyes.

Malena Sanchez.

Matías' new girlfriend.

You and Matías had broken up a year ago. However, your heart belonged to him only, and you just couldn't move on. Although it felt like he ripped your heart into pieces and left your side the moment he got someone new, he had constantly plagued your thoughts and dreams. The only man you had your eyes on. Matías was your first everything; from your first love to your first kiss. So when the two of you finally broke up, you felt like a piece of you was lost. You couldn't imagine being with anyone else. This went as far as you rejecting others and not allowing yourself to be in a relationship.

For four months now, he had been dating his friend Malena Sanchez, and they were madly in love. One couldn't be seen without the other. You saw the way Matías looked at Malena, and your already broken heart started to decay. There were no tears left to cry at this point. But you wished them the best and tried to be happy for them while you were left in the dark. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red.

When Malena had shown up, you had kindly declined Matías' favor and decided to go home instead. Thoughts had raced in your mind during the way home. You had no car and walked the long way home. Your vision became blurry, and you were already hyperventilating. It was also raining, which made your heart break even worse. Your tears blended with the rain. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going, but fortunately, you made it home. Keys fumbling, and the door was open, your eyes scanned across the room to search for your comfort items. A teddy bear Matías had given you for your birthday. It had a zipper located at its back, which contained the jewelry he had given you. There were rings and necklaces. One even had his initials engraved onto it. There was also a letter. You just couldn't bring yourself to throw them away after the breakup.

So you decided to do the most dangerous thing and read the letter Matías had given to you, which had his love confession in it. You took out the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It was definitely going to make you feel worse, but you proceeded anyway.

Dear Y/N,

You have caught my eye. Whenever I'm around you, my heart races, and my pale face turns red. I just gawk at you. You're just the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Although you may not feel the same, I can't hide my feelings anymore. Please, let take your hand, and we shall jump together in the sea of love.

Sincerely, Matías Recalt

You sighed as the memories of you and Matías together danced in your mind. From picnic dates to trips at the beach, your eyes connected to the ceiling for what felt like hours. Then you feel asleep. At least in your dreams, the both of you were still together.

You were the makeup stylist for Matías on the set of Apache. Since the day you both were introduced to each other, you were inseparable. Texting and calling each other for hours, meeting up after filming was done. This went on for months until finally, Matías had sent you the letter confessing his feelings for you. You felt the same way for him and started dating. Unfortunately, Matías broke up with you a year later due to losing interest in you. He left you there to cry after breaking your heart. Before your breakup, you had also noticed some signs: Matías being visibly uncomfortable whenever you showed affection toward him in a romantic way, like kissing. His responses while texting became shorter, and he'd also take a long time to respond to you. He even stopped saying I love you. Once Malena entered the picture and became a friend of Matías, it was only a matter of time before he broke up with you. He seemed interested in her, but you brushed it off, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you.

Matías had never said he broke up with you to be with Malena, but you knew well that was also another reason why you both broke up because the moment he left, he began to date her. You begun to compare yourself to Malena. She had the perfect body. The perfect face. The perfect personality. You even begun to copy her fashion, hairstyle, and makeup for him to notice you. No wonder why Matías fell in love with her. You were nothing compared to her. But you could never hate her. She was always nice to you despite you being his ex. She'd always invite you to parties or shopping, but you'd always decline. You tried your best to be her friend, but the memories of Matías just kept coming back. All those things he was doing with you, he was now doing with her. That thought absolutely destroyed you.

It bothered you how Matías acted like you didn't mean anything to him before and that you were once the person he considered marrying. The both of you are still friends, of course, but you knew that everything wouldn't be the same after the breakup. For example, he doesn't even text or talk to you first anymore. He doesn't invite you to things that aren't even considered intimate, such as taking a walk in the park or just having a simple conversation.

Everyone else seems bothered by your constant rambling about Matías. You complained about how much you missed him, how you still have feelings for him, and even more nonsense. Years have passed, and you are now the makeup stylist for the LSDLN cast. Everyone in the cast continuously rolled their eyes and excused themselves from the conversation whenever you brought up Matías and Malena. All except for Enzo. He was the only one who listened to you. Whenever you were feeling down, he was there for you, comforting you and allowing you to cry on his shoulder. His chocolate eyes were filled with anger toward Matías, about how he dropped you the moment he got someone new. Although he didn't hold a grudge toward the couple, his blood still boiled.

You just wanted to scream at those who were bothered by you. If they can be in your shoes for one day to understand how you feel. They didn't hate you, of course, but you wished they were more emotionally available like Enzo. You wished they would listen.

A recent moment besides yesterday when you saw Malena visiting Matías on the set. She gave him lunch, and then they went off to somewhere private. Probably went there to make out or something. You sighed and also went somewhere private and took the letter out of your pocket. You read it over and over again. Since nobody was near, you said out loud,

"I guess he never meant what he wrote in that letter."

Your back slid down the wall as you sat down.

It's not easy having your heart broken.

You'll never forget how Matías left you. How could he go and leave you behind? All alone, to cry on your own. You should've known he was going to bail on you.

You closed your eyes, wishing this feeling would go away but deep down, you knew it wouldn't.

--

#matías recalt #matias recalt #matias recalt x reader #matias recalt fanfic

[standfucker]

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out. 

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat. 

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who? 

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either. 

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji. 

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!” 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie. 

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!” 

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you���ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #reader insert #one piece imagines #zen writes

[chirpsythismorning]

My hottest take of all time is that Mike is (was) the main character of Stranger Things.

Now, do I think he still is? No. Not really.

TBH I would argue that ALL the OG's are main characters in their own way at this point, with them all getting somewhat similar amounts of screen-time across the board by s4.

But if we're talking about the first two seasons, Finn was indeed credited before both Millie and Noah. The only actors that were credited before him were Winona and David (respectfully).

Just rewatching s1-2, you can see very clearly that Mike is being framed as the main character, with his perspective being favored in big group sequences, with us following him places that we don't really follow others, and for longer periods of time.

What I find interesting, is that even though Noah revealed recently that the Duffer's have been slowly building up/hinting at Will's feelings for Mike since the beginning, it's Mike whose perspective we were usually seeing in all those moments.

In s1, we see Mike looking for Will, with Noah only having like a handful of scenes that entire season. We also get more of a focus on Mike's reactions in comparison to the other party members.

In s2, we see Mike making every effort to support Will all season. It's Mike whose reaching out to Will constantly, calling to see why he's not at school, going by his house, sleeping over for days and staying by his bedside at Hawkins lab. Although Will arguably plays a bigger role in the upside down aspect of the show this season, a large portion of Mike and Will moments focused on Mike's feelings for Will being shared through Mike's POV, and not so much the other way around.

It isn't until s3 that Millie starts being credited before Finn (and respectfully so, as she was arguably bringing in more hype in terms of fandom excitement back in those days, so I do get it). And so we're arguably going from Mike centric (s1), to Will centric (s2), to El centric (s3).

As a result, we also started seeing less of Mike's POV. Though, to be fair there are 10+ new characters joining every season, so EVERYONE is getting less screen-time, every season.

But isn't it so convenient, that when we start getting less insight into Mike's POV, he starts acting strange...? And we don't really get outright answers as to why? Answers that we would probably have if we had Mike's POV as much as we used to?

S3 is when we started getting Will's POV more when it came to him and Mike's relationship. Their dynamic sort of flips between s1-2 vs. s3-4.

Not to say we never get Mike's POV anymore, but when we do, it's hard to discern and so most people overlook it completely on the rare occasion that it does pop up.

Anyways, this whole concept reminded me of the main character shots we got at the end of s4.

These were shots that had multiple characters in the frame, but with only (1) person specifically at the forefront...

YALL KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???

Arguably, these three main characters storyline's are tied together in a substantial way, and how it all plays out could have been foreshadowed, by the very order and even blocking of these shots.

Think about it.!?!.

Mike was arguably the main character of s1, which means getting his POV at the forefront again would be going back to the shows roots.

Will is arguably the main character of s2, and so blending Mike's arc (ending with Mike hugging Hopper hmmmmmm... Mike accepting his sexuality??) with Will's unreliable narrator arc being resolved (ending with Will and Mike side by side hmmmmmmm... Will getting the boy??), and this combined with Will's connection to the upside down, blending perfectly with his wonder twin, El's storyline (El walking passed Mike and Will.... El dumping his ass again??), with her now at the forefront as the main character, arguably just like in s3, except now she has full autonomy for the first time in the show, she knows her worth, she's accepted herself. And this all coming to a head with those three and everyone in the shows arcs being resolved by the end??

BITCH???

#stranger things #stranger things 5 #stranger things meta #stranger things theory #byler #st5 headcanon #i think i cracked it yall #those shots make perfect sense now #and everything they've said about s5 makes sense #about going back to s1 roots #aka getting Mike's pov so that the audience realizes they actually love him after learning what he's been feeling/thinking #about will playing a major role #aka finding out the truth about Wills connection to the upside down and him getting the boy #and them telling us little to nothing about el's future tells everything #aka the biggest plot twist of all #el's independence arc #is being saved for last #and it's all going to be epic #i don't even think the ga realizes that they want this #they're not going to know until they're watching it for themselves #but basically everything unraveling this way is more true to the show than any other alternative #it perfectly circles back to the beginning and everything will just fall into place...

[kcrossvine-art]

Hey folks n blokes! A few days ago ya might've been one of the people who helpfully responded to my question asking which LotR recipe we should cook next, and you all had great ideas. Including a golum salmonella sushi platter. There were a few that twinkled directly into my eyes, but only one fish gets fried at a time! Thanks @vensre for the suggestion!

Today from Lord of the Rings, we will be making Bilbo Baggin's Seed Cakes

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Seed Cake?” YOU MIGHT ASKIf you're an amer*can like me, you might have never heard of a seed cake outside of the context of bird feeders.

Salted butter

Fine sugar

Whole milk

Eggs

Almond flour

Vanilla extract

Brown sugar

Caraway/fennel seeds

Ground anise seed

Ground nutmeg

The real key ingredient here is the caraway seeds. The factor that ties all recipes together. Important note, anise seeds and anise stars are 2 separate things!

AND, “what does a Seed Cake taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKTastes like what an old bookstore smells like.

Smells like warm licorice

But without the chemical-y aftertaste

Take a shortbread and make it denser and with less airpockets. Thats your texture.

A little bit like gingerbread but nuttier, earthier

Very rich

Beautiful crumbly brown outside, soft teddybear-brown inside

Pairs well with a glass of milk hahaha

"A wonderful blend of sweet and savoury, seed cakes make a perfect after-supper morsel."-LotR Online. Mentioned both in the books and the MMO, being served after dinner ties into their real-life origins! Before caraway seeds in cakes became popular in the victorian era, they were often candied and served as dessert because caraway seeds help with after-meal indigestion.

. used an herb grinder for the anise seeds . used light brown sugar where brown sugar called for . used blanched almond flour . if i made this again, would probably use higher quantity of nutmeg or add cinammon

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From entering the kitchen, to having this in my stomach, it took roughly 2 hours? Ish? Definitely make sure to let your 2 sticks of butter and 3 eggs sit out a bit beforehand so they reach room temp, it helps them whip together the warmer they are.

The most difficult part of this recipe was finding the seeds. Everything except the caraway/fennel and anise seed i already had, and maybe its a recent thing but since when did grocery stores start charging such an obscene amount for a regular bottle of spices? Is it not enough to have everything else infected by price-gouging, now we'll be scraping pennies for our little flavor heavens? Bleh. 

The seed cake is a new experience for me also, and many pardons if some sacred seed cake rule has been broken today. It tasted fantastic! The licorice was a strong flavor I've never experienced in this form before, it suits itself well. If you're baking for children or have a sweeter palette, the bitterness may be a bit much, but just have them dunk it in milk honestly. It did feel like there was some 'empty space' on my palette while eating- if that makes any sense? It couldve been layered with another flavor but i still can't put my finger on what that missing flavor could be.

Definitely be careful to put the eggs into the butter/sugar a little bit at a time. I got impatient the first-go, and the eggs incorporated less, and it led to a greasier cake. People seem to say that storing these and eating them the next day makes them taste better, i cannot attest as i ate both within the same day of making them. 

This recipe has earned itself a glimmering 7/10, for making my kitchen smell nice but also making me use a standmixer if i want my arms to stay attached (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

220g salted butter

225g fine sugar

16g of milk

3 eggs

175g almond flour

2 drops vanilla extract

Pinch of brown sugar

1tbsp caraway seeds

1 1/2tbsp  ground anise seed

1/2tsp ground nutmeg

Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 320F. Soften the butter and let eggs come to room temperature. 

Cream the butter by itself for around 5 minutes with a standmixer on med., until light in color. Add sugar and continue until the mixture is pale and fluffy.

In a seperate bowl beat the eggs until 'frothy'. 

Stir a small amount at a time of the eggs iinto the butter and sugar mixture, making sure each portion incorporates as you go.

Add the caraway, ground anise seed, ground nutmeg, and vanilla extract.

Gently fold in the almond flour. Careful not to overmix.

Add a tablespoon of milk, or until the batter keeps its form but drips off an upside down spoon.

Pour into a greased 9-inch round cake pan, if not available muffin/cupcake pans should also work.

Sprinkle a bit of brown sugar on top.

Bake for 40-50 minutes. Cool for 10 before serving.

#lotr #cake recipe #the hobbit #bilbo baggins

[filmofhybe]

The perfect blend - YJW

part 3 of “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”

In which..

━━ can you ever imagine in this multiverse, you having the biggest fattest crush on your best friend - Yang jungwon, however knowing he already has a “girlfriend” hurts more than just a sting from a bee.

💌 PAIRING : yjw x reader

GENRE : friends to lovers , fluff

WARNING : angst , fluff , kissing , CHAPTER 2 NOT PROOF-READ!!

🗯️ FEATURING : huh yunjin - LE SSERAFIM

word count : unknown for now

MASTERLIST to “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”.

; AUTHORS NOTES : I’m so sorry for not updating recently :( I promise I’ll post more often!

Y/n couldn't believe her eyes as she witnessed Jungwon canceling plans with her and, to add insult to injury, bringing another girl to their cherished secret spot. A mix of emotions flooded through her, even though they weren't officially a couple. The connection she felt with Jungwon ran deep, and it stung to see him sharing intimate moments with someone else.

Days after the incident, Jungwon's relentless calls and messages bombarded my phone. Constantly hearing dings and songs as a sniffed my snort into a tissue. Staring at my 10th empty box of tissue, I hesitated but eventually agreed to meet him again at the same spot.

The walk there felt gloomy. It didn’t felt like the first time when he waited me outside as I walked beside him. It doesn’t feel the same as those numerous times we walked shoulder to shoulder towards OUR cafe. The air was thick with a bittersweet tension as I arrived. I placed my bag down as I pulled my hair out, Jungwon's head hung low, and when he finally spoke, his words cut through me.

"Y/n..i know I shouldn’t invite you out, i know your struggling. But I really need to clear myself here because y/n as much as your upset, we weren't a thing. It shouldn't offend you this much. Yes, this is our secret spot, but it's a public place. I can show people I love. You shouldn't be acting this way. I’m trying to be nice to you as hard as possible so please understand me..” he sighed before looking him. Seeing me scoffed as he looked away.

I was fury ignited, i couldn’t believe what I heard. Anger took over as I stood up, “you really are a dickhead..” “what are you-” "Are you kidding me, Yang Jungwon? All those hangouts and eye contacts mean nothing to you? Taking another girl to our secret spot might be cool for you, but it was OUR secret spot. I have every right to be mad at you right now. Saying I should understand you when you don’t even understand me? What makes you think I should huh?” Tears was clearly all over my face once again. Over a dann boy who I though it was the one and only. I sighed as I grabbed my bag to leave, I ignored his yells. Passing through the walls that we made so much memories together, ready to step out of this bittersweet place.

However, i was blocked by the owner's son, Jake, stepped in. He hugged me tightly as i sobbed into his shirt. the stuff a guy can do a girl.. “shush your fine you have me..” softly and carefully brushing my hair as he wipes my tears.. if only you understand see how much I wish it was jungwon that’s comforting me like this, and realizing his mistakes all along.

Jungwon, desperate to salvage the situation, chased after her. However, he halted in his tracks as he met Jake's intense gaze. It was as if his world was crashing down, feeling weak under the weight of Jake's stare. He knew he had lost her, he finally realized how much he loves her. And he messed up their perfect blend.

Just because Jungwon had made one girl weak didn't mean another couldn't make him weaker. The realization hit him hard as he watched y/n finding solace in Jake's embrace that was once his embrace. It was a stark reminder that actions had consequences, and he couldn't take someone for granted, especially someone who genuinely cared about him when no one else did.

The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by Y/n's muffled sobs. Jungwon's pride crumbled as he reflected on the choices he'd made. The secret spot that once held cherished memories now echoed with the pain he had inflicted on y/n.

Months passed. Jungwon would constantly go back to the cafe, hoping you would be back. Ordering your drink everytime. Everything Jake was the one making it. No wonder why she likes this drink. Jake has now certainly remember your drink on top of his head because of jungwon uncontrollable addiction to the drink, as well as you.. "Jungwon, actions have consequences. You can't expect someone to be unaffected when you treat them like this. Maybe it's time to reflect on your actions and consider the impact they have on others." With those words coming out of Jake’s mouth as he continue to wipe the mug in his hands. Leaving Jungwon sitting alone in the shadow of the secret spot that had witnessed the unraveling of something once special. The weight of regret settled on his shoulders as he faced the consequences of his thoughtless actions.

Jumping out of jungwon’s strong and warm embrace. Patting beside you praying that the dream was just a joke and your finally back in reality. Shit that felt too damn real.. you began to calm yourself down as you take deep breaths trying to not wake jungwon up. But it was too late, the sensitive boy had felt something giving wrong, and sat up. Rubbing his eyes to adjust the darkness.

“Hey baby you alright? Had a bad dream?” He whispered quietly, voice rough and deep as he carefully pulls you back into his embrace. You only nodded not wanting to tell him what happened. He combed your hair softly as he comforted you. Feeling bad that his sweetheart is getting horrible nightmares.

“You left me for someone else in the dream. It felt real. I could move in the dream and control everything.” He was caught off guard by your sudden outburst of a confession, he didn’t know what to say because he knows that this would become reality in the next universe they are in. And he wish he wasn’t such a loser to be destroying girls hearts. However, I guess this is what the universe had set them.

“Baby, I Hope you know that it’s not true and is just a dream. In this reality your with me. Protecting and loving you forever. Even if this happened in our next universe, we will eventually find each other again. No matter where we are, we are always together connected. We are the perfect blend my love..” he mumbled as he placed kisses all over your cheeks. Smiling at you even though you couldn’t see it in the dark, his smile seems to be brighter than ever. You treasure him everyday. It doesn’t matter what happens next because in this universe.You are each others perfect blend. And that’s what really matters.

series taglist : @enhaz1 @dubuii @in-somnias-world @ultimatestayandminoronce @yenqa @euncsace @hoondiors @yannew @mrchweeee @ariadores @oldjws @frukkoneeeeg @dimplewonie @seobstarr @asteria-wood (white = i cant tag)

#kflixnet #k films #k neighborhood #k lables #🥥 하이브의 영화 #🗯️ ! in every multiverse series #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen x oc #enhypen jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon angst #jungwon x reader

[xhdream]

sooooo i promised to come up with more dom!junhan thought and you know how much i have on my mind when it comes to him ! especially with the attitude he has on stage recently (which is very hot btw, he's making me feel things), confidence looks good on him ngl...

which had me thinking about rockstar!junhan who is very cocky and has every girls he wants, fooling around with a different one after each one if his band's concert. that it is until he meets you and after one night together, he becomes obsessed with the taste of you and you're now his favourite girl, he doesn't want anybody else.

so as he good girlfriend, you come backstage to support him before and after every concert. i just know he would be so rough with you because he has a lot of adrenaline left and that drives me crazy. i'm a firm believer that he would also love it if you dragged him backstage to ride him because you had enough of all his groupie screaming his name <3

a/n: naksksnsnskj eli 🥲 my blog is the safest space for dom!junhan thoughts istg i will let him control my whole life at this point i’m so obsessed with this side of him. this is such a good idea (as always ur mind is yummy) and i have so much to say?? the more i write for him, the more thoughts keep coming to me.. i’ll make sure to share them cause dom!junhan is what we really need <3

rockstar!junhan who fucks you senseless when you meet for the first time and spends the rest of the night awake hoping this will not be just a one night stand for you, cause it definitely wasn’t for him. you put a spell on him - with your pretty moans that he started missing the sound of just an hour later; your beauty; your mind and your confidence that radiates even in your submissive voice. you know what you want and the way you weren’t intimidated by him to get it excited him like nothing else ever did.

groupies always throw themselves at him; letting him fuck them only to act like he’s the only one in the world; pleading to not be forgotten by him, but you didn’t do any of those things, and for days he was on edge not able to stop wondering if you’re spending your time with another guy.

rockstar!junhan who lets you do as you wish to him when he catches you being jealous. his groupies never miss a concert of his and the girls that dream to become one, and are willing to try anything to succeed, make up not a small number of the crowd. you cannot help but get frustrated with the way they scream his name and look at him like they’re eating him up, and junhan always knows when you’ve had enough with just one look in your eyes. “let it out on me, baby,” he moans into your mouth. your lipstick smeared all over his lips and chin - you like that. you want to have as many marks on his body to show the world he’s yours.

rockstar!junhan who takes you backstage and doesn’t try to take the lead like he always does. for you, he’s letting his guard down, and his heart tells him that there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. he doesn’t care if you two get caught or heard so he moans and cusses without trying to control his voice as you ride him with possessive speed on the couch. the adrenaline rush from the concert still hasn’t gone away and now it blends with the thrill from your touch causing him to feel high. his eyes are heavy, his skin sticky and glistening with sweat while the way your pussy spasms around him has him dizzy. you can smell and taste the alcohol he consumed earlier when he leans in to steal a sloppy kiss from your lips, then let his tongue run against your warm neck. “fuck, just like that, ride me, baby… ride me hard… i’m all yours, remember?”

rockstar!junhan who has an obsession with pain kink. he loves the way you bite his lips, neck and shoulders; the way you run your nails all over his back and chest making red lines that sometimes bleed - and he enjoys these things not only when he overstimulates you, but also when you ride him, letting out the frustrations that your jealousy brings you. he lets you choke him and enjoy the broken moans his red puffy lips release while his hands help out your hips to rock back and forth quicker. you should enjoy this while it lasts though, cause afterwards he’s gonna take his time with you… and he’d look so hot pounding into you aggressively with the hickeys and scratches you created the previous night all over his body.

#💌: xhdream inbox #— elllisaaa #xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #junhan hard thoughts #hyeongjun hard thoughts #junhan x reader #hyeongjun x reader #xdinary heroes x reader

[ticklishfiend]

Stained Leather (Good Omens)

(Switch!Aziraphale/Switch!Crowley)

⚠️SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS S2⚠️

Summary : He’s lost his angel. Now all Crowley has are the memories they shared. Memories he wishes he could forget as easily as he remembers them.

A/N : love these gay old-ass genderless beings with my whole heart and soul. which is why i’m devastated and needed to vent with angst and tickles :)

Warnings : angst, tickling

Word Count : 2221 (omg kinda angel numbers)

hope y’all enjoy! :)

—

He’d been thinking a lot lately. For someone’s sake, he sure knows he’s got the time for it now. Driving endlessly for days, weeks, maybe months. Who really knows, with how time has blended seamlessly together like one long stretched road, terrifyingly eternal in its seeming hatred for dead ends. He’s had far too much time to ponder on the last, oh, 6000 years or so. But who’s counting? Certainly not Crowley.

He gave his head a stern shake, trying so hard to knock loose all those dreadful little thoughts that keep his knuckles white against the steering wheel. But thoughts always fell right back into place, and yet again, he felt trapped. Did the Bentley shrink since he drove it last? It seems far more cramped than usual. Like he doesn’t fit comfortably anymore, like his body can’t seem to find that Crowley shaped indent in the leather cushion that he worked so hard to make just for him. For a moment, he wonders if it took a new shape, one the car favored over his own.

Angel-shaped.

His eyes shut tight, silent fireworks in the darkness of his pinched eyelids. He’s thinking like a fool now. An idiotic, foolish sap.

That one thought has his mind drifting though, and he feels his heart race with the memories. It’s not the usual heart rate he has when thinking of his…the angel. No, it’s uncomfortable and uneasy. Unbearable. Like a blood-boiling type of heart rate. He’s never felt this way before when remembering.

One particular memory hits him like an oncoming truck. Makes him wish a real truck would hit him even harder.

…

“Please Angel, you’re gonna ruin the leather!”

“Oh, do stop being foolish. I know you are well aware that I’m not much of a mess-making type. Plus, I did bring napkins-“

“Mmyes, napkins, the pinnacle of all cleaning products against 100 year old leather” Crowley says too sarcastically for Aziraphale’s taste. “D’you remember 1991, that little excursion of ours in New York. You tried a hotdog that resulted in the world’s first mustard stain down an angel’s white button up,” Crowley popped the ‘P’ as he poked Aziraphale’s chest, right where the stain had sat years ago. Aziraphale swatted the hand away, annoyance painted all over his face. “It took a miracle to get that stain out, quite literally might I add.”

Aziraphale fixed his posture quickly, chin up in defiance. “Now that’s not fair, and you know it, Crowley. I distinctly remember a certain someone pinching my knee under the table just so I would spill something all over my garments.” Aziraphale huffed, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins he brought specifically because he knew Crowley would make a fuss. He had gotten an ice cream cone on their most recent outing, buying from a local vendor who made it from scratch. He tipped quite generously too, as homemade is always his favorite.

“Yeah well, s’not my fault your vessel’s too ticklish to keep food in your mouth,” Crowley grinned, leaning just a tad closer to Aziraphale so he could get a good look at that flustered expression painted on his angel’s face.

“Oh hush, it wasn’t even in my mouth when it fell. You know that, too,” He took a generous lick of the treat, unable to hold back a smile and slight wiggle at the strawberry flavor coating his tongue. “And don’t you forget, I’m not the only one here with a sensitive vessel. I seem to remember a particular incident in, oh, 2004 was it? Ah yes, you drew quite the attention of just about everyone in the pub with your scream-“

“Oh shuttuuuup, I did not scream,” Crowley insisted, just as he did back in ‘04, even with all those curious eyes on him. He specifically remembers two blue ones paired with a particularly un-angelic smile bringing a sickening warmth to his face. He merely rolled his eyes at the memory.

“A shrieking cackle then, maybe?” Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his cheeky smile as Crowley glared at him. “Would a shrill squeal better suffice? Nooo, I know, it was more like the wail of a —ah! Ah, Crohowley, wait-!” Aziraphale was cut off mid sentence by devilish fingers squeezing just above his knee cap, an unfortunate repeat of ‘91 waiting to happen. “The leather, Crohowley, the leatheheher!”.

“Oh no, do continue! I’d just love to hear what other synonyms you’ve been cooking up the past 10 years!” Crowley couldn’t help the grin as he saw Aziraphale struggle to keep his ice cream from dripping while pulling at the tickly hand on his leg. Those angelic giggles always have been his downfall, though he never did complain. “Haven’t got all day, have we, Angel?”

Aziraphale groaned through his giggles, nearly crushing the cone in his hand from his mirth. “You fiehehend!” He stomped his legs (gently, though for the soft angel it might as well been a violent kick) against the car floor, nearly pressing his face into the window next to him in giggly embarrassment. “Stop ahahat once!” His voice squeaked on the last word, and Crowley couldn’t hold back the fond coo if he wanted to.

“Aww cmon, now, you don’t have to kick her! What did she ever do to you, huh?” His hand moved to strike the angel’s side, cackling like the demon he is as Aziraphale practically folded sideways, the angel’s hand on the opposite side having quite the struggle to pull the tickly one off him. He must’ve forgotten he could switch the ice cream to his other hand, the poor ticklish thing.

Aziraphale no longer got any words in, too caught up in giggling his head off to care. He’d folded so much to the side his head began falling onto Crowley’s shoulder, seizing the opportunity to hide his face in the material.

Crowley thanked everything above and below that Aziraphale’s eyes were hidden, now that a familiar fond smile and warm blush painted the demon’s usually cold face. He loved seeing his angel like this, and he could surely get used to it.

However, he didn’t want to embarrass his friend so much he discorporated (though the thought awfully enticed him. Not the discorporation necessarily, but definitely getting his angel to blush so hard he was hot to the touch).

Crowley finally let go of him, smoothing out the fabric of his suit and snickering when Aziraphale flinched. “Oh, I’m done, angel. You can relax.”

Aziraphale pouted as he caught his breath, shoving the cone towards Crowley which he took without thinking twice. Aziraphale smoothed out his coat on his own, like he just knew Crowley wasn’t doing it properly before. After composing himself in silence, he gave a glare towards his demon. “That was rather childish of you, don’t you think?”

Crowley grinned. “Mmyes, I suppose it was,” he took a lick of the ice cream before handing it back to a still blushing Aziraphale. The angel looked to the roof of the car as if sending a silent prayer. Crowley tilted his head. “But rather fun though, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale gave a tight shake of his head. “I cannot agree in the slightest. Exploiting my vessel’s sensitivities like that is just…well it’s unprofessional, Crowley. You should know better.”

“What, know better than to give my angel a little laugh once in a while? I say no harm, no foul,” He shrugged, sagging back into his seat and throwing an arm over the back of Aziraphale’s own.

“No no, much harm, much foul. It’s humiliating!” Aziraphale pouted again, looking down at his ice cream with those awful puppy-dog eyes Crowley just can’t stand for long. “Vessels are such strange things.”

Crowley sighed, “That they are.” He gazed at Aziraphale’s face for a moment, before decidedly looking anywhere but his face. He’d embarrassed his angel. He really didn’t mean to (well, he did, but he was allowed to feel a little bad about it after). Those heavenly giggles just have such a hold on him sometimes. He growled when a thought popped into his head he absolutely despised, but knew would make his friend feel all the better. “Look, if it embarrasses you that bad…and really it shouldn’t, it’s just laughing after all, not like I dressed you in feathers and made you dance down the street like a plump chicken-“

“Get to the point,” Aziraphale said straight-edged, like he’d been waiting to hear this from the start of his pout-parade. Oh that slimy little bastard. He always got his way with Crowley, didn’t he?

And still, Crowley didn’t call him out on it. He just growled through a long, dramatic sigh, looking up towards the roof. “You…well, I could allow, if only for a moment-!” He pointed a finger towards Aziraphale’s face (which he was looking at again, why did he always feel the need to look), and he was doing that smug little grin he always did, cheeks round and eyes squinted in his direction. Oh, Someone save him. “…nrk, just, make it quick, would you angel?”

Aziraphale cheered back up a little too quickly at that. “Oh of course. If you please?” He offered the cone back to Crowley, who took it with great hesitance. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, never one who was able to handle the anticipation. His lips pressed together in preparation to conceal all those embarrassing sounds he dreaded escaping, he held his breath and waited.

And waited.

He was half tempted to say something, but he was far too clever for that. Aziraphale’s done this before to him, making him open his mouth to complain before striking so he had no chance of holding back those sounds his angel dared to call giggles.

Instead, he opted to open one eye, just to see what all the hold up was about. So much for being clever.

Aziraphale’s hands were poised over Crowley’s torso, fingers wiggling with very un-angelic intent. His face said it all, though, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes like he had been waiting for him to look. Such an unfair game he played, at least Crowley got it over and done with!

Crowley growled behind gritted teeth, smacking away at those mean, teasy hands with his own free one. Aziraphale tsked.

“Now, Crowley, you said you’d give me a moment’s tickle, but I haven’t even started yet! You can’t shove me away already,” His hands continued their tickly motions here and there while being fought off (quite lazily if he had any say about it), “It’s against the rules.” Crowley groaned, always unable to stay silent against teasing.

“We’re rule-breakers, it’s what we do—AH!! No wahait! Oh you fuhucker!” Crowley released bubbly cackles as soon as Aziraphale touched down, squeezing the bottom of his ribs like his fingers were a magnet to his most sensitive spots.

“Such lovely laughs you always produce when I tickle here. Though, I’ve wondered before why some spots are more ticklish than others. Like, for example, here-“ He moved his hands up to Crowley’s neck, fingers fluttering softly against the skin and making Crowley break out in breathy giggles. “-you make such sweet giggles-“

“Nohohot gigglin’!”

“-and yet when I tickle your ribs, you just-“ He struck back down against his bony ribs, the gentle fervor behind his finger tips sending Crowley’s head slamming against the headrest behind him, overcome with belly laughs and cackles he couldn’t contain if he wanted to (he did not, but don’t tell his angel that). “-my, well you just can't take it, can you?”

Curse Aziraphale and his evil teasing. Why did he have to be so sweet and gentle about it? Always made Crowley want to explode on the spot just to expel all that nervous, flustered energy inside him.

“Stohohop! Really, ahahangel, I-!”

CRUNCH

The tickling stopped, and so did any movement or sounds amongst the two of them, for just a moment. They eyed the ice cream cone dripping between Crowley’s fingers, dollops falling onto the leather between his legs.

A small snicker from the back of Aziraphale’s throat, before the angel fell into helpless cackles. The irony of it all just…tickled him so.

And though so very annoyed at that sticky stain he was now having to angle himself away from, avoiding getting any on his black jeans…Crowley began to laugh too. What could he say, angelic laughter was far too contagious for him to help himself.

…

Crowley burnt from the inside out. The flames soured everything inside him, churning his insides and scolding his flesh to a burnt replica.

His eyes unconsciously darted to the seat he sat upon, wondering if under all the cleaning products and the eventual miracle, there was still a sweet pink stain underneath it all.

He turned back towards the road. His hold so tight on the wheel his arms started to shake, pushing hard against the wheel until it began shaking too.

Strangling the wheel of his poor car, he shook and fought and bellowed out a loud, growling yell from deep in his belly, slamming his fist against the wheel repeatedly. Of course, it was of no use. Memories replayed over, a broken record of moments he dreaded bringing to surface.

With an agonized cry, he tried again.

—

A/N : hope you enjoyed, i didn’t, these two have broken me!!!! bye i’m gonna go listen to Unknown/Nth by Hozier yet again and grieve

#tickle community #tickling #tickle fic #good omens tickling #lee!aziraphale #lee!crowley #ler!aziraphale #ler!crowley #good omens 2 tickling

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 7 🦌

"Ghosts and Dreams"

Content: Paranormal, ghosts, threats of future punishments, getting caught snooping, whumper comforts whumpee after a strange nightmare and everything is great but then everything goes wrong and worse and oops my hand slipped.

1,500 Words

Heyyy it's part 7! Do you like paranoid whumpees? Whumpees who get caught snooping through whumper's things? Whumpees who push a lenient whumper to their snapping point? Ghosts?! Then you'll like this part!

The first part of Fawn and Hunter is getting loads of attention all of a sudden, which is perfect timing as I've just finished this part! Make sure to leave a like so I know you want more ♡ thank you!

Let's go! 👻

       The next day, Hunter was skinning the deer on the kitchen table while Fawn sat in the living room, sitting on the old, dusty couch as they were instructed. They were crouched up, hugging their knees, wearing socks, sweatpants, and their sweater. They were better able to take in all the details of their surroundings now.

       The dusty floorboards, the dirty rugs, the broken clock on the wall that ticked, but the hands didn’t move. The bookcase of old, tattered books. The wooden walls, the dim lamp, the ceiling fan that looked ready to fall off its hinges. The place was ready to collapse, but still it stood.

       They listened to the floorboards that creaked under Hunter’s feet as they occasionally moved around in the kitchen. The sound of slicing flesh and sawing disturbed Fawn. They tried to focus in on the sound of the ticking clock, or the wind outside, listening in silent thought.

       They always felt tired, and now had a near constant headache. It was difficult to sleep, the pain distracted them, despite how sleepy they were. They didn’t want their head to hurt anymore. They didn’t want to feel tired and cold all the time. They felt about ready to cry from it all, burying their face into their legs. They just wanted it to stop.

       The next time they lifted their head, it was from a nudge on their shoulder. They turned their head and looked at Hunter.

       “Sleepy, hm?”

       Fawn nodded their head, holding back tears. They must’ve dozed off, but still felt just as tired and in pain as they were before.

       “Have you been getting enough sleep at night?”

       Fawn shook their head. How could they sleep in a place like this? When they were scared, and in so much pain? Not to mention Hunter’s recent paranoia made Fawn extremely on edge. Hunter tried their best to hide it, but Fawn could see it clear as day. Something unsettled them, and that unsettled Fawn.

       “Why not?” Hunter asked.

       “I'm in pain. And scared. This place is haunted.” Fawn answered, meekly.

       “What makes you say that?”

       “There are ghosts. I see ghosts. All the time. I— I thought it was my head. I think. I don't— I don't know. They watch me."

       Hunter chuckled, “You’re afraid of ghosts?”

       “I always have been.” They said quietly.

       “More than you are of me?”

       Fawn didn’t answer.

       “Oh, that’s so cute.” Hunter said, “You’re more scared of ghosts than me. Adorable.”

       Fawn grumbled and mumbled, “I have anxiety. I can’t help that I’m scared of ghosts.”

       “Ghosts that aren’t real and can’t hurt you, might I add. Though I’m very much real, and very much can hurt if I so please.”

       “I told you I can’t help it. I don’t decide what I’m scared of, my stupid fucking brain does. I just— ugh— just leave me alone.” They sighed in frustration, burying their face back into their knees, wanting nothing more than their head pains to go away. Maybe then they could actually think.

       Night came faster than usual, but it might be because their sense of time started to blur. Everyday felt foggy as they all seemed to blend together. They were all the same.

       Fawn curled up on themself as they tried to hide. They had no blankets to hide under, no lamp to turn on, no safe place to run away to.

       They couldn’t stand how much this place reminded them of home. All the worst parts of it. With no way out.

       Trapped again in the very place they tried so hard to escape.

       Though worst of all was the horrendous fact that Hunter was better than both their parents. A reality that was hard to stomach.

       It was extremely difficult to sleep. Every little sound made them want to cry. The rotten smell of the cabin felt different. It didn't smell like a dead deer anymore. Hunter never let them rot like that. No, this smell was vile. The putrid smell of death. Though Fawn had no idea where it was coming from.

       They held themself back from gagging, or throwing up. Their fear didn't help in the slightest. They felt their hands shake, and their headache started pounding as they clenched their jaw. They couldn’t hold back their tears any longer as they flowed from their eyes as they cried in the pitch darkness.

       Eventually through the turmoil, the tossing and turning, and the tears, they managed to fall asleep. Though it was far from a peaceful one. They repeatedly woke up throughout the night, their heart racing, sweating, cold, aching, it was terrible. But the worst of all was the eventual nightmare they had.

       In the nightmare, they saw a massive apocalypse. They saw zombies, aliens, mass murder, vampires, werewolves, and massive mutated beasts. The thing that finally woke them was a voice that sounded real, like it was spoken directly in their ear. Just the simple word, "Consequences."

       They jolted awake, jumping up with a gasp. The sound of their heaving breaths was the only thing in the silent air. They’d never had any kind of dream that was like that. They were on the brink of a panic attack, and ran up the stairs, pounding on the basement door, "Hunter! Hunter!"

       Hunter opened the basement door, and Fawn instantly wrapped their arms tightly around them, crying into their chest. They couldn’t hold it back anymore, they needed any kind of comfort, even if it came from Hunter. They didn’t care.

       “P-please. It’s scary. And I’m in pain. Please, I— I don’t want to be alone.” They cried.

       "Hm." They scoffed with a smile, "I've gotta say, Fawn, you're the strangest person I've ever held here. Come on, let's get you back to bed." They said, picking them up. Fawn simply whined as they were gently thrown over their shoulder, wrapping their arms around Hunter’s neck.

       They were carried to their room, and roughly placed down on a bed. "You're really pathetic, you know that?" Hunter said, looking down at them, "Pathetic ir stupid, I'm not sure which one. Calling out to me for help. Help from what, spirits?"

Fawn didn't respond, simply they rolled over on their side and curled in on themself. Hunter crawled on the bed with them, "You don't get to yell for my help and then ignore me." They grabbed onto their shoulder, laid down behind them, and put their arms around them. Fawn only made a small grumble in response, but neither said another word.

       Though Hunter had to admit, it felt nice to hold something so tiny and scared. And for Fawn? It was nice to be held.

~~~

       Fawn refused to leave Hunter’s side all day. They followed them like a scared puppy, eyes wide, fidgeting with their own fingers as they kept their gaze towards the floor. Hunter found it cute, and almost pitiful. 

       The next night felt even worse than the last. Fawn felt like they were starting to lose their mind. All of the fear, the pain, and their own self-hatred at their reliance on their captor. Their hands shook as anxiety coursed through them, their heart rate spiking, their head starting to pound. They were angry, they were scared, they were sad, and they were in pain.

       Fawn clenched their fist as they dug their fingers into the mattress, angry tears falling from their tired eyes. They didn’t care anymore. They didn’t care.

       They got up and turned on the basement light, and immediately began rummaging through Hunter’s stuff more. They took a closer look at the collection of missing posters. They inspected their faces, some of them looking vaguely familiar, though they couldn't for the life of them think of where from. Their hands shook as their grip tightened on the old dusty paper. They were angry.

       Hunter could be as nice as they wanted to them. That doesn’t change the fact that they killed all of these innocent people. Innocent people who’s missing posters this monster kept as trophies. Well, fuck your trophies.

       It was an involuntary movement at first as Fawn tore the poster they were holding in half. But it felt good. So they destroyed more of them, ripping them to shreds.

       Suddenly they had a moment of realization and almost… comfort. The ghosts they felt they’ve been seeing… maybe they weren’t crazy, maybe it was the trapped spirits of Hunter’s victims. Maybe that’s why they felt familiar. Maybe ripping the posters is freeing them and the comfort is their thanks? Well, either that or they ARE completely insane, but either way, they finished ripping the posters with a smile on their face.

       They were so lost in their own thoughts, they didn’t even hear the basement door opening, nor the footsteps coming down the stairs…

       "Really, Fawn?" Hunter said sternly loud, almost in a yell. "After everything I do for you, this is how you repay me? By disobeying me? Snooping through my things?"

       "Hunter, I—"

       "No, I've had enough with you. I told you, you have no idea what I'm like when I'm mean. I can be your worst nightmare. I'll make the ones you've been having look like a fucking fairytale."

Taglist: @parasitebunny

Fawn's headache that I wouldn't shut up about this chapter was basically a vent from me. I have this occasional sharp stabbing pain on the left side of my head, and in my ear, and it's been really hindering my ability to focus as well as sleep. I'm not sure yet if I want to see a doctor. I'm hoping it's just something to do with my jaw, as I do clench my teeth from stress but idk.

Also sorry for how abrupt/sudden the ending was or any of the writing quality here. The aforementioned headache is to blame for that (or at least that's my excuse lol)

Lmk in the comments if you want added or removed for any future updates !

Thank you for reading ! 💕🦌

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #fawn and hunter #rural whump

[floralhippie22]

Why “Plastic Beach” is a Masterpiece

I think something lost in a lot of music is an understanding of story. Music stemmed from the need to tell stories through verbalized communication that extended beyond speech. Morals, teachings, beliefs, were all told through stories, and then translated into song. Music is not music without the element of story. Even the simplest chord, can make one feel a thousand things.

It’s 2010 and I had recently moved into a new house. My parents played an album that I didn’t recognize while we are moving furniture into our new home. It had a very different sound from the normal Lumineers, Radiohead, Mumford and Sons, and Neil Diamond I was used to hearing played prevalently in my youth. “The revolution will be televised” ringing in my ears and I remember feeling a beat, very casual yet meaningful play that, even then, I knew was something deeper than one would think at first glance.

Even then, I knew something of a masterpiece was at work. See, what makes “Plastic Beach” by Gorillaz work is its asymmetrical narrative. The album starts with a fully orchestrated “overture” (if you will) that’s very rare in a predominately hip-hop album. This is what I liked to call “natural” music. All the notes are played like by instrumentalists through natural means. Yet, the album ends with completely electronic music. “Pirate Jet”, the finale, has very few real instruments playing in the song.

But, why is this important? Well, because “Plastic Beach” tells the story of a world where our beaches are filled with plastic, water pollution makes a man a giant, and the industry music is synthetic and fake. While a man, Russel (the drummer for the band), becoming huge cannot happen in the real world, a lot of the ideas and concepts mentioned within “Plastic Beach” are a perfect representation of the dangers of the modern day. The asymmetrical sound of this album represents the natural world (non-electronic music) and the polluted fake world (all electronic music). And slowly but surly, the entire album end’s completely electronic.

However, this is not a testament against certain genres of music. Gorillaz is very well known for a beautiful blend of electronic and traditional instruments within their music. So why choose this as an allegory? Well I liked to use my favorite song ever, that just so happens to be in this album, Melancholy Hill, to explain why.

Melancholy Hill explores the fake and synthetic world of the modern day music industry. While it’s gotten better over the last decade, when the album came out it was near impossible to do well within the industry if you weren’t conventionally attractive, used certain styles, and branded yourself a certain way. Obviously, there were outliers in this statement, however, I would argue that they had to work three times as hard to get where other big names at the time were. And many of these big names… didn’t make what Damon Albarn, co-creator of Gorillaz, saw as music. The lyrics were seen as nonsensical and two-dimensional and the music hardly used any music theory let alone skill within its works. It sounded fake. So, instead of bashing all electronic or pop music, he created a masterpiece that blended everything. Melancholy Hill uses both electronic and traditional music within the song, showing that neither music style should be ignored. A blend of both truly is perfect, in a certain way. Many of the best songs: Empire Ants, Rhinestone Eyes, Stylo, Broken, etc. on the album use this technique of mixing styles, and I think that was very intentional.

Everything above comes together to tell us this story: Technology and the modern world can be used to be create amazing and beautiful things. But, representing naturalistic ideas and our Earth which gives us life, is key to prosperity. We must protect it at all costs… and “Plastic Beach” by Gorillaz is the masterpiece that says it best.

#gorillaz #plastic beach #murdoc gorillaz #2d gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #russel gorillaz #electronic music #music #hip hiop #personal essay

[yyumemika]

The Thrill That Emerges: Episode 2

Characters: Shu, Tsumugi

Season: Winter

Shu: —You don’t need to apologise so much. I understand the situation well.

If you feel sorry for me, end the call now, return to the site and make an effort to solve the problem.

Yes. That's fine. Well, I'll be waiting at the usual café.

(More than anything, it's hard to believe that problems would arise at work for a small girl only on the day that we're making arrangements for the feature live.)

(Oh well, if I read a book, the time will pass quickly.)

(Moreover, I haven't been to that café in a while and I'm looking forward to eating the soft bread.)

(Although the patronage has changed after the shuffle unit project, I just hope that it doesn't become so noisy.)

Tsumugi: ...

Huh? Is that Shu-kun?

Shu: ...

Tsumugi: It's Shu-kun isn't it? Why are you ignoring me?

Shu: ...

Tsumugi: H-Huh? Can you really not hear me? Shu-kun, it's me! It's Tsumugi Aoba~!

Shu: ...I don't want you raising your voice so close to my ear, Aoba.

Tsumugi: Ah, you finally noticed me...! Thank goodness.

Shu: I'm not good at all... I never thought I'd bump into you in the middle of town like this.

Tsumugi: Fufu. I was surprised too. Even though I knew you wanted to return to Japan.

Are you going to ES from here? Or is it something else?

Shu: I'm on the way to the café from when we were in a shuffle unit together.

Tsumugi: Aah, it was promoted as BLEND+...

But... I thought for certain that café was closed today?

Shu: ...What? I thought that café was only supposed to be closed during national holidays?

Tsumugi: Yes. That was originally true but...

Because the café now has a reputation for being familiar with ES rookie idols, the business structure has changed a little bit.

But, it very rarely has days off. I remembered it's closed today because it's so rare.

Shu: Ha. The café is closed and there's trouble at the girl's work... Today must be my unlucky day.

Tsumugi: Is Anzu-chan in trouble?

Shu: Ah, you don't need to worry. The problem isn't as big as it seems.

But... She did just contact me to inform me we she wouldn't make it in time for the feature live briefing.

Tsumugi: I see. I guess it's Shu-kun's turn next.

Does that mean the bag you're holding is a present for Anzu-chan? And my souvenir... I don't expect you got me anything?

Shu: You know very well. Of course not.

Tsumugi: Uh. I thought so but, you say it so bluntly...

Shu: I question why you thought I would give you something in the first place. I have no intention of gifting you something as though we're friends.

Tsumugi: Eh~ I though we'd become close after forming the shuffle unit together...

I'm shocked, Shu-kun.

Shu: You're being awfully troublesome today.

Haa... If you really want a souvenir, feel free to have some of the pastries I left in the Starmony Hall shared room.

Tsumugi: Are they a souvenir for everyone at Starmony? How strange, for Shu-kun to do such a thing.

Shu: I suppose. Since I return to Japan to often, if I bought souvenirs every time there would never be an end to it.

...However, I once had someone help me pick a souvenir for a friend in Paris.

It's late but, I just thought I should show my gratitude.

Tsumugi: ...♪

Shu: ...What. I don't want to see that disgusting look on your face.

Tsumugi: I just think Shu-kun really has changed♪

No, you were always like that, but it's started to come through recently.

In any case, take my word that I'll be very thankful when I go back to Starmony Hall.

Shu: Hmph. Do as you wish.

Tsumugi: In that case, I'll be on my way. I'm looking forward to Shu-kun's feature live♪

Shu: You really haven't changed, Aoba...

(Right, I'd better inform the girl we can't use the usual café for our meeting.)

Shu: Over here, girl.

I've had enough apologies. I've heard all about the situation and it's no fault of yours.

Then I won't blame you for this matter.

...Aside from that, I'm more concerned about your appearance.

It's a meeting, but it's also work. Although we're familiar from our school days, it's not good to lack manners.

...Of course. I know that you hurried over to not keep me waiting.

I'll give you time to adjust your garments a little... Hm?

Shu: You're curious about what's on the table?

This is a gift for you. It seems to be new product released by a popular pastry shop in Paris.

I purchased this on the recommendation of a friend in Paris. I'm not sure if it will suit your taste but...

"Is it okay if I have some"?

I bought it for you. Rather, what are you holding back for.

You've been looking after Kagehira. Take it as an everyday courtesy.

Also, I have one more thing for you.

It's an art book. It summarises every piece that has caught my eye in the past year.

...Although the feature live is my solo live, I'll need your cooperation to build that stage.

I appreciate your ability, but that doesn't mean you fully understand the art that I create.

That's why I've gifted you this art book.

By knowing about the works that I feel comfortable with, perhaps you can get closer to my point of view.

If you do that, we can come to an understanding about what my ideal performance is, can we not?

We can both envisage the same perfect form.

That is very important in a collaborative production.

Although, you can't come to understand the world of art in only a day.

At the very least, I hope it helps you expand your perspective.

You seem to enjoy it... Yes, give me your best effort.

However, you're eating more than I expected. Well, if you're happy don't feel bad.

Right, lets begin the meeting for the feature live right away.

Hm? You're asking what we should do about the pamphlet photography?

...That being said, what do you think about a photoshoot in Paris.

Although I return to Japan occasionally, my current working location is Paris.

In that case, it would make sense to take the off-shots in Paris, and above all, that would allow Shu Itsuki to demonstrate his strengths as an artist.

"I'll check my schedule"?

...You can come to my group exhibitions sneakily with Kagehira, but you can't just reply to my invitation?

Don't worry, I'll act as your guide.

There's no lie in the words that we will create a stage together. This time you'll accompany me until the end.

In order to strike the world as the artist, Shu Itsuki.

#ensemble stars #enstars #shu itsuki #tsumugi aoba #english translation

[cuppajj]

[TF Mercy] No Longer Helpless

Kindred in their history, Fortress Maximus and Rung meet up to check in on each other's well being; but what was planned to be a simple conversation suddenly goes south, and the Autobot general suddenly finds himself in the midst of the hunter's abrupt and trauma-fueled panic attack.

[AN: So uhhh I ship Rung and Fortress Maximus in TF: Mercy >>;; it started out as a joke about them getting together because they went through some very similar stuff but then the joke turned out to have actual substance, one thing leads to another and here is my first fic for the game with them! It takes place after Reformed Predator, and hence has spoilers from the story. Just to be safe there are also spoilers for Space Adventure as well! If you haven't read Mercy's RP or SA Storylines then I encourage you to so you have better context of what's going on--but you can still enjoy it without nonetheless! Anyway without further ado!]

TF Mercy belongs to @emperor-kumquat​

-

    Fortress Maximus had arrived on time like he always did, knocking on Rung’s apartment door with a book in his servo. They had agreed to check in on each other, discussing their feelings, thoughts, and anything that had happened to them within the past two weeks. It had become an unofficial two-way therapy session, with a little amiable conversation about life thrown in, and the occasional book talk. As a librarian, Rung had given Maximus plenty of book recommendations, most revolving around the general’s flowering interest in nature and animals. Today, Maximus had finished his book on early cybertronian botanical practices, and was interested in returning it to Rung ahead of time. When Rung opened the door, the two greeted each other with friendly smiles, exchanging pleasantries as he let him in. A pair of energon glasses were already prepared for them, Maximus’s favorite blend, which carried a strong aroma. They sat on the coffee table, and the Autobot had helped himself to a sip as he managed to fit his massive frame on the couch.     He hadn’t said anything, but Maximus had noticed that Rung sounded gloomier, whenever they called each other. He insisted he was okay when he asked, blaming work or recent hunts for his troubles; but as much as Maximus wanted to leave it at that, he knew that Rung wouldn’t feel this way over work. He hoped to discuss it with him today, during their official unofficial session, when they were meant to divulge everything. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t come across as too nosy, especially if the reason was truly such a simple thing.     “Oh, I almost forgot our notes,” Rung had realized as he was about to take a seat next to the other. “I’ll be right back.”     “Take your time,” Maximus implored, setting his glass back down on the coffee table. Rung disappeared past the door to his habsuite, leaving both of them to their own thoughts.

    Thoughts that Maximus was unaware of, that had been in the back of Rung’s head for weeks. Every time he stepped into his room, he would pass Funeral, mounted on the wall. He hadn’t stopped to gaze at it lest he was pulling it off, but recently, he found himself staring at each intricate cut and scratch riddling its sleek gray metal, from the history of monster hunting that he would embark on. There were times when a sparkeater would round on him, claws and tendrils ready to scratch and stab relentlessly, and Gravemaker would use his gun to push them back, letting the weapon take the hits for him. He could fight back against the monsters he faced, capitulating not once even when all odds were stacked against him.     On any other day, Funeral’s battle scars would imbue within Rung a sense of pride.     Today was different. Today was when he interpreted those scars in a different way, when he saw something beyond all of the wear and tear. Yes, he could fight back now, but there was a time when he couldn’t.     Not when it mattered the most.     Not when he saw his old friend that day, or what was left of him.     As he neared his desk where his notes laid, he grit his dentae, attempting to shake the looming trepidation away. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He was with Maximus, he had to stay calm for him! All of that could come later, when he had the right words to tell him. If he even wanted to, when he already had time and time before. Was it even worth it? No, no, but that was why they had sessions like these. Anything and everything could be said, no matter what it was or if it had been heard before. He knew, Max knew, so why was it so hard?     Then the thoughts, the memories, came back as fast as Rung had attempted to push them out. The helplessness that he once had, so long ago. He froze in place, inches away from his notes, head throbbing and optics agape. He pleaded for this to not happen to him, not now, not when the time was supposed to be lighthearted and sentimental; but he had pushed these emotions away for so long now, that his attempts to push even further were no longer possible. These memories, this new perspective of Funeral’s marks, were not new; he had harbored them for longer than Maximus had become aware of his sullen mood.     They were hungry, now; ready to tear at his mind and feast.     Like he’d been.

    Outside, Maximus had been playing with his digits, studying the simplistic living room around him as he patiently waited for Rung to return. He shifted a little in place, attempting to sit more comfortably on the couch, but he felt the legs scrape beneath him ever so slightly as his weight dragged them along with his frame. He pursed his lips and stopped immediately, resorting to pushing the coffee table a little further away from the couch so he could position himself closer to its edge. He was unaware of Rung’s condition in the other room until he suddenly heard the door slam open, and out with it scurried the smaller cybertronian. His quick and panicked breaths filled the room, telltale signs for the Autobot that something was terribly wrong.    “Rung!? Rung!” Maximus gasped, whipping his helm behind him. “What’s going on!?”    Confusion and shock grew exponentially as he watched Rung grip his chassis and helm, optics squeezing shut and blowing open at irregular paces. They gaped at nothing and everything all at once, seeming to lose sight of his own apartment, and Maximus along with it.

   Fog rolled into his mind, thick and humid like ghastly breath passing his face. Wherever he dared to turn to, he saw nothing but encroaching shadows and bitter isolation, with no one around to help--no one who cared enough, anyway. He swore he could hear Froid’s condemning voice just beyond the mist, but any desperate call fell short of his lips. He found that he couldn’t talk, or scream, or run, no matter how hard he tried. Not when the other voice told him to stop, to quiet, the familiar and horrendous form it belonged to stalking towards him, his giant servos outstretched and his glare piercing through the haze.

   “Rung!”

   Maximus planted one pede down as he stood half out of his seat, balling his fists as he watched--he didn’t want to think helplessly, no--he was only stunned. He’d seen Rung sad, he’d seen him cry too, when they had their moments; but he’d never seen him break down into a hyperventilating mess. The Autobot couldn’t figure out what to do, how to calm him down. He had to think, think of something!

   “H-h--”     Rung gripped his head, stumbling across the living room floor unevenly. In the midst of his hyperventilation, he accidentally bumped into the coffee table, causing the glasses to topple over and fall to the floor, shattering on impact.

    CRACK!

    Rung yelped at the noise, whirling around so violently that he lost his footing and crashed painfully onto the couch. The smell of freshly spilt energon nauseated him, mixing with the awful stench that doused him and the monstrosity in front of him. He could hear it now, feel it now, the snarling, the acidic drool dripping onto his orange plating, the hypnotic rays racking his processor over and over. Nothing stopped the ghoul from closing the space between them, malice and hunger in his eyes.    No! No!    “Rung!” Maximus cried. “Rung, please- you’re fine!”    Rung could only gasp and flinch helplessly as he felt the skeletal claws on him, the furious growling of the towering ghoul overhead growing louder and louder. Any desperate thought and attempt to flee was ripped from him, the power too great for him to resist. It was too much, the feeling of futility—all too familiar, dreadful all the same.    The ghoul’s optics bore into his own, drowning the front of his form in a sick purple light as the shadows behind him nipped and bit at his rattling frame, threatening to engulf him entirely. All Rung could see was his face, he could feel his breath on him, gnashed teeth parting for his long and dangerous tongue to flick out and drag along his tearful face…    He couldn’t be back.    He couldn’t be back!    He couldn’t—

   “Rung!“

   Instinctively, Maximus reached his massive servos out toward him in an attempt to still him, pacify him, but the sudden motion did nothing but cause the three-wheeler to sink backward, optics bulging wide as their pupils shrunk to mere pinpricks.    Suddenly, the ghoul was on him with an inescapable grip, teeth parting as far as they could as they lunged forward and-

   He gasped, “no-“

   Realizing what he’d done wrong a second too late, Maximus pulled back quickly, spark racing. He stood up and distanced himself from the other, hands raised in front of his chest. Red optics gaped woundedly down on Rung.    “I’m sorry,” Maximus uttered, shaken voice pleading for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”    Rung remained hunched, curled in on himself as his optics continued to struggle to read what was real in that moment. The ghoul’s hulking frame had slinked away so suddenly, peering at him through the thick fog that enshrouded him. The lone purple optic remained fixated on him, finials outstretched, ready to move at a second’s notice—then, another voice broke through into his ears, a stark contrast from the ugly noise grating at him.

   A voice, soft and deep, hurt…    Max?

   Rung blinked as the new voice began to lift the fog and shadows away, the hisses and breaths retreating with them. His optics struggled to register, the silhouette of the ghoul shifting and changing, before the light drowned it out. Optics once purple were now red, brown plating now blue. Gradually, the smaller bot returned to his senses, his quick and heavy breaths slowing down. However, the aftershock of the episode kept his frame trembling.    Maximus found his own breaths slowing down, recognizing that the distance had helped. With softened optics, he inhaled deeply before whispering, “I’m here.”

   Tears streaked down Rung’s cheeks, the gravity of the situation now aware to him. His horror turned to sorrow, and his grip on the armrest loosened.    “Max,” he whimpered, “I…”    Maximus took one step closer, and after gauging his response, slowly approached his side once more. His servos fell to his sides. Rung thankfully didn’t flinch or curl further into the corner of the couch, instead sitting back upright. With his optics on his pedes, he slouched and hid his servos between his legs. His lips quivered and his breath continued to tremble. Maximus finally sat back down next to him, eyeing him with deep concern. He extended a digit to him, which the other took and squeezed on.    “I didn’t mean to,” Rung moaned. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”    “Ssh, it’s alright. It’s alright,” uttered Maximus. “Let’s calm down. Let’s calm down, okay?”    Rung echoed his words, nodding quickly and wiping the tears from his optics, but still they continued to fall. He began to breathe slowly and audibly, as deep as he could, and kept the pressure on Maximus’s digit the whole time. He could gauge how badly he shook through his servo, and over time, it slowed in pace. Minutes would pass until the gray bot was finally still. When he was, he opened his optics once more, tears now dripping lightly down his cheeks. He stared at the thin air in front of him, riddled with the same thoughts nonetheless.    Maximus spoke first.    “It was them, wasn’t it?”    After a moment, Rung nodded.    “Yes.”

   He didn’t see Maximus’s gaze darken with the recollection of what he had heard from him of his oldest friends. Rung had trusted him enough to divulge everything that had happened, from their softest moments to the moments where he believed he would die. The betrayal hit too close to home for Maximus, even if the connotations were different; Rung’s sparkbreak was closer than his. Rung saw them as friends, potentially even more than that, for one or both of them. And for them to turn against him… Rung always discouraged his brasher ideas, but even so, they were still there.    But now wasn’t the time to dwell upon his pointed anger; he had something more important to concern himself with.    Maximus’s expression relaxed, and he angled his frame to face Rung, so he could better look at him. He found that Rung did the same, turning from the emptiness of the room to him, though he still didn’t look up. He let go of Maximus’s digit, which fell back to his side, and took a long, tired breath. The other frowned, squeezing his palm lightly before one of his servos rose.

   With servos so huge, capable of crushing the smaller cybertronian’s helm within their grasp, Maximus paid extra attention to the way he reached up to hold it with the utmost care. The sides of his fingers met Rung’s jaw as his thumb reached up to wipe the tears away from his cheek, Rung’s optics closing and frame relaxing at his touch. A shaky sigh left him, and before Maximus’s servo lowered, his own servo lifted to rest atop it, stopping it in place as it cupped the side of his helm.    “It’s been… so long,” uttered Rung, helm leaning into the other’s servo, “since all of that happened. I know it was a traumatic experience for me, but I feel as if I should be past it by now.”    His optics opened to gaze into Maximus’s, the red optics of one who knew what he meant more than most. When he vented to the general of his woes, all the rigidity he was notorious for would disappear, replaced with the understanding features only one who suffered similarly could have. This was no different. Even stronger, perhaps, as Rung had never broken down in front of him like this. Maximus understood him, he could see it in his face; yet he could also see the sorrow and concern behind it.    The giant shook his head.    “It changed your life,” he breathed. “He did. They did, after you trusted them and cared for them for so long. That kind of betrayal wouldn’t leave anyone easily.”    “It’s not just that it was… betrayal,” Rung winced, as if the word was difficult to fathom. “Max, I tried to run. I tried to do the right thing for everyone. And they dragged me back… he kept me there, and- Max, it was torture. I was trapped in there, struggling to survive all because- because-”    Maximus heard Rung’s voice tensing up once more, and he hushed him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it anymore. You’ve had enough for now.”    Rung’s silence agreed, the slow nods brushing up and down Maximus’s palm. His optics closed once more, and he squeezed down on his giant servo.    “To have someone you care about, who cares for you just as much…” Maximus thought with a low voice. “...I know. And I know you know that, Rung. And things like that won’t leave overnight, as I was saying… but the least we can do is find any and every way to speed the whole thing up, I think.”    Rung continued to nod. The general’s words, complimented by his deep and soft voice, helped put him at ease. In his current state, he could simply listen to him go on and on, until the reverberating tone lulled him to a calming sleep… but to admit it now, he wasn’t sure if it was ideal.    “You’re right,” he murmured. “I just hope it’s sooner than later.”    “It will be,” promised Maximus.

   The three wheeler’s lips pulled back into a small smile. To Maximus, it was all he needed to know that his words had reached his spark, clearing the last of the dread that had choked him to tears.    Rung couldn’t see the ghoul anymore. No more shadows gripped him, the hisses had been silenced, and the biting cold that racked his frame had been replaced with the warmth of his gratitude for Maximus’s company.    Gratitude, among things he was still struggling to wrap his helm around.    He truly did care about Maximus, and he knew that Maximus cared about him the same… yet that thought carried such caution, pressure, and history, that it made him hesitant to truly accept it even though he wanted to. Maybe--no, definitely--because of what had happened to him; and even though Maximus understood, a part of Rung nagged on and on that he couldn’t say everything he wanted to.    He hoped that would change someday    Maximus’s words echoed, it will.    He held them close to his spark.

   “Thank you,” Rung hummed, and the two finally lowered their servos. “I am truly sorry you had to see that. I suppose I’ve had some bottled up feelings over the past few days…”    “I’ll always help you out,” Maximus assured. “Please, tell me next time. Bottling things up isn’t good for you, you hear?”    Rung’s optics fell to the side, and he smiled. “Yes, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Always exuding your emotions like so…”    He looked back up right as the telltale blush met Maximus’s cheeks, and just as fast, the other averted his gaze. “‘Exuding my emotions’ helps. For me at least,” he smiled sheepishly. “You should try it sometime.”    The two fell silent after their exchange of warm smiles. As Maximus sat next to Rung, the other began to observe the state of the room with renewed clarity. Noticing the two energon glasses spilling their contents across the floor, his smile wavered, a silent “oh” falling shamefully under his breath. He knew he didn’t mean to, but he’d prepared them for them to enjoy together as they talked about all of the-    “Rung, it’s okay,” Maximus said suddenly, reading his thoughts from his frown alone. “We can prepare more later.”    “But shouldn’t we do that before we talk?” Rung blinked back at him, bewildered. “I don’t mean to get up so suddenly, but I should clean that up and prepare us more- ah--”

   Strong servos enveloped his thin gray frame, pulling him delicately forward as he let out a soft gasp. Maximus adjusted himself and leaned backward on the couch, kicking one leg up onto the as the other slid over the edge to plant itself on the ground and balance his massive frame. Rung was hoisted up to sprawl atop Maximus’s chassis, and his awestruck expression, he didn’t resist at all. Heat quickly built up in his frame as the giant finally relaxed his servos, keeping them in a blanket across his torso. They eyed each other, and Rung could see the blush across Maximus’s face. He wasn’t used to doing this, picking him up and laying him against him. It was very… forward? Intimate? Words that made his blush deepen, but his gaze remained focused on Rung despite his swirling bashfulness. Part of him hoped Rung wouldn’t take it so intensely.    “We’re already talking,” he spoke, their closeness bringing his voice to a hum.    “Max…” Rung released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.    “The drinks aren’t as important,” replied the other.    Rung wanted to protest, insisting that complimentary drinks were courteous and deserving for both of them, but he was aware of how his entire frame relaxed in Maximus’s embrace. Maximus didn’t want him to get up, and something told Rung that his tiny frame didn’t want to either.

   Oh.

   His head flicked left, then right, searching for any spot to obscure the blush building up in his cheeks. He ultimately folded his arms in front of him and hid part of his face in them, covering all but his glimmering optics, and to his misfortune, the blue hue that surrounded them. His optics remained glued below him--which didn’t help as much as he wanted to, considering he was now staring into Maximus’s chassis. He emitted a short unintelligible mumble, shifting in place. Even though Maximus hadn’t said anything, Rung was predicting what words would come next: “This isn’t about them, it’s about you.” “You and I matter more than that.” “Let’s just have this moment between us.”    But Maximus didn’t feel the need to say any of those, as he read Rung’s body language. As the three-wheeler shyly tucked himself into his chest, he knew what he meant.    “You don’t have to see them ever again,” Maximus said instead, alluding to the subject of Rung’s distress. He squeezed down on him, as tightly as he could with his restrained strength for the other’s comfort. “You’re in a better place now. It’s what you deserve.”    Rung bit his lip, legs curling into himself. Those two were his… no, Maximus was right. He never doubted that. If his new perspective meant that his memories of the past would be interlaid with bitterness and pain, then so be it. It was the past. He could make new memories today and tomorrow.    And Maximus, he could help. They could make them together.    “Thank you,” Rung’s stiffness eased, helm rising from his arms to smile gratefully up at him. Hope glimmered in his optics, which Maximus noticed. He wouldn’t admit it then, but he loved to see that gleam of his, every time…    “Of course,” Maximus’s optics lidded. “And I’m here for you. You’re here for me, after all.”    We have each other, he almost said, but those words were too much for him and his already blue face.    Rung hummed, “yes…”

   Perhaps they didn’t need to talk through anything today anymore. The company of the other was enough, the consoling words and equally soft and sympathetic voices the cures for the dread that plagued them.    Rung uncurled his limbs, slowly splaying them into a more comfortable position to relax atop Maximus’s broad frame. He rested the side of his helm into his chassis, hearing the faint hum of his spark underneath his tough plating. It was funny, how it was usually him who’d lay against him to his surprise. Maximus was the one to surprise him this time, picking him up and holding him here… he’d be too shy for that. Though maybe he still was, if his facial expression said anything. He was too familiar with it, the cute flush on one so infamous for his scowls…    “Could we stay like this for a little longer?” Rung wished to ask, but he listened to Maximus’s slow and deep breaths, and noticed his optics were closed to allow himself to savor the moment.    He did the same.    It seemed like he didn’t have to ask, when the answer was already yes…    The drinks could wait.

#tf mercy #my writing #tfp #transformers prime #this was originally a drabble that got too long #rung #fortress maximus #rungmax #maxrung #or whatever the ship is called i call it rungmax #sunder and froid mention #hurt/comfort #my beloved #this isnt idw in case i didnt make it clear lmao #anyway trust me rung and max deserve each other esp after what happened to them #they can help each other out :] #also fluffy size difference ships my beloved #maccadam #transformers #cjj arts #if this ficwriting keeps up i might need to make an ao3

[runningfrom2am]

kinda famous - d.s.

summary: after mason's debut album charts in the top 100, she somehow got invited to the obx3 premiere. she went to make connections- but maybe not the exact kind she ends up leaving with.

this is a repost of the same fic from my otosimt series, just making some small changes :)

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: no warnings! just a meet-cute :), drew x musician!oc

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav/masterlists

series masterlist

Not a day went by this past year where Mason didn't consider herself incredibly lucky. Her debut album saw some medial success, landing her in the Spotify top one hundred with the help of a TikTok trend to some of the lyrics from her first single. She could hardly believe it was real, sometimes. What always helped, however, was having connections.

Her best friend, Este, was a makeup artist to the stars. She worked on movies like Avatar and even a few Marvel films, but most notably and most recently, she had been working with Madelyn Cline. They had taken a liking to each other, having been in touch about every event, shoot, and movie she had been working on in hopes of having her new friend style her look for the occasion. Luckily for Mason, Este was her number one fan - and hardly ever did she have a client who wasn't forced to sit through her album while she was blending out the makeup on their faces or curling their hair.

Madelyn, apparently, had loved it. In the words of her best friend, "She was just gushing over it! She requests your music every time she's in my chair. I swear." So, that is how Mason ended up at the OBX3 premiere, shaking hands with one of the most beautiful actresses of her generation while she complimented both her dress and her music.

"I am seriously such a big fan. Este put me on and I am literally obsessed," Madelyn smiled, dropping Mason's hand.

"Oh my god, you're such a sweetheart- stop." Mason laughed, waving her off.

She smiled and leaned in, resting her hand on Mason's shoulder as she whispered in her ear. "Between us, I can't confirm anything just yet, but I'm working on getting you a soundtrack offer for season four."

Mason gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth to hide her shock. "No, you're literally joking!"

The blonde smiled and shook her head, giggling and clapping her hands together excitedly. "We all listen to you on set- it's growing on the producers, I think."

"Oh my god- Obviously I am so down! Allegedly, of course," Mason smiled, winking at her.

"Yes, of course, allegedly," she laughed, matching Mason's wink. "I have to run, but we'll jump in for some photos together on the carpet, yeah?" Madelyn grinned, giving Mason a quick hug and brushing past her in the direction of the curtain where everyone lines up for photos.

Feeling absolutely giddy, Mason was quick to lift her dress and shuffle over to the makeup room, where Este was still working with some other clients doing some touch-ups. "Oh my god!" Mason smiled as she approached her chair, where Este was just wiping up. She cringed internally at the sound of her music playing over her desk speaker, hearing the way she swore that the man she wrote this song about was the love of her life, and she'd be a fool to let him go. It wasn't long after the release that she ended up having to, discovering he was cheating on her with a girl from their hometown.

"Mason! Hey girl! Did you get to talk to Mads?" Este asked, looking back at her over her shoulder.

"Yes! And I have some serious tea to tell you later. Well, not serious, but good! It's definitely tea," Mason explained vaguely, knowing she'll understand.

"Yay! Okay, we'll debrief after," Este nodded. "Did you talk to anyone else?"

Mason instantly shook her head as Este turned to face her. "God, no, I'm petrified." She didn't answer, holding her finger up in Mason's face and digging through her kit, and pulling out a brush.

"Look up," she said, pointing to the ceiling, and Mason obliged as she touched up the shadow under her eyes and brushed away some flaked mascara while she talked. "You need to. You've got to make some more connections- I can't carry you forever." She teased, placing the brush back in her belt when she was done. "They're a lovely cast, trust me."

Mason nodded a little, taking a deep breath. "I just like... don't know what to do. Do I just walk around and talk to people?"

"That's the beauty of it! You're already doing it. Just show that stunning face of yours to the cameras with this beautiful dress, smile, make small talk, and opportunity will fall into your lap. I know you- everyone will love you regardless." She mused, quickly adjusting the waistline of Mason's dress. "And report back to me, of course."

"You're not gonna come? I want some pictures with you. The world needs to see the artist behind this face," Mason grinned, gesturing to her face of makeup and wiggling her eyebrows.

"Yes, of course," Este giggled, smacking Mason's shoulder playfully. "I'll change and come find you."

Mason smiled and clapped her hands together, bouncing in her heels. "Let's go together! I think I have to because I'm basically your plus one."

"No, absolutely not," Este dismissed her quickly, closing up part of her kit and doing some quick organization. "You, my dearest Mason, need to prove your independence in the industry. Just because you put out your Lover Era album doesn't mean you can't stand proudly on your own after the breakup. Your energy will draw all the cute boys to you. I just know it." She joked at the end, but Mason knew she was serious about her sentiment.

Mason's breakup wasn't fresh anymore- she was right. It didn't hurt and keep her up all night over the heartache that she had assumed would never get better. She was thriving now, she felt like herself again. "That's not why I'm here and you know that," Mason giggled.

"Of course not... It just would be a nice bonus," Este shrugged. "Now shoo! You're distracting me. I'll see you in a few." She pushed Mason away, winking at her before returning to her cleanup duties.

Mason took a few breaths as she turned around, making a conscious effort to smile as she walked over to the curtain where the crew was organizing people and sending them out onto the carpet.

Luckily, she spotted the bar not far away and quickly made her way over to grab a quick glass of wine before she had to step out. She tried to sip on it casually, not wanting to draw attention to herself, but craving the buzz and freedom that comes with being a little tipsy around strangers.

"You're Mason Bell, right?" Someone approached her, and she quickly turned to the source of the voice.

"Yes, that's me," Mason smiled, securing her glass in one hand before holding out her hand to shake. The woman took it, smiling politely as she shook it.

"Lovely. We're ready for you whenever, just go check in with that lovely gentleman by the curtain and you're free to walk when you're ready," the woman smiled, quickly taking off to go deal with more crew business.

Mason leaned back against the bar, nursing her drink still and glancing in the direction of the dressing rooms and hoping Este would walk out in time to join her. She gave it another minute as she finished her drink, feeling adequately warmed by the alcohol in her system before approaching the curtain.

"Hey! Nice to meet you, I'm Mason Bell," she greeted the man with the clipboard and he nodded, giving her a thumbs up and holding the curtain back for her to step out. She took deep breaths and focused on smiling (and not tripping) as she took the few extra paces behind a wall before she'd be in view of the many cameras she could already see flashing at the cast and their friends standing already in their full view. She heard lots of voices as she walked up, but they somehow got a million times louder as she stepped into the lights.

This wasn't her first red carpet, but it was her first premiere. Besides the backdrop curtain, they had a variety of props from the show, including the Twinkie itself, making her giddy with excitement. She made a mental note to herself to not leave without a picture of her behind the wheel for her Instagram.

"Mason! Look over here!" She heard a dozen voices calling her name and she decided her best move was to smile and wave, stopping and placing one hand on her hip and just glancing across the whole crowd of cameramen and interviewers behind the small fence. She gave it a few moments to capture hopefully enough photos for their portfolios before an interviewer pulled her over to chat with them.

"Mason! So nice to meet you. You look absolutely stunning!" They grinned, shaking her hand and holding the mic up to her lips.

"Hello! And thank you so much! It's lovely to meet you too. What's your name?" Mason asked, smiling at them and giving a quick wave to the cameras still flashing in her face as they recorded her with one closer up.

"I'm Noah. I'm with Netflix just documenting everyone here tonight," He grinned. "So, we were all excited to hear you would be coming tonight! Are you a fan of the show?"

"Oh my god, I'm a huge fan," Mason gushed, looking around at the other people on the carpet. "I was just so lucky to be invited, I was ecstatic when I got the invitation from Madelyn. So nervous, though. So, so nervous."

"I can't imagine!" He chuckled, agreeing with her. "If it makes you feel any better, we've heard from a few members of the cast that they were looking forward to meeting you."

"That does actually help a lot, thank you," Mason giggled, a blush covering her cheeks. "You mind telling me who, though? I'd love to know who wants to talk to me and who I should probably not bother." She joked.

"Oh, nobody to avoid here. This is one of the nicest casts I've ever worked with," Noah assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "That being said, the boys seemed extra keen." He winked, making her laugh.

"Oh god, okay, I'll keep that in mind," Mason went along with it, looking around and seeing the rest of the cast goofing off a little ways away.

"So, I have to ask, Mason- keep in mind you don't have to answer if you don't want to, about your breakup, how are you doing? Your album is absolutely amazing, you told a beautiful story, but we've all heard about what happened afterward," He said, and Mason glanced down nervously, trying to maintain her smile as best she could.

"Yeah, totally. Uh- " She paused for a second. Her ex has never been in the public eye- they were high school sweethearts, which gave her album a sense of purity and authenticity that was almost rare in modern music. With that, however, comes a responsibility to keep him out of public scandal in the fallout of the album's success. "I am doing really well. I believe my ex is as well. Of course, he was always a huge inspiration for me, and he always supported me and my dreams, so I know he's still cheering me on, which is a nice feeling," Mason nodded, smiling as Noah dropped his arm from around her shoulders, patting her back.

"Well, you're stronger than I am because I would want him to be punching the air right now," Noah laughed.

"No! God, no, I'd never want that for him. I wish him all the success in the world, which just means something different for both of- " She tried to explain when she got bumped from behind and stumbled slightly forward. She let out a little squeak and tried to turn to look what happened when someone steadied her by her waist.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to knock you there," A man chuckled, making sure she was steady before letting her go. She was met with blue eyes that reflected the lights and the matching color of his suit just beautifully, and she quickly recognized him as Rafe- racking her brain for the actor's name. Drew- yes. That's it.

"No! No, you're fine—I was in the way," Mason said sheepishly, laughing it off and adjusting her dress again.

"Drew, Welcome back! While I've got you both here," Noah said, holding the microphone up to him as he nodded, leaning down a little in anticipation of the question. "Have you listened to Mason's album? We were just talking about it."

Drew nodded, smiling and locking eyes with Mason again briefly. "Yes, of course. It's both Maddie's favorites right now, they've always got it playing on set. If it wasn't so good I'd be sick of it." He chuckled.

"Aw—thank you!" Mason grinned. "Thanks for listening even if it's against your will." Her eyes connected again with Drew, and she felt herself blushing once more. He just had this aura about him that showed he was really listening and really cared about what she had to say. "Not to plug it here or anything, but we're almost at ten million streams on Spotify so I'm feeling really proud of it, it truly was a passion project for me. God, sorry I shouldn't be talking about that here..." She explained, looking back at the interviewer again, trailing off when she realized she was acting selfishly.

"No, don't apologize. You worked hard on it—you deserve to talk about it," Drew cut in before Noah could speak. "Everyone stream it—you won't regret it." He said, pointing to the camera.

"Yes, absolutely," Noah agreed. "We won't take up any more of your time, but I'll let you know we're all looking forward to your next album already." He smiled, giving Mason a quick hug.

"Thank you!" She waved as he and his crew were quick to move on to someone else. She took a deep breath, turning and jumping slightly when she saw Drew still standing there, looking down at her as she clasped her hand against her chest. "Oh, gosh. I didn't know you were still there," Mason giggled, quickly adjusting her hair.

"Sorry," Drew chuckled, holding his hand out to her. "We haven't properly met. I'm Drew. Or you might know me as Rafe, I guess."

She smiled, taking his hand and shaking it. "Mason. You might know me as the girl who got cheated on right after releasing an album about how amazing her relationship is."

This made him laugh, dropping his head back as he let go of her hand. "Hey, it's good to have a sense of humor about it, I guess." He said, locking eyes with her again. His charisma was truly captivating— it's rare to meet someone in the Hollywood scene who seemed to care about anyone other than themselves.

"I'm coping," Mason shrugged, laughing it off with him.

"Let's grab a few pictures together, then maybe a drink?" Drew suggested, guiding her back towards where the rest of the cast was taking photos with the beat-up van parked on the carpet. "I'll introduce you to everyone."

"Yeah! Yeah- thank you," Mason smiled, glancing over her shoulder and seeing Este stepping out. She quickly waved at Mason, giving her an excited look and a thumbs up, which she returned behind Drew's back.

No doubt the pictures of this moment will embarrass her tomorrow, but at least the debrief with Este in the Uber home will have a lot of good things to cover.

taglist: @bookishbabyyy@madelynie, @whore-4-drewstarkey, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury@fullfledgedemo@rafemotherfuckingcameron, @urfaveluvr, @alimaythings, @chenslucy, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @tahliac11, @saccharinesammie, @suzyheartsrafe, @maybankslover, @redhead1180, @lovelyxtommy, @thelomlisrafecameron, @realwifeofjackharlow

(sorry to tag everyone in this again!!)

#obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #obx3 #obx fanfiction #drew starkey obx #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #outer banks fanfiction