#emphasis on pedro pascal for me

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

How have you been friend!!? I’ve been stuck on delulu time with Oscar Isaac/Miguel O’Hara/ Moon Knight bullshit again and now everything is either Pedro or Oscar 🥴💊

don't worry, boo, we all on delulu time with those babes. you're in good company 😘

[kittenlittle24]

Chapter 10: Sober Words & Drunk Silence

Masterlist

Story Masterlist

Previous, Next

Pedro Pascal x Fem!reader

Summary: Pre-med perfectionist [Your Name] thought her gap year internship at The Late Night Hour would be a fun, low-stakes break before med school. Then she literally runs into Pedro Pascal backstage—and somehow becomes his secret lifeline in the chaos of live TV. Between cue cards, coffee runs, and chemistry that won’t quit, she starts to wonder: is this just a summer detour… or something more?

Tag list: @pascal-mynightlyobsession @wanniiieeee @theendwhereibegin

The bass from the living room vibrated through the floorboards as Lena twirled by, her new tequila bottle clutched like a victory trophy. The bottle's hand-painted label glowed amber in the party lights—too expensive, too thoughtful, exactly like the man who'd sent it.

"From Pedro," she sing-songs, watching your reaction like a cat with a cornered mouse.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. Ice cubes clinked like a countdown. "He sent you birthday tequila?"

"Guess he's buttering me up since he bailed." Lena's smirk falters when she sees your expression. "Oh come on, don't give me that kicked puppy look. It's just liquor."

The lie burned like cheap tequila—it wasn't just liquor. It was the exact brand you'd described to Pedro last week while curled against his chest, his chin hooked over your shoulder as you scrolled Lena's wishlist. "She'd sell a kidney for this," you'd joked. His answering hum had vibrated through your back as he typed it into his phone.

You tried to hide your smile, feeling a little warm inside. It was a kind gesture, but it also made you realize how much you missed him.

The loud buzz of your phone vibrated against your pocket, and you quickly pulled it out, seeing Pedro's name flash across the screen.

You slipped back onto the balcony, the cold railing biting into your palms as you answered. "Hey."

Static crackled, then his voice—rougher than you remembered, fatigue clinging to the edges. "Hey, cariño." A pause. Somewhere in Budapest, a chair creaked as he leaned forward. "You okay? Your voice sounds..."

"Tired," you lied, watching condensation slide down your glass like the tear you wouldn't let fall, drip onto your wrist. It reminded you of the way his forehead had pressed against yours at the airport, damp with sweat or maybe tears.

"Did Lena like her peace offering?"

You swallowed. Through the sliding glass door, your best friend was dramatically kissing the bottle. "She's naming her firstborn after you."

Pedro laughed—that rich, rolling sound that always made your ribs feel too small. Then softer: "Miss you already."

Your throat closed around the words you couldn't say back.

"Things have felt different since I left," he said quietly.

You swallowed a mouthful of whiskey that had long since lost its warmth and suddenly tasted of gasoline and goodbyes, "Wouldn't be different if you hadn't left."

A sharp silence. Your words had come out slurry, the S's sticking like caramel.

Through the sliding glass door, Lena made exaggerated kissy faces while pouring another round.

Pedro exhaled hard. "You think I wanted to go? The studio moved up the—"

"You had to work, I know." Your tongue felt thick, the sentence ending with an unintended emphasis on know that made you sound petulant. "But you didn't... didn't have to say what you said at the airport."

A glass shattered inside. You flinched, the phone slipping in your grip.

"Was that—" Pedro's voice sharpened. "Are you at a club?"

"No. Lena's birthday," you deflected, but the words stuck together slightly.

"Right." A hollow chuckle. "How many have you had?"

"Not enough," you muttered, immediately regretting it when Lena's giggles carried through the glass.

Pedro's breath hitched—that sound he made when a scene wasn't working. "I almost said it that morning in my bed. When you were half-asleep with your hair everywhere." A shaky exhale. He burst out, voice cracking. "It was eating me alive. The location didn't matter—"

"Everyone on set in five!" someone shouted behind him.

The line went silent except for your shaky breathing and the distant hum of the party. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "You won't even remember this tomorrow." The dismissal stings more than the alcohol.

Another pause. You could practically hear him wrestling with himself before he added, "I should go. Call me when..." He trailed off, but the unspoken when you care enough to be sober hung in the air.

"Pedro—"

"Goodnight, cariño." The line went quiet, but he didn't hang up—waiting, giving you the last word like he always did.

You pressed your forehead to the cold railing. "Goodnight."

The call ends with a hollow click, and you're left staring at your phone with a mix of annoyance and frustration. The noise around you—laughter, music, chatter—feels like it's coming from a different world. Lena's friends are still celebrating, but your mind is elsewhere. You can't shake the feeling that Pedro took the wind right out of your sails with that phone call. The energy of the party should be enough to pull you back, but everything feels off. You never wanted to have a serious conversation like that while you were hosting Lena's birthday party.

Your phone vibrates with three rapid-fire texts:

[1:17am] Pedro: I meant it

[1:17am] Pedro: Even if you wish I didn't

[1:18am] Pedro: I'll be here when you're ready

You scoff, the whiskey sour in your stomach turning acidic. Of course he'd double down at 1 AM like some romantic martyr. You blink hard. It’s almost worse this way. The gentleness. The patience. The not-pushing. You jab at your screen with drunken determination, typing and deleting three different responses before growling in frustration.

Lena materializes at your elbow, her breath warm with tequila. "Uh oh. Someone's having a feelings emergency."

"Text him for me," you mutter, shoving the phone at her. "Before I say something I'll regret."

Lena's eyebrows shoot up as she reads the messages. "Damn. Dude's laying it on thick." Her thumbs fly across the screen with terrifying confidence:

[Sent 1:19am] Lena: She will be. Promise.

[Sent 1:19am] Lena: But maybe lead with "how's your night" next time instead of emotional declarations at witching hour?

[Sent 1:20am] Lena: [Photo of you scowling into your drink]

[Sent 1:20am] Lena: Current mood. Tread carefully, Pascal.

She hands back your phone with a flourish. "There. Diplomatic but with teeth."

You stare at the texts, then at Lena's smug expression. "You're the worst best friend ever."

You can't help but laugh despite yourself. Maybe it's the alcohol, but for once, you don't feel guilty for ignoring his messages. Tonight is about Lena, and you'll deal with Pedro later.

Your phone buzzes again, but this time, you ignore it. Instead, you join your friends as they continue celebrating. You grab another shot of tequila, the burn of it not quite as harsh this time, and toast with Lena, trying to keep the energy up.

Lena leans over, nudging you. "You're not letting that guy ruin your night, are you?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "No, definitely not."

"Good," she says, grinning. "You're here with me tonight, and that's all that matters."

The night continues in a haze of laughter, dancing, and tequila shots. You find yourself laughing more, feeling the tension slip away, even if just for a little while. But as the night drags on, that nagging feeling in your chest starts to return. Every now and then, your thoughts drift back to Pedro, to that conversation, to what you really wanted to say but couldn't. But you push it away again, this time deciding you'll deal with it later—just not tonight.

You smile, trying to let go of everything that's waiting for you tomorrow.

The party rages on around you—music thumping, glasses clinking, Lena's laughter ringing above it all—but you feel strangely untethered, like you're floating just outside the moment. Your phone burns in your pocket, heavy with unread messages, but you ignore it, chasing another shot of tequila instead. Tomorrow's problem.

Lena slings an arm around your shoulders, her breath warm against your ear. "Stop thinking so hard," she teases, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. "You're supposed to be celebrating me, remember?"

You force a laugh, clinking your glass against hers. But when you swallow, the tequila tastes bitter.

You laugh when someone shouts your name across the room, but it feels automatic—like your mouth remembered how, even if the rest of you didn’t. The lights are too bright, the music too loud, and for the first time tonight, it all starts to feel like a cover-up. Like glitter duct-taped over something cracked.

The tequila doesn’t hit the same. Not anymore.

You swirl the last inch of liquor in your glass, watching it cling to the sides like it doesn’t want to let go. Kind of poetic, really. You roll your eyes at yourself. Great. Now you’re the sad girl who thinks her drink is profound.

But still—there’s something hollow settling in your chest. Like someone knocked the wind out of you and forgot to tell your lungs they can start back up again. The call replayed on a loop in your head: the way he said “goodnight,” the pause before he said it, the tone he used that sounded like goodbye even though it technically wasn’t.

You know he’s working. You know it’s not fair to ask for more. But still, there’s that sting. That stupid, needy ache that has nothing to do with time zones and everything to do with the way he’d looked at you the morning he left. Like maybe he wanted to stay. Like maybe he’d meant something else, something bigger, but then—

You catch yourself checking your phone again.

Still no new message. You hate that you hoped for one.

The bass pulses through your shoes, the kind of low thrum that seems to echo right in your chest cavity. Everyone’s dancing again. Shots are being poured. Lena’s old college friend is trying to convince a stranger to marry her for visa reasons, and a girl in a sparkly jumpsuit just did a cartwheel. The entire night feels like it’s drifting sideways, and you’re floating somewhere above it—smiling when expected, nodding when someone talks, but completely detached.

Someone taps your shoulder. You turn instinctively, expecting Lena again, but it’s just some guy trying to flirt with the lamest opener you’ve ever heard. You mutter something noncommittal and step back. He’s not Pedro. He’s not even interesting.

You think about the way Pedro’s voice dipped when he said your name. The way he’d nearly said something real, something permanent, and then swallowed it down. Or maybe you’d shut it down for him.

God. Why now?

You suddenly feel too warm. Too exposed. Your skin prickles with the heat of the crowd, of your thoughts, of the words you should’ve said and didn’t.

A fresh drink is pressed into your hand. You don’t even know who handed it to you.

Lena appears in your peripheral vision like she always does—sharp and knowing and impossible to fool. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you.

Then—

"Hey." Lena's voice softens as she studies your face. "Whoa, since when do you do the brooding-in-corners thing?" Lena plucks the half-finished shot from your hand, her smile turning knowing.

You open your mouth to lie—Yeah, fine—but what comes out is: "I don't know."

She sighs, squeezing your hand. "Go call your man before you short-circuit my birthday vibe. I'll survive without you for five minutes."

You slip out onto the back porch, the cool night air sharp against your flushed skin. Your fingers tremble as you pull up Pedro's contact.

You slip out onto the back porch, the cool night air sharp against your flushed skin. Your fingers tremble as you pull up Pedro's contact.

One ring. Two.

Three.

Voicemail.

You stare at the screen, willing it to light up again. When it finally does, it's not a call—just a message.

[1:27 AM] Pedro: Not when you're drunk, cariño.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but what is there to say? The party hums behind you, distant, muffled. You should go back inside. Shake it off.

Instead, you lock your phone, pressing it to your chest like it might steady the hollow ache in your ribs.

[frankendykes-monster]

"Jack Kirby wrote this character [of Ben Grimm] as a bit of an homage to his father, and to the streets that he grew up on," Moss-Bachrach says. "I'm a New Yorker, and I've spent a lot of time on Essex Street, on Delancey, on Clinton. So it does feel like home to me, and the production did a beautiful job recreating that. It was so cool to walk down and see the hat seller and the fish seller. I was shocked that we were outside of London because it fully felt like the Lower East Side."

Emphasis mine.

Jack Kirby and George Klein pin-up of The Thing published in Fantastic Four #2 (1962), possibly recycled from a presentation page originally penciled by Kirby, no confirmation on that. Rose and Benjamin Kurtzberg with Kirby (can't pin an exact date on this but likely circa 1917 - 1919).

[mjonthetrack]

blue bangtan

Chapter 78 — “Blocked, Ghosted, Humbled” (Taehyung’s POV)

He knew something was wrong when his messages stopped turning blue.

First it was just a delayed response. Then none at all. Then… no status. No profile pic. No receipts.

Taehyung stared at his phone like it was lying to him.

He refreshed her chat. Again. Again. Nothing.

Then he opened Instagram—searched her name. Gone.

TikTok? Blocked.

X? Still there. But she liked a fan edit of her and Pedro Pascal slow-dancing to Brent Faiyaz.

Taehyung whispered, “She’s insane.”

He tried to DM her. “This user has disabled messages.”

He clicked Jungkook’s profile on impulse. His stories were up. Jessi and Sariah at brunch. Laughing. Looking fine. Brunching while he bled.

He burst into the group chat. Tae: Did she block me??

Yoongi: …Bro.

Jimin: You kissed someone else in public and thought she wouldn’t? 💀

Tae: It was one kiss and it didn’t mean anything!! She made it worse!! She posted thirst traps with Pedro freaking PASCAL!!

Namjoon: You kissed Jennie in public. During a promo cycle. And now your girl’s an underwear model with Oscar nominees. I think we know who played themselves.

Tae: She’s not my girl anymore, apparently 😤

Jungkook: 😐 Bro. She took Korean lessons. She made you breakfast with ketchup smiles. She learned our culture and handled your schedule AND your mood swings.

Jungkook: You were her first Korean man and you blew it.

Jungkook: I wouldn’t have.

Silence.

Tae: Excuse me?

Jungkook: I SAID WHAT I SAID. 😌

Taehyung yeeted his phone across the room.

Later that night, when he was alone, he played the last voice memo she sent him—before the scandal. Before the silence.

“You make me feel stupid. In a good way. Like I’d actually believe in forever for once.”

He closed his eyes.

And screamed into his pillow like a man who knew he had fumbled the one.

Chapter 79 — “The Chanel Coup” (Taehyung’s POV, heavy emphasis on fashion-fueled jealousy)

He saw it by accident.

Well—more like it hunted him down. His name was trending. Again. But not because of him.

Because of her.

“CHANEL REIMAGINED: A NEW ERA OF ICONS” Front cover: Sariah Blue. Arched brow. Smoky eye. Thigh split. In an all-black classic tweed Chanel suit jacket—no bra underneath—pearls draped like chains, skin aglow like she was sent to earth by Anna Wintour herself. Yoongi behind her, lounging on a white velvet couch in a cropped Gucci bomber. Hobi perched on a piano, sunglasses on inside. Namjoon in all-black Comme des Garçons with silver rings spelling “SAVED.”

The entire shoot screamed “anti-establishment royalty.” And in the middle of it all: his girl. In his house. Wearing his brand. With his brothers.

Taehyung choked.

“She wouldn’t—” He clicked the editorial video.

She did.

“We wanted to do something timeless, but rebellious,” Sariah purred on camera. “Something that felt like home… but made a statement.”

The interviewer smiled. “Why Chanel?”

“Why not Chanel?” she replied. Her smirk sharp. Her legs crossed. “Some crowns just fit better on new heads.”

Dead. He was dead. Buried in lace gloves and wounded pride.

Jungkook walked in mid-meltdown.

“Tae-hyung…”

“DON’T.”

“She looks hot. Like… art exhibit hot. You gotta admit—”

“I wore Chanel before anyone in this group!” Tae snapped, pacing. “I breathed that brand. Karl saw me and said I was the aesthetic.”

“She wore it better,” Yoongi called from the hallway, not even slowing down.

“Hyung—!”

“She did, bro. Accept defeat,” Namjoon added, sipping tea like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.

“She’s mine!”

“Correction,” Hobi appeared in full colorblock fit, “she was. Now she’s fashion’s.”

Taehyung collapsed dramatically onto the floor of the dressing room, arm draped over his forehead like a war widow.

She hadn’t said his name once. She didn’t have to.

The headline said it all:

“A New Reign: Sariah Blue Crowned Chanel’s Boldest Face Yet”

His phone buzzed.

Text from Jungkook.

JK: “Hey bro, if it helps… you still got the Gucci thing 😬?”

Chapter 80 — “For Sariah-nim” (Full Taehyung POV, Maximum Heartbreak Cinematic Universe Edition™)

The boys were surrounded the second they stepped out of the black van.

Seoul was always like this—flashes, gasps, the dull roar of BTS breathing in public. But today, something felt… off.

Taehyung adjusted his sunglasses, practiced the polite idol smile, and waved absently. Until—

A girl stepped forward. Nervous. Bowed. She held a wrapped pink box with a tiny Chanel ribbon on top.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” she whispered.

Taehyung readied his fingers for the classic heart pose, but the girl didn’t look at him. Not really.

She turned slightly toward him, but her eyes searched past his face.

“Could you… um… could you please give this to Sariah-nim?”

Taehyung blinked. “…What?”

“She means a lot to me,” the girl said, bowing deeply. “She’s strong. And stylish. And kind. And she speaks Korean with so much respect. I—I wrote a letter inside too.”

Yoongi, standing beside him, choked on a silent laugh.

The girl looked up nervously. “I-I’m sorry, I know she’s not Korean, but… she feels like ours.”

She bowed again. “Thank you, Taehyung-ssi. Please tell her fighting.”

And then she was gone. Disappeared back into the crowd.

The silence in the van afterward was spiritual.

Hobi bit his lip to keep from cackling. Namjoon was staring out the window like it was raining when it wasn’t. Yoongi was watching Taehyung like he was about to blow a fuse.

And Taehyung? Taehyung sat frozen, hand clenched around the box like it had offended his bloodline.

“She called her ‘Sariah-nim’,” he muttered.

Jungkook leaned forward from the backseat. “Bro, you okay—”

“I WAS HER FAVORITE.”

“Once, yeah,” Yoongi shrugged. “But she Chanel now. She local.”

“SHE SPEAKS KOREAN WITH RESPECT???” Taehyung yelled, full chest, head snapping toward the window like a drama lead finding out his bride married his brother.

“She bowed to me and gave her the gift—what is this??? The fucking Sariah Cinematic Universe???”

Namjoon deadass whispered, “It’s what you get for kissing Jennie.”

“IT WAS FOR A BRAND DEAL!!!”

“So was her shoot with Pedro,” Hobi said, smirking. “One of y’all just knew how to sell it.”

Taehyung stormed into the dorm that night like he was in a drama OST scene.

He went full slow-walk, threw his coat dramatically, slammed a door that didn’t need slamming.

He sat on the floor in front of his closet—where his Chanel coats lived. Where he used to belong.

He opened the gift box slowly, reluctantly.

Inside was a handwritten letter. In clumsy but earnest Hangul.

"Dear Sariah-nim,You inspire me to be soft and strong.Thank you for not changing for Korea.We need women like you here too."

There was a bracelet tucked inside—tiny pearls and onyx stones, with a “B” charm at the end.

Taehyung stared at it.

His hand gripped the edge of his coat.

Then—

He sobbed.

Like slow-motion, music-swell, camera-pans-out, “will he ever recover?” tears.

Chapter 81 — “Thank You to My New Korean Blueprint” (Sariah’s POV — heartbreak glammed up, sweet vengeance in perfect Hangul)

She was in Jessi’s kitchen when the door opened.

“Got something for you,” Jungkook sang, holding up a Chanel bag with a grin too big to be innocent.

Sariah blinked. “From who?”

Jungkook smirked, but didn’t answer.

Inside the bag was a pink gift box. Soft ribbon, real care. Like it had come from someone who meant every syllable of the letter tucked inside.

“Dear Sariah-nim…” “…You inspire me to be soft and strong.” “…Thank you for not changing for Korea.” “We need women like you here too.”

Sariah’s throat tightened. The letter was in slow, clumsy Hangul—the kind that took effort. And it meant everything.

“Damn,” Jessi breathed, looking over her shoulder. “That’s beautiful.”

Sariah touched the bracelet carefully. Black onyx and pearls. A little “B” charm at the end. Blueprint.

“She said I was her blueprint,” she whispered.

Jungkook sat on the counter, watching. “She bowed when she gave it.”

“Taehyung see her?”

Jungkook smirked. “Oh yeah. She handed it to him. Didn’t even look him in the eye.”

Sariah choked on a laugh. “Stop.”

“She said thank you and then told him it was for you, Sariah-nim,” Jungkook said, mimicking the sweet voice with just enough spice. “‘Please give this to her.’ And then she dipped.”

“Damn,” Jessi snorted. “You got K-drama fans now.”

Sariah looked down at the letter one more time.

Then she reached for her phone.

[Instagram Story] Video: Sariah, no filter, bare face, cozy hoodie, soft lighting. That humble-but-deadly glow. A sparkle of the bracelet visible on her wrist.

She switched to Korean. Slow. Gentle. Sincere.

“Annyeonghaseyo. I’m still learning Hangul, so please forgive any mistakes.”

She held up the letter, her eyes glowing. “Thank you to my new Korean blueprint who sent this to me.”

Sariah smiled, warm and wide. “I love it so much. And to my Korean fans…” Finger hearts. “…saranghae.” Kiss. Kiss. Wink.

Then the story cut.

Taehyung saw it at 3:17 a.m.

He had it on mute, but the subtitles hit like bricks.

“My new Korean blueprint.” “To my Korean fans…” Finger hearts. Kisses.

He paused the video. Rewound. Watched her say it again. The slow, perfect syllables. The soft bow of her head.

His head throbbed. His soul LEAPT out his chest.

The bracelet—his bracelet—sparkled on her wrist like it was mocking him.

And worst of all? Jungkook had posted the same video to his story, writing: “She really said 'new era.'”

Namjoon’s Room, 3:23 a.m.

TAP TAP TAP

“What?” Namjoon opened the door half-asleep.

“Am I… Am I no one’s blueprint anymore?” Taehyung asked, wild-eyed.

Namjoon stared.

“…Bro it’s three AM.”

“I INVENTED KOREAN TASTE.”

Chapter 82 — “The Blueprints” (Dual POV — Sariah’s Global Soft Launch vs. Taehyung’s Existential Meltdown™)

Sariah’s Instagram Post — 9:14PM KST

📸: A Polaroid-style photo of her messy notebook page. Her Hangul was crooked, chaotic, but full of heart. Little hearts doodled in the corners. She’d signed it in both alphabets: 사라이아 블루 Sariah Blue

🖊️:

안녕하세요! 사라이아 블루입니다 💙 저는 제 팬덤을 만들었어요! 이름은 “블루프린트”! 곧 큰 언니 제시와 함께 한국에 방문할 거예요. 그리고 제 한국 팬들을 위해 무료 콘서트를 열 거예요! 간식과 음료는 제가 준비할게요! 🥰 사랑해요~ 감사합니다! – Sariah Blue 💙

Translation: “Hello! It’s Sariah Blue 💙 I’ve decided to create my own fandom! It’s called ‘The Blueprints’! Soon I’ll be visiting Korea with my big sister Jessi. We’ll be holding a free concert to thank my Korean supporters! Don’t worry—snacks and drinks are on me 🥰 I love you~ Thank you! – Sariah Blue 💙”

The internet? Exploded.

#블루프린트 trended worldwide within 30 minutes. “K-Pop Who?” tweets flooded the timeline. Fan edits dropped mid-scroll. People were already designing lightsticks.

And in Korea?

Even the aunties who watched variety shows were like: “She called Jessi her 언니… and she’s giving out snacks??? We stan.”

Taehyung. Was. Seething.

He had just woken up from a dream where he was on stage singing in velvet when his phone blew up with Jungkook’s laugh.

JK [IG Story repost]: “She said snacks on her? Oh we definitely not getting her back now bro 😭”

Taehyung stared at her writing. At her crooked characters. At the perfect imperfection. He recognized the way her “블” tilted left—it was the same way she used to lean on his shoulder when tired.

The Blueprints. She didn’t just take the name— She made it hers.

His fingers shook hovering over her story.

She looked so damn happy in the video she added later. Grinning in a hoodie with Jessi screaming in the background.

“See y’all soon, Seoul!” “We ‘bout to show OUT for the Blueprints!” “Kimbap on ME, hoe!”

Namjoon caught him on the balcony, pacing barefoot like he was about to start singing in the rain.

“She’s gone,” Tae whispered. “She’s starting a fandom… she gave it a NAME.”

Namjoon sighed, sipping tea. “You kissed Jennie and thought she'd cry in a hoodie?”

“…I was the blueprint…”

“You still are. For pain, maybe.”

Chapter 83 — “Her Name Is Sariah, and You Will Bow” (Sariah POV: soft power, face mask, feminine rage in designer threads)

The private plane touched down just before sunrise.

By 10AM, the parking lot outside the free concert venue was unrecognizable.

Fans filled the streets, waving pastel blue banners that read:

💙 “The Blueprints Welcome Their Queen.” 💙 “Sariah-nim Fighting!” 💙 “Unnie Energy Only.”

And the lightsticks? They weren’t just lightsticks anymore. They were full-blown fashion accessories.

Pearl blue bodies. A small golden mic in the center. A little crown inside the globe. Some even had tiny wings added by fans—"for how she carried this man’s guilt across continents."

Backstage.

Sariah stood calmly in a sharp white oversized jacket dress, diamond cuff earrings, black boots, and a designer mask that read “언니.”

Her hair was snatched. Her aura? Untouchable.

Next to her stood the Holy Trinity of Korean music femininity:

Jessi, arms crossed, chewing gum like she was ready to square up.

Sandara Park, effortlessly elegant and unbothered.

Hwasa, giving deadly curves in all black and an actual glass of wine in her hand.

Heize, cool and misty like a song personified, adjusting Sariah’s mic.

“Damn,” Jessi muttered, eyeing the crowd. “They really went hard.”

Sariah peeked out from behind the curtain.

She gasped.

The fans weren’t just holding lightsticks—they had signs, merch, and even fanart.

One particular sign had gone viral before she even hit the stage.

It showed a cartoon version of Sariah—big curls, killer outfit, a tiny mic in one hand—choking out Tata, Taehyung’s beloved BT21 mascot, with a speech bubble that read:

“Don’t play with me, play with your bear.”

Jessi absolutely lost it.

“I NEED A COPY OF THAT POSTER.”

“Who made this???” Sariah said, half-horrified, half-crying from laughter.

“I think Korea just gave you their blessing, sis,” Heize grinned, sipping her tea.

The Performance

When Sariah finally stepped on stage, the screams were ear-shattering. Cameras clicked. Fans waved their lightsticks like a coordinated wave of blue fireflies.

She bowed deeply, hands pressed to her chest.

Then she took the mic, cleared her throat, and spoke in earnest Korean:

“Annyeonghaseyo. Sariah Blue imnida.” “Thank you for welcoming me.” “This stage… it’s for all the women who were told they were ‘too loud, too bold, too foreign’—nah. We’re perfect.”

The roar of approval could’ve powered Seoul’s power grid.

Elsewhere…

Taehyung sat in a black van, wearing his darkest sunglasses and chewing the inside of his cheek like it owed him money.

On his phone?

A zoomed-in image of the cartoon Sariah choking Tata. With over 4 million likes. Retweeted by RM’s alt account.

Jungkook had sent it with just: “She’s her own group now, bro.”

OH YOU’RE SICK FOR THIS 😭💅🏾

Bestie really said: let’s weaponize Korean pop culture against the man who thought he invented it. She’s onstage getting cheered by aunties while name-dropping every man Taehyung’s ever been compared to??? ICONIC BEHAVIOR.

Okay yeah no, we’re diving right into this next chapter—the one where she goes full chaotic petty princess, and Taehyung gets hit with a slow-mo K-drama monologue from a stage he used to own.

Chapter 84 — “He Couldn’t Even Beat Gong Yoo in a Fight” (Sariah POV: mic check, petty listicle, and the rise of the Goblin girlies)

The music faded out on her third song. Her chest rose and fell, lips glossed and glistening under the stadium lights. She was feeling herself. The Blueprints were feeling her.

“Y’all good?” she asked, adjusting her in-ear. The roar? Deafening.

Jessi stepped out next to her, mic in one hand, a devilish glint in her eye. “You gon’ tell them or should I?” she asked in Korean.

Sariah laughed. “Nah, I got it.”

She turned back to the crowd, bowed playfully, then hit 'em with the line of the night:

“Since certain men are unavailable and unreliable, I thought I’d let y’all know my new type.”

The crowd shrieked. She wasn’t even being slick anymore.

Sariah smirked under her mask, then pulled out a cue card like she was reading a list of nominees at the damn Oscars.

“Number one…” “The soldier from Descendants of the Sun—y’all know that man fine as hell. I’ll risk it all for the Republic of Korea.”

WILD cheering. Girls in the crowd literally screamed “YOO SHI JINNNN!!”

“Number two…” She pressed a hand to her heart. “The Goblin. Yes, baby, I like my men emotionally unavailable and immortal.”

Jessi cackled behind her. “And tall!!”

“And tall!” she echoed, wagging her finger like a sermon. “You gotta be six feet with trauma and a sword collection.”

“Number three…” Sariah did a fake dramatic swoon. “The dude from Strong Woman Do Bong Soon. Not only was he rich and cute, but he didn’t even flinch when his girl knocked out grown men.”

“HE WAS BABY GIRL,” someone yelled from the audience.

She pointed at them. “Exactly!! I need me a man that’ll be the love interest in my drama—not the main character in his own sob story!”

Backstage, Taehyung watched on a muted screen, jaw TIGHT.

He was sitting on a crate, surrounded by staffers, hair half-done, and steam literally rising off his chest like a scene from Itaewon Class: Breakdown Edition.

“She’s listing drama characters now?” he muttered.

Jimin leaned over his shoulder, sipping an iced coffee. “You kissed another girl.”

“She was wearing a mask. It barely counted—”

“She’s choking out Tata in merch and quoting the Goblin. Shut up and take the L, bro.”

Onstage, Sariah turned around to wave at the crowd one last time.

Then she dropped the mic like a K-drama finale line:

“You know what they say… If you can’t be my man, at least be a minor character with good fashion and emotional depth.”

She winked, threw up finger hearts, and walked off with Jessi, hips swinging, jacket flaring, cartoon lightsticks bouncing behind her like an army of petty angels.

Chapter 85 — “Handle Me Like a Man” (Sariah POV: cameras, cold truth, and the prettiest revenge Seoul’s ever seen)

The set was bright. Classic variety show vibes—pastel stage, oversized chairs, the host dressed like he’d just run out of a K-drama cafe.

Sariah sat center stage, legs crossed, mask off, hair flawless. The audience was eating out of the palm of her hand before she even opened her mouth. Jessi was right next to her, already sipping water with that “my girl’s about to act up” smirk.

They were halfway through the segment—banter, laughs, the usual “American in Korea” questions—when the host, leaning in with a sly grin, asked:

“Sariah-ssi… what’s your ideal type?” “Korean or otherwise?”

The audience oooh’d. Even the band in the corner got hyped.

Sariah tilted her head, lips curling into something wicked and regal.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look at Jessi. Didn’t blink.

She smiled, leaned into the mic, and in sharp, practiced Korean, said:

“방용국. 지드래곤. 지코. 잭슨 왕.” “Bang Yongguk. G-Dragon. Zico. Jackson Wang.”

“Basically, anyone who doesn’t look soft and can handle me like a man.”

THE. ROOM. LOST. ITS. MIND.

Fans screamed. The host did a double take. Even Jessi spat out her water.

“SARIAH-SSIIIIIII??” the MC yelled, clutching his pearls. “You just listed every alpha rapper in the industry!!”

Sariah giggled sweetly, but her eyes gleamed. She sat back, completely composed, like she hadn’t just started WWIII.

“Was I supposed to say someone soft?” she teased. “I’m not soft. I need someone who can handle fire without melting.”

Somewhere across Seoul, Taehyung froze.

The clip had hit Twitter before she even left the set.

He watched it with blood in his throat.

Her voice.

Her pronunciation—flawless.

The way she said Jackson Wang with a smile that felt like a dare.

Jungkook passed by the studio door, peeked in, and saw him frozen on the couch like he’d just seen a ghost in lingerie.

“…She said Bang Yongguk?” JK asked, eyes wide. Taehyung didn’t speak. Just nodded once. Slowly.

“…And Jackson?”

He nodded again, even slower.

“…Bro, you better find Jesus.”

Back on set

The host, still wheezing from her savage list, asked, “What about idols? Any current ones you admire?”

Sariah cocked her head, playful.

“In public?” she asked.

Everyone cracked up.

“Let’s just say… I prefer the ones who keep it real, don’t lie with their mouths or their mouths—”

“EH?!?” the whole room screamed.

Sariah just gave the camera a sweet wink. Jessi full-on face-planted into the desk, howling.

The Blueprint fan edits? Immediate. Ruthless. Viral.

One TikTok used her voice over scenes of K-pop men tripping, stuttering, falling on stage.

Caption: “Every man after Sariah said she needs someone who won’t melt under fire.”

And at the very bottom?

#HeLookedSoftToMe 😭🔥

Chapter 86 – “All Her Type in One Frame” (Sariah POV: revenge arc with HD filters and a waist-snatching outfit)

The photo dropped at midnight.

No caption. No tags. No warning.

Just a crystal-clear pic posted to Sariah’s Instagram grid—and the entire damn Internet fell into a collective gasp like they were extras in a K-drama and the male lead just walked in shirtless.

📸 THE IMAGE:

Sariah laughing—really laughing, eyes crinkled, teeth showing, head thrown back.

She’s in the middle of the four most dangerous men in the Korean hip-hop-idol scene:

Bang Yongguk, arms wrapped around her from behind, lifting her slightly like she weighed nothing.

Jackson Wang, one hand gripping her thigh as he helped steady her, his other arm flexed, looking at her like she just dropped the hottest verse of 2025.

Zico, handing her a single black rose, wearing sunglasses indoors and smirking like he knew he was part of history.

G-Dragon, full couture, leaning in with a mischievous grin, holding up a white rose like it was a peace offering between gods.

The caption?

“I wasn’t playing.”

Twitter? MELTDOWN.

Blueprints: “This isn’t revenge, this is BIBLICAL.”

K-netz: “She assembled the ultimate alt-idol harem.”

ARMYs: “We love Taehyung but… she bodied him. She really did.”

K-variety staff account: “Y’all we had NO idea she was serious when she listed them—our producer DMed and they all pulled up.”

Backstage, Variety Show Flashback – Earlier That Day

The show was called “Idol Island: Special Edition – The Bold & The Beautiful.”

The host thought it'd be funny to surprise Sariah with just one of the men from her list for a skit.

…Except they all showed up.

“Wait, what the hell?!” Jessi had whispered, clutching her drink.

“I thought it was a joke,” Sariah muttered, still grinning, stunned as Zico walked in wearing leather and saying, “Yo, we heard you got good taste.”

Jackson fist-bumped her like they’d been homies for a decade. GD kissed her hand. Bang Yongguk just picked her up like she was a feather and said, in the softest bass imaginable:

“Let’s give them a show then.”

And baby, they did.

Meanwhile, across the city…

Taehyung was on Weverse Live, mid-ramble about art when the comments exploded.

“She posted.” “Check her IG rn.” “Tae. No fr. You need to see this.” “BANG YONGGUK GOT HER LAUGHING LIKE THAT.”

He paused. Blinked. Checked his phone.

Then silence.

He stared at the image.

He zoomed in.

Zoomed out.

Zoomed in again on Jackson's hand placement and nearly threw his phone across the room.

“Hyung, you good?” Jungkook asked off-camera.

Taehyung stared blankly at the wall and whispered:

“...She weaponized the whole second gen.”

Chapter 87 – “Forgive Us Our Trespasses, As We Post With Our Enemies’ Situationships” (Sariah POV: brunch, a bombshell, and the quietest explosion Seoul ever felt)

The post dropped at golden hour.

No filter. No edits. Just soft lighting, muted tones, a vintage espresso cup on the table, and two of the most stunning women in Seoul history locked in a friendly side hug.

Sariah Blue. Jennie Kim. One smiling bright, the other effortlessly chic with a soft grin—two powerhouses at what looked like a casual, cozy brunch.

The caption?

“Sisterhood is sacred 🤍✨”

The fans? IMMEDIATE panic.

Blueprints: “This is chess and she’s in endgame.”

BLINKs: “Wait… why does this feel like a threat and a Vogue cover at the same time??”

ARMYs: “ISN’T THAT THE GIRL HE KISSED?? ISN’T SHE—WAIT—”

But the real nuke wasn’t the post.

It was the comment she left under it.

Beneath her own post, a soft reply in Korean:

“God gives his toughest battles to girls who wear nude gloss and know all your secrets.”

And that’s when fans lost their minds.

Backstage in hell—aka Taehyung’s apartment

He saw the photo mid-hair appointment. The stylist literally paused and whispered, “Hyung... do you know about this?”

He looked.

He stared.

He DIED INSIDE.

The two women? In the same picture? One he kissed, one he lost.

His brain blue-screened like a hacked MacBook.

“Did… did she just soft-launch psychological warfare?” he muttered.

Meanwhile, Jennie—blissfully unaware

She had no idea. None. Nada.

To her, Sariah was that cool, funny Grammy-winning American singer Jessi introduced at a Dior event last week.

They’d hit it off. Laughed about skincare. Took the selfie at a rooftop café because the sunlight hit just right.

Jennie posted it too.

“Girls who get it… get it 🫶🏼”

Sariah reposted that one with a sticker of a halo over Jennie’s head.

Fans:

“She’s playing both sides of the war like a Renaissance queen??” “This is medieval levels of pretty + petty. She might be the villain but I fear I love her.”

[novella-writers]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Long term slow-burn friendship into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine. 

I’m into medieval, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more. 

Explicit/intimate content is needed, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, anything. 

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that. 

Dialogue to me is just as important to descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies. 

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I like using Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc . .

LIKE IF INTERESTED

Like if interested!

[rphunter]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no younger/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience..

Hey, all. My name is Bishop, 25 years old Male, Midwestern American, Central Standard Time. Replies can fluctuate between 5-8 paragraphs depending upon the scenario.

Long term slow-burn friends, enemies or strangers into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine.

I’m into medieval, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more.

Explicit/intimate content is important, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, headcanoning their thought processes, etc

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that.

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Dialogue to me is just as important as descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies.

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I generally use actors such as Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc. I won’t try to make you use a certain faceclaim, but I won’t lie and say that physical appearance doesn’t matter to me. Just needs to be someone a bit aged and good looking, you know?-

Well, that’s all I have for now, if you’re interested, feel free to like the post and I’ll shoot you a message.

.

[ocrpsearch]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no younger/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience..

Hey, all. My name is Bishop, 25 years old Male, Midwestern American, Central Standard Time. Replies can fluctuate between 5-8 paragraphs depending upon the scenario.

Here's some more details in regards to what I have in mind:

Long term slow-burn friends, enemies or strangers into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine. 

I’m into medieval, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more. 

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Explicit/intimate content is important, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, headcanoning their thought processes, etc 

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that. 

Dialogue to me is just as important as descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies. 

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I generally use actors such as Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc. I won’t try to make you use a certain faceclaim, but I won’t lie and say that physical appearance doesn’t matter to me. Just needs to be someone a bit aged and good looking, you know? 

Well, that’s all I have for now, if you’re interested, feel free to like the post and I’ll shoot you a message.

interact and the user will reach out!

[behemoth-v]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no younger/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience..

Hey, all. My name is Bishop, 25 years old Male, Midwestern American, Central Standard Time. Replies can fluctuate between 5-8 paragraphs depending upon the scenario.

Long term slow-burn friends, enemies or strangers into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine.

I’m into medieval, greek/norse mythos, wild westerns, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, fantasy, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more.

Explicit/intimate content is important, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, headcanoning their thought processes, etc

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that.

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Dialogue to me is just as important as descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies.

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I generally use actors such as Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc. I won’t try to make you use a certain faceclaim, but I won’t lie and say that physical appearance doesn’t matter to me. Just needs to be someone a bit aged and good looking, you know?-

Well, that’s all I have for now, if you’re interested, feel free to like the post and I’ll shoot you a message.

[findroleplay]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Long term slow-burn friendship into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine. 

I’m into medieval, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more. 

Explicit/intimate content is needed, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, anything. 

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that. 

Dialogue to me is just as important to descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies. 

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I like using Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc . .

LIKE IF INTERESTED

-

[roleplay-finder-search]

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term discord writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

Looking for MXM, mature, literate 21+ long term writing partner. I exclusively write/am interested in writing with male characters that are over the age of 30. No teens, no young adults, no young/older dynamics. A mature couple of men that have grit, depth and experience.. 

One plot I have in mind: A valiant, powerful knight is tasked with escorting a dangerous prisoner across a far off land to the place where he will be charged and likely killed for his crimes. What will unfold between them in the duration of their travels? All sorts of challenges threaten their ability to make it. All sorts.

Long term slow-burn friendship into lovers. A good mixture of Action and Slice of Life, obviously with more emphasis on Action, but those slice of life moments that make the characters feel all the more genuine. 

I’m into medieval, cyberpunk, futuristic, steampunk, utopia, dystopia, apocalypse, superheroes, wizards, werewolves and vampires, intergalactic, 80's, 90's early 2000's and more. 

Explicit/intimate content is needed, however it won’t be the central focus of our plots and should happen as frequently as it would in a mature themed television series. In terms of roles or labels, I consider them interchangeable between characters as I don’t like sticking titles like top/bottom, sub/dom on characters.

I love sharing concepts of aesthetics with word building and what our characters would wear/live at. Their pets, anything. 

My ideal partner is someone with an eye for detail and subtleties and a good amount of general writing experience. My starters and replies can be lengthy, but I don’t intend for that to be a reflection of my expectations. I expect you to do what you can or can imagine. Quality over quantity, write how you envision the scene going, describe what you want, but don’t try to overcompensate for length by forcing yourself to describe how the patches of grass sway with the wind or anything like that. 

Dialogue to me is just as important to descriptions so I try within my best efforts to capture what my character would say or how they’d say it. If we’re in a scene where there’s conversation happening but not a lot of movement or change in the setting, let’s give each other a chance to let our characters have a back and forth instead of closing off the conversation after two replies. 

For faceclaims, I very clearly have a type. I like using Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, Jensen Ackles, Pedro Pascal, Jefferey Dean Morgan, Lee Pace, etc . .

LIKE IF INTERESTED

🐍

[dimlylittorch]

random commentary under the cut that no one cares about :3

I don’t really consider myself to be in any of the ‘fandoms’ on this website or any other because as silly as it sounds, the characters that I watch and love are my own. I have my own perception of them, and they belong to me. Because our perception is our reality, and no one can take that away from a person. I’d never argue over a character or an actor or a plot point or a storyline. Because someone will always have a problem with it. Media and any creative works are like lemonade. For some it will be refreshing, and for others it will only make them thirstier.

I find drama really exhausting. I’ll never understand how people take pleasure in discourse, unless it’s about important things. But I don’t consider ‘drama’ to be about important things lol. Seeing people argue over something as trivial as a tv show or an actor always amuses me. I might do it as a joke every now any then, but if anything I argue for the fact that everyone has a right to enjoy what they enjoy, and dislike what they dislike. But that doesn’t give them the right to police what other people enjoy or dislike.

For example: I enjoyed the Star Wars sequels. Not because they meshed in well with the story line. Not because they met my expectations. But because they are Star Wars. They are part of the franchise, and I love them for existing. Even if people think they were bad, they still had aspects worth loving. The cinematography alone was beautiful. Sure, it wasn’t what people wanted. But they already exist.. why be mad at them years later?

—

Sometimes I read through those silly confession blogs, just because I wonder what goes on in other people’s heads. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that people love to say whatever when they can do so anonymously. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to run a confession blog, only to be posting other people’s judgements and hate. But then again, you do you.

I was reading one about Pedro Pascal. I adore Pedro Pascal. Some people have a problem with loving celebrities, but I don’t see an issue with it. I’ll never meet him, and I probably don’t even love him. I love the version of him in my head. My own little Pedro Pascal who lives in my perception of reality. I find it funny that people argue over people they will never know, and probably would never care to know if they just met them on the street before they were famous.

I just learned that people are speculating about his sexuality. Which is very odd to me. All I have to say is this: why does it matter? I guess some crazed fans think it means they’ll never get to be with him. Which like, you never would have anyways. But also this is pretty problematic because why do we just assume things about each other? Just because he supports the lgbtq+ community doesn’t mean he’s a part of it. Just because he is such a sweetheart doesn’t mean he’s has to be queer in some shape or form.

I love being a queer person. I think it really adds a layer to myself that wouldn’t have been there without it- like an extra layer of character building, you know? It makes me a kinder and more empathetic person, and it allows me to have a more expansive outlook on love and gender. But I have to admit, sometimes the community as a whole feels kind of mean girl-ish. Policing labels and people’s identities.. it’s not a good look. Just because I am a proud queer person doesn’t mean others need to be open and loud about their sexuality or gender.

I really believe we should focus on giving people the space to explore themselves. Emphasis on space. Letting people experiment without slapping labels on them, letting people try new experiences without calling them out for it. That is one thing I kind of like about the older generations- a lot of them understand what it means to mind your own business. None of us belong in Pedro Pascal’s life, or how he chooses to live it. People get a lot of entitlement from watching an actor on a screen, and it always makes me sad. I can’t imagine how weird actors feel knowing they’re being watched and judged constantly.

But all in all, I just wanted to say this: Why does it matter if Pedro is an ally or a part of the community? He supports us either way and that’s all that should matter. It’s none of our business, and he has a right to his own life. Seeing people say things like ‘he’s definitely one of us’ or things like ‘he has to be gay atp’ is so disheartening. To me, that can feel almost as bad as ‘he’s not a fucking gay’, which is something else I’ve seen. For a supposedly accepting community of people, we sure do judge a lot. Thats just been my experience with fellow queer people sometimes irl and online. I like it when we let people be themselves without trying to guess what they identify as, or trying to predict who they are :3

Anyways, I wanted to end this with one message:

🗣️let people live🗣️ who cares🗣️ it doesn’t involve you🗣️

thanks for reading! i just got annoyed lol and wanted to discuss it

[desmond-the-queer-dragon]

I am hoping beyond hope that they let José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal (Pedro Pascal) show of his bilingual skills and speak Spanish as Joel. I really want this presentation of Joel to be written around Pedro and his heritage. Have Joel come from a Latinx background in this adaptation. Yes, you keep the characteristics that make Joel who he is, but I think it would be great to expand even further. Go and do what the games did not. We have a Latinx man starring in a television adaption for one of gamings most beloved video games.

I’m literally sitting here picturing a scene of Joel and Ellie bonding, with Joel teaching Ellie Spanish (Ellie: how do you say *blank* in Spanish?) and have Joel be all annoyed but still teach her.

[pascallatte]

Very Funny

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader

Summary: A very chaotic Kingsman interview

Date: September 2017

A/N: like last time, sorry for the late post. I was having a massive headache so here I am, alive and well, also you aren't here cause this is like a scenario where someone(Halle) hints at your and Pedro's relationship, and will do like 1-2 more of this before my beloved 20s start. so without further ado, enjoy reading and please tell me what you think, like always.

“So we thought, we’d help you get to know each other. Ok?” Dotty, Halle and Pedro’s interviewer for this video told them. 

Handing Halle a card, “This is for Pedro, so you ask Pedro those.”

“Ok, so she- OK” Still confused at what’s happening, Pedro looks back and forth between Halle and Dotty. 

“These are for Halle. I’m just trying to help you to get to know each other,” handing Pedro his own cue card.

Looking down at her question, “ok, so I go first?” Halle asks, smiling at her questions.

Agreeing, “ you can go first Halle, you go work your way through those questions. I’m trying to help you, get to know Pedro.”

Halle laughs before continuing, “Okay, Pedro. What is something you get wrong almost every time you do it?”

“Like if I ever think I can cook for somebody,” he says making this off-looking look on his face before turning to Halle.

“you can’t cook?”

“I just shouldn’t,” shaking his head at her.

Being the subtle tease she is, “really?”

“really.”

And in want to tease him more, “but do you try hard for-,” she cuts herself off a smirk now seen on her face, “-for your loved ones?” she raises her eyebrows at her emphasis and his reaction.

Nodding slowly, “For my loved ones? Ah, I try-I improvise. I always think that I can improvise a meal and then make a good sandwich,” Pedro was seen rambling on and on, somewhat shocked at Halle’s follow-up question.

“stick to that, stick to what you know”

Deciding to help him out, “so you can’t cook.”

Now looking at her intently, “I can make a good sandwich-” he says as he looks like he was telling something to her through his eyes.

“okay.”

“-and good breakfast.” 

“well breakfast is important,” she tells him, chuckling for a bit.

Almost calm, he responds, “exactly”

Halle’s smile makes him ramble again, sensing the teasing he’ll get, “You want some breakfast? You want a sandwich? Come to me.”

Dotty says as she watched the exchange, “This feels intimate guys. I feel like I should leave.” The pair laughs as Halle makes an 'X' using her arms mouthing,” Not me, not me”

Interrupting with her own questions, Dotty looks at Pedro, “Do you want to make breakfast for Halle?” With the same soft tone as a while ago, he turns to look at Halle’s teasing expression, “I’d love to make breakfast for Halle”

“Halle, do you accept the invitation?”

With a smile and an “isn’t it obvious look,” Halle turns to Pedro with a stoic look before giving a subtle tease (not that anyone but them would get it), “Yeah, anytime, just wanna make me anything you want. I’m telling you he loves making breakfast for his loved ones."

At this time he just accepts her teasing, nodding at her words,” yeah I make breakfast for my loved ones every time.” As if nothing ever happened she began her next question. “So Pedro-“

The interview continued, with questions varying from what was the last lie he told to if there was anyone Halle forgot to thank in her famous Oscar-winning speech and now to the opening, what was the worst way you’ve broken up with or been broken up with someone. 

And with Pedro being on the spot he thought for a moment before sharing with the world that, HE, the Pedro Pascal. Has been broken up by someone via email, which leads the video to his own question for Halle.

“umm, yeah Next question!!” Pedro says loudly as he looks down at his cue cards, making everyone laugh at his declaration.

“what do you look for in a man?”

Raising the mic up, “Clearly all the wrong thi-.“ And just as quickly, Pedro cuts her off, “Now. Now. Today. What do you look for in a man today?"

Jokingly, or not, “Who says I’m looking for a man?” Halle says as Pedro gives her a look which she clearly understands.

Dotty adds her own, “or woman,” making Halle laugh.

Somehow cleared up, “or woman. You know what? What do you look for in a person?”

Looking up, she thinks of something that won’t start something with the press, “Hahh... honesty, everybody would say that. That was a no brainer”

Disagreeing with her, “that is not a no-brainer, honesty is the most important. The number one-“

Dotty being the curious person and interviewer that she is, asks him,” How about you Pedro? What do you look for in a woman..or a man?” Also shrugging like her her question isn’t such a big deal.

Halle seeing this as an opportunity to tease him again, leans closer to him, “Hmm, what do you look for in a woman Pedro?”

Whispering to her, but the mic still picks it up, “huh, I think I know this.” Faking an innocent expression, she raises her hands up in surrender, “no, no”.

Jokingly, the interviewer joins in with Halle’s teasing, “Yeah no, we just want to tell your fans your...let’s say type.” Unconsciously fanning himself with the cue cards, he whispers to his right, “Don’t deny it.” 

Halle, despite the chaotic mess they’ve portrayed just now, still urged him, “Okay, just give us five words” 

Breathily, “Five words to descri- what I look for?” Pedro, who was still looking at her, asked as she just nodded in amusement.

They stared at him expectantly, making Pedro leave no choice but to answer, “Okay, okay, let’s see. I want someone who cares, obviously.” Leaning back the chair as he lifts one hand to count.

The interviewer does the same, “Ok that’s one.”

“Someone who can keep up with me, in every aspect.” He listed, getting nods from Halle, who has this very obvious smile on her face. “Of course.”

Looking at Halle, “Umm when sh-they love to be themselves. Like always especially when I've gone and done all the unthinkable every midnight..”

Leaning back in exaggeration, “Oh those are oddly specific.”  Copying her stance, “Is it? No, it’s not, I’m speaking in general over here.” Bringing both hands in the air as he emphasizes general.

Just agreeing to what he says, she continues, “Now, how about features?”

“Features? Why features?” He gives her a very very questioning look, making her laugh as she leans on him. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

He fakes a chuckle as he realizes, this is still a part of her scheme, “I mean, they should be lovely-look, everyone I love would look lovely to me.” Halle gives Pedro an audible hum and a wink towards the camera.

“what??”

Sniffling a laugh, Halle just waved a hand in the air, “Nothing, go on.”

Dotty, now really curious, “Hold up I sense something here, is there someone? You’re like thinking of?” And like a deer in headlights, the bickering pair turns to her, Pedro shaking his head and Halle smiling in her seat.

“oh no no, absolutely not. I don-it would be out in the world already if I do- just with what’s happening." Pedro insisted, arms waving around to show that there's no one.

“Sure, sure. You can’t keep it a secret can you?”

Flicking his cards towards her, “Hey! Okay the last one is that..they…should be-“

Whispering to the mic as subtle as she can, “-small and energetic”

Whipping his head at her declaration, more of in a panic state than a surprised state, “Huh? What do you mean where did that come from?”

“Yeah Halle, where did that come from?” Butting in as Dotty is now more curious at the meaning than the interview proper itself.

Shrugging, “I don’t know, cause I do have a friend who’s small and energetic and-“

“who is I-“Dotty was cut off when Pedro spoke loudly towards the mic. “Yeah, okay, okay. that’s enough. She doesn’t have a friend, who’s small…and energetic. I think? that I know of.” Looking at her with big eyes as he plays with the back of her chair.

Sensing that the time they have is almost out, Halle opts to end it with a final tease, “He’s right, I don’t, but he does.” Small tease being this exaggerated wink and pointer finger pointed at him.

Pedro, like shoving people out of the way ends the interview, “Very funny. I don’t- actually don’t believe whatever’s coming out of her mouth, at the moment.” Making the people around him laugh as he slumps on his chair.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙

Taglist: @benonlinear @t-stark35 @heyitsme-2 @elleeeee21 @holmesstrange @tagakalat @flyestvenustrap @oldermenaremyreligion @cherryred444 @hobiismyhopeu @ilovehotdadsandshit @djarinsstuff @guacala @avengersheart @pukka-latte @lilvampirina (the ones in bold can't be tagged on my side. Please tell me if you've encountered any problems on your end)

[stormkobra-5]

Batons and Unicorns: The Whitest, Brightest Wedding of All

Pairing: Moon Boys x Reader

Fic Type: Drabble (Part of the Batons and Unicorns universe. You can find the rest of the stories here on my Moon Boys masterlist.)

Summary: After three years of being together-- and even having a daughter-- you’re finally marrying the man-- men-- you love.

Involving Steven, Marc, and Jake x reader, adorable Amonet, and one very proud grandpa skeleton-bird.

A/N: I know that the gif isn’t from Moon Knight but tell me this isn’t the perfect gif am I right?! Am I right?! Look at his sparkly eyes! Anyway, coming back to this series is makin’ me feel pretty nostalgic. Oh, the days when I was still wary of writing smut and getting the hang of posting on Tumblr… Yes I made Frenchie as if he’s played by Pedro Pascal I know you all love it–

Disclaimer: I don’t know anything about weddings, period. Have never been to one that I can remember tbh.

Warnings: Fluff. Lots of fluff. This story is rated 14+ for strong language and some mildly suggestive themes.

Ok.

You just need to take a second.

And calm the fuck down.

This happens all the time, right? Every day, even? Surely it can’t be that nerve-racking, I mean especially when you’ve been with somebody for so long, right? Right?

Surely fucking not.

You stand before the floor-length mirror on a pedestal as the finishing touches are being added to your dress by your bridesmaids (Wanda, Shuri, and Natasha). You feel like a Barbie doll. Not in the bad way-- you’re pretty fucking pretty, in fact, you’re sure you’ve never been prettier. You’ve never spent so long at a spa, either. You’re pretty sure you’ve been transformed into a whole other person from before. That scene in Hunger Games where Katniss is given a makeover supreme? She has no fucking idea what you just went through yesterday. You still feel tingly.

Your hair is perfect. Your skin is perfect. Your face is perfect. Your dress is perfect. You’re absolutely perfect right now. Everything, spot on, A+ for presentation, the boys will be tripping over themselves, you're so gorgeous. But your emotions?

Girl they are crazy.

What if you mess up your vows? What if you say something stupid? Oh god, what if you don’t say anything at all? Will you even be able to use ASL with the bouquet in your hands??? Your heart is pounding in your throat and your breathing is rapid. On one side of the room, your mother and your Maid of Honor, Pepper, sit side-by-side with tears in their eyes and prideful smiles on their faces.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Natasha squeezed your hand for emphasis, chuckling as you glanced at her so that she could see the whites of your eyes. “You look stunning.”

Wanda meets your eyes with something like sympathy in hers. “Is it because everyone’s here?”

Oh geez, you sign, thanks for that reminder, Wanda.

Yes.

Everyone.

Apparently this was a first. Two superheroes, getting married. It apparently warranted every single Avenger to be present, to assist, and hell, even Fury was here. All superhero eyes would be on you and your husbands. It was the teeniest bit terrifying.

A timid knock at the door made everyone turn around, just as Khonshu entered-- dressed in a crisp white suit, one you swear he stole from Steven-- bending over to lead little tiny Amonet into the room. Apparently this occasion warranted even the presence of visible Khonshu.

"Mommy!" She cried, toddling forward on her tiny legs. She wore the most adorable little dress, frilly and purplish-blue. In her little hands she carries a bouquet of tiny flowers, and you immediately kneel to hug her as best as you can without ruining either of your looks.

“Hi, sweeti– oof–” She whacked you in the face with her bouquet, but thankfully, your makeup survived the accident unscathed. Khonshu chuckled, a deep echo that still, nobody was used to yet. It seemed to reverberate through the air itself.

“Easy, little one,” Khonshu rumbled, chuckling deep in his chest. As Amonet toddled over to your mother, Khonshu addressed you with something like pride in his voice. “You look stunning, Y/N.”

To hear that from a literal god was a good thing, you hoped.

Thanks, Big Bird, you signed, and now since Amonet watched Sesame Street literally every morning, he now understood that reference. If bird skulls could frown, he’d most definitely be frowning.

“Hmf. I would appreciate it if you would not call me that…” Khonshu patted Amonet’s head. “Remain here, child. I must see to your father.”

“Wait!” Amonet slid off your mother’s lap to take Khonshu’s hand. “I wanna come, Grandpa Shu-Shu.”

You couldn’t help but snicker to yourself as Khonshu pretended to be disgruntled. With a nod to you that you returned, Khonshu left your little bridal chamber to find Marc, Steven, and Jake.

~*~*~*~

“Bullocks.” Steven grumbled to himself as he tried to readjust the tie with shaking hands, only succeeding in choking himself.

“Easy, amigo,” Jake tried to calm him, but the cabbie’s voice cracked a bit. Steven knew that he was just as– if not more– nervous.

He wasn’t sure exactly why he was so nervous. You’ve been together for three years, and for two of them, you’ve had a little girl together. You’ve seen each other at your very best and your very worst and you’ve stuck together; he remembers the day he met you. The day he moved into Avengers Tower and the sweet mute young woman that helped him unpack, who researched DID and made friends– later, became lovers with– Marc and Jake. He recalled how many hours he spent learning ASL just to communicate with you.

The moment he– and maybe, all of them– fell in love with you was after he’d seen your powers for the first time was vivid in their mind. After he’d called you “birdie” and the two of you had paraded around the complex as Mr. Knight and a unicorn. You’d been mute for so long, but you trusted him to speak to. You spoke to him– to them. To your daughter. No one else.

He smiled softly to himself when he thought about the day you told him you were pregnant, after Harrow’s men had captured you; he still worried about that, especially with Amonet around, now.

“That���s it, buddy. Just stay calm.” Marc’s voice snapped Steven out of his thoughts; thinking of you and his little girl had calmed him down a bit, but Marc had stopped him from launching into a worried mess about potential threats.

A knock at the door nearly made him panic, especially when it opened immediately after.

Steven’s breath left him with sheer relief when he seen that it was only Khonshu– well, Khonshu, and one of the two things he loved most in the world.

“Daddy!” Amonet let go of Khonshu’s hand and raced for him; Steven knelt down to pull her into his arms.

“Hello, little scarab,” He gave her a kiss on the cheek as he stood. “You look so pretty, love! Just like a princess!” She babbled a bit, showing off the poor flowers she’d fisted and thrusting a rose dangerously close to his eye. “Oh, thank you, darling. I’ll put that right in here, yeah?” He carefully adjusted the rose in his breast pocket, before plucking a daisy from her hand and tucking it behind her ear. “Now you have one too, love.” A beaming grin broke across his face when she giggled.

“You dress up nice, worm,” Khonshu chuckled; Steven frowned at the nickname, glancing down at his sharp white suit.

“Thanks, I guess.”

The god scoffed. “Are Marc and Jake nervous, too, or is that just you?”

“W-what?”

Khonshu put a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “Do you really think it has escaped me how anxious you are, Steven Grant?”

“I-It’s just–”

“Just what? You’ve loved her for so long, and she has loved you in return, and so strongly, at that. Do you truly think you have anything to worry about?”

Steven thought about that for a minute.

“I hate to admit it, buddy, but; the old bird’s right.” He felt Marc take a metaphorical deep breath, trying to remain steady and level-headed throughout all of this.

“Don’t admit that,” Jake scoffed, offended. “Viejo pájaro zombi estúpido– we were already thinking that!”

“Thanks,” Steven breathed anyway, although Khonshu didn’t exactly make any of them feel better, but…

Both perked up at the sound of a knock. “Come in,” Steven called, and the door opened just enough for Sam to poke his head in with a beaming smile.

“It’s time.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Steven shuddered with anticipation, which Amonet most definitely felt. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck in a hug, which Steven eagerly returned. “Oh bloody…”

“You can do it, Daddy,” Amonet said softly, and the boys melted.

Steven had never heard Jake squeal.

“¡Awww, mi dulce pequeña mariposa, tratando de darnos confianza! ¡¡¡Esa es mi niña, esa es mi niña mariposa!!!”

“Aw, thank you love,” He kissed her cheek again before passing her off to Khonshu and smoothing his suit, taking a deep breath. “How do we look?”

“Like an idiot,” Khonshu scoffed, then added, a bit good-heartedly, perhaps, “But a well-dressed one.”

Steven’s blood rushed in his ears as he made his way out of the room, following Sam with Khonshu and Amonet closely behind.

~*~*~*~

Steven stood nervously at the altar, scanning over the faces of the gathered assembly. Every single Avenger– even the Guardians of the Galaxy, the sorcerers, the Asgardians, hell, even some mutants– had all come to witness Moon Knight and Skinchanger marry.

Beside him, he had Frenchie as his best man– a man he admittedly hardly knew, but Marc knew plenty about the “baby-chicken-faced” Chilean-American. In one of the front pews sat Khonshu, legs crossed, next to your mother.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep calm.

“We can do this,” Marc said, more to himself, “We’ve got this, it’s fine–”

“‘We can do this’?” Jake echoed in disbelief, adding, “Estoy teniendo un puto ataque al corazón, chicos. When she comes in the room in her wedding dress… Solo estoy... solo voy a colapsar aquí mismo, no van a saber nada de mí por un tiempo, ninguno de ustedes podrá despertarme, DIOS HACE CALOR AQUÍ PARA ALGUNO DE USTEDES–”

“Jake, buddy,” Marc tried, and he felt him trying to calm Jake, who, if he was hearing correctly, was trying not to hyperventilate. Steven jumped as the music kicked in. Oh gods. It’s happening. Right now, it’s happening… “Breathe, man. Breathe.”

“¿CÓMO DEMONIOS ESPERAS QUE RESPIRE? ACTUALMENTE FÍSICAMENTE NO PUEDO RESPIRAR, MALDITA–”

The doors opened. In came little Amonet, throwing flowers, and Jake shut up immediately. Steven felt not only his own pride at seeing his daughter, but Marc’s, and of course Jake’s, quite nearly overwhelming him. It took everything he had not to rush down between the pews and scoop her up in his arms.

Amonet tried to run for Steven when she saw him, dropping the flower basket. Khonshu snatched her up and planted her on his lap, making her giggle, and the boys’ hearts swelled with love.

And then, in came the most beautiful woman to ever exist.

You.

Their sun. Their stars. Their air. Their life. The only thing any of them had cared about in a very long time, you suddenly popped into their lives and gave them something to love wholeheartedly. And then, you did it a second time, when you gave them Amonet.

You were absolutely beautiful in your dress, radiant and glowing like a goddess come to life. The boys couldn’t take their eyes off you as you were walked up the aisle, and they felt a sense of great honor and pride when you were given away. To them. Out of anyone in the whole world, when you could have had anyone, you’d chosen them.

They couldn’t believe it.

You were a star fallen from heaven as you made your way forward, dress trailing behind you like silken snow, crystalline and incandescent.

“Dios mio,” Jake whispered in adoration.

“She’s beautiful,” Marc seconded, but Steven was lost for words.

You were so gorgeous you stole his breath away, just like the day he’d first seen you. Just like the day when the mute young woman offered to help him unpack.

“I love you,” He breathed, and he thought you said it too.

You both repeated it for your I do’s, your vows, the exchanging of the rings— that all-important kiss— and then again during the first dance, twice more throughout the after-party, and you must have said it a thousand times during the course of your wedding night. Your first night as husband and wife.

You were now, officially, Y/N Grant-Lockley-Spector.

And you loved your husbands with all of your heart.

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @dameronsknight @sylkisdagger @atzlena @gucciboots @pastel-0-princess @poeticsorcery @rosaren2498 @love-on-the-murder-scene @wintergirlsoilder2 @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @multifandomsw @bookloverfilmoholic @khaotic-kris @hb8301 @soggumm @simonsbluee @adamcarlsenslvr @bluestuesday @magnet-girl @rosellacwrites @dweeb-central @ilymorepls @drwhofangirl1963 @loonymagizoologist @auszimbo @tealrivers @laters-gators12 @izbelross @xcatnapsx @child-of-the-moon-gods @djarinsgirl27 @sokoviansorceress @eerievixen @cold-buffet-ham @upbeat-cascade @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog @candydancey @rqmanoff @jakelcckley @sharin4readers @lovely-cryptid @marc-spectorr @rmoonstoner @oscarisaacsspit @moonknightyws @hopefulfangirl24

[dotthings]

There are some people who might want to think about how tv production--especially for a show on the platform and format of The Mandalorian--works before they decide they know what happened behind the scenes.

The Mandalorian is created for streaming. It has a massive budget. LFL plans things well in advance. It has a long post-production time as well. The entire season is written and the season completed before it even gets an airdate.

This is not filmed like broadcast network tv with a 22 episode season.

At most, what happened was the producers had enough time to plan story arcs to allow for Pedro's heavily filming schedule with TLOU. But given that Bo-Katan Kryze was already established as part of The Mandalorian in Season 2, her role was likely always planned to be big. She's a significant legacied Star Wars character who deserved further story.

Also remember that a lot of the Din work is a stunt double with Pedro doing VA work. I'm not seeing how TLOU casting would have to be the entire reason for the Bo-Katan storyline.

As I said in my earlier post, starting in Season one I realized that The Mandalorian was about Mandalorian culture not just Din Djarin. He's the window into that world. That was even more obvious in S2. It was also obvious from season 1 that Din and Grogu would not be the only characters on the show. That was stepped up very gradually bringing others in, but even in S1, Din had a group of allies.

Some dates:

The announcement of Pedro Pascal starring in TLOU was made in February 2021.

The Mandalorian season 3 started filming in October 2021 and wrapped in March 2022.

TLOU started filming in July 2021, wrapped June 2022.

There's no way they altered story plans midstream while making S3. At most, the writing of S3, in advance, tried to lighten Pedro's load a bit. It was worked out before they even started filming.

The emphasis on Mandalorian culture with multiple Mandalorians in the story, and Bo-Katan getting a major storyline, isn't a late insert. It is not a last minute hasty patch or adjustment. Let me repeat--Bo-Katan is a significant legacied Star Wars character. Do people really think LFL did a show called The Mandalorian without ever planning to go back to Mandalore, and to such a significant Mandalorian character, already established in the SW universe, before The Mandalorian even got started.

There's nothing surprising here.

[lokis-army-77]

Hi, i was wondering if you could write something fluffy for Brian Wilson, you know from Love and Mercy, i love him sm and there is barely anything for him. If not then that's ok

Midnight Songs

Brian Wilson x female reader

Word Count: 1206

The reader wakes up to Brian playing the piano in the middle of the night.

Warning: Fluff

A/N: I never really do real person fanfiction because I think it's weird, but I did this because it is based on Paul's portrayal of Brian. And because I would be a hypocrite if I did, since I read Javier Pena fics. Which are based on Pedro Pascal's portrayal of a real person...

Inbox is open

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Waking up to an empty bed was common, especially if it was in the middle of the night, like right now. It was ten till two and the sound of the piano in the den had woken me up. 

Yawning, I tossed away the covers and strolled sleepily from the bedroom. The music flowed to me from down the hallway, getting louder as I made my way to the threshold. Without making a sound, I leaned against the doorframe, watching Brian’s back as he hunched over the keys.

The melody he was playing was sweet but the undertone was sad, broken. It was hauntingly beautiful in the otherwise quiet house. 

I never like to disturb him when he is playing, knowing that music is one of the only ways he can let his emotions flow easily and free from judgment. So instead of calling out to him or tapping on his shoulder, I just discreetly walked around him and the piano to sit on the couch. 

A good thirty minutes passed before Brian stopped playing and noticed me dozing off in the corner of the room. 

“You should be in bed,” he said as he sat down by my curled-up legs. 

I opened my eyes to look at him. “I could say the same thing about you Bri.” 

He just shook his head. “I’m not tired,” he lied. I could tell that he was, the dark bags under his eyes and the dry look they had told me everything I needed to know. 

Sitting up, I pulled him into a tight hug. “It isn’t quite is it?” I asked, rubbing his back.

He shook his head from side to side in the crook of my neck. “No, no it’s not.”

I rocked us back and forth on the couch as Brian pressed against me. His hands gripped the back of my nightgown tightly and he took several deep breaths. 

“What was that song you were playing?” I asked curiously.

“I don’t know, I just woke up hearing it.” He pulled away from our embrace and scooted down the couch a bit. I let my hands fall from around him to rest on his hand that he kept resting on my knee. “It probably won’t go anywhere though, Mike keeps saying the songs are too depressing.”

“Screw your cousin thinks. I like it, I love all the songs you write.” I squeezed his hand to show some kind of emphasis on my words.

He looked up and gave me a lopsided smile, “Thanks, dear.”

“I mean in Bri, you aren’t making songs just for Mike. If the rest of the boys like them then great, if not, then save them to make your own album. You don’t have to be just one of the Beach Boys, you can be Brian Wilson too.” I told him, as I started to rub my thumb soothingly over the back of his hand. 

“You always know just what to say.” 

“Well, I do try my best.” I giggled and moved to where I was closer to him. Taking my hand and cupping his cheek, I brought his face down to mine and gave him a gentle kiss. He brought his hands to rest on my neck, turning himself to face me fully. He kissed me back happily before pulling away slightly to rest his forehead against my own.

“The noise is still playing,” he muttered. “I just want to go to bed.” 

Looking at him sweetly, I brushed my hands through his hair, then placed a faint peck upon his nose. “How about I go make you a warm glass of milk and you go play the piano to get the song out of your head, hum? How does that sound? I’ll stay up with you as long as you need me to.”

He only nodded. We let each other go and went our separate ways. Music from the piano filled the silence as I padded my way into the kitchen and poured Brian a glass of milk. While it was warming up in the microwave, I also fixed myself a glass of water. 

Back in the den, Brian played with his eyes closed and hummed along with possible lyrics. I placed our glasses on the flat part of the music shelf before sitting down next to him on the bench, resting my head on his shoulder tiredly. 

After a few more bars and some experimental notes, Brian took several gulps from his milk before starting back again. By the time he was done playing it was nearing three-thirty and I was exhausted. 

“I think I’m ready now. It’s finally quiet.” He stated, moving to wrap his arm around my back to help me stand from the bench. 

“Then let's go back to bed.” I yawned out, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from his seat and down the dark hallway, not even bothering to turn the den lights off. 

Brian never once let go of my hand as we curled into the cool sheets, he was warm against me. Like my own personal heater. He let out a content sigh as I pulled the covers over us and he wrapped me in his arms. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He said lovingly into my hair.

“Well, you don’t have to think about that.” I kissed the part of his chest I was snuggled into. “Till death do us part, remember? I’m not going anywhere, you’re stuck with me.” I giggled.

“I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else.” 

“Hey, Bri?” I mumbled into him.

“Yeah?”

“I just want to remind you that you can always talk to me. I may not understand, what you are going through, but I can listen. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.” I hugged myself closer to him. 

His stomach jumped as he started to cry silently. “It’s just so hard sometimes,” he admitted. “The almost constant noise in my head and the anxiety that comes with it and the pressure everyone is putting on me to create the songs for the new album. I’m just so overwhelmed.” 

“Shh. It’s okay.” I tried to soothe him as I pushed myself up so we were face to face. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be right here with you the whole time.” I smoothed his bangs from his eyes and watched him in the moonlight. “I’ll give everyone a piece of my mind if you want me to, Bri.” 

He chuckled a bit at my last comment before bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Thank you, so much.” 

“You don’t ever have to thank me,” I lightly traced his eyebrows, down his nose, around his lips, and over his chin lightly with my index finger. He moved away slightly, giving a breathy laugh at the tickling sensation it brought. I kept outlining his features in the pale blue light of the moon. 

Not long after that, he drifted off, rubbing his hands along my back and holding me like I might disappear if he wasn't. I held onto him tightly as well, it was all I could do, all I knew how to do.

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