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onaswife · 11 hours ago

Text

Your reflection, my secret.

Couple: Alexia x reader

AU!Omegaverse, Omega x Alpha

Note: with the help of @futbolfatale and @sachanobie were my great beta readers. First story over 5k (9,4k) words since I started writing. I hope you like it and sorry if there are any mistakes, I'll fix them this afternoon!

Summary: They met at La Masia when they were eleven. At first, Alexia couldn't stand her. Then, she couldn't be without her. They grew up together. They fell in love. They separated.

Years later, fate brings them together again in the place where it all began: FC Barcelona. But this time, there's more than one open wound… and a little girl with the eyes of an Alpha who never knew she was a mother.

2005, February.

It would be your first year at La Masia. You had always dreamed of being able to play soccer and appear on television like Messi, Thierry, or Ronaldinho. Alphas that are bigger and stronger than their competitors. You dreamed of being like them, shining on the field like they did, and winning as many trophies as they seemed to.

Your parents had received a new job opportunity in Barcelona, near La Masia, so you were quite excited to see this magnificent place, which was like a dream come true for you.

"Mommy, can we go see a Barcelona game?" you asked as you passed a large advertisement for the men's first team, unable to take your eyes off it, as if hypnotized by it. "I don't know, honey. I don't know if your father can take you," you nodded with a small, sad smile on your face.

You knew it was a nearly impossible choice to make. Your parents didn't earn much more than they needed to survive with you, so you had learned over the years not to ask for more than they gave you. Although you knew they both had good jobs, you preferred not to ask for much.

You continued walking through the vast, endless streets of Barcelona, enthralled by the sight of so many colors and so many smells. The smell of salt coming from the sea, the smell of bread and coffee that filled the streets, and the roses that were everywhere. Being an alpha means you have a heightened sense of some when compared to betas and omegas. Being able to smell even the tiniest details helped make everywhere you travel just a little bit more magical. Though it was a landscape that unconsciously made you smile. It wasn't as if the place you lived before wasn't as beautiful. They lived in a colorful city too, but it was a totally new experience in Barcelona, where the sun seemed to rest without a schedule above your head.

You were lost in your thoughts as you listened to your mom talking about what she would make for lunch and telling you about interesting things she had seen during those days. You looked up, and it was, in your opinion, the best decision.

You saw two things: first, the large letters indicating you were passing outside La Masia, and second, a girl who seemed to be the same age as you, with dark hair tied in a high ponytail, a height similar to yours, although she seemed a few inches taller.

You looked up at your mother, who was watching your dreamy gaze from above. "Someday you'll get there... with your father, we'll do our best, love." She squeezed your hand and continued walking by your side, with a firm step.

That day, you couldn't stop thinking about that girl, about how she seemed to own the place. You wanted to be her friend and be able to play with her, since you could tell how good she was at playing, you could see it in the confidence she exuded.

As evening fell, you walked back. You were alone, not very welcome at your new school, being a foreigner and not fluent in either of the two languages spoken in the city. You knew how to speak two languages, or rather, three. Your mother was Italian, born in Sicily, while your father was French, born in Montpellier. They met in Sicily when your father went on vacation there before starting university, and there he fell madly in love with the Italian girl with beautiful eyes. Although he didn't know any Italian (only Ciao and Salve, which were basically the same thing), they both fell deeply in love, regardless of the language barrier. This led to both languages being spoken at home. Later, you learned English at school, and you became more interested when you saw that the soccer players spoke more English.

You passed by the side of a soccer field, near where your mother bought the delicious pastries they used to eat for dessert at dinnertime. You watched with excitement as boys and girls played there, all wearing shirts of one of your Barcelona idols, having the fun you so wanted to.

You sighed, ready to continue walking home, until a really sweet-looking lady approached you, speaking Spanish to you, which you didn't understand at all. She seemed really confused when she didn't get a response, and you were afraid she might get angry and yell at you. Instead, she just pointed at the court, followed by a "play" sound.

You looked at the lady, then at the court, back at her, and back at the court one last time. She saw the doubt in your eyes, so she gently grabbed your arm and led you to the others.

You enjoyed that day like never before, until it ended. Your mom arrived, worried.

As soon as she saw you, she ran to hug you worriedly, examining you from head to toe while you giggled at the tickling she was doing. "Mom, I'm fine. The lady there let me play." Your smile had never been brighter than it was in that moment, making it impossible for your mother to stay mad at you.

She grabbed your hand as soon as she stood up and walked toward the kind woman from before. They exchanged a few words you didn't understand while they both laughed. You managed to understand that your mother had mentioned your name, and the lady was looking at you with a kind smile.

They stayed talking for about 20 minutes while you looked at the pitch. Your mood had really changed just by playing 30 minutes of the game, where you had scored 4 goals and provided 2 assists, in addition to nearly saving a spectacular goal that your team had almost scored. You looked at your mother, who seemed to be saying goodbye to the other woman, until someone, a tall man with black hair, approached you. The man looked like some kind of coach, with a cap and some papers under his arm.

You exchanged a few words. Mom looked at you happily, and the man smiled at you before leaving.

The walk was silent, but not awkward. You were worried that maybe someone had said something bad about you to your mother, while your mother was waiting to be able to break the news as soon as your father got home.

They arrived, but not before buying your favorite cake. As soon as they entered, you saw your dad sitting on the couch waiting for them with a big smile on his face. You let go of your mother's hand and ran to hug him. The normal behavior for a young alpha wasn't to be so cheerful, but with your parents, it was impossible not to be. They both loved and adored you with all their being, and you returned them with all the love you could.

"Mommy told me she was worried because you hadn't arrived," he whispered against your hair, leaving soft caresses on your back as you excitedly told him about your day, skipping school almost the entire day and only telling him about the game you had. He looked at your mother as she approached to greet her, and they both listened attentively as you talked nonstop, until you got out of your father's arms and began showing them how you had scored the goals you had.

You liked afternoons like this, when your mother didn't have to work late and your father came home early, telling you about his day or simply listening to you chatter about everything you'd seen during the day.

"Our little girl was seen by important people today," your mother finally spoke as you and your father sat at the table, staring with the same expression at the food your mother had placed in front of you both. "And they have a really good offer, which I know Y/N will like." She caressed your hair, and you instinctively looked at her, your mouth full of food and your eyes dreamy.

"So? Tell me more." Your father was in the same condition as you, his mouth full and his eyes full of anticipation for the new news.

"After the game today, a man approached us and..." He stopped as he began to put things in the refrigerator. You looked at your father, who was almost eager to listen.

"Please finish telling us," you both shouted in unison, practically in tears. Your mother finally returned to the table and sat down with you. "What was I telling you? I forgot," she had a mocking smile on her face, knowing what was making you lose your patience. "Someone saw our daughter playing, and what else?" your father explained and asked as he took your mother's hand. You did the same, looking at her with palpable anxiety on your face.

"Oh, yes."

"Oh, yes, what?"

"He was a recruiter," she answered simply enough, making you squeal in your seat while your father looked at her excitedly. "Recruiter of what, love?" You looked at your father with a look of disbelief.

"So he can join us in collecting garbage..." your mother responded sarcastically as she looked at him. "Soccer recruiter, love." You jumped out of your seat, looking at her expectantly.

"Where's he from, Mommy? A local team wants me to play? Did you hear, Daddy?" You spoke quickly, the excitement that seemed to rush through your body in a second.

"Barcelona, well, he said he was from La Masia."

You remained silent, your skin prickling, and you stared at a fixed spot on the table, where the food was getting colder with the passage of time and your emotions. They both knew you, so they waited for you to process the news. When you finally did, you started screaming and running around.

You calmed down a few minutes later and began to cry in your mother's arms as she stroked your hair. "I told you you'd make it, love, you're the best," she murmured, placing a kiss on one of your tear-stained cheeks. "This deserves a big celebration. We have to tell your grandparents."

That February 19th was the official day of your debut in professional soccer.

Being eleven years old and moving to a country whose language you don't understand isn't easy. It was even less so when you were the only French girl among dozens of Catalans who seemed to have known each other forever. But you didn't let that intimidation come your way. From the first day at La Masía, you ran through the hallways, greeting everyone with great energy, your accent strong, and your smile even bigger. You didn't understand a word anyone was saying, but that didn't stop you.

Alexia looked at you from afar, frowning. "That new girl spoke strangely, was too loud, and always wanted to hug everything," she murmured to her younger sister. For the first few weeks, she ignored you or simply pretended you didn't exist. Sometimes she would comment to Alba that the French girl was crazy, that she laughed at everything and spoke as if the world should understand her. Sometimes she would even refer to you as "French..." followed by an adjective for you.

But there was something... that caught her attention.

The way you trained seriously even though you didn't understand the instructions. How you celebrated every goal your teammates scored as if it were your own, how you laughed even when you lost.

Your parents' story seemed to repeat itself with you.

Your first interaction was during training. The team was divided into two teams of 7 to test their teamwork. You ended up on the same team as Alexia.

Both of you wanted the ball, but neither of you was willing to let it go. You were playing well, but it bothered you to hear Alexia yelling at you in Catalan to let her shine.

"Pass it!" Alexia yelled.

"You're marked," you replied.

"Do it anyway!"

"No!"

She kicked the ball away from you with a clean kick. She dribbled arrogantly, and you felt your face boil as she watched Alexia shake off both of her markers, but missed miserably on goal.

"Stubborn French girl," she muttered without looking at you, and you clenched your fists.

"Catalan autoritaire," you said, even more quietly. (Bossy Catalan)

The other girls laughed at the little argument.

You really tried to get along with Alexia. She was one of the few girls your age. Most were younger, and the others were about to make their debut with the first team, which frustrated you. You didn't know what else to do to make Alexia like you.

But nothing seemed to be enough.

Every attempt to fit in with Alexia ended in frustration. You didn't fully understand what she was saying, but you could read her gestures, her averted glances, her cold silences when you sat next to her in the cafeteria or on the bus. You had tried everything.

You had heard her tell one of your teammates that you were "too much," that you were always on top of her, that you didn't know when to stop. So you stopped talking so much, lowered your laughter, and held back in practice. Even when you scored a goal, you just raised your fist in silence. You stopped running up to your teammates to hug them, even though the urge to do so was still there in your chest.

You changed, you molded yourself, just to fit in with her. To please her. Until one afternoon, in the middle of practice, you realized how ridiculous it was.

Alexia had yelled at you again. You didn't know exactly what she said, but you immediately understood the annoyed tone. And then you stopped. With the ball still at your feet, you stared at her.

"Je suis fatiguee de ça," you muttered angrily, barely audible to the others. (I'm tired of this.)

She frowned.

"What?"

"I'm tired!" you blurted out, kicking the ball hard into the empty net.

That was the day you decided that if Alexia didn't like you the way you were, then there was no point in trying anymore. You went back to being yourself. You spoke loudly, laughed at silly things, and celebrated every play. The younger girls adored you. And Alexia... well, Alexia started looking at you differently, but she was still trying to keep her distance.

You entered the locker room happy about winning against Espanyol, a crushing 5-0 victory in your favor.

You had assisted two goals and scored two more, which made you quite happy. Therefore, you had started speaking French while explaining to your other teammates how excited you were, and they listened attentively even though they didn't understand a single word.

Alexia, on the other hand, was annoyed. She had missed a few passes, had a shot on goal that didn't even come close to landing, and felt beyond stressed seeing your overwhelming happiness.

"Això no és frança," she said as she passed by you and shoved you with her shoulder, making you frown. All the other girls on the team seemed dazzled by the victory, and Alexia seemed to be going through the worst defeat ever seen by humankind. (This is not France)

"Toujours aussi belle, Putellas." you replied back, watching her roll her eyes at your response. (As charming as ever, Putellas)

You felt the atmosphere in the locker room change; now there was a little more tension in the air, which you hated. You quickly grabbed your things and went straight to the showers, with the sole idea of being away from the brunette who was making you angry.

Unfortunately, you had to learn to live with her.

The rooms at La Masía weren't big enough, so you often had to give up sleeping alone to receive a bunk bed in your room and learn to socialize with the person who would now be your roommate.

In your case, and with your luck, you ended up sharing a room with Alexia Putellas.

"J'ai le droit de choisir dans quel lit je dors, c'était ma chambre" you argued as you picked up her suitcase and placed it on the floor, lying down on the bottom bunk. (I have the right to choose which bed I sleep in, this was my room.)

Alexia let out a grunt as she picked up her suitcase again, placing it almost on your lap. "Sí, però jo porto més temps aca." Her gaze was challenging, one eyebrow raised as that mocking smile returned to her lips. (Yes, but I've been here longer.)

"C'est peut-être pour ça qu'ils t'ont pris ta chambre, parce que tu es vieux" you muttered as you settled in, turning your back on her and accidentally knocking her suitcase to the floor again. (Maybe that's why they took your room away from you, because you're old.)

"Francesa sense modals" (French without manners)

"Catalan agaçant" (Annoying Catalan)

That same night, just as you were falling into Morpheus's arms, Alexia threw a pillow from above, landing right on your face.

"You're snoring. How annoying."

You groan, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back, hearing a groan coming from above.

"You're literally snoring like a donkey, shut up!"

Training was always physical; you had to learn how to play well with your body without committing fouls, how to make good tackles. That's why it wasn't unusual for you to end up with bruises after practice.

You never got angry when you were fouled; after all, everyone was learning to be better soccer players together, and to be better, you always have to make more effort and know how to fall and get back up again.

Although, of course, you didn't get angry with the girls who weren't Alexia.

You were in the regular rondo, just finishing training to go to class.

You had squeezed yourself between two defenders; you were closer than ever to scoring a spectacular goal.

You were...

Until you felt a pain spread from your shin up, leaving you lying on the ground while you clutched your foot, pain clearly shooting through your face. She, on the other hand, looked down at you, her face not showing much emotion.

"Deixa de fer espectacle i aixeca't, ni tan sols t'he pegat fort." you growled as soon as you heard her voice, because of course, who else would be more than happy to knock you down with the excuse that she was defending the goal. (Stop putting on a show and get up, I didn't even hit you hard.)

Again, you didn't understand anything she said, but judging by her tone of voice, you knew she must be downplaying your pain, maybe calling you overreacting.

You stood up while trying to plant your foot firmly, feeling a cramp run through your leg, but you continued anyway.

You were fighting for a ball, Alexia hovering behind you, ready to stop your advance and maybe knock you back to the ground. You spun around, stepping on the ball and throwing it back, causing it to pass between Alexia's legs.

"catalan lent" you muttered as you passed her, watching her face turn red with embarrassment. You, on the other hand, kept running. This time, you wouldn't let her slow you down. (slow Catalan)

Your team ended up winning the round. You seemed to have won more than that, watching Alexia retreat, fuming from her ears. A triumphant smile spread across your face.

Even so, you limped past her, your ankle still hurting when you put your foot down, but you pretended as best you could that it wasn't true.

The day continued normally, with a bit of pain and not being able to understand much of the class. You'd been here for at least two months and still didn't understand any Spanish or Catalan. It made you feel stupid not being able to learn another language, even though most of your classmates already knew how. Besides, they'd given you a personal tutor to help you learn the language.

It was already after 10:00, the time they had set for bedtime. You sighed, trying to understand for the eighth time the paragraph you had written in Catalan in front of you.

"Podries apagar la llum? Hi ha alguns que si volem dormir" you heard the angry voice of the girl upstairs. You quickly wiped the tear of frustration that left your eyes and threw your book against one of the desks they had set aside. Then you turned off the light next to your bed and settled in to sleep. (Could you turn off the light? There are some of us who do want to sleep.)

The next morning, you tried to ignore her, not listen to what she had to say. And it worked, until it was time to take a shower.

"Podries apurar-te? vull banyar-me també i ja portes aquí com 2 hores" you heard Alexia yell from outside the bathroom. You had only entered five minutes before she started screaming like a crazy woman. (Would you hurry up? I want to take a shower too, and you've already been here for two hours.)

You sighed, sitting on the toilet lid, while your left foot rested on the edge of the tub. It looked a little ugly, bruised near the bone, and seemed to be swollen. You stared at it for a few more seconds. When you reached out to touch it, the omega outside screamed again, causing you to jump and hit your ankle. You groaned at the sharp pain that shot through your foot again.

You took a quick shower before heading out to your room, where your clothes were waiting for you. You didn't even look at the girl who shared your room, just walked past her, bumping her shoulder with yours while limping slightly.

One way or another, you ended up on the physio table while they checked your ankle. The coach had seen you limping and kicking with less power during training, making him suspicious and sending you for a checkup.

You didn't say a word when the physiotherapist began to gently press on your swollen ankle, the one you'd been trying to hide for a few days. You pressed your lips together, determined not to show any pain. You were an alpha; you couldn't cry over such minimal pain. Besides, it was already humiliating enough to be sent to the physios in front of everyone, especially when you'd tried to prove you didn't need anyone's help.

The bandage was already halfway across the table when you heard footsteps approaching. You thought it was the coach, maybe one of the girls waiting for her turn for physiotherapy. But your body tensed at the sound of that voice.

"Tu també ets aquí, Alexia?" someone said from the other table. It was Laura, another great center back on the U-12 team, one of the few who had also arrived from outside Catalonia (Are you here too, Alexia)

"Només tinc un punt tens a l'esquena," Alexia replied in her usual tone. (Just a sore hip.)

You didn't turn to look at her; you focused on the white ceiling, counting the imperfections in the paint so you wouldn't turn around and throw something, an object, or a word at her. You held your tongue to avoid further fights.

"Saps que ha estat coixejant des de dilluns, oi?" Laura continued, this time in a softer tone, more curious than accusatory, as she nodded toward you. (You knew she had been limping since Monday, right?)

Alexia didn't respond immediately. The sound of Velcro tightening the bandage filled the silence.

"No ho sé, estava jugant normalment, només vaig fer una entrada neta." She defended herself in a subdued voice, hoping to end this awkward conversation and get help quickly. (I don't know. I was playing normally, I just made a clean tackle.)

"Anyway, I should have said that before," Laura added with a sigh. Then, as if she couldn't help it, she added, "Although I think she didn't want them to see her as weak."

You understood that, and from the way your jaw tensed, it was clear it affected you too. You turned your head just a bit, just enough to catch a glimpse of Alexia, who was sitting with her leg dangling, not looking at you, but clearly listening to everything.

Her eyes lifted at the same time as yours. They met for a second. There was no mockery, but no regret either. Just that distant coldness, as if your presence was a constant nuisance.

"Maybe I didn't want certain people to know," you said quietly, in English, with a venomous edge.

Alexia frowned, obviously not understanding anything, but knowing it was coming from you.

"What?" she asked defiantly.

"Exactly," you whispered with a forced smile as you got off the table. The physical therapist ordered you to skip training for a few days, to go to classes, and to apply ice every few hours if the swelling and pain were still there.

You limped out of there, thanking him and not looking back, but knowing her gaze was following you.

The days seemed empty without training. You were restless without the constant exercise. You never really thought about how much you needed the release. It’s taught that young alphas need physical release, otherwise they can lash out at those around them, often physically. It was never something you had to worry about until now. All this pent-up energy is making you jittery.

Lessons are even worse; you can’t seem to focus on anything your teachers are saying. By the time you make it back to your room, your brain is buzzing. You find yourself knocking into objects you normally would have avoided easily. Your room is quiet, and Alexia sits on her bed, book in hand. The title is in Catalan, making it unintelligible to your French eyes. Alexia doesn’t even look up, which you guess could be preferred when compared to her usual snide comments. Her scent is calmer than usual and is missing the tang of sweat that often clings to her skin.

You take a seat at your desk, flipping open your maths book. You turn to the homework for the evening and have to think back to class. The equations on the page look completely unsolvable. You can’t seem to recall anything your teacher said about the subject. You flip back to the page before, but that seems to be of no help either. After spending five minutes staring at the page, you let out a quiet sigh. “Are you just going to stare at it until it solves itself?” Alexia’s voice shocks you. You had almost forgotten she was there. You hum noncommittally; you don’t want to engage in an argument with her. “You need to find the LCD,” you say, looking back at her. She hasn’t even looked up from her book. “ What?”

“The lowest common denominator. Look at the first question, 1/5 + 4/10, it would be ten, so you have to times the 1/5 by 2. It becomes 2/10, then you can add it to the 4/10.” Her explanation does make sense, but you won’t admit that to her. “I completed this unit last week,” she adds almost as an afterthought, though you know it was just to show off. You quickly write down 6/10 and move on to the other equations. Maybe Alexia is really a nice girl with a tough shell. She could have been testing you this whole time to make sure that you deserved to be her friend.

Scratch that whole maybe she is actually kind inside thought. Her ‘’nice’’ behavior lasted all of 5 days, then she was back to her old habits. You had been dealing with her nasty comments and overall bad attitude towards you for long enough. She has no right to treat you with such disrespect like that. You had never done anything to her in your time together.

You walk into your shared room to find her sitting at her desk, feet kicked up, still reading that dumb book from the other day. You push the door shut hard behind you, causing a shiver to travel down Alexia’s spine. You can see the way it moves over her skin. “Did you really need to do that, drama queen?” Alexia’s words are barely audible, but you still pick them up. A side effect of being an alpha, you suppose. “Excuse you.” You whip around, hand on your hip.

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I heard you, but you are going to wish I hadn’t.” You growl, stepping towards her.

“You can’t touch me. You’ll get expelled. It’s in the handbook… Oh, you probably couldn’t read that, you French brat. Since it is in Spanish”

“Je vais te tuer.” You growl, tackling her to the ground, taking her chair to the floor with you. She lets out a scream so loud you can feel your ears pop. (I’m going to kill you)

Before you can get more than a few hits in, someone is pulling you off of her and out of the room.

You really thought everything had changed. Alexia had been a new person to you, helping you with your math homework and seeming willing to help you with anything you needed.

It was like that until your ankle healed and you were playing normally again.

Your ankle was better. Not perfect, but strong enough to return to the rondo. You ran more cautiously, still a little tense, but you felt more confident with each pass. The ball rolled toward you. You controlled it immediately, spun, and darted between two defenders. When you looked up, you already knew who you were up against.

Alexia.

Part of you thought she would step aside, like she had the past few weeks. That she would still be the same person who explained to you that vermell was red and that in decibels, Alexia meant "my name is Alexia." But no. She bumped her shoulder into you and put her foot in just at the right moment to block the ball. It wasn't a violent tackle; it was precise and firm. And it knocked you to the ground.

The whistle didn't blow. It wasn't a foul.

You rolled on the ground, your heart pounding in your chest, and when you looked up, she was already walking away, the ball at her feet. She didn't even look at you.

You didn't need to either.

"Clair..." you mumbled in your French, your voice thick with disappointment. "Back to the same old thing."

You didn't look at her again for the rest of the training session. She didn't come near you either.

When the session was over, you went straight to the locker room, avoiding letting her notice how your eyes were starting to burn, though not from physical pain this time.

Later, in your room, you returned to your old routine: ignoring her.

You silently opened your language books, pretending not to notice her presence.

But she did speak.

"No és personal." That was all she said, sitting on the top bunk, her back against the wall, as if she didn't care much about explaining. (It's not personal.)

You didn't answer. Because for you, it was.

Alexia had been the only one who had seriously tried to help you during those difficult weeks. You had begun to trust her, really. And she, as soon as you returned to the camp, treated you as always.

Like competition.

Like an obstacle.

Like just another nuisance.

And you didn't understand. You didn't understand if it was because you were alpha. Or because you weren't Catalan. Or simply because you were you and she already hated you.

You only knew one thing: you weren't going to trust her again.

Even though something inside you, deep down, hurts more than your injured ankle.

New day, same routine. You woke up listening to Alexia complaining about your "messiness" (you had a pair of slippers lying next to YOUR bed).

"No pots ser més endreçatda? No t'aixecaràs?" she said as she stood beside you with her arms crossed, looking judgmental. (Can't you be more tidy? Aren't you going to get up?)

Alexia grunted, trying to pull the blanket off you while muttering in Catalan.

You recognized her instantly: her usual irritated tone, that half-anger-half-passive contempt. Her words were still difficult to understand, but you knew exactly when she was criticizing you. She could have said "good morning" like any normal person, but no, Alexia Putellas had to start the day with her favorite routine: annoying you.

From your side of the bed, you barely gave her a fleeting glance, still half asleep. Your hair was a mess, your face buried in the pillow, and you had no desire to interact with her. Without a word, you rolled over and wrapped yourself tightly under the blanket as if you could disappear from the world. Or at least from it.

"Ugh, you're so annoying..." Alexia grunted impatiently.

You heard her getting closer. Too close.

Suddenly, a sharp tug on the blanket made you grip the edges tightly. She was trying to pull it off you as if it were a personal battle.

"Stop!" you protested quietly, not moving, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Desperta't ara!" she muttered under her breath, still tugging, frustrated. Her voice was low but intense, as if she didn't want the other girls to hear her. (Wake up now!)

"Tu n'es pas ma mère!" you snapped in French (You're not my mother!)

"You're not my mother," she snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, "perquè si ho fos, et faria saltar-te l'esmorzar per mandra." (because if I was, I'd make you skip breakfast for being lazy.)

You didn't quite understand, but the intonation was clear. A mockery. Something with "breakfast" and "lazy." The tone was enough to make you want to throw a pillow at her.

She gave one last tug at the blanket, managing to partially uncover you. It was then that you sat up abruptly, your hair disheveled and your eyes squinting in sheer annoyance.

"What's wrong with me, huh? Why are you always on top of me? God, you seem obsessed with me."

Alexia crossed her arms. Her Barça pajamas were a bit too big for her, and the brown lock of hair that always escaped from her bun fell over her left eyebrow, right where she frowned.

"Because you're a mess," she replied, with that coldness that characterizes hers.

"And what are you? The captain of the world order?"

"Almenys jo no faig que la nostra habitació sembli un camp de batalla…" (I don't even make our room look like a battlefield…)

"I don't even understand what you're saying!" you exclaimed, fed up. "You always talk as if I'm not here. As if it weren't even worth learning how to communicate with me."

That stopped her.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Tension hovered between both beds, between the floor and the walls of that shared room that seemed smaller every day.

Alexia looked at you, and for the first time, she didn't seem to have a quick answer. Her expression changed, not much, but enough for you to notice a slight hesitation. But she didn't say anything.

Instead, she turned around, grabbed her towel and toothbrush, and left the room with short, quick steps.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her.

You sighed, lying back down. You hated that your day started like this.

You hated even more how much that Omega managed to affect you.

And so the routine continued. Alexia bothering you, showing the other girls that she bothered an Alpha without consequences.

She felt like the queen of the place, wherever she went within La Masia.

You stared at where Alexia was standing.

You had asked permission to nest in a remote, hidden spot, not wanting to suffer any more shame from missing your parents and the smell of home.

But of course, Alexia had to find it and destroy it. Your mother's jackets were thrown inside a black bag, which they normally used for trash. You saw Alexia lift up your father's shirts, ready to throw them out with the rest of the clothes. You felt rage course through you, and in that moment, you understood the saying about "seeing red."

You approached with long strides, your breathing ragged and your fists clenched tightly. You stood behind her, and in a voice you'd never heard before, you spoke to her.

"What do you think you're doing with my things?" Your voice was authoritative. Even though you mispronounced the Spanish words, they sounded more threatening than ever.

Alexia stood stock-still, unmoving, fear creeping down her spine. She turned slowly, seeing your darker eyes and how you seemed ready to attack her. You, on the other hand, grabbed the things from her hands and then pushed her, throwing her aside so you could grab all of yours.

"You really like ruining everything around you. I don't know how you can pretend to be the best player when you're the worst human being," you spoke in a still furious tone, your eyes beginning to sting with tears of frustration, as you tried to calm yourself down so you wouldn't do something you'd regret.

"It's not authorized…"

"I don't care what you think, Alexia. I had permission to do it, but of course, Miss "I Like to Ruin Everything" had to show up and throw her typical tantrum," you said scathingly as you finished picking everything up. "Go to hell, Alexia, you're the worst human being."

You walked past her, pushing her shoulder harder than usual, knocking her to the ground. Before, you'd usually turn around to check on her after pushing her, but now you just kept walking without stopping to think about her and how she was doing. Alexia stood there, sprawled on her butt on the cold ground as she watched you walk furiously away with your parents' things under your arms, and for the first time, she felt truly guilty for making you feel that way.

This time, you came first, nothing more than letting yourself be trampled by a Catalan gâté. (Spoiled Catalan).

A week had passed since that incident…

Since the day you pushed her and left her lying on the ground, Alexia hadn’t bothered you again. No more comments about your shoes, no smug glances in the dining hall, no shoves during training. She didn’t even say anything in the shared room. She almost seemed... ashamed. For the first time since you'd arrived at La Masía, she seemed... absent. Not physically, of course, she was still at training, in the dining hall, in the dorm. But she wasn’t all over you like before, and that confused you more than you wanted to admit.

You, for your part, had rebuilt your little nest in another corner, this time in an even more hidden spot, with your parents’ clothes carefully folded and protected, far away from Alexia Putellas’ hands.

But she wouldn’t stop looking at you from afar. From the dining table or the opposite bench in the locker room. As if she wanted to approach but didn’t know how.

It was one afternoon, during practice on the smaller pitch, when she finally did. It was after you finished gathering your things, sweaty and tired, ready to head to the showers. She blocked your path. Her expression wasn’t arrogant this time, she looked... nervous.

“Hey,” she started, lowering her gaze. “I wanted... to say I’m sorry.”

You said nothing, simply looked at her with a frown. She went on, speaking a bit faster:

“I didn’t know you had permission to make that... nest. I didn’t know those were your parents’ things. I shouldn’t have touched anything.”

The silence that followed was cold and sharp.

“And you think that’s it? ‘I’m sorry’ and it’s all okay?” you spat, taking a step toward her. Alexia stepped back a little but held your gaze.

“No. I don’t think it’s okay. I’m just... trying to change.”

Your laugh was bitter. “Change? Why now? Because you can’t stand that I don’t react the same anymore?” Alexia opened her mouth, but you cut her off before she could speak: “What do you want from me, Alexia? For me to applaud you for apologizing? To forget everything you did? How alone you made me feel? How humiliating it was to see the others laugh while you dragged me down?”

Her expression hardened, hurt. “I had hard things going on too. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m just a kid, just like you…”

“No, Alexia! Don’t give me excuses!” you shouted, voice trembling. “You have no idea what it was like to come here without speaking the language well, without knowing anyone, without having my parents, the only people I could speak to freely without being afraid they’d laugh at my accent. And you decided I was the perfect target... and now you say you didn’t know how to handle it?”

There was a moment of silence. The field was nearly empty at that hour, only the distant thud of a ball could be heard. “Why do you hate me so much?” Alexia asked quietly, as if she didn’t want to hear herself say it.

“Because you made me hate my happiness... my identity.”

Alexia swallowed, pressed her lips together, and lowered her gaze. She wanted to say something else, but this time, you didn’t wait. You turned around and started walking toward the locker room.

“Wait!” she called out.

You didn’t stop.

“Please! Give me a chance! Just one... please.”

You stopped in your tracks. Hesitated for a few seconds as the cool afternoon air brushed your face. “One. And if you ever break something of mine again, physical or emotional, I swear I won’t ever speak to you or look at you again,” you said without turning, but loud enough for her to hear.

Alexia said nothing more. But you could feel she smiled right behind you. Not a smug smile, but one of relief. Because for the first time, she had the chance to show you that she could change. That maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost between the two of you.

But you weren’t ready to trust her yet. Not just yet.

It had been about three days since that exchange of words between you two.

Three days since Alexia seemed to change, and all she did was make you uncomfortable.

She stopped making biting comments, no longer waking up and yelling at you to get up. No, now she would simply shower first and then gently tap your shoulder, followed by a quiet, "The shower is ready for you."

You couldn't deny how tense this sudden change in her made you. Her tone of voice had shifted, it was almost the same one she used with her sister or with her other friends, which left you utterly confused.

You got up slowly, savoring the silence you hadn't realized you'd been needing so badly. You took a moment to look around the room, the sun already warming as it poured through the window beside your bed.

You stared out the window, watching how the first rays of sunlight lit up the training fields, making them appear golden. There was something you cherished more than anything else, being able to take your time and appreciate things. The stars at night, the way the sun set, and even waking up a bit earlier to watch the sunrise slowly—it all gave you a sense of peace.

You started your morning routine as you did every day. First, you went to the bathroom to do your business and take a shower.

After that, you got dressed and walked toward your study materials. But something interrupted your routine.

If I ever made you feel alone, today I want you to know that loneliness weighs heavier when you're the one who causes it.

You stood still, staring at the note resting on one of your Spanish books. You didn’t move, simply frozen, looking at Alexia’s neat handwriting.

That was the beginning, Alexia’s written words, found in every corner of your room.

You were about to go to bed after a long day. Alexia had plans to watch movies with some friends, so you'd be alone for the next two hours. You walked slowly, wrapping your shoulders in your blanket, heading toward the bed.

You pulled back the covers, and one of your pillows lifted just enough to reveal a folded piece of white paper written in black ink, standing out among your bedding. You moved closer, and with that same slowness, you picked up the note between your fingers.

I’m not leaving it because I think I deserve forgiveness, I’m leaving it because I don’t know how to say it out loud. I’m sorry for the silence, for the laughter I stole, and the hurt I caused you.

Neither note had a signature, but to you it was obvious who had written them. It had to be Alexia—she shared the same room, had access to all your things, and no one else could’ve done it.

And that was just the beginning—notes started appearing everywhere. Inside your shoes that peeked out from under the bed, inside your pencil case among pens and highlighters, inside your textbooks and notebooks, in the bathroom near the shower, in your wardrobe. They were everywhere. And even though part of you wanted to be mad at her, you felt a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

No matter how much you tried to hate her… You were starting to tolerate her, and maybe, even crave her presence.

Days passed, and the notes didn't stop.

At first, they seemed strange, even invasive, but little by little, they became part of your routine. You almost began to search for them unconsciously, as if your fingers were leading themselves to the most unlikely places: under the chair cushion, inside the sleeve of your jacket, or in the back of your Catalan notebook. And every time you found one, you stopped. You took a deep breath. You read. And you felt something inside you soften, something you had held tense since you arrived at La Masía.

Some notes were brief, others a little longer. Some sounded like apologies, others like confessions, others simply like loose thoughts that she couldn't seem to share out loud.

One of them, written in shakier handwriting than the previous ones.

There are times when I want to talk to you, but I don't know where to start. Sometimes all I get is anger because I'm scared. You... you scare me, and I don't know why. But you also make me laugh. And when you're not around, I miss you.

You found that one in your water bottle the night before a game.

And you, without knowing why, put it in your backpack. Not to read it later. Just... so you wouldn't lose it.

You started to change with her too. Not drastically or obviously. But you could see it in your gestures. You no longer closed your eyes so much when Alexia entered the room. You no longer answered her with monosyllables. In fact, a few nights ago, while you were both eating some snacks you had taken from the kitchen, you were both laughing. You laughed when she tried to ask for more bars and choked on her laughter, making you laugh even harder.

The truth is, there was a part of you that wanted to ask her about the grades. I wanted to know if she wrote them alone or if she was inspired by something, if it was harder for her to let go or think about what to say. But you didn't. Not yet.

Because there was something special in that silence. In that secret language that seemed to form between you from the remains of a relationship broken too soon.

And that night, just before going to sleep, as you stirred your sheets with a tired sigh, you found another note. A smaller one this time.

I don't know how to apologize. But if you let me, I can try to be better to you, every day. -A

And this time, you didn't just keep it. You fell asleep with the folded note under your pillow.

It was November, and the sky outside was cloudy, but it wasn't raining. It was just that quiet chill that made the hallways silent and the air a little slower. The bedroom lights were off, except for the dim lamp on your nightstand, whose golden light fell on the two figures sitting on the bed.

You both shared a large blanket up to their waists, their legs crossed, shoulders almost touching. Each held an identical juice box with a straw, the kind you'd adored since you arrived, and which Alexia had learned to hide to surprise her on days like this.

"They're cold," you murmured with a lazy smile, taking a slow sip of your juice.

"I left them by the window so you'd like them better," Alexia replied, shrugging as if it were obvious. Then she glanced at her. "You like it when they're like this, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to hide your surprise. "Yeah... how did you know?"

"You said it once," Alexia replied, lowering her gaze to her own thoughts. "A long time ago. I wrote it down in my head... like other things about you that I thought were important to remember," she said as a sweet smile began to appear on her face.

You watched her for a few seconds; you didn't say anything, but the silence was comfortable, familiar.

The sound of a long breath enveloped you, while the dull walls of the bedroom were filled with that warm tranquility that only happens to someone who has already become home.

"You know what I like to do sometimes?" you whispered, tilting your head at her. "Look at the stars."

"The stars?" Alexia looked at you, genuinely curious.

"Yeah... when I lived in France, we used to go out into the yard with my parents and lie on the grass. We didn't talk much. We just... watched. I like that. It's like everything is so vast and peaceful at the same time." You took another sip of juice, smiling to yourself. "You can't see them here almost ever."

"We could still watch," Alexia said suddenly, with quiet determination. "Even if there aren't any stars. We can still try."

You turned your head toward her. "Why watch if there aren't any? Wouldn't it be a waste of time, do you think?"

Alexia snorted as she paused to sip her juice. "That's all behind me. I guess it's nice to have a moment like this."

They were silent for a few seconds. The juice straw fizzed with the last sip. You smiled through pursed lips. "That sounds so much like you," you murmured, not wanting to share a look for long. It made your heart beat a little faster.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "And what am I like, according to you?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, your eyes lowering to the blanket you shared. Your fingers played with the empty cardboard box.

"Sometimes you're clumsy with words, but you don't forget anything important. You act tough, but you care more than anyone. And... well, you give me my favorite juices when it's cold."

Alexia looked at her as if she didn't know what to do with everything she was feeling. "And you" now it was her turn "you're the only thing that makes me stay in this bed without complaining. Even if it's messy."

You both laughed softly. But something settled between them in that moment. Something soft, warm, strange.

Neither you nor Alexia knew what it was exactly. They couldn't name it; they only knew they wanted to stay there, like this. A little longer.

They thought it was friendship. Just friendship.

So you both ignored it. You kept it to themselves. You disguised it with laughter and deep conversations for both of you. Because, at eleven years old, no one had explained to them what it meant to want someone to never stop looking at you as if you were the brightest star in the sky.

But of course, not everyone can have a happy ending, right?

It was early December, three days before the end of term and the end of vacation, when all the girls received the news.

The U-12 girls' team would be folded.

No more games with Barcelona, no more laughter in the cafeteria, and worst of all... no more chatting until midnight with Alexia while gazing at the stars.

The news was a crushing blow to you. Like a punch straight to the pit of your stomach that took your breath away and left you constantly dizzy. You didn't know how to handle the situation, not now that everything seemed to be going so well with the omega, who was finally starting to love you... even if it was just as a friend.

That night, both of them arrived at the room at the same time. You were coming from extra training. Alexia, from a physio session. They looked at each other in silence, unsure how to talk about what they both knew already.

It was you who opened the door. Tears were beginning to sting your eyes. You let Alexia in first. Then you entered, gently closing the door behind you.

Alexia sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. You stood for a few seconds, staring out the window before sinking down onto the bed with a shaky sigh.

"I don't want this to end," you murmured, almost without a voice.

"Me neither," Alexia replied softly.

There was a long silence. Only the faint hum of the heater filled the room.

"So what are we going to do now?" you finally asked, without turning around, your eyes fixed on the dark sky that didn't show a single star.

Alexia didn't respond immediately. She just got up, crossed the room, and sat next to you on the bed. Her hands were cold. She placed them on her knees, uncertain.

"We can..." she swallowed. We can make the next three days worth it. As if they were the last. Because... they are, aren't they?

You turned to her. Her eyes were red. You couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from unshed tears. Maybe from both.

"I don't want to forget you," you confessed, your voice breaking. It was the most honest thing you'd said in weeks.

Alexia looked up at you. Her chin trembled a little before she let out a small sob, brief, but strong enough to make you break down too.

The two of you hugged. An awkward embrace, kneeling on the bed, as if the whole world were crumbling in your arms.

"I won't forget you," Alexia promised against your shoulder. "Even if years pass. Even if you live in another country."

You didn't respond, just closed your eyes. I wish it were true. I wish time wouldn't do what it always does.

They didn't sleep well that night. They laughed. They cried. They told each other secrets they'd never spoken out loud. And the following days were as if they were in a movie: full of improvised memories, of almost desperate laughter, as if they knew they were clinging to a thin thread that would soon break.

Three days later, Alexia said goodbye with a long hug, as if she could memorize your shape. "See you soon," unaware that that "soon" would turn into six years of distance.

You left for France, to your grandparents' house, where a small local soccer school offered you a new opportunity. Life went on.

So did time.

And in 2011, now seventeen, your steps brought you back to Barcelona. You had grown. Changed. But there was something that hadn't.

And there she was.

Alexia.

Taller, more confident. But when you saw her, you knew: she still remembered how your favorite juices tasted when it was cold.

And you still remembered that, once upon a time, she promised you she wouldn't forget you.

#woso x reader #woso omegaverse #barca femeni #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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sonderveiled · 14 hours ago

Note

hi! may i req smth w phainon and/or dan heng w a reader who’s like… super into crafty things? Like their partner sews them a little animal plushie [like ‘omg I made you hahaha’ and phainon gets handed a little white dog/dan heng being handed smth that looks like a larger version of a worm-on-a-string [[IS THAT WHAT THEYRE CALLED??? Idk I’m so sorry]]]

I’m so sorry if that made little to no sense or had a bajillion grammatical errors, I’m atrocious at articulating my thoughts TT… tysm! I love your writing style :D

— animal plushie ?!

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 phainon + dan heng x gn!reader (separate) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

notes: AHH FIRST REQUEST anon this is so cute !! just wanted to note that dan heng's worm is more of a dragon here, like the one in his dhil splash art ... THANK U FOR REQUESTING !!! i hope u enjoy ^^

⤷ phainon ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

the first time you show him any of your crafts, whether its something like jewelry making, paper crafts, or maybe even crochet, phainon is genuinely interested in learning more about it and finds all of your crafts really impressive!

and yes, he asks you to teach him how to do make all of those. he's not really the best at arts and crafts, but to him, what matters more is spending time with you and learning more about something you enjoy doing

ever since you first met him, phainon always reminded you of a dog. not in an insulting way! his personality just... reminds you of a dog seeing their favorite person. you swear that every time you see him, there's an imaginary tail wagging behind him when he greets you

that somehow doubles when you hand over a cute little white dog plushie and claim that its supposed to be him. he's basically beaming for the rest of the week

he takes good care of it, too. phainon always makes sure that its nice and clean (especially since it's a white dog, the dirt would be obvious) and he might have showed it off to the other chrysos heirs.

...and maybe, if you have the time and materials for it, he'll ask you to make your own animal plush so that you can match

⤷ dan heng ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

similarly to phainon, dan heng finds it very charming when you show him all your creations for the first time, wanting to introduce your boyfriend to one of your favorite hobbies

though, he's much more content with simply watching you make something. but if its a simpler craft like origami or painting, he'll join in for a little bit

he's also a little confused when you give him this... worm... on a string. that's supposed to be him? he appreciates it (a lot), but he doesn't understand it at the moment

but after some careful observation, he can see the resemblance between the little worm (which he later learned is supposed to be a dragon) and his vidyadhara form

dan heng is more subtle about his gratitude, mumbling a soft 'thank you' before kissing your forehead. despite the lack of excitement in his reaction, you can tell that he really does love your gift

he also likes leaving it safe and sound in his room on the express. it's not that he doesn't cherish it... it's the opposite, actually. since he and the rest of the astral express tend to hop around between planets and worlds, he's worried that the little dragon will get lost, stolen, or damaged in any way

he also notices the fact that you somehow added his red eyeliner to the small dragon plush. it's a little surprising, considering the size of it, but he really loves your attention to detail and your effort into really making it look like your boyfriend

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #phainon #phainon x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #listen to the final song of life .☘︎ ݁˖

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myyluverr · 2 days ago

Text

⟢. DIET PEPSI (2) — Phainon

You made a bet with your friends to see if you could score a guy who is really out of your league and make him fall head over heels for you in just fourteen days. So, you set your sights on Phainon, a history of arts major.

wc. ✦ 5.2k

tags. ✦ female pronouns used, vaginal sēx, munch Phainon, virgin Phainon, p in v, nerd Phainon, eventual smut in part 2-3 LOL, oral, loss of virginity, cowgirl, smut, cunnlings, fingering, dom reader (most part), misunderstandings, overstimulation, dacryphillia, slight angst, fuck girl reader, slight humiliation/ degration, nasty, hurt / comfort, pwp, bitting, awkward Phainon, a little rushed.

note. ✦ Credits to smokeigheh on tiktok! I’m sorry if I yap a lot on my fics, I have this thing where I’m so bad at explaining I drag everything through small details just to make the story more clear, oh and the next part will have another smut in it and it’ll be the end! I’m just trying to find time to write, I’m packed during sat-sun ㅠㅠ. Pls let me know if I made any spelling/grammar errors!

masterlist. ✦ PART 1 ; PART 2 ; PART 3 (tbps)

A Although you’re concerned that Phainon keeps avoiding you on campus, you initially thought he was just playing hard to get, shying away from compliments and subtle touches. In reality, he’s avoiding you because of a past breakup.

He has also been hurt in the past, causing him to avoid women at all costs. It’s not that he isn’t interested in you; he is. However, he resists, wanting to avoid being hurt again.

Phainon was no stranger to girls showering him with attention; he had been quite popular among them from middle to high school. Even last year, when he still had a girlfriend, he received a lot of attention. But when they broke up, it affected him significantly; he didn't put much effort into his clothing—usually, he would seek advice from Mydei’s help in styling himself but now he didn't care.

He quit some of his hobbies, like soccer and basketball. He used to be a team player, but now he has quit and is lying low to avoid attention.

You tried again, this time by sitting with him in the cafeteria. Before he could escape, you grabbed his arm, startling him. You looked him straight in the eye and asked without hesitation, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You’re frustrated by his indifference, yet he occasionally responds to your texts with a thumbs-up or an emoji reaction. That’s all there is to it.

As you wait for a response, he gulps, his ears turning slightly red. You can't see his face well because he's wearing a cap. Raising your eyebrows, you see him struggling to find his words. Growing impatient, you say, “Are you so speechless from seeing me that you've forgotten how to speak?”

Teasing him was your only hope of getting a response. He turned around slowly and faced you. “Let’s go on a date,” you exclaimed, giving him a teasing smile, tugging on the hem of his jacket. “I’ll be outside your apartment at 6.” It hit you then that you were the one taking the initiative in this relationship. Really? Instead of him asking you out, it was you making the plans. Times have changed, huh?

“I have to finish my thesis paper later I can’t—”

“Consider it a movie date at your apartment.”

You’re becoming increasingly impatient; people might think you’re crazy for chasing after a man who runs away the moment he senses your presence. You just can't seem to take the hint, can you? Usually, you ignore the gossip surrounding that, but now you find yourself chasing after those two months’ free rent if you can get Phainon to fall for you.

Phainon gave up and ultimately decided to give in to your wishes. He was exhausted and didn't feel like going outside anyway. It didn't seem like such a bad idea, right? He could simply tell Mydei not to come home tonight. Yes, that was the plan. Nodding to himself, he got up and took his unfinished lunch with him, as he was already feeling full.

“Al-alright, what kind of snacks do you like?…”

“I’ll buy them with you later, what time do you head out?” You also stood up, facing him as you tilted your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I’ll be done around 3, but I have a shift at the café nearby that ends at 5:50,” Phainon said, pushing his sleeve up to check his watch. “Just pick me up there… and we can go buy food afterwards.”

You nodded in agreement as he left the cafeteria. At last, you had finally asked him out on a date—just the two of you. Now, you were sitting there with a tray of food that you had planned to share with him, but he had already eaten most of his meal and left after your short exchange.

Your plan is now 25% complete; you just need to wait for the right moment to approach him again. Pursuing Phainon has proven to be more challenging than you anticipated. However, he is still just a man, and eventually, he will fall for you in no time.

A few hours after his shift, you picked him up. He sat in the passenger seat beside you, clutching his backpack as you drove to the nearest 7/11 to buy snacks and drinks. On the way there, you talked endlessly about your life, sharing random stories from your childhood, your past friends, crushes, and exes.

When you both reached your destination, it was cloudy, signaling rain was about to fall, so you parked your car nearest to the entryway, got up, and went inside with him.

Phainon picked up a small basket and carried it while you were loading it up with various alcoholic beverages and chips. You asked him what he liked while you searched for those items, placing them in the cart as you made your way to the checkout counter.

Fortunately, while you were shopping together, he ran into his ex-girlfriend. Phainon made brief eye contact with her, which made him a little uncomfortable. She seemed about to approach him, but thankfully, you noticed and interlocked your arm with his, guiding him toward the counter.

You sensed that he was feeling uneasy from the encounter, so you chose not to ask him anything about it. An uncomfortable silence hung between you two. You wanted to say something to break the tension, but you remained quiet. Just as he was about to pay for everything, you noticed a pack of strawberry-flavored XL condoms displayed on the front. You took one out and held it up to show him.

“We should also buy this, no?” You grinned, poking fun at him again, his cheeks growing red again, but it wasn't noticeable because of the cap he was wearing. Phainon looked away, baffled as he closed his eyes from embarrassment, he took it from your hands about to hand it over to the cashier.

You were trying very hard to suppress your laughter as he handed it to the cashier. The cashier glanced at both of you briefly and added it to the bill. You hadn't been serious about buying it, but seeing Phainon's innocent face made you laugh out loud. You decided not to take it back just to see his reaction when he gave it to the cashier.

There was another reason. Ever since you started following Phainon around, word spread quickly. You decided to look for information about him and discovered that his ex-girlfriend was the person with whom your ex cheated on you.

They broke up a month ago, but the girl still chats with Phainon occasionally. To be honest, she holds onto the hope that Phainon will abandon everything just to be with her again. Meanwhile, Phainon is ignoring her and trying to move on from the heartbreak she caused him.

He couldn't care less about her, but still it affected him and his self-esteem. Now, he’s slowly picking himself up, healing.

You glanced behind you and noticed his ex-girlfriend standing in the drink aisle, glaring at you as if you had just taken the last bottle of cola she wanted to buy. You smiled back at her and then turned your attention to Phainon as you held onto his arm while he paid.

That was payback for stealing your ex-boyfriend and spreading false rumors about you!

Phainon carried all the groceries as you both went outside into the pouring rain. Since neither of you had an umbrella, he gave you his hoodie to shield your head from getting wet. You both hurried to your car, and once you got in, you started the engine and drove toward his apartment.

Your clothes were a bit wet when you both settled in his apartment, which he shares with his best friend, Mydei. Phainon told you that his roommate wouldn’t be home, so you’re free to do whatever you want.

Phainon, completely drenched compared to you, led you to his room. He lent you his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, which you had to re-tie at the waistband for a better fit.

The outline of his muscles was visible through his wet shirt as he headed to the bathroom to take a bath. After he put on his clothes, you unpacked the alcohol and chips he had bought. You almost laughed again when you spotted the strawberry-flavored condom. Settling on the couch, you turned on the TV and ordered fried chicken.

You waited for him to emerge from the bathroom. While you waited, the chicken delivery arrived as you paid for the fried chicken, updating Ciphera that you were in his apartment.

After a few minutes, Phainon emerged from the bedroom wearing the ugly gray Minion t-shirt he had on when you first met him. His hair was still slightly damp, and he carried his laptop with him. It seemed he was serious about finishing his thesis paper. As he sat next to you on the couch, he looked really good.

“What movie are we watching?” you asked, leaning close to him. Phainon sat back as he set his laptop on the coffee table.

“An-anything, I don't mind. I’ll just finish my papers anyway.”

He looked away, avoiding eye contact. You rolled your eyes and said, “You agreed to watch a movie with me. Why the hell are you going to work on your thesis paper?” You were annoyed; what was the point of inviting him to watch a movie if he was just going to focus on something else and miss what was happening on the screen?

Phainon opened his mouth to protest but then closed it, as he could think of nothing to defend himself. “When is that due, anyway?” you asked, trying not to sound annoyed by his behavior. He replied, “Uh… a month from now?” he said cheekily, rubbing the back of his neck feeling embarrassed.

You forced a smile and said, "That can wait until tomorrow. Watch a movie with me for now, kay?" Phainon nodded and picked up a can of beer from the coffee table as you started playing (500) Days of Summer. Well, that’s a good film to soft launch with what I’ll do to him, you thought jokingly.

Throughout the film, you kept asking him random questions about himself, and he gladly answered them. He’s actually a surprisingly nice person. Now you feel a bit guilty; maybe you could continue spending time with him even after the 10 days are up, hiding the fact that you were just with him because of a bet.

You both fell silent when an intimate scene between the two characters was shown. Phainon subtly shifted in his seat, looking a bit flushed. You glanced at him, unsure if it was the alcohol in his system or the movie that affected him.

The next thing you knew, you were straddling his lap, making out messily. Phainon's arms snaked around your waist as you subtly grind against him. You were surprised that he was good at kissing.

As the movie played long forgotten in the background, you pulled away from the kiss, leaving Phainon whimpering at the loss of contact. "Who taught you to kiss like that?" you laughed, as he continued to plant kisses along your jaw, moving to your neck and then to your collarbones, leaving bite marks in his wake.

You moaned from the bites he left on your skin as you reached down and rubbed his clothed dick through his sweatpants. The vibrations of his kisses on your neck were divine. You grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look at you as you whispered, “Fuck me Phainon.”

His eyes widened; in truth, he was a virgin. He had never been inside of a girl before, and that was the main reason his girlfriend had left him. He was always focused on his studies, buried in textbooks, and never gave her the sexual attention she needed.

Phainon furrowed his eyebrows and said, “I... don’t know how t-to...” He felt slightly embarrassed by this revelation. You weren’t surprised, but honestly, who wouldn’t give him a chance? If you had known him earlier, you would have let him fucked you a long time ago.

You got off him and told him to take off his T-shirt because you despised that gray Minion shirt. It felt good to see him without it, revealing the toned muscles underneath. You were already folding for him as your knees weakened, pussy soaking wet just by looking at his body.

You’ve taken your clothes off dropping them on the floor, as you lie on the couch, spreading yourself open for him. You told him to eat you out, it's just like kissing but this time it’s your pussy. Phainon nodded, spreading you more open, hand gripping your thighs forcing them not to close in as he dove his head in.

Phainon kissed the side of your thighs, slowly moving closer to your core. He saw videos of men doing this before, so he wasn't entirely clueless. It just made him nervous because this was his first time.

Before you were able to give him commands, Phainon ate you out like a man starved. Kissing, sucking on your clit, licking a stripe of your soaked folds. He moaned at the taste. To prepare, you ate everything related to pineapple and cranberry flavors just for your juice to taste sweet.

Your hands tangled in his hair, insisting on him to come closer. And he did— Phainon’s tongue pierced through your hole, while you clenched at the feeling. Trashing on the couch as his arms pinned you down, he looked up at you. Your eyes were teary, your face flushed, breathing ragged as he continued assaulting his tongue inside your pussy.

“Ph-Phainon I’m close—“ You moaned loudly as he replaced his tongue with two of his fingers, his mouth sucked on your clit. He was hard, terribly hard underneath. He didn’t know if you felt good, so he just followed your commands and tried to recall all of the porn he saw, piecing together what would be pleasurable for you.

Phainon’s fingers rapidly entered your pussy, as your thighs attempted to close around his head from the pleasure. Then, you fall apart in front of him, crying out his name. His fingers curl in that spot inside you as you cry out, calming down from your high.

He pulled his fingers out of you and licked the sweet essence left on them. There was a wet spot on his dick from the precum build-up earlier when he was eating you out. Phainon couldn't resist, especially as you lay there, coming down from your high, he dove his mouth right in your pussy again, You're already feeling sensitive, and now your legs are shaking because you're becoming overstimulated from his mouth still attached to your pussy.

“Pha-phainon stop—” He licked your pussy clean from your cum, he just couldn't get enough of how sweet you taste. You clutched his hair, struggling to pull him off you. When you finally succeeded, you were a trembling mess, and he mumbled small apologies, feeling guilty.

Who knew he was such a munch, That was probably the best head you've ever received from a man, especially considering he is an amateur. Phainon sat there watching you, hard as a rock. You sat up, calming down from your high. You looked at him and pushed him down the couch by his shoulder.

You sat on his lap— without even bothering to pull down his pants, you took his dick out of its confinement. It was huge, covered in veins, tip swollen, pre-cum forming at the base, threatening to spill out. You bit your tongue, who knew the condom you bought earlier would fit like a glove.

Phainon trembled while handing you the condom, you didn't take it, “You put it on.” you said, as you watched him clumsily tear the package apart. He was slightly quivering, dick twitching in your hand as you started to move. Wanting to see his reaction as he tears open the condom.

He whimpered as you squeezed the shaft of his dick, as he was still trying to rip the blue packet containing the condom. You fisted your hand faster every second he failed to open the condom, and when he finally opened it, you stopped at the peak of his pleasure.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he felt the loss of contact between your hand and his dick. You watched him put the condom on, rolling it down from the tip till it reached his shaft.

Without wasting any time, you wrapped your arm tightly around his neck, holding his dick with your other hand aligning it towards your core. Phainon’s hands moved quickly to your hips as his heart raced. You gradually impaled yourself down on his length— that bittersweet penetrating feeling made you cum on the spot, the painful stretch of his tip forcing it to go inside you.

You moved slowly, making sure not to overwhelm him since it was his first time. On the other hand, Phainon was panting heavily; he never expected it to feel this good. He was doing his best to hold back, resisting the urge to grab your hips and thrust deeply in one swift motion.

A few minutes later, you finally succeeded in taking him whole. Breathing heavily, you take a moment to collect yourself before moving on to his dick. At first, you moved slowly, raising your hips up and down in a slow deliberate pace.

Phainon was whimpering, trying to control his moans as you drag and clench your tight heat against him. The room was filled with wet sounds, echoing across the corners of the room. The movie in the background is long forgotten, you moved faster, full-time grinding your hips against his pelvis, throwing his head back in pleasure.

You rested your forehead against the top of the couch's backrest, placing your hands on his shoulders, gripping them firmly to keep you balanced, as you changed the angle of your hips— forcefully ramming yourself, hitting that spot inside you that makes you physically weak. His cock disappearing inside you repeatedly making the most lewd sounds.

He couldn't take it any longer. Phainon grabbed your hips and started thrusting into you, hips meeting yours as you both chased your highs. Your slick was dripping against his balls, falling down on the couch.

“I-I’m close—” Phainon mumbled, speaking incoherently as his mind turned to mush. You moaned in his ear, “Yeah, m-me too…” He captured your lips in a kiss, continuing his rapid thrusts while you slam yourself down on his cock. Tongue clashing with yours, you clenched on his dick when he bit your lower lip, licking them afterwards.

Phainon’s thrusts started to get sloppy, his hands squeezing your hips more, and tears started to fall from his eyes. He felt so euphoric right now, pre-cum started to fall down on the slit of his tip. Then his dick twitched inside of you, filling the condom with his cum. He continues to thrust up, filling the condom with more of his load.

Phainon groaned, moaning your name loudly like a prayer. You could feel it filling up the condom as you whine, capturing his lips in a kiss. However, you didn't stop— you kept on riding him. You haven’t had your fill yet, Phainon let out a cry as tears kept on pouring out of his eyes.

He felt overstimulated from his recent high, yet, you didn't stop riding him. You simply increased your speed and intensity, Phainon was already whining, crying, and moaning from the intensity of the moment. In addition to everything else, your walls were clinging to his dick more, squeezing the life out of him.

Phainon begged you to slow down, to let him breathe for a moment, but you didn't listen. You could tell by his face that he’s enjoying being overstimulated from all of this. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, mouth agape. The view was delicious, it turned you on more.

Even as your thighs started to hurt, you didn't cease to stop. You keep plunging yourself onto his dick, already about to reach your high, then an idea pops into your mind, you grin, both of your bodies sweaty from the heat between you. Taking your hand off his right shoulder, you placed it on his neck, squeezing it lightly to prevent airflow.

It made him a little lightheaded, shivering at the immense pleasure he felt. You were so close, just by looking at Phainon’s fucked up state, it made you feel like you’re about to cum any moment.

The constant thrusting formed a white ring around his cock’s base. Your slick coating his pelvis, balls, and your inner thighs. The squelching noise being produced between your sex when you slammed down on him.

Just a few more thrusts, his cock twitched hard and both of you came together. Another load of his cum filled the overflowing condom he wore, and your legs convulsed as your pussy spasms around his cock.

You both spent the night cleaning up the mess you made, ensuring his roommate wouldn’t see the cum stain on the couch or smell the remnants of sex in the living area.

After that, you and Phainon talked all night, sharing your experiences, interests, and stories. You learned that his ex-girlfriend had broken up with him last month, and he was trying to move on. However, he still felt a lingering pain whenever he saw her around campus.

You told him that you recognized her; she was the girl your boyfriend cheated on you with. It’s funny how fate has brought you both together, yet you are failing to see each other.

This continued for the next nine days. You both went on dates and spent time together after class, sometimes fucking in the car, in the shower, at your place, or on his bed. And you’re right—after nine days of your persistence, he has fallen for you— hard.

And you did as well. You’re just in denial; you’ve rejected the thoughts of falling for him, believing this is all casual. So when the time comes, it’ll be much easier to leave him.

Friday arrived, and one of your friends, Stelle, hosted a party at her house. It was a large, upscale mansion in the Hamptons. Just by looking at it from the outside, you could tell that her family’s financially well off.

You couldn't decline the invitation; after all, you survived your breakup because of her. Stelle fed and comforted you during those times, and thanks to her, you’re mentally well.

At first, everyone was free to attend the party. Knowing that Phainon isn't the type to enjoy parties, you urged him to come with you. Cipher and your other friends were going, so you spent a lot of time trying to convince Phainon, who was reluctant to attend. However, when he mentioned it to Mydei, he found out that Mydei was going too, which ultimately convinced Phainon to join you.

Now he’s standing by the door with Mydei. Music is blasting everywhere as drunk people wobble out of the door, some even crawling out of the windows and puking on the bushes.

Phainon wanted everything to be over even before it had started. He had only come to this party for you. Mydei handed him a red cup filled with beer before leaving him alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was dark and noisy, with the only light coming from colored beams shining across the room as people danced, smoked, and drank. In one corner, some couples were making out, practically devouring each other’s faces.

He just leaned on the counter, sipping his beer, Phainon grabbed his phone and texted you, just to see where you are. After a few minutes of girls approaching him and him pushing them away, you finally went to him. Partially drunk, high from the alcohol in your system.

You grabbed him by the shoulders and said, "There you are! I couldn't find you anywhere. Did you just arrive?" You raised your voice so he could hear you over the noise, knowing that it would be hard to hear anything if you spoke normally.

Phainon nodded and shouted over the loud background noise, “I was here with Mydei!” He put the drink down on the counter and you looked at Phainon from head to toe.

“You’ve changed your style, huh?” you said, smirking. Phainon was wearing a black leather jacket, a white shirt, and loose jeans.

This was a bold outfit choice for Phainon, especially given that his usual style consists of random printed tees, checkered tops, or hoodies. He sought Mydei's help tonight because he wanted to put more effort into his appearance, not wanting to feel out of place at a party like this.

He nodded as you grabbed him by the arm. “You look good tonight,” he mumbled, and you hummed in response, thanking him. Both of you walked around the party as you introduced him to your friends and some random people. Finally, you invited him to play beer pong with a group you didn’t know well.

There were a lot of you at the table, you drank a lot as your ping-pong ball hit one of the cups as you chugged it down on one shot, Phainon didn't play much, being the introvert he is. Although he did have fun, just a little, this isn't just the type of crowd he’s used to.

He attended only a few parties, most of which were with his ex, some with Mydei and other friends; however, he didn't enjoy them much because they were too loud for his liking.

Phainon excused himself as you begged him to stay and play longer, your cheeks flushed with excitement. He promised he would return but mentioned that he needed some fresh air first. He wandered around the house searching for a quiet spot away from the loud party. He checked the backyard, then the bathroom (where he stumbled upon a couple getting intimate), the frontyard, and finally— a spacious bedroom with a balcony overlooking the backyard.

He wanted to get out of the party, it’s too crowded, too loud, too much for him. It was fun— he won't lie, but he just feels so out of place in gatherings like this.

Phainon took a moment to collect himself before returning to find you. You were there, swapping drinks with others while your knees shook from the alcohol you had just consumed. You raised the empty cup on the counter, signaling that you finished another.

He watched you, smiling foolishly. He had already fallen for you and didn't want to assume too much, but he knew you had feelings for him too. You are so out of his league that it made him wonder, why would someone like you even be interested in a guy like him.

As he was watching, he noticed a guy walk over to you, grab your waist, and pull you in for a kiss, trapping you between the table. Phainon's smile vanished, and he felt nauseous. You accepted the kiss, enjoying the moment, which made his heart drop to his stomach when you didn't push the guy away. Instead, you laughed afterward.

Phainon felt physically sick to the core, all he wanted was to ditch this shitty party, maybe climb out of the window since the door was filled. His thoughts trying to piece together what he just witnessed, his heart broke for the second time. Just when he thought he was liking someone new, it also ended the same way as the last.

You spotted him in the crowd and approached with a smile. When you finally reached him, you placed your hands on his chest, and leaned in to kiss him, but he stopped you, feeling a bit shaken from the scene he just witnessed moments ago.

Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows. “Phainon? Is that you?” You tilted your head to the side, your vision blurring by the second. In your mind, this had to be Phainon, right? But he looked like a child. He couldn’t avoid you now, so he pushed his thoughts out and held you close.

Even though he’s experiencing a lot of discomfort right now, he simply cannot abandon you in this state. If anything were to happen to you while he walked away, he would feel immense guilt afterwards. Plus, he’s not the kind of person to leave you behind, even if you’ve hurt him countless times, he’ll always put people before himself.

“We should go; you’ve had enough to drink.” He said gently, avoiding eye contact. Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying his best not to cry. He pulled you closer, guiding you out of the house and refusing to let go, fearing something might happen to you.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. His hands were positioned on both sides of you, holding you securely to ensure you wouldn’t fall as you stumbled on the grass, struggling to maintain a straight path while walking to your car.

As Phainon guided you to the car, he remained silent. Your vision was blurred, and everything seemed to be doubled. With a sigh, Phainon assisted you into the passenger seat, opening the door and gently placing you inside. He then secured the seatbelt tightly around your waist.

The drive was quiet as Phainon took your car back to your apartment. Millions of thoughts raced through his mind, and although he wasn't angry, he felt a deep sadness. He understood that you weren't thinking clearly at the moment.

As Phainon arrived at your apartment complex, the car came to a stop. He looked at you, feeling a shift in his mood; he realized how pathetic he felt, thinking that you shared the same feelings. You had already passed out from drinking too much alcohol. Phainon gently carried you in a bridal style back to your apartment. At that moment, all he cared about was getting you home and trying to forget everything that had happened.

He put your passcode in and carried you inside to gently lay you on your bed. You woke up from the collision, vision slightly blurry as you called out his name. Phainon hummed in response, confused as he leaned in closer.

You captured his lips in a sealed kiss. Phainon didn't fight it anymore; he just let you. “I love you,” you said, he closed his eyes and processed what you had just said. You're drunk, you're spewing nonsense; it doesn't count.

He pulled away from you, wishing you were sober enough to know whether you meant those words or not. He hesitated, wanting to ask you many questions, but you weren't in your right mind to answer. He restrained himself and tucked you into bed before leaving you alone for the night.

Before leaving, Phainon placed a glass of water and some pills to help you when you wake up tomorrow. He left a small note reminding you to take them and that they were left for you.

⟢. © myyluverr 2025

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #phainon x yn smut #phainon x yn #honkai star rail phainon #hsr phainon x reader #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon smut #phainon x reader #phainon #idk how to tag #smut #smau #helppppppp

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storkmuffin · 2 days ago

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Mingi Gets Himself the San Treatment

There's a very interesting Korean saying that's the exact opposite of what I was taught was the 'correct' view while receiving schooling in the West, and that is: 사람 보는 눈은 다 똑같다. Transliterated, it probably won't make a lot of sense: People see with the same eyes. What it means though, is that There is But One Truth, And It Is Visible To All.

The Truth That is Visible to All in Ateez publicity activities is that San is adored, and Mingi often either comes off badly or is treated with unkindness. (San got worshipped at Narae channel when he made his solo appearance. The flagship 2N1D editrixes openly adore San first and foremost. Repeatedly). In the group interview that Mingi went with Yunho and Hongjoong, hosted by Daesung, Daesung indicated that he'd been briefed about this situation, where Mingi was forced to play the butt of the joke a lot, by trying to elevate it and calling him "the tanker," whose role it is to take body hits on behalf of the team, because they're big, strong, and confident enough to let everything roll off their shoulders. Mingi immediately objected to this by saying that actually, he does get hurt. He remembers everything! Moreover, Mingi has made it clear he doesn't enjoy it at all when people make memes of his stage fuck ups and they go viral.

Sidebar: From the first time I heard it, I thought that the whole Mingi Princess thing was his directly expressing the desire to be treated like a Princess in the non-sexual sense of the word - People are nice to princesses, generally. They make a flattering fuss over them, and treat them well. But because Mingi looks how he looks and his stage persona is loud and demonic, the disconnect from the word Princess and his demeanor meant that it just got turned into another joke at his expense.

So anyway - The fact that San gets treated really nicely by female hosts and editors in a way that Mingi is not has been extremely visible to Mingi too, and he wanted that for himself, so he went and got it- at Hyo's Level Up channel. The fact that Mingi actually did care about this issue, and found the right noona who was up for playing this particular game with him was extremely entertaining, at the start, but then I thought back on what I'd heard said about Hyo when Girls' Generation were the top stars back in the day, and it was a little sobering, too.

youtube

What follows is not a liveblog but commentary

Women like Mingi, but I can't recall any reality content where this fact has been so well captured in a publicity related piece of content. Maybe, like Yeosang not being able to let his inner rockstar/ doberman out unless he's on a solo stage, the degree to which women like Mingi can't be fully captured unless he's there as the only guest? Anyway, it was really fun and oddly moving (??) to watch Mingi get cooed at by the women on Hyoyeon's staff as well as Hyoyeon herself. He blooms in a way that I haven't really seen him do much on these outings, and it was really nice.

For her part, I thought Hyoyeon was so much more dignified and in any case, easier for me to take than the groveling that Narae was doing with San. Hyoyeon chose play an indulgent noona who is always on Mingi's side, who was invested in telling him - within the limits of her upright truth-always-first T-personality - what he wants to hear. Even when she cracks a joke because Mingi had an airhead moment, it's complimentary. When they're talking about restaurants, Hyoyeon asks him, "What do you do about waitlists for popular restaurants?" which in the Konglish we all use we abbreviate to "Wait." Mingi misunderstands, and then assumes that for some reason they're suddenly switching topics to talking about weights (as in the gym) and tries to answer the question he thinks he's being asked. Hyoyeon stops him to correct him, but then she softens the act of correcting him by adding, "Given how broad your shoulders are I'm sure you know all about weights." So sweet!

Mingi just won't say any other members' name on this outing. Before I realized why he'd come on this show, this struck me as uncharacteristically ungenerous as well as unnatural, and therefore deliberate. Wooyoung constantly mentions Ateez members by name no matter where he goes. San also does the same. By contrast, here, Mingi talks about Yunho, because he can't ever not talk about Yunho, but he doesn't say Yunho's name. He also talks about how much Wooyoung talks to his mom (it has to be Wooyoung) and how that was an inspiration for trying to communicate with his own mother more, but won't say his name either. It turns out, at the end, that Mingi was so thrilled he got along so well with Hyoyeon and her staff that he wanted to monopolize this particular channel for himself. And he gets an overwhelmed Hyoyeon to agree yes, of course she wants him back - him, only him, nobody but him. It's ME that you want to come back, right? RIGHT? Noona???? LOL

It was really funny to hear Hyoyeon tell Mingi his diction is fine, because her diction is infamously terrible. It's still so bad. I want her to clear her throat and to move her mouth more or point her tongue more or something. I'm only enduring this blurriness in the MC's speech because Mingi is there looking so happy.

Mingi uses really unexpected phrasing often in his on-camera utterances, and this was one of those times. instead of saying, for example, that he has a lisp or a malocclusion or something, he earnestly explains that his tongue is fat and that's what affects his diction. That's such a babyish way of saying that! It made me laugh.

At some point in the middle of this, I suddenly recalled that Hyoyeon had a lot of anti-fans back in the day in SNSD (which was a group that went through the ringer such that even though I don't know a single SNSD song or era, I know some of the horrendous bullying they endured from antifans). She was called not-as-pretty, a nepotism case, and untalented besides. The gist of it was that she didn't deserve to be in SNSD. Perhaps aware of this backlash, in reality content that I remember passing by on national TV, because Idols used to be on TV a lot more, much of Hyoyeon's moments were geared towards showing that she had actual dance chops - she was flexible! she was fast! she remembered choreo really well! - as well as being a no-mean-bone-in-her-body type of personality and definitely not a spoiled brat. So kind and unflashy, in fact, so as to be a little boring. But maybe this is why she connected so well with Mingi - she knows what it's like to urgently feel the need to correct the way you're discussed and perceived as an Idol.

Mingi really wants people - this noona, her staff, but also generally, people - to know that he has some REALLY COOL MOMENTS he's achieved in live performance. He practically shouts that there are times he looked awesome and did great!! First, it's really comically cute that he thinks we don't know. Girl. What. He complains that instead of all these (lots and lots!) cool things he's done, the stuff that gets turned into memes are things like the everlasting Fanders and Walls ( 쓰러다 헤매져) fuck up breaking everyone else's necks on stage as they serially lose the battle to suppress laughter. And then the Mingi tendency to be compulsively candid takes over, and he unnecessarily explains that it wasn't even a memory problem: he was reading from a prompter and he still fucked up the lyrics spectacularly. ... Honey. Giant baby boy. Dude. If you want people to stop talking about it, stop adding intriguing little details like that to its lore. What are you DOING.

The irritation at HIS cool moments not going viral, of course, is directed at San's visibility. Because San's moments of intentionally 'looking cool' - like the reveal of the fake tattoo of dark circles going down his naked back as he walks away from the camera, his many 'glare at camera' moments with his hair all slick and looking terrific in a well cut long coat, the invisible cigarette smoking - did go viral, to the extent anything does go viral for Ateez. San has goofy moments too - like yelling augh! in the middle of singing because he's hit in the face by a big white balloon - but it's his I know I look hot right now bits that get the most attention. Mingi - unsurprisingly, righteously - wants the same for himself.

Mingi's mom is a RIOT by the way. When he imitates the almost unctuous Wooyoung in sending a text to his mother, asking, Did you sleep well, Mom? she will not read it for hours, finally see it, and answer with the equivalent of a Y. She can't even be bothered to type out 응 and just sends him a ㅇ. A single ㅇ. No emoticon, no follow up response, nada. No wonder he was so surprised she knows anything about his career whatsoever. Haha.

Gratuitous Yunho mention because this is, after all, a Yunho bias speaking: Mingi watched Yunho do this on the Daesung interview, and he recreated it very credibly. So he's definitely watching and learning.

oh and EDITED TO ADD: The fact that Mingi went straight to calling her Noona, and not the whole stick-up-his-ass thing about calling people sunbaenim and such said something GREAT about both of them.

#ateez meta #mingi meta #song mingi #ateez mingi #ateez #mingi and hyoyeon #hyo's level up

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denpadokei · 1 day ago

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Is this how it should be?

This isn’t how it should be-!

static miku from a gif by rice deity ofc

rambling + better off worse (VocaCircus) flower in the spoken for stage below (tw - ketchup?)

also rice’s art. ignore how they have no shadow I’m horrible at editing I do this with my notes app-

I highly recommend you read the comments, I was just gonna point out the other utau girls, the gunshots and potential tattoo reference in “shaving off the numbers” taken literally. And of course the “Go for a Perfect?”. I think this comment phrased it really well.

The fact she’s not there at the end screen (that I am using for both of my images) is as concerning as it could be hopeful.

also I think I accidentally made static miku giant whoops

- I’ve already said it but this song gives me such dread. I love it and it’s perfect but I was sobbing on the floor for hours bro. I mean I may already be mentally unwell but shush. I don’t even relate to it in the slightest

- do you think they’re all going to be 4:04

- I wish the silly bit in the intro was on streaming services. I hope it’s in a potential album ver. Assuming this project is an album. Do you think they’ll all begin with S.

- I love how they’re going with cartoon mascots in specific styles so far. What could be next?

- I actually don’t think the next song is gonna be Neru. I think they’ll save Neru for the end and complete the triple baka trio then. Not sure who to expect in between. Kaito? Meiko? They even got quite the history with fame, especially Kaito. I kinda hope for Fukase. “He was the meme man of vocaloid. And this is him now.” Maybe the Utaus in this? Xin Hua OR Xia Yu Yao? That Chinese Miku “Rip off” Dong Fang Zhi Zi? Utatane Piko? The REAL mascot boy, Ryuto?

- I said it when static came out, but I have no idea how it’s going to feel in the future when these songs are staples of vocaloid. Where are we going from here? I thought we peaked at mezzy, it’s a little overwhelming- Good, of course. And they’re ENGLISH songs. We need a new “vocal synth songs every fan should know” at this rate. Maybe solely for English ones.

- would this have been as popular as static if it came out first

- I’m kinda glad it’s not, static is a little happier and less triggering than this.

- I feel this could NEVER really outdo or be the next Static either. It’s not got that weirdcore, creepy edge. It’s not unnerving in the same way. As I mentioned, I absolutely LOVE the way they’re doing this.

- can JamieP CALM DOWN for ONE SECOND and stop making BANGERS

- I really hope this isn’t the truth directed to the audience/a cry for help from the producers- I know better off worse was kinda like that- I doubt it is. I uh I really really hope it isn’t.

- the way the chorus isn’t built to be a chorus if that makes sense? Like it sounds more like a verse, so in the final chorus there’s this constant feeling of “we haven’t reached the peak yet” especially since the peak is at the bridge. I think it’s reflected most in the horns (my favourite part of the song!). And the way the bridge isn’t very different from the chorus! The way each line is the start of the chorus but not quite hitting it! Just like the feeling that she’s not good enough! And the way that actually transitions into the final chorus! Sorry this doesn’t make any sense.

- again, no clue how they do this. I’m very interested on how it goes from an idea in someone’s head into this. Does the concept come first? Or the music? It’s so extremely impressive. It’s like they got the branding everywhere immaculate, the vibe, but the viewer experience is never negatively affected by that gggfrdffgghhdr

- each of the song pages on the flavor foley start with an emoji, and the one for spoken for is 💖 which is my favourite emoji 😭

here’s some ramblings from the nightcord about vocaloid in general

thanks for reading

#static #static miku #spoken for #flavor foley #kasane teto #hatsune miku #circus p #vocacircus #better off worse #vflower #mezzy is short for mesmerizer btw

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 days ago

Note

i don't know if it's been asked before so forgive me but how poor do you think the weasleys are? are they more lower middle class? cause ron didn't get his broken wand replaced immediately in the second year but got a new broomstick in the fifth?

and on a related note do you think arthur weasley is selfish for not going for a higher paying job? " i assume it would depend on how well of they are and if the family's needs are met?"

looove all your posts btw keep up the good work.

First of all, thank you! 💕

The Weasleys and money are interesting for sure.

See, they have enough money to always have food and clothes (second-hand, but all kids are dressed, fed, and well cared for). They have a house with 6 bedrooms:

Master bedroom

Fred & George's room

Ginny's room

Ron's room

Bill's room (which Charlie uses too when he comes over)

Percy's room

And a very large yard:

The garden was large, and in Harry’s eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn’t have liked it — there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting — but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

(CoS, Ch3)

The Weasleys read like a family that used to have money. They have land, they have many cousins and aunts and uncles who seem to be living well. The parents don't act like they grew up lacking in anything. And even now that the money has dried up, they still don't live badly. They seem to be poor, not because Arthur's job doesn't pay enough, but because both Arthur and Molly have no idea how to budget or handle money. They both act like people who grew up with plenty of money they can throw around, and therefore, don't know how to save it.

The fact that they don't have money to replace Ron's wand is proof that they don't know how to handle money. The smart thing to do when you struggle economically is save up surplus money you don't immediately need when you have it, so you'll have emergency funds. You will put some money aside for future hard times, but the Weasleys don't do that:

I couldn’t believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred galleons! Most of it’s gone on this trip, but they’re going to buy me a new wand for next year.

(PoA, Ch1)

They win 700 galleons, spend 7 of them on a new wand for Ron and "most of it" on a long family trip to Egypt. Sure, I can understand wanting to visit Bill, but if they're strapped for cash, I'd expect they won't go all out on the trip, go for slightly cheaper lodging, or stay there for fewer days, maybe go to fewer restaurants — there are ways to go on a budget vacation. This economic decision makes no sense.

But what this shows us is that the Weasleys live paycheck to paycheck, not because Arthur isn't paid enough — they don't know how to save money.

Bill & Charlie don't live at home, and since CoS, all their other kids are at Hogwarts all year. The amount of money Arthur & Molly would need to pay for food during the year is much lower compared to when all their kids are there. So, I assume, they would have leftover money since they aren't feeding as many heads. Even since Bill & Charlie left home, they should have had more money to put aside, even just a few sickles a month, that, over time, can become a magnificent amount of money — and yet, they don't. Their vault is near empty when we see it.

They have land they can farm and sell products from (they have an orchard, they own):

“Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry,” said Ron. “Come on — three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play. . . . You can try out the Wronski Feint. . . .”

(GoF, Ch10)

He spent most of his days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys’ orchard

(HBP, Ch6)

They can rent out parts of their yard, and Arthur gets plenty of other perks from his job besides his salary (bribery):

“I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble — a lawnmower with un- natural powers — I smoothed the whole thing over.”

(GoF, Ch5)

And seems to be well-connected within the Ministry. Enough that everyone important knows him by name, and he is in a position to write laws:

“Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . . There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. . . . As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t—” “Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

(CoS, Ch3)

Arthur's position in the ministry is clearly more influential than the books lead us to believe. (I have some headcanons about that, but that's maybe for a different post). They have avenues they can earn money from, and would reasonably be able to save at least a little every month, especially after Bill and Charlie left home. We see Fred and George can save up much more than the Weasleys seem to have over a few years without having a stable job like their dad:

“We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,” said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money [...] “Boys,” said Mr. Weasley under his breath, “I don’t want you betting. . . . That’s all your savings. . . . Your mother —”

(GoF, Ch7)

But the Weasleys have an empty bank vault:

Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon.

(CoS, Ch4)

This is a vault of people who don't know how to save money, but more than that, this, to me, looks like a vault of people who are used to operating in debt.

When they go shopping, Molly takes everything out of the vault:

Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag.

(CoS, Ch4)

And it's enough to buy everything 4 kids need for school for a whole year, btw. Sure, the robes are second-hand, but Harry always takes out a bunch of galleons. It's either everything is really cheap, way cheaper than it should be, and Harry carries around way too much money, or the Weasleys just always operate on debt.

As in, the single galleon is not have enough to actually buy everything, and Molly had to basically promise shops she'd pay them back later, basically paying with money she doesn't have. This could explain the Weasleys not having any emergency funds, since they're always running after various debts they owe.

And we know the Wizarding World allows people to make promises over debts, even the goblins:

A gang of them [goblins] cornered him [Bagman] in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn’t enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He’s lost everything gambling. Hasn’t got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?” “How?” said Harry. “He put a bet on you, mate,” said Fred. “Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins.”

(GoF, Ch37)

The goblins were willing to take Bagman's word he'd pay them back with his bet on Harry — it's very possible shops allow this too, especially if not everyone is carrying galleons everywhere. Say, even if you have money in your vault, but you only took out enough for X you wanted to buy, the shop could write your name down and what yoy owe for you to come by and pay them later (It makes sense for their society, that is very small and getting away with such a debt is hard and seems to be a very trusting of promises and other's words. The whole betting with Ludo thing was solely based on slips of paper and Bagman's word, so I can see something like this being common for them. After all, Wizarding Britain has the population of a very small town).

I still think they're bad with money, since, if debts are the problem, I'd use some of the 700 galleon prize money to get a headstart on that, but I think the Wealseys are comfortable living with a certain amount of debt. They're used to it.

As for the broom, that might've been on a day they got the salary/didn't have many debts to pay that month. The food at Grimmauld the summer before fifth year might not have been paid for by Arthur, which allowed them to have fewer debts and therefore the money for a broom.

At least, that's my headcanon/theory about it. They are poor not because of Arthur’s job, they could've made it work better — they are just bad at managing the funds and other resources at their disposal + got into a bunch of debts due to this tendency to not manage their funds properly.

#the weasleys #weasley family #arthur weasley #molly weasley #harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon #hollowedheadcanon #wizarding society #wizarding worldbuilding

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goomyloid · 1 day ago

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there's been a lot of anti kriselle sentiment going around lately (now that The Youtube Let's Players™️ are finishing chapter 3) so i just wanted to remind you - and whoever else needs to hear this - that cringe is dead and darkships/comships are made to be fascinating character studies, not a test of your irl morality

keep being you ❄️♥️

thanks! i think people should be able to explore what they want generally. although i dont really know what comships or darkships are and i think ive only ever seen them be used on tiktok (which i outright refuse to use most of the time) so im unfortunately inclined to believe theyre more made-up terms to put ships into even more weird categories out of some attempt to stay Morally Correct (in a performative way where it doesnt actually mean anything. i put it this way because i kind of got sucked into this ideal when i was like 16 but more in a Problematic Media sense than actual ships) (boring goomy lore no one asked for)

idk if it needs to be said but generally all my pages are pretty Proship DNI, mostly because if i have a say in it, i would rather not interact with people who like pedophilia/incest/etc. sure fiction ISNT reality but it certainly can have an effect on it and act as a reflection of it, at least imo. but like again, im just not interested in interacting with proshippers, im not gonna go around policing ships or something because 1. i dont have that kind of time or energy and 2. it clearly doesnt work (proof: all the people coming at me for drawing the Evil Toxic Kriselle and me only being reaffirmed in my desire to draw it). if i see something i dont like, 99% of the time i just ignore it and/or mald over it in private

said strategy of Ignoring and Moving On when you dont like something is very good and saves a lot of stress. i dont particularly like kralsei all that much, but i dont have a problem with anyone who does like it either, so whenever i see it im just like Neat and i keep scrolling. (i choose to believe that if toby wanted ralsei to be a legitimate stand-in for asriel somehow he would have made it super duper clear by now, and i also choose to believe that most kralsei enjoyers do not think that ralsei and asriel are very similar or meant to directly reflect each other) (i.e. i like to believe most people are normal. i enjoy giving the benefit of the doubt)

that was a massive tangent sorry, but i guess what im getting at is there’s a particular line between exploring a “darker” ship for the sake of analyzing the characters and story and exploring it to achieve self gratification (whether it be sexual or otherwise, but usually sexual). for example, with weird route kriselle, a lot of the appeal of it to me isn’t the romance within the abuse (although its interesting to dissect sometimes) but rather the romance despite the abuse if that makes sense. its the kind of thing only achievable with both parties being victims of the third party’s abuse, rather than just one partner abusing the other. its because kris and noelle are both victims that makes it so interesting, but a lot of people still tend to overlook kris’s victimization. even with their bathroom crashout in ch4, lots of people still view kris as a surface level abuser without taking a moment to really think about how they feel.

i feel like all of this is worth explaining because there are certainly people who “explore” the ship rather distastefully. lately that tends to involve turning the SA undertones into something to be fetishized and trying to make implied abuse/assault into something Sexy or pornographic. i feel like its unfortunately a common thing for artists’ intentions to be overlooked in favor of categorizing all portrayals of a particular idea under the same umbrella. there could be two drawings both depicting a sensitive scene/idea, where one might come from a place of sorrow, understanding, maybe even relating to the events taking place, while the other is clearly voyeuristic in nature and looks like it belongs on r34 instead of tumblr. the line isnt always that clear, and you cant always tell simply by how it’s drawn, sometimes the nature of the piece could be neither of these things or maybe it could somehow be both, who knows. It depends. It really fucking depends i think

ANYWAY im almost done sorry. i just wanted to add on that when we put these characters in Situations, obviously they’re not real and no one’s getting hurt (in theory), but what you choose to draw and create does reflect who you are as a person on some level. there’s pieces of yourself in everything you make, after all. thats a reason i myself feel like i need to be careful about what i make just in general, not because im Secretly Weird but just because i dont WANT to come off as weird by random passersby who wont take a minute to think about my work… which i guess returns to your original point. none of this is directed at you in particular anon, i just wanted to use your ask as an excuse to get some thoughts out, lol

#this ask is quite old now sorry #mailbox #example of a ship that has me seeing red and tearing my hair out:#sp*mkris. oh my god #99.9% of the time its just an excuse to sexualize kris #same with t*nnakris #Those fucking make my blood boil dude #FOR OBVIOUS REASONS I HOPE #but i stick to screaming about it in private #because i dont havw the energy to deal with randos that might see

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snowangie · 1 day ago

Text

✧ untranslated & untorched.

( a johnny storm x fem!oc series )

summary : two and a half years after galactus, earth is finally quiet. the fantastic four have settled into uneasy peace with science briefings, low‑stakes missions, the occasional interview reminding the world they once saved it. that calm gets complicated when ANSA assigns a new “liaison” to the baxter building: noel merriweather, a young linguistics consultant who can untangle twenty languages (and some not of this world). johnny storm has never had to work for anyone’s attention. noel isn’t playing hard to get but she’s just not the kind of girl who burns for someone on command. what starts as quiet collaboration turns into late nights over static‑filled radios, field missions that get too close, late night room visits, heat that simmers into tension, and tension that threatens to ignite. because some things can’t be translated. and some fires don’t catch right away.

series cw : fluffy fluff fluff & some angst if u squint maybe and smut in the other parts soon maybe HEHEHE

a.n. : guys idk if this hits so lmk if it does and if u wanna see more of noel and johnny ! i hv part 2 & 3 almost ready and i hv a smutty joseph quinn x reader one shot js posted too so if anyone is also in their joseph quinn era lets be friends :DDDDDDD

———————————————————————————

✧ part one of 4.

The elevator to the Baxter Building’s top floor hummed as it rose, a sleek silver box carrying Noel Merriweather and a single pale-blue suitcase.

Noel smoothed the silk scarf tied in her hair. It was more habit than vanity. She tucked a strand behind her ear. She looked calm, but her eyes darted to every button, every seam in the walls. Always noticing things.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

Sue Storm was already waiting, hands folded politely, smile bright and genuine.

“You must be Noel. I’m Susan. Sue.”

Noel’s smile bloomed instantly, soft and warm, the kind of smile that felt like being let in on a secret.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said, voice light but melodic, offering her hand. “I’m so grateful to be here. I hope I don’t get in anyone’s way.”

“Not at all,” Sue assured, charmed already.

And then, of course

Johnny Storm.

He leaned against the doorframe like the hallway was a magazine spread. That easy grin, that spark in his eyes; the Human Torch, unbothered and beautiful.

“So,” Johnny said, letting his gaze linger a beat too long, “ANSA sends their best for us, huh?”

Noel looked at him, a tiny laugh slipping out before she could stop it.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said softly, a little blush brushing her cheeks. “I just… speak a lot of languages.”

Johnny grinned, feeling the first flicker of interest spark.

“Well, I only speak one, but it’s fluent in compliments.”

Sue sighed, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

“Johnny’s single,” she said, like she’d said it a thousand times before.

Noel blinked, then smiled again. Not mocking, not dismissive, just sweet.

“Then I’m sure someone wonderful is out there for him,” she said kindly, meaning it.

Noel’s assignment was simple on paper: ANSA wanted her to live at the Baxter Building, translating the alien transmissions that still trickled in years after the Galactus event.

Johnny’s new assignment was just as clear even though no one wrote it down: make her smile again.

When she set her suitcase by the guest room door, he was already there, leaning against the wall, curiosity burning brighter than his usual cocky act.

“So,” he asked, half‑serious, “do you ever take a break from saving the world with… adjectives and verbs?”

Noel laughed. It was light, melodic.

“Sometimes,” she said, looking at him for a moment longer this time. “Do you?”

That made him pause. He wasn’t used to being looked through like that.

“Guess I could start,” he said, softer this time.

She smiled again before disappearing into her room, leaving the faint scent of Chanel and a sense that Johnny Storm, for once, might have to earn it.

The guest wing smelled faintly like fresh paint and paper. Like someone or maybe a certain robot had clearly tried to make the room look “welcoming” in the last forty‑eight hours.

Noel tucked her suitcase neatly into the corner and ran her fingers over the desk. It was spotless. She placed her silk scarf over the chair like she was already claiming the space.

When she opened the door again, the hallway was empty, but she could hear the Baxter Building breathing: the hum of machinery, the distant clang of Ben Grimm’s heavy footsteps, the low, thoughtful murmur of Reed Richards somewhere deeper in the lab.

Sue walked her through the headquarters like she was welcoming an old friend.

“This is the main lab, but it’s Reed’s kingdom, so don’t feel pressured to… understand whatever he’s talking about,” Sue said with an amused sigh.

Reed looked up, distracted but polite. His eyes sharpened when Noel introduced herself.

“Merriweather. You’re the… linguist,” he said, already intrigued. “ANSA’s been forwarding you transmissions for months, hasn’t it?”

Noel nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Some of them don’t even seem like language. More like tone, intention. But yes. I’ve been cataloging.”

Reed blinked, clearly impressed but too Reed‑like to say it outright.

“We’ll set you up in Lab Two,” he said, then turned back to some machine like nothing just happened.

Sue caught Noel’s eye and smiled warmly.

“That was his version of a hug. Don’t take it personally.”

Noel laughed softly. It was the kind of laugh that made the air feel lighter.

⸻

the first meeting.

By the time she sat down at the lab table, the Fantastic Four had gathered like curious birds.

Ben Grimm leaned in the doorway, massive arms crossed.

“So, you’re the new brain they sent us, huh?”

Noel’s smile didn’t falter.

“I don’t know about ‘brain,’” she said sweetly, “but I’ll try to be useful.”

Ben chuckled, clearly liking her already.

“If you can make sense of Reed when he’s excited, you’re already more useful than half of us.”

Johnny hadn’t said much since earlier, which was unusual.

He hovered by the coffee machine, watching her unpack a neat stack of notebooks, a slim silver fountain pen, and a stack of coded transmissions stamped with ANSA’s seal.

“You don’t have a laptop?” Johnny asked, sounding half curious, half teasing.

Noel smiled at him without looking up.

“Languages… feel different on paper,” she said. “Sometimes you need to see the ink to hear the sound.”

Johnny blinked.

“…that’s kinda poetic,” he admitted, quieter than usual.

Noel looked up then, her almond eyes catching him, soft and unhurried.

“Sometimes things don’t need to be rushed,” she said gently.

And then she turned back to her work.

Johnny stayed by the coffee machine longer than necessary.

By the time the sun sank behind the skyline, the Baxter Building had quieted. The hum of the labs dimmed, Reed’s voice trailing off as he scribbled equations on a whiteboard somewhere, and the smell of dinner; something simple but warm drifted from the kitchen.

Noel had changed from her travel outfit into a soft lilac shift dress, her hair brushed out in loose waves. She followed the long, curving hall from the guest wing toward the dining room, fingertips grazing the wall as she walked, still memorizing the layout.

The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of Reed’s machines until the sound of unsteady, determined footsteps pattered around the corner.

Before Noel could react, a blur of blond curls and tiny arms collided with her knees.

“oh!”

She instinctively crouched, steadying the little boy before he could fall.

Franklin Richards blinked up at her, wide eyes, pink cheeks, his tiny hands clutching her skirt like a lifeline.

“hello there,” Noel said softly, smiling, but not overly familiar. “you must be Franklin.”

Sue appeared in the doorway almost instantly, apron tied neatly over her dress, equal parts amused and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry! He’s just started walking this week, and he’s been unstoppable.”

Noel offered Franklin a gentle, brief smile then looked back to Sue as if to ask silently “is it alright if I…?”

Sue nodded, and only then did Noel lift Franklin just enough to balance him on his feet again, one hand lightly holding his tiny fingers.

“you’re very brave, running down halls all on your own,” she said softly — not cooing, not clinging, just kind.

Franklin giggled and wobbled in place.

Across the room, Johnny leaned on the doorframe, watching, grin tugging at his mouth.

Franklin saw Johnny, then looked up at Noel and squealed, clapping his little hands. He pointed between the two of them, babbling happy nonsense, like he’d discovered a new game.

The baby laughed so loudly it startled even Reed, who peeked out from the lab, pen in hand. Franklin kicked his legs, squealing, glancing between Noel and Johnny like he knew some joke the adults didn’t.

Johnny raised a brow.

“What’s so funny, little man?”

Franklin slapped his hands together and pointed his tiny fingers reaching toward Johnny, then back to Noel, then back to Johnny again, babbling nonsense but grinning like he’d solved the universe.

Sue narrowed her eyes at her son, half‑smiling.

“I think he likes you, Noel,” she said. “He doesn’t squeal for just anyone.”

Noel blushed softly, bouncing Franklin on her hip.

Johnny smirked.

“guess the kid’s got good taste.”

Noel didn’t roll her eyes or flirt back. She just smiled politely, still holding Franklin steady, and then gently handed him back to Sue as soon as Sue reached for him.

“he’s sweet,” Noel said softly. “thank you for letting me meet him.”

Sue smiled and maybe noticed how careful Noel had been, how she didn’t just grab Franklin like a new toy, how she treated this moment like something delicate.

Johnny noticed too. And for the first time all day, his grin wasn’t cocky. It was curious.

Dinner at the Baxter Building was somewhere between a family meal and a state dinner.

The dining room wasn’t enormous, but it had the kind of sleek, chrome‑and‑walnut table ANSA probably spent a fortune delivering, just big enough for the Fantastic Four, one toddler, and, now, one newcomer.

Noel walked in slowly, careful not to make it feel like she was “joining” the family too quickly. Her lilac dress caught the soft light, the faintest whisper of Chanel trailing with her, and she paused just long enough to smile politely.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, voice warm, hands clasped gently in front of her.

Sue’s smile was immediate and reassuring.

“You’re not intruding, Noel. You’re part of the team now, well at least while you’re here.”

Reed barely looked up from the soup he was ladling, but he mumbled,

“Yes. Good. More perspective at the table.”

Ben Grimm rumbled out a laugh from his seat.

“That’s Reed’s version of ‘welcome.’”

Noel smiled softly and took the chair Sue gestured toward. It wasn’t the one right beside Johnny (even though Johnny had “casually” pulled it out for her), but the one across from him.

Johnny slid into the seat opposite, smirking anyway.

“Guess I’ll just have to charm you from this angle,” he said, leaning on one elbow.

Noel glanced up at him, an amused sparkle in her eyes, but she didn’t fire back. She simply unfolded her napkin, smoothed it over her lap, and said sweetly,

“I’m sure you’ll try.”

Franklin toddled in halfway through dinner.

He was barefoot, still wobbly, his blond curls sticking up in every direction, clutching a spoon he’d apparently liberated from the kitchen.

“mama!” he squealed, and Sue scooped him up immediately, settling him on her hip as she sat back down.

Franklin’s eyes landed on Noel, the recognition from earlier sparking in his little face and he let out the happiest squeal, reaching stubby arms toward her.

Noel smiled, a little shy this time. She didn’t reach for him, just offered a gentle wave.

“hello again,” she said softly.

Sue noticed the way Noel stayed in her seat, not overstepping. She shifted Franklin so he could stand on her lap, and only when Franklin leaned halfway across the table toward Noel did Sue laugh.

“I think someone’s decided he likes you.”

Noel’s blush was soft but visible.

“I think he just likes everyone,” she said modestly, though she couldn’t hide the warmth in her eyes when Franklin squealed again.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, smirking like he’d just been handed ammunition.

“He’s got good instincts. Can’t blame him. Guess he takes from his uncle Johnny.”

Noel didn’t roll her eyes — she just reached for her water glass, smiled sweetly at Franklin, and let the comment float away.

the dinner itself felt… easy.

Sue asked Noel polite questions about where she’s from, about ANSA, about the languages she knew. Reed chimed in with the occasional very‑specific science tangent that made Ben groan and made Noel laugh softly, saying things like, “I’ll try to translate that into something human later.”

Johnny, of course, kept slipping in his own questions.

“So, Noel. 20 languages. That’s like… nineteen more than me. Which one do you think sounds the sexiest?”

Noel, after a pause, smiling: “Maybe Italian.”

Johnny, leaning forward: “Then you’ll have to teach me how to say something in it. Something… romantic.”

Sue gave him the big sister look over her wine glass.

“Johnny.”

But Noel just laughed softly, not offended, not flustered. Just sweet.

“We’ll see if you earn that lesson,” she said, and turned back to Sue to ask about Franklin’s favorite storybook.

By dessert, Franklin was half‑asleep against Sue’s shoulder, Johnny was still pretending he wasn’t hanging on every word Noel said, and Noel even as she thanked Sue for the meal, even as she offered to help clear the dishes, still carried herself like a guest.

Not a stranger. But not a permanent fixture, either. Just a sweet, self‑possessed presence, slowly weaving into their orbit.

By the time the main dishes were cleared, Franklin was perched on Sue’s lap, spoon‑clutching and babbling in a mix of half‑words and half‑sounds that only a toddler could create.

“mah‑nah… peh‑soh… dah!” he giggled, slapping his hands on the table.

Reed glanced over with that look he got when faced with anything he couldn’t chart on a graph.

“He’s… experimenting with syllables,” he muttered, like Franklin was some alien machine he hadn’t quite figured out.

Sue just kissed the top of her son’s head.

“He’s talking,” she said proudly, “just in his own way.”

Franklin babbled again, this time stringing together a set of sounds so oddly intentional that Noel’s pen paused over her napkin.

Her ear caught the rhythm, the way his voice lilted just slightly at the end, it wasn’t random. He just said “bright one”…

Noel blinked down at her water glass, her fingers tightening on the napkin. She didn’t mean to translate it. It just happened.

Franklin babbled again, this time tossing his little head toward Johnny, then toward Noel, a tiny grin curling his mouth. And he add “fire man”

Her chest warmed, but she stayed quiet.

Across the table, Johnny leaned forward, grinning.

“What do you think he’s saying?” he teased, nudging Sue’s elbow. “Bet it’s something like ‘Uncle Johnny is the coolest.’”

Sue laughed, brushing a curl from Franklin’s forehead.

“I think we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Noel smiled softly, but didn’t speak up.

She didn’t want to be the one to say it.

Not at her first dinner here.

It didn’t feel fair to walk in, and already be the one who understood the words Franklin’s own parents and uncle were still learning to hear.

So she simply folded her napkin neatly, glanced at Franklin, who was still staring at her with that strange, knowing brightness and murmured gently, “He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

Dinner wound down slowly, the last of the dishes clinking softly as Ben carried them into the kitchen, muttering about “too many forks for one meal.”

Noel rose quietly with Sue, smoothing her lilac dress, and instinctively began stacking plates.

“Oh! no, you don’t have to do that,” Sue said quickly, reaching for the plates instead. “You’re our guest.”

Noel smiled, soft and sincere.

“I don’t like just sitting there while everyone else works. Let me help.”

Sue hesitated but then let her take a few plates, a little touched by how naturally Noel offered.

In the kitchen, Noel rinsed dishes while Sue dried them, the soft sound of running water and the hum of the city outside filling the space.

From the doorway, Johnny appeared, leaning on the frame (again) with that lazy grin.

“Wow,” Johnny said, “first day here and you’re already doing dishes? You’re ruining my reputation as the helpful one.”

“You’ve never been the helpful one.” Sue snorted

Johnny shot her a mock‑offended look, then turned his eyes back to Noel.

“Seriously, though. You don’t have to do that. We have… uh… Ben for that.”

“I don’t mind,” Noel said, rinsing another plate, voice light. “Besides, I like kitchens. People talk in kitchens.”

“Oh yeah? What do people say in kitchens?” He smirked.

She glanced up then, meeting his eyes for just a beat longer than before, and smiled softly.

“The things they don’t say at the table.”

For once, Johnny didn’t have a comeback ready.

When the last dish was stacked, Sue thanked Noel again, too warmly, the way you thank someone who didn’t have to help but did anyway.

Johnny didn’t move from the doorway until Sue left the room with Franklin in her arms, humming softly.

He lingered just long enough to hand Noel a towel.

“You missed a spot,” he teased gently, tapping the corner of her hand.

She laughed under her breath, drying her fingers.

“Guess I’ll try harder tomorrow.”

Johnny smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just quietly charmed and for the first time that day, it felt less like he was performing and more like he was simply being there.

The Baxter Building went quiet at night in a way that felt almost unreal.

By 11, the hum of the labs dimmed, Reed’s chalkboard scratching stopped, and even Ben’s heavy footsteps faded. The city outside still glowed, but up here, the sky felt closer than the streets.

Noel sat at the small desk in her guest room, hair brushed out, falling in dark waves over the thin straps of a soft cream camisole. Her lilac dress from dinner hung neatly over the chair.

The only light came from a brass desk lamp, casting a warm halo over scattered ANSA transmissions, reels of code, jagged scripts in alien syllables, and her thin black fountain pen dancing across the page as she translated.

She didn’t hear him at first.

A soft knock came, then Johnny’s voice.

Low. Casual.

“Hey. You awake?”

Noel didn’t turn right away. Smiling faintly at her papers.

“I think so.”

The door cracked open, and Johnny leaned in, hair a little messy now, plain white t‑shirt instead of his usual show‑off clothes.

“Didn’t mean to bug you,” he said, leaning on the doorframe (always the doorframe). “Just… saw the light.”

Noel gestured lightly to the chair across from her desk.

“You’re not bugging me.”

He came in, sat down backward on the chair like a kid, arms draped over the backrest.

His eyes drifted over the papers, eyebrows raising at the looping symbols.

“Wow. So this is what you do for fun?”

Noel smiled, pen still moving.

“I wouldn’t call it fun. But it’s… satisfying.”

Johnny watched her a moment, then reached for one of the papers. Careful, but curious.

“This stuff… any of it from… her?”

Noel paused, looking up.

“Her?”

“Shalla Bal.” His voice softened without him meaning to, the cocky edge slipping. “Back when Galactus was here… I learned her language. Well. Tried to.”

Noel blinked, a little surprised.

“You really learned it?”

Johnny gave a half‑shrug, eyes on the page.

“I figured… someone had to talk to her. And the others were busy saving the world.”

For a second, the room felt very still.

Noel leaned forward slightly, interested now.

“Say something.”

Johnny hesitated — then spoke, his voice lower, slower, forming the alien syllables like a half‑remembered song:

“Arah’tel nah viin.”

Noel’s lips curved, just barely.

“That was… correct.”

He grinned, a little proud.

“What’s it mean again?”

“Fire that doesn’t burn.”

Johnny’s grin faltered. Not in disappointment, but in that way you pause when something feels bigger than you expected.

Noel set her pen down, her gaze soft but intent.

“You remembered it after all this time?”

“Guess I remember the important things,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t mean anything but his voice betrayed him.

Silence hung for a moment. Not awkward, just… warm.

Noel went back to her notes, flipping one page, her handwriting looping easily.

Johnny didn’t leave.

He leaned forward on the chair, chin resting on his arms, watching her pen move.

“Do you ever get tired of words?” he asked softly.

Noel looked up, surprised by the question.

“No,” she said after a beat. “But sometimes I get tired of silence.”

Johnny’s smile returned, softer this time.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you company then.”

The clock ticked softly, the papers stayed scattered, and for the first time that night, the space between them felt like possibility.

⸻

ANSA called it a “routine observational survey.”

Which, Noel quickly realized, meant: “We don’t think anything’s wrong, but we want you to go stare at the sky for us just in case.”

The skycraft waiting on the Baxter Building roof, with all chrome curves and neat 60s paneling, big ANSA logo stamped on the side.

Reed explained its specs for too long, Sue checked the checklist twice, and Ben grumbled about the seats being “too damn small for a guy made of rocks.”

Noel stood a little to the side, silk scarf tied in her hair, pale blue shift dress catching the wind. She carried only a leather folio and her pen.

Johnny leaned against the railing next to her, sunglasses even though the morning fog dulled the sun.

“You ever flown in one of these before?”

Noel glanced at the sleek skycraft, then at him.

“I’ve flown. But not in that.”

“You’ll like it. I’m piloting.” He smirked.

Noel raised one eyebrow, so subtle it was almost a dare.

“Should I be reassured by that?”

Johnny put a hand over his chest, mock‑offended.

“I’m an excellent pilot.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said sweetly, not sarcastic, just… almost.

Inside, the craft smelled like leather and ozone. Sue and Reed sat up front (Sue with a clipboard, Reed already tinkering with a dial), Ben took up the entire back row, and Johnny, naturally, slid into the pilot seat.

Noel strapped in beside him, graceful and unbothered, smoothing her skirt over her knees.

Johnny shot her a grin as he flicked switches.

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

She turned her head, eyes calm and soft.

“Would you like me to be?”

Johnny choked on a laugh, eyes darting back to the controls.

“…uh, no. Guess not.”

They lifted off smoothly (to Johnny’s credit).

The Baxter Building shrank behind them, the city glittering like a model set beneath the morning haze.

Noel watched through the window, fingers resting on her folio, scarf fluttering softly.

Johnny watched her watching.

Halfway there, Reed and Sue were lost in technical chatter, Ben had dozed off (snoring like distant thunder), and the cockpit went quiet.

Johnny leaned back, one hand on the controls, the other drumming lightly on the console.

“So… do you ever relax?” he asked, glancing at her sideways.

Noel looked at him, brow slightly furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always writing, translating, decoding… you ever just… turn it off?”

Noel smiled faintly, eyes returning to the window.

“I don’t think my brain has an ‘off.’”

Johnny smirked.

“Maybe I’ll have to find the switch.”

Noel didn’t look at him — but the corner of her mouth curved.

“You can try.”

The craft dipped through a veil of thin, pearly clouds — and then the world below turned white.

A lonely ANSA listening post clung to the shoulder of a snow‑bright mountain, its chrome domes and tall antennae looking almost alien against the rock and ice.

They touched down on a cleared landing pad, the craft’s legs sinking a fraction into frost.

The hatch hissed open, and a slap of cold air rolled in, crisp and clean enough to bite.

Johnny hopped out first.

He was already grinning, already holding out a hand to Noel like it was a red carpet.

“Careful,” he said, smirk tugging his mouth. “Wouldn’t want the ANSA prodigy to slip.”

Noel stepped out without missing a beat, taking his hand only long enough for balance but not for longer than necessary.

Her silk scarf fluttered in the icy wind, her heels somehow managing the frozen ground with quiet grace.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, but with a smile that wasn’t unkind.

By the time they crossed the short path to the station, Johnny had shed his jacket.

“You cold?” he asked, already holding it out to her.

Noel blinked at him, lips parting just slightly. Not offended, just amused.

“You’ll freeze,” she pointed out.

“I’m the Human Torch,” Johnny said, shrugging like that explained everything. “I don’t freeze.”

Noel hesitated, then let him drape it over her shoulders.

It was warm. Warmer than she expected.

She didn’t say thank you, not because she wasn’t grateful, but because the way she smoothed the collar, the soft smile she gave him instead, said more.

The listening post smelled like dust and machine oil, the hum of old radio towers vibrating faintly through the walls.

Reed and Sue immediately buried themselves in the consoles, Ben inspected the snack cabinet, and Noel drifted toward the main receiver, a retro‑futuristic radio board covered in switches and dials.

Her fingers hovered over a series of blinking lights.

A sound; faint, jagged, not quite static, bled through the speakers.

Johnny, leaning on the table beside her, tilted his head.

“That just sounds like noise to me.”

Noel leaned closer, adjusting the dial just a hair. The sound sharpened.

“It’s not noise,” she murmured, half to herself. “It’s… trying to be words.”

Johnny straightened.

“You can tell?”

“I can feel it.”

She caught the signal again, catching fragments, a cadence too intentional for static, syllables too deliberate to be accident.

Her pen scratched across her notebook, writing symbols faster than Johnny could follow.

Johnny watched her work, his usual grin slipping into something softer — curiosity shading into real respect.

“You just… hear it, don’t you?” he said quietly.

Noel didn’t look up.

“I listen.”

The signal fizzled out, leaving only static — but Noel had enough on the page to study later.

She straightened, slipping her pen into her folio.

Johnny looked at the notebook, then back at her, grinning again but this time, not teasing.

“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”

Noel didn’t blush. She didn’t preen.

She just gave a little smile, adjusting his jacket around her shoulders.

“I just hear things most people don’t,” she said softly. “That doesn’t make me incredible. It just makes me… useful.”

Johnny’s grin softened, and for a moment, the wind outside howled against the domes, and it felt like the rest of the world had gone quiet.

Reed’s voice cut through the hum of static.

“Signal died out?”

Noel turned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“For now,” she said, her tone even. “I’ll take these notes back to ANSA for cross‑referencing. There’s a pattern, but I need time.”

Reed nodded, already folding back into his work like an origami man.

Ben rummaged through a cabinet and pulled out a bag of freeze‑dried marshmallows.

“Whole outpost and not a single decent snack,” he muttered, tearing the bag open anyway.

Johnny lingered by Noel’s shoulder. He wasn’t smirking now, not really. There was an edge of something quieter, like he was still thinking about how easily she’d caught that signal.

“So that’s it? You just… pick up a whisper and somehow know what it’s saying?”

Noel shrugged, but not in an evasive way.

“Not always. Sometimes it’s just sound. Sometimes it’s… a little more than that.”

Johnny leaned against the table, close enough for her to catch the faint smell of his cologne; warm, smoky, something a little sharper underneath.

“You ever get tired of being the smartest person in the room?” he asked, and this time it wasn’t teasing.

She glanced at him, and her lips curved into the softest smile.

“I’m not the smartest person in the room,” she said. “I just listen differently.”

Outside, the wind rattled against the thin metal walls of the station. Sue was asking Reed about energy spikes; Ben was still chewing marshmallows with absolute disregard for manners.

Johnny tilted his head toward the door.

“C’mon. You’ve been hunched over that radio since we landed. Let me at least show you the view.”

The sky was a sheet of pale blue, the snow blinding where the sun hit it. Below, clouds lapped at the mountain like a pale ocean.

Noel wrapped Johnny’s jacket tighter around her shoulders. Itwas too big, but somehow perfect.

Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, watching her as much as the horizon.

“You know, most people don’t even bother learning one other language. You’ve got, what? twenty?”

“Twenty‑three,” she corrected softly, then smiled when he blinked. “But only seventeen fluently.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound warm in the cold air.

“Seventeen’s still insane.”

“It’s not insane,” she said gently. “It’s just… what my brain knows how to do.”

The wind swept her scarf across her cheek, and without thinking, Johnny reached to catch the end before it could fly loose.

His fingers brushed the soft silk and then her wrist.

For a second, she didn’t move, and neither did he.

“You always do that?” she asked softly, looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Catch things before they fall.”

Johnny held her gaze for just a beat too long, his usual quip dying on his tongue.

“Guess I try.”

The sound of the hatch opening behind them broke the moment.

Sue’s voice floated out, brisk and bright:

“We’re packing up. Reed says we’ve got all we need.”

Noel turned back toward the station, smoothing her scarf. Johnny’s jacket stayed draped over her shoulders, the warmth lingering as she walked ahead.

Johnny watched her for a beat, shoving his hands back into his pockets, the grin creeping back onto his face but softer now, not just for show.

The craft rumbled as it lifted from the snow‑bright mountain, the listening post shrinking beneath a gauze of clouds.

Johnny slouched into the seat beside Noel, buckling in with one hand and tossing her a crooked grin.

“Lucky you. Assigned the best seat on the ship. Again.”

Noel arched a brow, the ghost of a smile touching her mouth.

“You chose to sit here, Johnny.”

“Semantics,” he said, leaning back, arms sprawled a little too wide across the armrest.

The cabin was warm enough that she’d returned his jacket before boarding, but her scarf was still draped around her neck, the faintest scent of his cologne clinging to it.

Johnny tilted his head, eyes flicking to the notebook balanced on her lap.

“You were writing so fast back there. Like… possessed‑fast. What’s it like? Hearing something no one else can?”

Noel traced her pen along the notebook’s spine.

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

She glanced at him, the faintest crinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“It’s like… standing in a room full of whispers. Most people hear nothing. I hear which ones are trying to be words.”

Johnny sat up a little, watching her instead of smirking.

“That’s… kinda amazing.”

She didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t brush it off. She just gave a small, humble smile.

“It’s just what I do.”

a beat of silence.

The craft hummed around them. Sue and Reed were across the aisle, murmuring over readings. Ben was already dozing in the back.

Johnny leaned a little closer.

“So… do you ever turn it off?”

“What?”

“The listening. Like, when someone’s talking — are you always decoding every little thing?”

She tilted her head, thinking.

“Not unless I want to. Some people speak in ways they want understood. Others… don’t.”

Johnny’s mouth tugged into a grin.

“And me?”

She looked at him fully now, lips pressing together like she was holding something back — a smile, maybe.

“You’re… very easy to understand.”

Johnny pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Wow. Brutal.”

“Not brutal,” she corrected softly. “Just clear.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head but the smile that lingered was quieter this time.

The craft landed as twilight stretched across the city, windows catching the last glints of gold.

Inside, the familiar warmth of the Baxter Building hit, metal and marble and something softer underneath, like home.

Franklin’s babbling echoed faintly down the hall before they even reached the guest wing.

Sue had her shoes off, hair pinned up, already shifting from mission‑mode to mother‑mode.

Johnny hung back just long enough to watch Noel take in the space, the corners of her mouth lifting in that soft, almost private smile of hers.

Susan glanced over her shoulder, voice lilting:

“Johnny, you could help Noel settle in, show her where everything is. I’ve left quite a few things yesterday. Sorry!”

Johnny grinned.

“Oh, I planned on it.”

Noel’s laugh. It’s soft, polite, but genuine and it filled the hallway, and Johnny caught himself smiling just a little too wide.

⸻

The Baxter Building felt different at night.

The labs dimmed to a soft hum, the sky outside a stretch of navy glass.

Sue was slipping on earrings as Reed tried (and failed) to knot his tie. Ben stomped in, cradling a very wiggly Franklin in one arm.

“We’re out,” Ben grumbled, reaching for Franklin’s tiny jacket. “The kid’s gettin’ a sleepover at Alicia’s.”

Franklin babbled happily, kicking his feet. His eyes flicked to Noel, and he made that same squeal of delight he’d made the first time he saw her.

Noel smiled softly, crouching just low enough to straighten his little sleeve. Careful not to overstep, just a gentle gesture.

“Have fun, Franklin.”

Minutes later, the front doors clicked shut.

Silence.

Johnny leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, the ghost of a grin tugging his mouth.

“Well. Guess it’s just you and me.”

Noel blinked, then smiled, not wary, not nervous, just amused.

“Guess so.”

Johnny was sprawled on the couch like he owned gravity.

A menu sat open on the coffee table.

“Okay, question. Pizza, noodles, or both?”

“Both,” Noel said simply, kicking off her heels before sinking into the far corner of the couch, tucking one leg under her.

Johnny’s brows lifted.

“I like the way you think.” He said as he walked over to the phone to ring for delivery.

A little later, the food arrived.

Boxes stacked on the coffee table. The TV flickered to life, something black‑and‑white and half‑forgotten on a late‑night channel.

Johnny slid a plate her way.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he said, smirk half‑formed.

Noel reached anyway, brushing his fingers lightly by accident as she took it.

“So are you,” she said without thinking then blinked, realising how that sounded.

Johnny froze, then that grin spread, slow and way too satisfied.

“You think I’m hot?”

Noel met his look, cheeks warming, but she didn’t flinch.

“I meant the pizza.”

“Uh‑huh.”

Half an hour later — post‑dinner.

Johnny had shifted closer. Not too close but his knee nearly touched hers, and every time he leaned to grab something off the table, his arm brushed hers.

He was talking, gesturing with half a breadstick, trying just a bit too hard to get her to laugh and when she did laugh, it wasn’t a loud laugh, but soft, warm, genuine.

Johnny stilled for a moment, like he hadn’t expected that sound to hit as hard as it did.

“You should laugh more,” he said quietly.

Noel looked at him, tilting her head. “Why?”

“Because…” Johnny shrugged, a rare flicker of sincerity peeking through his usual swagger. “It’s a good sound.”

The TV droned on in the background, but neither of them were really watching anymore.

Noel curled her fingers around the edge of his jacket still draped over the armrest, her nails brushing the fabric absently.

Johnny noticed.

He didn’t comment but his grin softened, and for once, he didn’t fill the silence.

The movie on the TV had long since switched from a spy thriller to some strange variety show, and the pizza boxes sat open and forgotten on the table.

Johnny’s arm was draped along the back of the couch, casual at first.

Noel sat close enough that when she shifted, her shoulder brushed his chest. She didn’t move away, just tugged his jacket over her knees like a blanket, eyelids getting heavier with every minute.

Johnny noticed.

“You’re falling asleep on me,” he teased, voice quieter now, almost a murmur.

“Mm, no,” Noel whispered, not even convincing herself.

Her head tipped against his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

For once, Johnny Storm, the loudest person in every room, went still.

30 minutes later.

She was fully asleep, breathing soft, lashes resting against her cheek.

Johnny glanced at the clock, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then looked down at her again.

“Guess we’re doing this,” he muttered to himself, smiling despite it.

Carefully. So carefully, he shifted, slipping an arm beneath her knees and another around her back.

Noel stirred just faintly, head tucking against his shoulder, but didn’t wake.

Johnny’s grin softened into something only a few people had ever seen. Something real.

The Baxter Building was quiet, lights dimmed.

Johnny walked slow, careful not to jostle her.

He didn’t notice the front door clicking open.

Didn’t notice Reed and Sue stepping in, coats still dusted with snow.

Sue froze first.

Reed blinked, then just quietly took his wife’s bag like it was an ordinary Tuesday.

Johnny didn’t see them. He was too focused on adjusting his hold so Noel’s head wouldn’t bump the wall.

“Night, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured under his breath as he nudged her door open with his foot.

The room smelled faintly of her perfume. Powdery. Soft.

Johnny lowered her gently onto the bed, tugged the jacket from around her knees, and hesitated.

For a second, he just watched her. That same soft look in his eyes, then brushed one stray strand of hair from her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Sweet dreams, genius,” he whispered, barely audible.

He slipped out as quietly as he came.

Johnny closed the door and turned and almost jumped when he saw Sue leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one brow arched.

“Hey,” he said, voice pitching up. “You’re back.”

Sue’s smile was small, knowing.

“We saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“Carrying her,” Sue said simply, her voice both sharp and teasing. “Looked very… sweet.”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

“She fell asleep on the couch. What was I supposed to do? Leave her there?”

Sue tilted her head, that smile sharpening.

“You like her.”

Johnny blinked. Too quick to deny it. Too slow to hide it.

“She’s… different,” He admitted finally, voice quieter than usual.

Sue’s expression softened, teasing slipping into real warmth.

“Then don’t screw it up, Johnny.”

Johnny met her eyes, his usual cocky grin flickering back but softer, almost shy.

“I won’t.”

60 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 2 days ago

Note

A significant part of Samurai Jack fandom thinks that Jack works much better as an adoptive father figure for Ashi rather than as a romantic interest for her, citing things such as: the age gap being just way too big, considering Jack is (mentally, at least) in his 70s during season 5; the way their relatonship developed during the first 7 episodes of the 5th season being a purely parental/mentorish one; Aku (literal father of Ashi) being even better foil for Jack if he was her adoptive father; and Jack already having a somewhat established love interest in his home time period (the crickets girl from Jack Remembers the Past). What are your two cents about this as a writer?

seriously, cricket girl?? liking her better is one thing, but are people genuinely saying ashi doesn't work because an unnamed 7-year-old smooched jack's cheek and was never seen again? lmaooo if you wanna say jack's got an "established love interest" you'd have a stronger argument for the scotsman than cricket girl. You'd have a stronger argument for ikra. You'd have a stronger argument for the smelly blue creature. C'mon.

Anyway. Like you say, a significant part of the fandom prefers Jack as Ashi's father figure—and hasn't stopped griping for eight years. Beating a dead horse is boring on the best days; but by now all that's left of that horse is a blood smear and some bone shards.

Who gives a shit whether or why Jack/Ashi doesn't work.

Here's a list of tweaks that could make Jack/Ashi work while changing as little as possible about Ashi's character or the plot.

This is 5000 words. I'm adding a table of contents.

The age gap

The mental age gap

Her sexual ignorance

What they talk about

Who gets to hurt

Jack & Ashi as foils - child supersoldiers - distant from their families - failed the mission - trauma - out of step with the world - relationships with the past & future - daddy issues

The Emperor & Aku as foils - stopped his enemy but could only delay their next fight - neither he nor his warriors could kill his enemy - their children took up the fight their fathers couldn't win - Neither knows his child's status while they're training. - The mothers act as intermediaries - the children are taught to idealize their fathers - nightmare visions - their flawless fathers have blood on their hands - put a LOT of pressure on their kids

Pacing (out of universe)

Pacing (in universe)

Overarching show themes

— The age gap. Here's the thing: we don't know that the age gap between them is too big because we have no idea how big it is. We're never told Ashi's age or given any sense of how much time passes while she and her sisters are training/growing. She looks young—but so does Jack, and we have no idea how long it takes a daughter of Aku to age.

So just close that gap. At the end of s5e1 when the priestess says "Your training is complete" just change the line to "After fifty years, your training is complete." Maybe direct her voice actor to sound a little bit older so we can believe she's in her seventies.

It amps up the priestess's threat if we know she's been working on killing Jack from the moment he arrived in the future; it intensifies the isolation that the daughters have been trapped in if we know it's been half a century; it makes the audience go "???? fifty years, wtf do you mean fifty years" and throws in a little foreshadowing about their inhuman origins. And a 75-year-old dating a 50-year-old creeps people out less than a 75-year-old dating a barely-18-year-old or whatever Ashi is.

With three words, you could erase 80% of the fandom's discomfort with their dynamic. Now they're BOTH old people who look weirdly young. And from what we see in canon we have no evidence it ISN'T true.

— The mental age gap. Here's the other thing: nothing in the show suggests Jack is "mentally" in his 70s. Mental aging comes from two places: the physical aging process in the brain (like, how children can rewire brain functions more easily than adults or how elderly people are more likely to develop dementia), and the emotional aging process, i.e. maturing due to experience.

Obviously Jack's brain isn't physically aging. Toss that out.

And due to the life he's lived—isolated from all other people except in small bursts of emotionally distant interactions, no community, no long-term social relationships, subjected to a truckload of combat trauma—he's had no opportunity to mature. The only emotional growth he undergoes during the show is learning to set aside his anger/impatience/despair and become more determined/serene, and he has to re-learn that lesson like five times.

So emphasize that Jack & Ashi are on the same level.

For starters? Their maturity seems most unmatched in s5 e4, which is the first episode that establishes their dynamic, so let's work on that first impression. We KNOW that Jack is being torn up inside by his anger issues; but while Ashi's screaming bloody murder at him acting like a teen having a temper tantrum, he acts like the relatively calm mature one, even in his anger. Why should he be the mature one?? Bring him down to her level. Don't make him the adult handling the angry kid, make them both act like kids. Have them shout like morons at each other.

Jack maintains stoicism even in his most vulnerable moments. Don't let him.

— Her sexual ignorance. Also her general ignorance, but if you tweak enough other stuff about how she and the romance are presented, I don't think it ultimately detracts much from her ability to maintain equal footing with Jack, so it can stay.

But listen. You can have her shove her tongue down Jack's throat, or you can have her be so ignorant about sexuality and the taboos surrounding it that she doesn't comprehend why someone might find nudity inappropriate. You can't do both, three minutes apart. "Man kisses girl after learning she doesn't understand what private parts are" feels like a skeevy tabloid headline about a court case concerning a 50-year-old defendant and an 4-year-old victim.

That scene could have been written so that she understands but does not care. "Ashi! You're naked!" "And what am I supposed to do about that right now??? We have bigger problems!"

— What they talk about. He tells Ashi that Aku is evil, and shows her what Aku does to the world. He tells Ashi a legend about where the stars are from. He tells her how he lost his sword and how he'll get it back. He tells her about his childhood and his home. He even tells her she can't run around with her titties flapping in the wind.

What does she tell him? That he's evil for fighting Aku (and then she changes her mind), and then that a bunch of people love and need him?

The only things she ever tells Jack are about Jack.

She doesn't even tell him that she killed her own mother, five feet away from him, while he was in his spiritual quest trance.

Jack tells her all about the world and she absorbs this new knowledge, and he tells her all about himself and she offers him sympathy and comfort. She tells him nothing about herself or the world she knows; and he never asks.

Why not?

It would go a long way toward making them seem like equals, rather than making Ashi look like an empty little girl with nothing of worth or interest to her wise worldly elder.

After Jack tells her about his home, he can ask "what was your home like?" Let her tell him about that one beautiful sliver of sunlight and nature she could see, and have him get uncomfortable as he begins to piece together that after telling her all about the beautiful palace where he grew up, in return this is the only beauty she can tell him about. Let him find out she was raised in a cave, in the dark, with only a statue of god for decoration. Let him find out that before she met him, she had only ever seen two faces: her sisters', all identical; and Aku.

Why does it not matter that Jack doesn't know where she came from? The horrors she endured? Why isn't this important enough for him to know about the woman he allegedly loves?

If she's choosing to hide her history, then show her choosing to hide it, and show Jack noticing she's hiding something, and have that matter.

Jack learned more about Ashi's history from Aku's fuzzy recollection of a sperm donation than he does from Ashi.

— Who gets to hurt. Ashi grows up surrounded by a whole community of women. The last thing she and her sisters do before going out on their quest is slaughter them all to prove their strength.

Ashi never mentions them again.

When the daughters attack Jack, Ashi has six identical septuplet sisters. After the daughters fight Jack twice, Ashi is an only child.

Ashi only mentions them once ever again:

When her mother unsuccessfully guilt trips her for joining the man who killed her sisters. And then Ashi kills her mother.

Ashi never mentions her again.

We see Jack experience more anguish from killing Ashi's sisters than we see Ashi experience from losing all her sisters at his hand.

How many times do we see Jack hallucinating the people he fears he's let down? He and Ashi go on two quests two episodes in a row, one to defeat Jack's despair and one to defeat Jack's rage. He tells Ashi about how he's lost everyone he loved, his friends, his family. Multi-episode plot arcs are dedicated to Jack's grief. But not one sentence is dedicated to Ashi's.

When Ashi is screaming "liar, deceiver, scum, parasite, die die die, Aku is great and kind and has made a world of wonders, you are a parasite, you have soiled Aku's world," it's easy for Jack to say "everything you've said is wrong, I'm the good one, wrong wrong wrong."

Why did she never say "you murdered my entire family"? Why do we only see her anger based on fiction, and never her pain based on something true?

Jack can't say you're wrong and misguided about everything to that. He can try to explain himself, use the same justifications he learned from his father. When that doesn't work, he can apologize. Maybe let that be the first thing that starts to crack her perception of him: acknowledging that she now has reasons to hate him, rather than dismissing it over and over as baseless and irrational.

Let her be sad for a minute.

When Jack comes out of his trance to find Ashi surrounded by corpses, let her tell him that one of them was her mother, and that it had to be done—let her try to use the same justifications that Jack used for killing her sisters—and let him comfort her.

When Jack tells her that the entire community he knew as a child was killed by Aku, let her confess that the entire community she knew as a child has been killed by Jack or by herself.

Maybe let her cry over her family! Wouldn't that be something! It was a shitty family—a mother who abused her, a father figure so distant she didn't even know he was literally her father, sisters who treated each other as rivals or disposable—but it was the only family she had and she lost all of it.

And if the writers want to say "no, actually, we didn't just leave out Ashi's grief, she actually didn't grieve for her sisters or mother or fellow cultists because her upbringing prevented her from forming emotional attachments to them," then put THAT in the show. Let her grieve the fact that she's lost everything yet has nothing to grieve. As it is, canon only gives her one line about being raised to die, and Jack doesn't hear it. Let her grapple with her childhood, and let Jack help in ways other than telling her how she's wrong about everything.

The last three points—sexual knowledge, conversation topics, pain—all stem from the same problem:

The show gives Ashi a history, a personality, a unique set of experiences that inform her behavior. And then the show tells us, time and again, that what's happening inside her head doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she doesn't understand sexuality; she's here to kiss Jack. It doesn't matter that her whole world has been destroyed; she's here to save Jack's. It doesn't matter that she's endured nothing but pain her whole life; she's here to heal Jack's pain. Ashi's character is something that happens only when Jack isn't on screen.

They can't have a fully fleshed out relationship as long as Jack's life is the center of Ashi's and Ashi's life exists on the periphery of Jack's.

The solution to this is very simple. Make who she is matter to Jack, the same way who HE is—his history, his journey, his wisdom, his stories—matter to her.

— Jack & Ashi as foils. You mention the potential for Jack+Ashi and Aku+Ashi to be foils to each other as father figures. Well, why them? Why not just let Jack and Ashi be foils to each other? They have a mountain of SUPER juicy parallels that could have been, but weren't, explored.

• both of them were raised to be child supersoldiers whose only purpose in life was to fight and kill a monster who threatened the world. NOTHING was more important than being strong enough to slay the beast.

Jack can share that he spent 17 years training to kill Aku, and Ashi can nod and say she spent 49 years training to kill Jack. ("How old are you?" "50. My mother told us that as soon as we could walk, she started teaching us to kick. All I know is that my earliest memories are of training.")

Hell, if you decide to leave the age gap as is, you can use that to make this parallel hit even harder. "I spent 17 years training to kill Aku." "Huh, funny coincidence. I spent 17 training to kill you." "How old are you?" "18."

• because of this, both of them spent their childhoods distant from their families. Jack and his parents loved each other very much, but for Jack's safety and for the sake of the world, they were separated by whole continents. Ashi knew no one but her family, but her whole life they were as emotionally distant as strangers.

• both of them failed the mission that they were raised to complete. Jack's failure was the worst thing to ever happen to planet earth. Had Ashi not failed, it would have been the second worst thing to ever happen to planet earth.

• trauma. Jack is haunted by his family, the people he couldn't save, and guilt over his failures; let Ashi be haunted by her family, the people she hurt, and guilt over her mistakes.

They can exchange horror stories��Jack about the battles that nearly killed him, Ashi about the training that nearly killed her. They can talk about the pain, the wounds, sleeping shivering on cold stone floors, going to sleep knowing it'll start all over the next day.

They can talk about the times they wondered why they kept trying and the tiny things that gave them strength to go on. A rediscovered childhood toy. A glimpse of sunset. A gift of sushi. A ladybug.

• they're both out of step with the world around them. Jack literally grew up in ancient history and Ashi literally grew up in a cave. Having lives dedicated to nothing but a single assassination job, they're divorced from the day-to-day lives that everyone else experiences. We get several scenes of Jack acting as Ashi's guide to the world, showing her new things she doesn't understand. Why not instead make them equals? Emphasize their shared alienation from the world around them.

They go into a city and see several people who look like the ages Jack & Ashi look like, talking about school and jobs and bills and fashion and pop music, and they both feel like clueless outsiders and ignorant children.

They see a family with a baby and both feel like that's totally alien to the lives they lead; they talk and realize neither of them ever imagined a life for themselves after finishing their quests. They can't imagine starting families. They can't imagine falling in love.

• they have opposite relationships with the past & future.

Jack can't imagine life for himself after killing Aku; Ashi's just begun to live her post-trying-to-kill-Jack life and discovered it's so much more vast than her past.

Jack sees no future for himself. Everyone he ever loved is a memory. Jack's whole life is in the past. Jack is the past, a man thousands of years out of his time.

For four seasons every single episode's introduction concludes with "the future that is Aku." Ashi is the future's only living daughter. She is the future of the future. Her entire past was a lie; and so she has no past. Her whole life is in the future.

When Jack tries to leave her behind, Ashi offers him encouragement about how they've been brought together to beat Aku. It's very generic. You could use this moment to, like... care about what she gets out this conversation, rather than just what Jack's getting.

Jack says (paraphrased), "All these years, I have seen so many kind, decent people fall victim to Aku. His evil has taken everything I've ever... loved. All I have left are memories. I do not want you to become just a memory."

Ashi says, "I don't have any memories to hold onto! I've never known kind, decent people! If there's any love in my life, it's somewhere up ahead, in the future. With you."

• Do not even get into their daddy issues.

• Actually, let's get WAY into their daddy issues.

— The Emperor & Aku as foils. If you want to contrast Aku against another father figure, there's a far more potent option than Jack.

• The emperor and Aku each tried to kill an enemy that threatened to assassinate him and destroy his empire. Each of them stopped his enemy but could only delay their next fight to buy himself time to recover and plan.

• When that time came, he found that neither he nor his warriors could kill his enemy; and unable to escape his enemy, his spirit was slowly worn down to nothing.

• Their children took up the fight their fathers couldn't win. After spending their entire childhoods training far away, they set out to kill the enemies dismantling their fathers' empires and rescue their fathers.

• Neither knows his child's status while they're training. The emperor has no idea whether Jack got out in time or is still alive; the empress can't tell him. Aku doesn't even know his daughters exist; the priestess doesn't tell him.

• The mothers act as intermediaries between the warrior children and the fathers. In the fathers' absences, the empress and the priestess arrange their children's training, and, when they're ready, arm them, and send them to kill.

• Their whole childhoods, the children are taught to idealize their fathers, a godlike emperor and an emperor-god. Their greatness, their kindness, their understanding! How generous to their enemies! Look down at the land below your home—it is your father who built the wondrous world you see. All revere and respect him. Only the evil defy him.

We see Jack's relationship with his father multiple times. Lots of flashbacks, lots of dream visions. We see very little of Ashi's "relationship" with Aku; her mother talks about him a couple times and Ashi parrots what she's been taught in front of Jack, but—she's seen his face millions of times, she's been worshiping him her whole life, and she doesn't have any real friends; she must have a pretty deep parasocial relationship with him the way lots of religious folks have with their deities. Show us more of that—how she feels about HIM, how she visualizes her relationship to him—and then, when she discovers it was all lies, the impact will feel more real.

As it is, the show treats her as ignorant and misguided for thinking Aku's good, then Jack talks to her and she's no longer misguided. Show her personal one-sided relationship with Aku, make it seem believable, and then you can make it seem like a true betrayal when she learns the truth—and that also helps her feel less like a silly child who believes something stupid.

On top of that, for fuck's sake, let Ashi have an actual reaction when Aku shows up. She spent her whole life seeing him as god and within the past week/month/??? she's flipped straight to seeing him as the devil, and now suddenly he's HERE. He's REAL. She can see what colors his face actually is, she can see his eyebrows are actually literally flames, she can hear his voice. It's ACTUALLY GOD, RIGHT HERE. And he immediately demonstrates that he has out-of-date-info, blows up a robot's head, and tries to politely excuse himself.

And what do we get from her? "😦 Aku......" That's it. Come on, girl, yell at him about your childhood a bit! You feel like you've known him all your life and he has no idea who you are!

Again with the "Ashi's character only happens when Jack's off-screen" problem. She should be at LEAST as emotional as Jack at seeing Aku, if not even more.

• Jack has nightmare visions of his father blaming him for failure. Ashi has nightmare visions of her mother telling her to kill Jack. She spent her entire childhood with Aku's stone face looming over her, why not have nightmare visions of Aku's disappointment instead of or in addition to her mother?

• Both had a moment when they discovered their flawless fathers have blood on their hands. Jack came away from his discovery understanding that sometimes his father had to make hard moral decisions, including whether to take a life, and he uses that lesson to decide how he'll handle being in the same position. Ashi came away from her discovery going "fuck this guy entirely."

In canon, only Ashi actively goes through the process of discovering her distant father figure isn't what she thought, and then she follows Jack; and that's one thing that causes Jack to look like her new father figure.

It would be easy to make this parallel much more overt by giving Jack a discovery in the present that his father was more flawed than he knew, so he and Ashi can grapple with their discoveries simultaneously. Jack never has found out that his father created Aku. With all the other shit Jack's dealing with in season 5, it seems like the perfect time.

Both Ashi and Jack were raised to think their fathers' leadership and wisdom built the wondrous world around them; both of them learn that their fathers unleashed an unspeakable evil. Now they both get opportunities to be FURIOUS that their whole lives they never really understood the fathers they were taught to revere.

Jack finds a way to forgive his father for his failure—he knows his father did the best he could and Jack could never hate him for that; and because of that, he now understands that his father wouldn't hate him, taking the power out of those "you abandoned us" nightmare visions—and through that he finds a way to forgive himself for his own failures and take up the fight again.

Give Ashi a role in Jack's discovery, the way he has a role in hers. Maybe her cult knows—this can be one more thing to make Ashi's beliefs seem less foolish, okay they're wrong about Aku being good but they've got some major things right that no one else knows. "Aku is evil and you're an idiot if you don't acknowledge that!" "Nuh uh, that's a lie! I don't trust you, you're nothing but the son of the man who brought Aku into this world and then tried to kill him!" "Nuh uh, that's a lie!"

Maybe they have a magic scroll that lets them see the past so Jack can verify her claim. Maybe the cult first formed because Aku went "I have 5000 years of memories and that's too much for one brain, I'm going to take out some of my least favorite memories and lock them in a chest and hire some warrior women to protect them" and the warriors peeked in the chest and went "You Could Make A Religion Out Of This." Maybe they have an impeccably-preserved letter that says "I, the Emperor, totally made Aku and this is def not a forgery or a prank, and I really hope no one ever shows this to my son. Signed, the Emperor." Whatever.

As Jack is guiding Ashi into his world to show her the truth about Aku, she's trying to argue that he must be wrong by guiding Jack into her world and giving away her cult's secrets. He convinces her Aku's bad and she convinces him his father made Aku. This feeds into Jack giving into despair at the end of the episode.

So now instead of "Jack shows Ashi her father figure is ass and she starts following him, as if she's a child and he's her new father figure," we have "Jack and Ashi show each other that both their father figures are ass, and now both of them are angry, sad, hurt children left adrift without the figures they idolized, and they have to help each other equally work through these feelings."

Also fixes the whole "Jack teaches Ashi but gives no comfort; Ashi gives Jack comfort but teaches him nothing" issue.

Also also another common complaint about season 5 is that there wasn't enough foreshadowing that Ashi was Aku's daughter; the harder it leans into "Ashi sees Aku like a father, the way Jack sees his own father," the easier it will be to introduce "Aku actually is her father." Even without dropping hints like giving her powers, it will feel almost inevitable.

• Both the emperor and Aku put a LOT of pressure on their kids to kill their enemy. But how shows how different they are.

The emperor puts the weight of the world on his son's shoulders because he's choosing between "cruelly burden my child" or "literally the end of the world." He passes his fight on to Jack only when he can't fight it himself. He's proud of his son, he's been proud of him his whole life. He tries to guide him into being the best man he can be; he doesn't control him.

Aku lazes against a junk heap as he puppets the daughter he didn't raise into serving as his meat shield, goading her on with, "You wouldn't let your daddy get hurt by that bad ol' samurai."

Currently, Jack's relationship with his father and Ashi's relationship with Aku exist in complete isolation from each. Change that. Bring that parallel into the scene where Ashi meets Aku. It would only take one line of dialogue (ex: "I know you'll do a better job protecting your father than the samurai did protecting his!") and that recolors the whole scene; it's no longer Jack vs Aku with Ashi as pawn in the middle, it's Jack (in honor of his father) vs Ashi (under coercion from her father); and, behind that, the Emperor vs Aku.

And Jack and Aku's overall conflict in this scene is reframed from "father figure vs father figure fighting for custody of a daughter (also one of the father figures wants to make out with her and that makes it kind of weird)" to "father figure vs a son who understands what a father figure should be, fighting to free a daughter who should have had what he had."

— Pacing (out of universe). Now, I said I'd only propose changes that can be done without majorly changing Ashi's character or majorly changing the plot; so under those terms, I'm taking it as a given that we can't stick three extra episodes into season 5. We can't change the pace of the whole season's plot.

So instead, just change the pacing of their relationship.

Usually I hate "they do nothing but fight but they're attracted to each other the whole time" but I'm making an exception here. We're specifically trying to prevent "the fans think Jack is Ashi's new dad" so they need to get at least a little horny for each other as soon as possible.

Ashi's passed out in the snow and Jack goes "a shame... she was so beautiful" and then she wakes up and starts screaming at him.

Reveal that the priestess has given the daughters a decades-old wanted poster of Jack so they know him when they find him and the daughters, who have only seen each other's faces their whole lives, go "wow he looks like a hideous freak, humans aren't supposed to look like that" and then reveal Ashi awake at 3 a.m. while the others sleep, staring in fascination at the picture.

She spouts a dozen death threats at him and ends it with "and you looked better without a beard!" and he retorts "and YOU look better without the mask" and then they don't talk or make eye contact for an hour.

Whatever it takes! As long as it indicates clearly and early where the relationship is aimed! Don't get weird with it, we don't want a "she switched sides because she's attracted" plot instead of a "their attraction could flourish because she switched sides" plot—just ease into the romance over a series of episodes rather than stuffing it all into one episode.

— Pacing (in universe). Right now, it feels like they've known each other, like, a week before they're swapping gross monster-tainted spit. But we have no idea how much time Jack and Ashi spent traveling as he told her about Aku's crimes, or getting to the mountain with the sword, or getting to that prison walking distance from the Guardian's post.

Just insert a montage somewhere showing them traveling together and time passing! Show seasons changing. Show them in a bunch of different environments as they get closer to each other. Even if the show can't spend more time developing their relationship, show us that they spent time together.

— Overarching show themes. One of the reasons the Ashi romance feels forced is because romance has never been part of Samurai Jack before. He got a cheek kiss from a seven-year-old, he and Ikra slow blinked at each other, and a southern belle tried to flirt with him while he remained oblivious, and that's IT.

You know what some of the themes we do have in the show are? Jack getting strength, both spiritually and literally, from the friends he's made out of the people he's helped (ex: The Aku Infection). Jack yearning for his kingdom and his culture, and feeling revitalized whenever he reconnects with his history (ex: Jack Remembers the Past; Jack's Sandals). Jack striving to master his mind, purge his negativity and despair, and hold onto serenity and determination (ex: Mad Jack; Jack and the Monks; to a lesser extent The Aku Infection again). All of these things become important in Season 5, especially in s5 e7 and the finale.

The show tells us that Jack's victory is going to depend on friendship returned by the people he's helped, and his bond with his culture and history, and his emotional self-mastery, and his spirituality, and his ongoing combat training, and not repeating the same mistake of hesitating to kill Aku that he made in episode one, and Aku's showboating and outsized cruelty tripping him up at the finish line and undoing his own victory, and his goodness, and his sword, and—of course—returning to the past. All of these things come into play at the end of the series.

Of all the things the show tells us about Jack's journey, it never says that his victory needs romance. So it comes out of nowhere because this doesn't feel like that kind of story.

It could have been set up much earlier. Introduce the theme that Jack won't win this battle without a partner (romantic or not)—a TRUE partner, someone committed 100% to the same quest as him, not just sometimes-allies and grateful friends he'll team up with for a battle and then part ways with, keeping his emotional distance. Hell, it would be kind of hilarious/kind of perfect to introduce that as far back as Warrior Woman, have him muse that this journey would have been impossible without Ikra's help and support. Doubly hilarious/perfect if they'd taken the chance to reinforce that with Swamp Monster, dial back some of the mutual hostility throughout that episode and emphasize how neither one could have resurrected a time-controlling titan without the other one's strength/knowledge. Set up both of the episodes like this could lead to a long-term partnership if not for the fact that Jack's quest is clearly now complete, which of course is nixed by the reveal that Jack's new companion is Aku (and sometimes Jack knew it). Make it feel inevitable when he finally partners up for good with Aku's daughter whom he first meets in a half-assed Aku cosplay.

Introduce the theme that amongst the virtues Jack needs to demonstrate to win—patience, cool-headedness, tenacity, a strong work ethic, selflessness, courage, charity, compassion, etc—love is included. And not just "familial love" or "love of your fellow man" but specifically "romantic love." Usually I'm too aro for "you aren't fulfilled until you have romantic love" but I'll make an exception this once. Dress it up with some jazz that makes it fit the show's other themes—suggest Jack won't have the strength to take down Aku for good until he's tapped into the full spectrum of his emotions, and he's been tamping down that one since puberty because he doesn't have time for dating while he's trying to murder a demon tyrant.

Now, this one is a problem, because it would have required setting up the romance in like 2001, long before season 5 was ever even imagined. But like, imagine if they had done that. It doesn't feel as deus ex machina-y for love to save the day if we were told from the start that of course love is NECESSARY to save the day.

Even if we can't rewind time to slip clues into the first four seasons, season 5 still needed to add "a romance can and probably will save the day" to the show's themes sooner than the next-to-last episode.

(Alternatively: introduce the possibility of romance early, but de-emphasize romance's direct role in Jack's win. Like, instead of the thing that saves the day being Jack yelling "I love you" at just the right time, make it something moving about how they can still win and save the day and all but he can't do it without her help. You get the same end result and you still have the romance but you're making sure the show's resolution rests upon the show's already-established themes rather than resting upon a brand new theme. Make Ashi fit in with the existing "Jack can't win without the strength of his friends (including his GIRLfriend)" theme, instead of framing her like a unique phenomenon.)

I'd like to point out that all three of these previous points—out-of-universe romance pacing, in-universe romance pacing, and introducing romantic love & companionship as a theme shaping Jack's quest—are all handled better in the 6-page Jack & Jill comic from the mostly-mediocre Action Pack comics than they are in season 5.

So! That's what I think it'd take to make the romance feel like it works:

even out the imbalances between them—in age, knowledge, maturity, vulnerability, emotional labor

emphasize all the things they have in common that make them peers, rather than superior/underling

synchronize their character development so they're having similar experiences at the same time and can mutually support each other through it.

do more with their relationships with their actual fathers

weave romance into the story sooner

#samurai jack #ashi #jashi #meta #anonymous #ask #(sorry this took literally a whole month)#(personally i NEVER thought jack seemed 'parental' with ashi. mentor-ish yes; but the most parental thing he does is tell ONE dad joke.)#(but i understand what vibes made other people read it as 'parental' even in the absence of any kind of parenting.)#(so we're addressing that too.)

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erwinsvow · 4 hours ago

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robby has a best friend from his residency (he was one year above him in the program and ultimately the kind of friend that he has great memories of—24 hour on-call shifts and taking turns sleeping and finding the worst possible way to wake the other one up and seeing who could get that cute nurse’s number first). but after they both left new orleans, it was harder and harder to stay in touch. the kind of friendship that lives mostly in his memories—when there’s a trauma that reminds him of something from years ago and he wishes he could just turn around and talk to him about it, because picking up the phone and calling or leaving a message for something so small seems dumb. when someone brings donuts in the morning for a birthday and he remembers the time the two of them lived off of chocolate frosted from the hospital’s coffee shop for a month. when some weasel surgical intern starts acting up and he remembers how their attending used to put guys like that in their place. times like those, where he wishes his friend was there, instead of just staying silent because no one else shares that memory with him.

robby doesn’t have social media but he kept in touch the regular way over the years—he got the invitation for his wedding and even sent back an rsvp, but there was a huge storm the weekend of and his flight got grounded. they occasionally send a postcard—robby’s from the hospital gift shop when he got the attending job at ptmc and his friend’s from a teaching hospital in the midwest somewhere (he thinks, he’s not sure) where he started working as a residency director. when he married janey, they had a really small wedding and at the time, it didn’t seem right to make him fly all the way here for a ceremony that was only half of an afternoon. it sucks, but that’s the way adult friendships go—kept alive mostly in your head, finding it difficult to find time for a phone call when real life gets in the way. between teaching interns and getting married and then getting divorced and the whole world shutting down, he never found time to reach back out, but he thinks of him every now and then, fondly.

it’s interesting, really, because robby was never much interested in the residency director stuff. he preferred to leave that for the higher ups, though he knew attendings normally liked to have a say in who was going to be joining their program. but his plate always felt full enough and there were others who cared way more about it than he did, so he left it alone, though, maybe he shouldn't have. maybe he should have paid more attention. because if he had, he wouldn't have smiled at the pretty girl who sat down next to him at the bar two nights before july 1st. he wouldn't have started talking to her, wouldn't have sensed that she was nervous about something and there for a distraction. he wouldn't have ignored his better instincts that tell him to stay away from pretty, young girls because they're much better off without him involved in their lives. he wouldn't have taken you home with him and made you cum until you cried and let you sleep in the morning after, kissing your forehead and telling you to lock the door behind you because he has to go to work.

he did have to go, though the thought of staying with you for half the morning ran through his mind the entire time he got ready to leave. the new interns start on monday and there's always more work to do when they're expecting them. it's also the last day for the senior residents and every year they cut cake and have drinks and he can't miss all of that no matter how much he wants to. he comes back home to a neatly made bed and a post-it in your pretty handwriting that says thanks for last night! but is devoid of a phone number. he wishes you had left it—he would have called you, probably after monday, knowing the day would be exhausting and because he never got to find out what you had been wanting a distraction from. he figures you might end up back at the bar next weekend and maybe he'll end up there too.

at first, on the walk to work, it felt like christmas came early. he recognized you from the back of your head (though it was a lot harder to tell without your hair bunched up in his fist). you're walking a hundred feet ahead of him, and he thinks he'll catch up before the turn for the hospital. but then you turn exactly where he turns, walk until you cross the street and are faced with the entrance to the hospital. he stops dead in his tracks, getting bumped into by someone. there's no way—you can't be showing up to the hospital on july 1st. he keeps walking after someone shouts at him, goes through the same doors you went through. you must be lost, or at the very least, he hopes, looking for the elevators to head upstairs. peds, maybe, or obstetrics, or internal medicine or literally anything else that doesn't put you under his direct supervision. when he walks in, he sees you head towards the lockers. fuck. they must have shown you that during orientation last week, the one day he had off. he can't let this be the way you find out that he's your attending, not in front of everyone. he'd like to spare you that much, at least, so he tells dana he'll be right back and follows you. you turn at the noise of footsteps behind you, smiling brightly like you're ready to introduce yourself, when your smile dies on your face.

"michael?" you repeat his name, but he doesn't even hear you. his ears are ringing. you're in the process of unzipping a hoodie he recognizes—one that says big charity nola down the middle. and your badge, well, it has the name you told him the other night printed on, followed by the last name of his best friend from residency.

#this barely makes sense but i had to take a break from studying and this felt like the best way to spend it #michael robinavitch #i will just put him in any situation even if it doesn't have a lick of coherency

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nostalgebraist · 4 hours ago

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I am pleased, and at least a little surprised, to report that William T. Vollmann is actually good

Why surprised? Well, here's a typical journalistic characterization of the guy:

He wrote his first novel at night while working for a software company, sleeping under his desk and subsisting on Three Musketeers. He crossed into Afghanistan in 1982 to join the mujahideen in a quixotic blunder. He almost died alone in the magnetic North Pole. He developed Repetitive Strain Syndrome from sixteen-hour days typing his manuscript about Jesuit missions to New France. He smuggled a Thai sex slave to safety while on assignment for Spin magazine. He is intensely private, eschewing the Internet and email. His phone has been tapped and his mail has been opened without consent—due to the Patriot Act, he suspects.

(Chris Via, review of Conversations with William T. Vollmann)

That isn't nearly the whole of it, either. Did you know that he wrote a 3,352-page book about when/whether violence is morally justified? That he was interrogated multiple times by the FBI, who suspected him of being the Unabomber? That – in addition to his penchants for guns and whiskey and courting danger at the ends of the earth – he also enjoys dressing up as Dolores, his "female alter ego"?

It's not that this "most interesting man in the world" schtick bothers me, exactly. Not in itself, anyway.

But I had always wondered whether his reputation owed more to this stuff than to his actual, you know, writing. With a bio like this, one could easily achieve a certain minor level of fame as an "iconic writer" even if one had no talent whatsoever – even if the books themselves were a kind of perfunctory afterthought. Vollmann is already so many other things – why expect him to be good, on top of it?

But no. Having finally read him, I can tell you: he is the real deal. He is a very, very talented writer. It feels almost unfair (he's so many other things, too!), but it's true.

I just finished Fathers and Crows, one of his novels about the colonization of North America. One of the best works of historical fiction I've read, and probably the best at being "historical fiction" in the sense of synthesizing the two words in that phrase, wresting an enjoyable narrative from the messy raw material of real events while still authentically evoking the sprawling, complicated, often senseless nature of those events.

Beautiful prose, too!

I don't wholeheartedly recommend it, but it's only because (a) it is very long and starts to feel repetitious after a while, and (b) although the storytelling is often very good at the page-by-page level, that same quality of "authentic historical messiness" makes it feels like a giant formless tapestry, a collection of great characters and individual scenes that don't really gel together into anything bigger.

(There are some very obviously telegraphed higher-level themes and stuff, but they feel almost artificially imposed, a post-hoc interpretive framing that doesn't quite fit the material – or which only accounts for some of it, while hundreds of pages of other events are just kind of sitting there, as though they were artistically inconvenient but had to be depicted anyway since they occurred in real life.

Still, even this is not the kind of critique you make of a bad book. No, this is just the kind of thing that happens when a book is ambitious in an interesting way that tests the limits of what can be done with fiction. If the book doesn't totally "work" in all the usual ways we expect from novels, well, it's still impressive that he got as far as he did on that front while still staying true to his more experimental goals.)

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lightningsg1rl · 3 days ago

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Two of Hearts

You're a stripper turned informant tasked with getting information for a Sergeant about the man that comes to see you every Friday. i. fish on a hook 2.3k || masterlist

You’ve been on your feet for five hours now.

Usually, you can go your entire 10 hour shift with very minimal pain. The soles of your feet have gotten used to the tall heels you wear. Not cowboy boots. You lean against the bar trying to get some weight off the balls of your feet. A temporary relief. But it’s not long before Vincent—your boss— is snapping his fingers at you from across the club.

Move your ass.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. Attitude won’t get you anywhere with him. You learned that the hard way. So you straighten up and hide your limp as best you can as you make your way to one of your tables. A group of men. Business men. Slicked back hair, neatly pressed three piece suits, and shiny dress shoes. Big spenders. The usual crowd. You’ve been working on them for two hours now. Laughing at their terrible jokes, sitting on their laps, showering them with compliments, feigning interest as they complain to you about their wives and children. Easy enough to swallow all the bullshit they regurgitate when they keep hooking notes to the band of your leather bra. Their cold fingers lingering a bit too long for your liking.

You muster up the sweetest smile and pitch your voice a little higher as you offer the group more drinks. They all look pretty drunk already and when you sense that they're about to decline, you offer a dance to go along with it. They visibly perk up and order another round. One of them hooks a tenner on the hem of your leather chaps and pats you on the butt. You, being the professional you are—take it all in good fun and playfully swat his arm. Adding in a little giggle to stroke his ego. The group laughs and whistles as you make your way back to the bar.

You rest your elbows on the bar's smooth counter top and rattle off the order for your table to Aaron, the bartender. Middle aged, balding, with a God-given talent for making the best margaritas you've ever had in your life.

"The fuck are you wearing?" Aaron chuckles as he grabs some glasses from under the bar.

You roll your eyes, "Don't start."

"Just sayin'. You look like you stepped out of a…," His eyes scan your ridiculous get-up. "…a really bad Western porno or something."

You wish. You wish you stepped out of some crazy Western porno, but no. No, Vincent made you wear this as "punishment" for not coming in last weekend. Even when you told him about four days in advance not to put you on the schedule. Imagine your surprise when you open your locker and find a skimpy cowgirl costume ready and waiting for you. Complete with a black Stetson hat and a bolo tie. Oh, and just to make sure you're extra uncomfortable for your entire shift: the entire thing is leather. A leather triangle bra, leather chaps and an a pair of authentic leather cowboy boots. You can hardly dance with how tight it is and with how hot the costume gets under the lights on stage. You're grateful that at least you got to wear cotton panties with it. A small mercy Vincent had so graciously bestowed upon you. Prick.

"Can you hurry it up?" You urge him, annoyed that he's still laughing at you. You try and keep a straight face, but you can feel the corner of your mouth lifting slightly. Despite how shitty your shift has been so far, Aaron still manages to lift your spirits if only for a bit.

"One of your regulars is here." Aaand it just went down again.

You pull your brows together, "Who?"

"The one with the hat." Aaron replies, pouring vodka into a glass. "What was his name..? ..Gas? Room 6." He jerks his chin to the back of the club, where the private rooms are.

You mumble some excuse to Aaron as you push off the bar. You weave through the crowd and tell one of the girls, Daisy, to tend to your tables. You walk towards the back of the club, your eyes fixed on the bright red door labeled 'VIP'. Your heart is thumping in your chest and you can feel your palms start to sweat. The heavy bass of the music muffles as you close the door behind you. The red LED lights lining the walls illuminate the narrow hallway, adding to the already tense atmosphere. You pretty much run to the end of the hallway and push open the door to room number 6.

Gaz looks up from where he sits on the plush red couch, his elbows on his knees. Dressed in all black. Black jacket, black pants, and black boots. The brim of his hat obscuring his face. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Like always. He looks relaxed, completely at ease. A stark contrast to how you feel. Hackles raised and your heart going a mile a minute.

"What are you doing here?" You close the door behind you, but make no effort to enter the room further.

Gaz straightens up and he removes his hat. Giving you a clear view of his handsome face in the dim light of the room. You can feel the caress of his gaze as his eyes scan you. Your cheeks burn when you realize how ridiculous you must look right now in your little cowgirl get-up. You rarely ever get embarrassed, especially not at work. You're used to men leering at you and openly gawking at you. It's a part of the job. You've worn less clothes than what you have on, but there is something about how he looks at you that makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

"You weren't here last weekend." Gaz points out, his eyes meeting yours.

"No, I wasn't."

"Why?"

You cross your arms, inadvertently covering your chest from his eyes to give you some form of modesty. "…was sick."

Gaz nods slowly, "Right. Sick."

"I was."

Gaz tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, "Really? You go to the shops when you're sick?"

You wrinkle your nose at that, "What-how do you-"

"Did he come see you last Friday?" Gaz cuts you off, leaning forward and picking up the bottle of champagne on the glass table in front of him. Studying it, before putting it down again. He looks back up to you, expectant.

You sigh heavily, annoyed that he dodged your question, "What do you think?" you retort.

"And?" He presses.

You give a half-shrug, "…and nothing. I told you, he doesn't tell me anything."

He straightens up, shoots you a frown. "Are you asking him the questions I told you to ask him?"

"I'm trying."

"Well, you're not trying hard enough." He scolds, "Two months and you still haven't gotten shit out of him. I thought you said you were willing to help."

"Willing?" You snort, "Willing? You forced me to help you. I didn't want to do this in the first place."

He scoffs, "Then why did you agree?"

"Because you pointed a gun at me!" You shout, your patience slipping.

"I didn't point it at you." He specified. "I pointed it in your general direction. Big difference."

"Same shit." You snap at him. You avert your eyes and look to the wall behind him to keep from stomping over to him and slapping him. Maybe you ought to do that. Give him a good hard slap just to get it out of your system. Just once. Maybe then he'll stop scolding you like a child; maybe he'll even stop coming to see you all together. Realize that he isn't getting anywhere with this arrangement he forced you into and you can finally stop feeling that sense of dread that pools in your stomach every time Saturday rolls around.

"Did he threaten you?" Gaz asks and that pulls your focus back to him.

"What?"

"Did he threaten you?" He repeats, "Is that why you weren't here last weekend. Did he tell you not to show?"

You shake your head, "No. Told you, I was sick. Didn't feel good." You don't know why you maintain the lie since he knows that you were out all weekend. Still, he humors you, nodding slowly. In truth, you had been avoiding him. You didn't want to face him with nothing to show for. Again. Two months of being his informant and you've gotten nothing of what he asked of you. To your credit, you were trying. But, how do you casually ask a man if he has ties to a Russian terrorist organization and if he could pretty please tell you the plans of his leader without raising any alarms in said man's head. Right.

"Let me know the next time you decide to not to come in." He says, "It's why I gave you my number, so you can keep me informed." He reminds you.

You nod, "I will."

"I'm serious."

"I know. I will, I promise." You assure him. You watch as he grabs his hat from the glass table and rises from the couch. You shift on your feet as he walks over to you. You keep your chin up, your shoulders back as your eyes meet. He stops just a few inches from you, looking down at you. Even with your heeled cowboy boots on, you only come up to his chin. His eyes scour your face and down to your collarbones, arms, and your exposed stomach searching for something. You cross your arms tighter across your chest at his inspection.

"See you this Saturday." He murmurs bringing his eyes back up to your face. He gives you a curt nod.

You return it and your eyes trail him as he exits.

...

Gaz puts his hat back on as he walks out of the red illuminated hallway and back into the main area of the club. He keeps his head down as he strides towards the front of the club, ignoring the looks he gets from the club patrons and the offers from the dancers. Before he steps out, he looks back and manages to get one last look at you. He only gets to see the back of your head as you make your way back to one of the tables. A group of men, who all look as if they want to devour you whole as soon as you get in their eyesight. His eyes catch how your hand glides across the back of one of the man's shoulders, your smile sweet and inviting.

He clenches his jaw involuntary and forces his attention away from you as he exits the club. The cool London air a welcome relief from the stuffy club atmosphere. He looks both ways before crossing the street and walks to his car parked under a flickering street light. Far enough from the club so you won't spot him and close enough for him to see who goes in and out. Something he only recently started doing to appease the guilt that had been gnawing at him since this whole thing started.

Guilt for forcing you to keep talking and interacting with a man who could break you in half with only his pinky finger. Guilt for being vague with you on who the man really is. Guilt for not really looking out for you. He only sits in his car all night for himself so he can make himself feel better about this whole thing. Only gave you his number for his own peace of mind. He has to make sure you make it to your flat after your shift and he has to see the light turn off behind your white curtains or else he won't be able to focus on anything else.

He flew into a panic when you weren't at the club last weekend. His mind flooded with the worst case scenarios. You, gagged and bound in the back of some van. Taken to some basement and interrogated about your connection to him, to the task force which you know nothing about. Your pretty face battered and bloodied. Your sweet voice crying out to him, calling for him. How he would find you, your cold dead body dumped somewhere. A result of his recklessness in getting you, a civilian, involved. His fault.

He must've blown right through several red lights just to get to your flat. His racing heart only slowing when he saw the light coming from your windows and your silhouette moving about the place.

He didn't leave for the safe house when he saw that you were fine, no he followed you for those two days. Keeping a safe distance as you went about running errands and shopping. His head on a swivel to watch out for anyone else who might've been following you. He almost went up to you to scold you on maintaining some sort of spacial awareness, to stop looking down at your phone so much and to get your air pods out of your ears.

He knows he's crossing a line. You're suppose to be an informant and nothing more. A tool. A fish on a hook. Using you for your pretty looks and honeyed words to get some information out of the man his team is after. It was his plan after all, he shouldn't be doubting himself. Something his Captain keeps telling him. But he can't help but worry. If something does go wrong, will he be there in time? Will you call him? You haven't tried to, didn't even tell him you weren't going into work last weekend. Do you trust him? You've given him your stage name, Venus, but not your real one. He can easily ask Laswell to get it for him, but he wants to hear it from you. It's something he knows he shouldn't want. Your name will make you more of a person in his eyes, threatening the already crumbling barrier he put between you two.

He sighs as he sinks back in the driver seat, his eyes never straying from the club door. Small droplets of water begin to land on his windshield as the minutes crawl by.

#kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #gaz cod #gaz x reader #gaz x female reader #gaz x you #fanfic #tf 141 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw3

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sigma-science · 20 hours ago

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TEUM/TE,UM event summary

So, it happened. I attended Korean Conclave fan event starring Carlos Diehz. Here's the summary of that.

Disclaimer : English is not Carlos', nor my first language. The following summary of Q&A is me translating my Korean translation of Carlos' original English interview into English again. It's basically those Google translator video kind of process. Important nuances might've been lost in the process.

Before Q&A session

He said hello like in 3 languages, Korean, Japanese and Chinese or something else? The last one I forgot.

The MC asked him about the overall impression of Seoul : Carlos found it interesting that there are local shops right next to the big company buildings, since in North America usually big corps are taking all spaces around them and local shops are driven out to the entirely different area. Also visiting Thousand-year-old Buddhist temple in the middle of the city was an experience, and place like that in important to the culture, so we need to coexist with those kind of place rather than erase them?

Overall very architecture-focused answer, so fun to remember he really is current architect haha.

Q&A Session

Carlos' favorite line in the movie : "I am what God made me."

Favorite Deleted Scene : Benítez talking with Bellini after Lawrence woke him up. It shows Benítez is not just a love & caring guy, but can defend himself. (He said everyone's scene got cut to not giving away the ending and make the movie more thriller-like, he emphasized everyone's scene got cut one or two times more)

If Lawrence wants to resign, will Benítez allow it? : Yes, he wants to bring peace to Lawrence. (Carlos emphasizes this more in the Q&A session) While Lawrence is a great person to have around, Benítez knows he is tired and stressed. so if he wants to resign, yes.

What kind of determination brought Benítez to the conclave? : Benítez has deep sense of duty. Since the late pope made him cardinal (especially fully knowing him being intersex) he followed the duty associated with the role, thinking it is worth the risk.

Benítez' greatest fear : That's a question nobody had asked! (Really, people?) Since he is very devoted, maybe his biggest fear is "not be able to going back." It is why the place where newly elected pope gets prepared is called the Room of Tears, when you become the pope, you can't going back to your previous life even after death. What Benítez actually felt after knowing he would become the pope might not be exactly the fear but other kind of emotion, but yes, that's his fear.

Did Benítez expect he would become the pope? : No. He came to the conclave not to be the pope but to elect the fittest person. So in the first day he looked around other people, and went Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence.

(cont. from 6.) After the speech, did he? : When in school, if you give a great suggestion the teacher goes like "Then you do it", right? That's exactly what Benítez felt. After the speech he would've been like "Oh my God."

Kind of character he wants to play : Impatient and angry character, more like himself. Maybe villain, maybe ordinary father who wants to defend his family. Or another horror movie, maybe vampire again? But in bigger studio.

Pure evil villain vs villain with backstory? : The latter, most actors would think same.

When would be Benítez' birthday? : Carlos doesn't really believe in horoscope but he thinks Benítez would be some kind of water sign (Aquarius / Pisces), so maybe around January ~ March.

About the ending : Benítez wants to bring peace to Lawrence. When Lawrence visited the Room of Tears, he knows what Lawrence wants to know and tell him that to bring him peace.

About Benítez getting to know he's intersex : Being kind and caring isn't really come from his female organs but it's his own innate ability, but when he finds out he is intersex, he might have thought it as some kind of explanation to his nature. (this was the most trickiest answer to the question, Just want to add Carlos really was trying his best to pick the right word and to be respectful while answering this part.)

If you can play other characters in Conclave who will you play? : Tedesco since he's more emotional and intense, and Sabbadin since he's strategist and controversialist

If Benítez didn't speak up at the auditorium, who would be the pope? : If Benítez didn't speak up, Somebody else will speak up instead (albeit with weaker speech). Maybe Lawrence wouldn't since he's in the middle of that but maybe Bellini would, supporting Lawrence. Eventually Lawrence would be the pope.

As Pope Innocent, what would be his first chosen act as a pope? (rather than papal daily job-ish works) : Accepting Lawrence's resignation, but it would be more personal act rather than papal one. As the pope, expanding women's role in the church.

About getting into the role : When filming Conclave, he had 90's Mexican songs playlist (which he knows well) to relieve stress and get in to the role. He sang and danced while playing that. Merab and Lucian was his next-door trailer neighbors, so he saw Merab dancing at the dressing room and listened Lucian singing. Apparently Lucian's singing voice is really great.

About getting into the role 2 : Since he's Latin American he uses a lot of gestures while talking (as much as Italians) but Benítez isn't, so he practiced not to use hand gestures in front of the mirror.

Lots of Lawrenitez crumbs! Also the image of Carlos!Sabbadin is something I could've never imagined.

+ Adding 2~3 Q&As I didn't add because those are the ones Carlos did answered in other interviews but after writing this I reconsidered and adding them anyways

18. Is there any part of Benítez' characterization that comes from your personal experience : He said no actor can transform into completely different character from themselves, everyone uses some kind of their experience to get into the character. Then he said when he was 19~20 years old he considered joining monastery, and studied saints' life like Saint Francis of Assisi, Saint Ignatius of Loyola and someone else (think I heard Saint John of somewhere but I couldn't recognize) but a priest advised him to reconsider it after finishing studying architecture. He reconsidered and decided not to join.

+ Add : Heard that it was Don Bosco.

19. The meaning of turtle : Some turtles can change sex, and it might work as the symbol of Benítez being intersex, that's one, and the other is in his deleted lines. He could understand why other scenes got cut but said he cannot understand why this scene got changed, but the line says the turtle being symbol of healing and transformation. Lawrence responds with turtle got run over by cars, saying those hope of healing and transformation gets crashed by daily life. At the ending scene Lawrence returns one of the turtles into the pond, showing that the hope of healing and transformation is restored. At least he thinks it so.

20. About getting into the role 0 : There are two extreme sides of it, one is imagining every aspect of the character's life (like what he eats, what team he likes, something like that) and other is thinking the character is only in the author's text and saying the text convincingly. He asked other actors and they all use some kind of mixture of those two, and he also does like that.

Unboxing the gift

Oh there were lots of gifts. Like 45 people sent Carlos their gifts. (Including me) The organizers brought some of them and Carlos had unboxing session with them. Apparently Carlos expected much less gifts, and he said to the organizers he only brought one(1) carrier to carry them. HAHA. You really underestimated our love.

So many Snoopy plushies! Including one Snoopy head cushion. Carlos asked if it is meant for Kiki or him. Later he concluded he would negotiate with her about that.

Apparently he collects tote bags around the world. So when he visited National Museum of Korea he was about to buy a tote bag from there, but one of the organizers mentioned luckily one of the present he got was the bag.

Imagen Awards mention! He will visit Hollywood at August to attend the event and said he would bring soap & bracelet one of the fan gave to him there...

List of gifts unpacked : A tower commemorating the election of pope Innocent XIV, handmade Benítez & turtle & Carlos plushies, order made jade norigae, paintbrushes & palette, name tag (name written in hangul), paperweight (with Korean traditional star signs), and so on. More gifts were in the backstage so maybe we might have his unboxing video at Instagram later on...

After the unboxing Carlos rewrapped all the gifts by himself, even though the organizers repeatedly said they will rewrap them later so it's okay to leave them opened.

Okay, I'm getting lazy. here's some of the photos I took. (The organizers allowed taking photos only when he enters the stage and unboxing time)

Autographs & Trivia time

So, all the attendees drew a lottery to decide who gets his autographs. My luck was out. Sad, but the event was satisfactory enough, so yeah.

One of the organizers was MC of the event, and while Carlos signing they told a lot of interesting backstories while preparing this event, and stories from Carlos himself.

The organizers tried to bring the music director Bertelmann to the event and actually contacted him, but he was so busy that he couldn't attend.

They also contacted Brían F. O'Byrne, but since he really was interested on summer drama festival and wanted to spend his time with his family, he couldn't come to the event either.

Apparently the person in charge of contacting people was still a student, so Brían said them study well.

When the organizers tried to escort him, he was one step faster and held doors for them, yield more comfortable seats at the restaurant and so on.

Apparently he likes spicier kimchis rather than milder ones?

He talks a lot when he is excited, so when having a meal he eats much slower than others. This also happened while filming Conclave, so that Brían (I heard Brían but apparently others heard Merab so I might be wrong) and Lucian, while finished their meal first, asked him if he's still eating.

He specifically wanted "pork cutlet with kimchi" and the organizers were confused figuring out what food he exactly wants, but thankfully dongaseu (Korean style tonkatsu) was right.

Also, he brought National Museum of Korea his leftover dongaseu and got caught.

When he visited National Museum of Korea he explained the room design to the organizers, specifically how it reduces sounds.

Carlos' daughter worried he might get into trouble while being excited?

About acting style : Ralph Fiennes has to warm up to get into the role, but Stanley Tucci and John Lithgow just play with their phones and get into the role immediately with their cue signs. Lucian Msamati is more of a method actor. You can see him getting into the role while moving to the set, and when he get into the set, he is the role. Carlos once had to explain to one of the extras that he is actually a jovial, good guy.

Ending

Carlos used translator to say "Give a huge applause to the organizers!" Yes, it was a monumental work as a fan organized event, they really deserve them.

Also, he said this event being fan-led event is amazing, and if this can happen, it could happen again.

After he left the stage, he got the mic and said "EXTRA OMNES". Like, he really knows how to make his fans happy.

Okay, that's all. It was very exciting event, I still can't get out of the aftermath.

#conclave #conclave (2024)#carlos diehz #vincent benitez

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