#...and i wanted to next time more of ask things but then in september my phone broke and i lost all numbers and felt to awkward to ask for

[lucy-shining-star]

Eh I shouldn't be sad because of that

[deswhomst]

Pinky Promise | @black-sisters-microfic | Tedromeda-centric | Word Count : 695

Hogwarts, September 1964.

“You’re a mudblood, then?” Andromeda asked suspiciously. “I’ve never heard the name Tonks before.”

Ted Tonks, who had been unnecessarily cheerful up till this moment, dropped his smile immediately. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Why?” Her brows pulled together in confusion. “It’s just a question. I won’t be offended if you ask me my blood status.”

Ted stared at her. “The difference is that you’re insulting me.”

“When did I insult you?” Andromeda threw up her hands in exasperation. “You’re the one who can’t answer a simple question!”

“Are you stupid?”

“Oh, clearly, I am,” she said. “Why else would I be wasting my time talking to you?”

Ted rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I’ll let you go so you can continue your bullying.”

“What!?” Andromeda shrieked indignantly. “I have never bullied anyone, nor do I want to!”

“Didn’t you just call me a mudblood?” asked Ted, eyebrow raised.

She groaned in frustration. “I only asked if you were. And you still haven’t answered me.”

“I’m not a mudblood,” Ted said pointedly. “I’m a muggle-born.”

Andromeda blinked. “Is—what is wrong with you?” she asked. “That’s exactly the same thing!”

“No, it’s not!”

“A muggle-born,” she began through gritted teeth, “is someone who has muggle parents. A mudblood is also someone who has muggle parents. I fail to see the difference.”

“When you say mudblood, it sounds like you think you’re better than me,” Ted said. When Andromeda pursed her lips and didn’t make a comment, he scoffed. “You do think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

“Well … yes,” she slowly nodded. “But that’s because I saw you trip and fall over nothing. You were just walking, there were no obstacles, and you still fell.”

“That can happen to anyone!” he pointed out indignantly, face flushing a light pink.

“It has never happened to me.”

Ted glared at her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Who the fuck cares—”

“Don’t use the word,” Andromeda hissed, eyes widening.

“What word?” Ted blinked. “Fuck?”

She nodded, distressed.

He huffed out a mirthless laugh. “So you can call me a mudblood but I can’t say fuck?”

Andromeda wanted to burst into flames right then and there because why was this boy being so difficult?

“It’s just a blood status,” she tried patiently. Maybe he doesn’t know since his parents are muggles. “So, you see I’m a pureblood because my parents are, too. If someone has one parent who’s not a pureblood, then that person is a half-blood. If you have both parents who are muggles, you’re a mudblood,” She held up her hand when he began to interrupt her. “It’s also called muggle-born, I know, but mudblood makes more sense. Pureblood, half-blood, mudblood.”

After that, Ted stared at her silently for a very long time. It seemed that he was contemplating his next words carefully, finally settling on, “We prefer to be called muggle-born because people use the other one in a bad way … it’s like how you don’t like hearing fuck because it’s a bad word. Mudblood is a bad word, too.”

Andromeda digested that, nodding slowly. “But then you can’t use that word, either.”

Ted’s face split into a helpless grin. “I promise that if you stop using the m-word, I’ll stop using the f-word.”

“Deal,” she nodded, satisfied with this. “Should we make an Unbreakable Vow?”

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“It’s an unbreakable vow,” she raised an eyebrow. “It means you make a vow that you can’t break.”

“I meant,” Ted rolled his eyes again, this time with a smile that seemed fond, “what would happen if I do end up saying fu—the word?”

“You’ll die,” she stated simply.

“Oh, good thing it’s not something dramatic and unnecessary.”

Andromeda laughed.

“We can do a pinky promise instead,” Ted told her. “It’s the muggle version of that vow, except you don’t die if you break it.”

“Then it’s not very binding, is it?”

He shrugged. “It’s about trust. You can break it, yes, but I would be trusting that you won’t … and vice versa, I hope.”

“Hmm,” she passed a small smile. “Alright. Let’s do this muggle promise of yours.”

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: June 2024

Welcome to the June update. A lot of behind the scenes work at the moment but we're grabbing the travel sweets, popping in the Bentley and hitting the road. More on that below.

Admin

Ongoing reminder that the project FAQ can be found here. 

I pledged using my Apple ID, or no longer use the address my pledge is attached to, or I cannot work out what email address my pledge is connected to. What should I do? Please contact us via your Kickstarter account where the pledge is connected; we will be able to see on our system which address it is. If it's one you have access to, great! The FAQ has information on how to resend your invite link to access the PledgeManager. If it's one you are not able to access, then you can let us know which email is preferred and we can update this on the system, which will automatically send a new invite.

Events

We've had a lot of queries about when the Good Omens team will be attending events more formally, after some Aziraphale and Crowley spotting at conventions we'd been to previously. Well, we're excited to confirm the first: Good Omens HQ will be at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow, Scotland this September.

We'll be bringing the actual-real-life-home-to-Crowley-and-his-plants Bentley from Season 2 of Good Omens, the first time the car has been made available publicly for fans to come see and get photos with, ahead of its journey back to the set and the start of Season 3 filming.

We also see Quelin Sepulveda, aka Muriel, has been announced for the event for some additional ineffable joy.

You can get your tickets for ACME Comic Con here. We hope to see some of you there.

While we won't be rocking up with the Bentley to this next one, we want to let you know about Ineffable Con which, though sold out in person, is also taking place virtually in July. The fan-run event hosts great panels, auctions and more, with money raised going to Alzheimer’s Research UK, in memory of Sir Terry Pratchett.

Where next? We have - not an exaggeration - a list of about 200 events somewhere from when we asked fans this on Instagram and while we can't promise quite that amount of convention attendance, we're certainly looking to do some more things in future with Good Omens at large. Watch this space.  

Good Omens items...

This month has largely seen prototypes and samples for the wider Good Omens merch store arriving, and while we can't share those yet, we are certainly excited to see more fan product suggestions coming to life. That does, however, leave our public item updates a little slim on the ground.

To make up for that, here's some new panels from Colleen:

Also known as, "What could possibly go wrong?" And:

Also known as, "Well why don't you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇!@#▇" or words to that effect, we'd imagine.  

Update from Colleen

Following such a positive response to Colleen's piece last month, bringing you behind the scenes into making the Good Omens graphic novel, we are delighted to say that she has agreed to write something for our updates going forward! For June, she's going more in depth into the process of flatting and the technicalities of colouring on screen vs print. Over to you, Colleen.

---

I mentioned the other month that I use a flatter to help me with technical work on GOOD OMENS, and here is a great example.

This is my original, hand drawn line art.

And this is the flatting file which was created using the MultiFill computer program.

It will put your eyes out.

The raw image above demonstrates how the color art lines up solidly under the line art. If it doesn't do that, you get a weird phenomenon in print called ghosting, a tiny little line of white around each segment of color. I had this issue on one major project and ended up redoing every single color file after I got a look at the first printing. Nearly two weeks of work.

The same image with the line art on top.

The layer order looks like this.

Background copy is the clean, line art layer.

I scan the art at 600 dpi, then make the blacks pure black, the whites pure white. Then I convert back to greyscale, then RGB, then duplicate the layer. Then I delete the white on the upper layer so the line art layer is transparent but the blacks on that layer are not.

If you have blacks on a layer that has been multiplied, you can see slight color through those blacks. You want pure black.

The lower layer is where I use the MultiFill program to create the digital flats. First you use MultiFill to drop in the random colors, then the companion plug-in Flatter Pro to make those colors seal under the black lines.

This probably sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but if the flat colors don’t line up perfectly under the black line art, you get the dreaded ghosting I mentioned. You can see it below in this image. It’s a tiny little white line that will appear around the black lines and color areas.

This drives me nuts and is an absolute nightmare to fix.

It’s a very common problem, especially for people who work for web and don’t anticipate the problems going from web to print.

What looks great on your computer can cause big problems in print.

From here, my flatter Jul Mae Kristoffer, who is way over in the Philippines, does flatting that is more in keeping with the areas of color I want to isolate. As you see on Layer 1.

But again, this is still pretty ugly, and not what I would use for final color. Flatting is a technical issue, not a creative one, though in some cases a flatter will make choices you may use. Most of the time they don't.

Here is my final color page.

Sometimes my MultiFill flats are so wonky I have a hard time getting my brain to snap out of what I see before me. If I get stuck, it's a good idea to just pick at it and come back to it later.

If it really, really bothers me, I’ll take the MultiFill flatter layer and desaturate the color so it doesn’t poke my eyes out.

Here’s an example. The digital flat file.

The desaturated flat file that doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes out.

And the final color.

Sometimes I just put in a solid white layer so I don’t see the flats at all. Flatting is there to allow you to easily pick spots to color in, and doesn’t usually appear in the final work.

Sometimes I want to create my colors using transparent color over a white ground, which is more delicate in the final.

Here’s an example from Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. I also selected all black line art here and converted it to sepia to give it a vintage look. Except for the fairies. They’re green.

A colorist must also consider color settings.

Different clients can have different requirements. I find these color settings, which I got from the Hi-Fi Studio, to be pretty solid. I use them as my default for all my projects unless otherwise requested. If your publisher has other settings, they’ll usually send you a csf file which you can upload to Photoshop. The program will save your files and you can just switch between them as you need them.

This tells the printer things about the paper and the spread of the ink you will use. That’s what dot gain means - it makes printed color look darker than intended, so you set up your files to account for it.

When you hover your pointer over each box, it will tell you what each setting is supposed to accomplish.

Another really important thing to consider when coloring comics is color range.

I’m coloring this book in RGB range, but for print you use CMYK.

I’m about to confuse the heck out of some people with this post, I’m afraid. But here we go.

Here is this shot in RGB color setting.

And here is the same page calibrated for print in CMYK.

The biggest shift is in the reds. Print cannot match those reds.

You may not see much difference here, but it’s the sort of thing that drives artists crazy.

A computer should be perfect for conveying exactly what you want, right? It's all just 0's and 1's, binary information, and that information should be the same from one computer to the next?

Nope. Not even close.

First off, computer monitors must be calibrated. You can use a computer program or a tool that measures the color on your computer screen and then adjusts the color to an industry standard.

Have you ever been in an electronics shop where a bunch of TV shows were on display, all of them playing the same show, and have you noticed how different the color was from one TV to the next?

It's like that.

I freely admit I don't pay a whole lot of attention to calibration, but if I were a professional photographer I would. I'd have a little spectrometer attached to my screen and software would adjust my monitor to the best possible standard range. As it is, I just use the default setting on my computer and hope for the best.

If your monitor is properly calibrated and your art is shown on another monitor that is properly calibrated, the art will look almost identical from one monitor to the next.

YAY!

But from one monitor to the next, that's about where the resemblance ends.

Colors are calibrated to something called RGB, or Red, Green, Blue.

All colors come from a mix of red green and blue. At their greatest intensity, all the colors in the spectrum together become pure white light.

This is why RGB is called ADDITIVE color, because you ADD colors from the spectrum to get ALL colors, and all colors create the entirety of the rainbow, and pure white light.

Your computer monitor, your phone, your television, all images are created via light using RGB, a gamut that covers all possible colors that can be created.

That's a lot.

And that's why some of the colors you see on your TV or phone are so deep and intense.

For the widest possible range of color and intensity, you use RGB.

Unfortunately, there is what you can create with light, and then there is what you can create with pigment or ink. And that is why printing what you see on your computer almost never looks exactly like what you see in a book.

For printing, you must use a color setting known as CMYK. This stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Key/Black.

In printing, the pure blue is actually Cyan and the pure red is actually Magenta.

CMYK color range is not created by addition, but by SUBTRACTION. In order to get the color you want, you reduce the percentage of one of the four colors for ink mixing. Mixing all colors, instead of giving you white, gives you black.

The gamut of CMYK is limited to what can be created with ink.

You've probably heard the term four color press? This is what that means. Four colors, with each color of ink run over the paper on rollers which, combined in varying layers of opacity, create all the printing colors you see.

But remember, what you see on your computer monitor and what CMYK gamut can handle are two different things.

Now, I’ve been really careful with the color settings on Good Omens, so there haven’t been any big surprises, but let me show you a snippet of a project I did for the French fashion house Balmain.

The RGB version:

And then this shot after it was converted to a CMYK file for print.

That's a pretty big difference.

Now, you see this shift mostly with vibrant colors, such as that pink there. But other colors hardly changed at all, right?

That's because this issue is about range of color. CMYK and RGB occupy a shared range which you can see demonstrated by this graphic I got from Wikipedia.

The graphic shows the RGB ranges supported by various digital formats. SWOP CMYK is the most common range my publishers use. Note that the bounding box line shared by the RGB and SWOP CMYK formats shares about half the range space. So whatever RGB colors you use that are outside that range will be digitally converted to the smaller SWOP CMYK range.

And you may not like what you end up with.

As you can see, some of the most ethereal and intense colors get lost outside of the SWOP CMYK boundary.

A look at the Dark Horse Comics color settings in Photoshop. Theoretically, this information should prevent your art from looking like mud on publication.

Now, after I just told you the dangers of coloring in RGB then converting to CMYK for print, I tell you I am coloring Good Omens in RGB anyway. There’s a couple of reasons for this.

Remember, RGB give you a greater range of color, so it can be to your advantage to preserve your original files using a format that gives you the greatest range.

Again, here is the unaltered file.

You can see what the CMYK result will be simply by clicking the Proof Colors button here. This will show you how the art will convert.

And the Gamut Warning will show you which colors are out of gamut range for print.

The intensity of that magenta and that purple in the top right are not going to print true.

This is how it will look in final.

So even if you do what you think is perfect color on screen, there is no way it can perfectly convert to print. Almost everything will involve a little bit of compromise.

Even though you have to consider the color shift issues, preserving your files in RGB gives you greater wiggle room, especially if you get lucky someday and get to work with a printer who can print in 6 colors. Or maybe some technology you don’t know about will pop up and make printing super glorious. Who knows.

Regardless, you should keep an eye on that gamut and color for CMYK print, while preserving your master files in RGB.

Until next time.

[hhaechansmoless]

LIGHTS OUT PT.2

pairing: f1driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, romance

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: part 1 - 17.8k part 2 - 15.8k glossary taglist a/n: the last part!! for any errors in descriptions of any of these places, reminder: i've never been there LOL. Writing Haechan in this threw him back into my bias list (very up high too) and it was so fun :)) this is the biggest fic i have ever written and i think that I'd like to be proud of it. I hope you all like it too! (If you do, i may or may not have a ferrari scoups fic in the working to make this into a series for all my caratzens 👀 so please be on the lookout for that as well!) This might have a few typos ngl...proofread this half late at night so excuse them 😔Please feel free to comment or send an ask about your thoughts on this. Feedback is always appreciated <3

COLOGNE, GERMANY

September 12th

You: Haechan you’ve been to Cologne before right? What was the name of that restaurant you said you really liked? In Alstadt. [12:47]

Lee Haechan (RB): Are you in Cologne rn? [12:47]

You: Yeah!!! My sister and I decided to go on a little girls trip since yk there’s a break. She has a college sem break now too so the timing was perfect haha Anyways, what's the name? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): What the hell 😭 omg where are you exactly rn This is INSANE I’m ALSO here with my SISTER ??? [12:48}

You: NO WAY??? We’re walking back from the cathedral rn Old town’s like 2 mins away by walk where are YOU? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): There’s this lock store thing nearby in old town My sister wanted to buy one for her and her boyfriend so we’re going to head there after lunch 🙄 We should eat togetherrrr ask your sister Mine’s fine with it. [12:48]

“Rina,” You call your sister to grab her attention. She hums as she turns one last time to take another photo of the cathedral looming in the distance, “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

She turns to look at you then, furrowing her brows, “Why?”

“So I asked the friend that I told you I’d be asking…” You grimace as she stares at you for a moment before it clicks.

“Ah! The guy you lowkey have a crush on but will not admit it. Yes, why?” She grins, looping her arm through yours as you begin to walk again.

“Shut up,” You roll your eyes, “Coincidentally, he’s here too and he’s wondering if we can catch lunch together. He’s with his sister too.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the excitement coursing through your sister, a small jump in her next step as her hand tightens around yours.

“Yes! Tell him we’ll come,” Rina giggles, “Oh, I can’t wait to meet this guy!”

You sigh again, regretting your decision already, “Please don’t embarrass me? And don’t say anything I wouldn’t want you to say, okay?”

She nods her head, lips stretching into a smile, “Go on, tell him!” 

You pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

You: We’ll come!! Are you sure your sister is fine w it? [12:50]

To your surprise, your phone buzzes in your hands, Haechan’s profile pic flashing on your screen.

You quickly swipe to answer, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “Hello?”

“Hey,” his voice is casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I figured it’d be easier to call. Are you in Alstadt now? My sister is really excited, by the way.”

You take a moment to look around the old town. It’s a charming sight, cobbled roads with colourful, narrow buildings leaning against each other. The air carries a faint scent of fresh pastries from cozy cafes nestled between quaint shops selling handcrafted trinkets and souvenirs. There’s a relaxed and calm energy in the air from the soft murmur of laughter and conversation drifting out of the many breweries in the area. 

“Yep, where do we go?”

“Awesome. Okay, see the fountain in the middle of the square?” Haechan asks, his voice clear through the phone. “We’re at this brewery right behind it. It’s got these big wooden barrels outside and a green sign. You can’t miss it.”

You look up, spotting the fountain just ahead, surrounded by people taking photos and chatting. “Yeah, I see the fountain. We’re heading over now.”

“Cool,” Haechan replies, his voice light. “I’m standing outside so you can spot me.”

You can’t help but smile. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

“See ya,” he says, and the call stays connected, neither of you hanging up.

It’s strange how comfortable it feels, just having him on the other end of the line. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to hang up first or if he’s waiting to spot you. You don’t have the heart to hang up either.

Your sister, on the other hand, has no qualms about your situation. She pokes your shoulder, her voice loud enough for Haechan to probably hear. “Are we going or what?”

You snap out of your thoughts, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah, we’re going.” 

The sun shines bright over the square, but there’s still a chill in the air. It’s pleasant and frankly it’s exactly the weather you love. As you pass the fountain, the sunlight glinting off the water, you promise Rina that you can take photos on your way out. Just beyond it, you spot the brewery Haechan described, the wooden barrels outside and the green sign hanging above the door. And there he is, leaning casually against the wall. 

He’s wearing a slightly oversized beige knit sweater that looks warm and comfortable, the fabric soft and relaxed around his shoulders. It contrasts nicely against his black jeans. His hair falls messily over his forehead, tousled by the breeze, and he looks so put-together that it takes you a second to remember how to breathe.

I see you,” you say softly, your heart doing a little flip.

You see him perk up, his eyes searching the crowd before locking on you. A bright smile spreads across his face, and he waves.

You wave back, suddenly feeling shy before you cut the call.

“Is that him?” Rina whistles. Haechan stands a little awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for the two of you to come over. As you come closer though, Rina gasps.

“What the fuck? That’s Haechan.” She stops in her tracks, hand falling out from yours.

You nod sheepishly, scratching your neck, “Yeah…”

“You have a crush on Lee fucking Haechan, shut up.” Her mouth falls open. You grimace before pulling her along again. 

“Please behave yourself.” 

“Do you think I could ask for an autograph?” She pipes up, “I didn’t want to ask you till now cause I didn’t know if it would be appropriate but holy shit, you like him and by the looks of it, he does too so I think it would be fine.”

“Rina, stop.” You grit out, still smiling.

“Hey, you made it!” Haechan’s smile grows wider when you approach. Without thinking, he moves in closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders for a brief second, a quick, casual side hug as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s barely more than a brush, just enough for you to feel his warmth against your side, his fingers resting lightly on your shoulder before he pulls away just as quickly. 

Rina grins at you, making you narrow your eyes as you turn back to Haechan. 

“Haechan, meet Rina, my sister. Rina,” You point at him, “This is Haechan.”

He holds out his hand for her to shake, which she takes willingly.

“I don’t mean to make this awkward,” Rina begins, “And she’s probably going to kill me for saying it so soon, but I’m a big fan! You were really cool in Austria!”

Haechan laughs, eyes flitting over to you once, “Thank you. She’s really mean about it though, isn’t she? She never tells me that I do well.”

“I just don’t want to inflate your ego,” You roll your eyes defensively, “And hey! I do tell you sometimes.”

He nods, but you see the look he shoots your sister, making her giggle in agreement.

“Anyways, let’s go in, Dahyun’s already caught us a seat.”

—

The plates on the table are mostly empty, remnants of lunch scattered between glasses of half-full beer and water. The lively chatter coming from the other side of the table contrasts the comfortable silence between you and Haechan.

You lean back in your chair, eyes fixed on Rina, who’s explaining something to Dahyun, her hands moving wildly as she talks. Dahyun watches her with rapt attention, nodding along enthusiastically, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“They’ve really hit it off, huh?” Haechan’s voice is low and close, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leans in.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I didn’t expect them to get along so well.”

Haechan hums, “Dahyun’s usually shy around new people, so this is a nice surprise.”

You glance at him, taking in the soft, fond smile on his face, “She’s cute. I was honestly worried that Rina might be a bit too much. She’s—if it’s not obvious already—the extroverted one between the two of us.”

“You talk to a lot of new people, though,” Haechan turns to look at you, “Quite confidently, too.”

“It comes with the job,” You shrug.

“Speaking of, it’s nice to meet outside of work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably glad I’m not eating your ear off about saying the right things, no?” You joke, expecting him to laugh and retort. Instead, he looks slightly taken aback.

“No, I don’t mind it.” Haechan tells you, but when you shoot an unsure look, he continues, “I mean, at first it was a bit weird. You were all business, all the time. But then I got used to it... and now...” He trails off, his eyes flicking to yours before quickly looking away. “Now, I like having you around.”

Your pulse quickens, not expecting him to sound so serious. “Oh,” is all you manage to put out.

He seems to want to say something else when a burst of laughter from across the table catches your attention. Dahyun and Rina are completely lost in conversation, their heads bent close over Dahyun’s phone as they snicker at something.

“It’s kind of crazy how we’re both at the same place, if you think about it.” Haechan scoffs, smiling at them, “And crazy how they’re getting along. So random.”

“I’m pretty sure I overheard them exchanging numbers too.” You giggle, “Guess it was just meant to be.” You glance at him.

Haechan’s gaze is already on you, his eyes softening, “Yeah, maybe it was.”

You’re not sure who looks away first when the moment is broken by Dahyun.

“Oh! The love locks!” she exclaims, her eyes bright as she turns to Haechan. “We’re going after this, right?”

Haechan sighs, “Yeah, yeah.”

Dahyun beams, turning to Rina. “There’s this bridge nearby where couples put locks on the railings and throw the key into the river. It’s supposed to be, like, a forever thing. Isn’t that cute?”

Rina’s eyes widen with excitement. “That’s adorable! We should put one too,” She looks at you.

You laugh, “Hey, you can’t get rid of me. We’re already sisters forever, or whatever.”

“Still,” She insists.

“Oh my god,” Dahyun gasps, “We should all put one together! Like... as a memory of today!”

Her words hang in the air. All of you? Together? Your eyes flick to Haechan only to find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he looks away, a small smile playing on his lips.

Rina claps her hands excitedly. “That’s such a cute idea! And we can write the date on it too!” She turns to you, her eyes sparkling. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You hesitate, feeling strangely shy. “I mean... yeah, I guess that could be cute.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, his arm resting casually on the back of yours. “You sure? Thought you’d think it's cheesy.”

You scoff but your lips curve up anyways.

It’s just a lock. It’s just a silly little tradition, you try convincing yourself.

But the thought won’t leave your mind. The image of writing on that lock, snapping it in place on the bridge... standing next to Haechan, side by side, surrounded by hundreds of other locks glinting in the sun. You can almost feel the warmth of his shoulder against yours, hear his soft laughter as you fumble with the key. It’s silly. Completely unrealistic. But the thought makes your chest flutter all the same.

“Okay!” Dahyun announces, breaking you out of your thoughts. “It’s settled then. We’re all getting one!”

She looks so excited that you can’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m in.”

“To be fair,” you turn to Haechan as you get up from your seat, slipping your arms into your coat, “This seems like the kind of thing you’d call cheesy too.”

He shrugs, helping you pull the sleeve as you struggle with your left arm, “Yeah, but it’s different if it’s with you.”

You freeze. His eyes are bright, reflecting the golden afternoon light. You don’t see the playful spark in them that’s present whenever he pulls pranks on his engineers and mechanics. Are you just imagining it, or does he look the most sincere you’ve ever seen him?

You tear your gaze away, clearing your throat, “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “C’mon, let’s catch up before they leave us behind.”

Without a second thought, he holds out his hand to you, palm open and waiting. You try not to stare, hesitating for a moment before slipping your hand into his. 

Haechan’s fingers curl around yours, slowly, maybe a little unsure now that he’s already done it. You lose your breath at the way it feels so right.

For the first time, as he leads the two of you out, you stop trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Right now, it’s starting to feel like everything.

SINGAPORE, MARINA BAY STREET CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day October 2nd

Haechan walks out of the meeting room with a lot more on his shoulders than he had walking into it an hour ago. There's a sense of finality, excitement in him as he peeps into the corridor, wondering where you are. At the same time, it feels like the biggest burden ever. Six years he's prepared for this, fought for this and now that the weekend is already here, he is overwhelmed beyond words. Even though he's known that it's been coming this entire season, even though he came close to it last year, Haechan realizes that no matter how many times it happens, he might never get used to it.

He sees you walking towards him, turning into the corridor he's in. Your eyes are stuck on your tablet, strides long and in a rush.

He realizes you're the first one he's going to tell. It's electrifying.

You come to a stop in front of him, beginning to greet him when he stops you by putting both his hands on your shoulders. His hand shakes a little and you notice it.

“Are you alright? Do you feel si-”

“They said I could win the championship this weekend.” 

Haechan watches as you smile, like you already knew. Do you?

Your smile grows, “I know! I just got the news. The press will probably ask you about it.” 

He leans against the wall, hand coming up to his heart, “I can't believe it, honestly.”

“You can do this!” You grin, “I'm so happy for you, genuinely. Finishing the championship with like 6 more races left is crazy and you're so close to it.”

“You think I can do it?” Usually Haechan asks such questions when he's completely confident and digging for compliments, but today you know he really means it.

“I believe in you, come on.” You drag him, “You will be fine. Right now, there's a press conference to get to.”

“You're going in with Seungcheol, Doyoung and Jeonghan.” You inform him as you leave the hospitality and head towards the FIA building. “They will definitely ask you about the drivers championship and since Choi is also there, there'll be questions about the constructors too. There's no need to make digs at anyone right now, so be careful.”

“What do I tell them if they ask about the drivers championship? Fuck, I really don't know what to say.” He sighs, shaking his head, “It feels kind of unreal.”

“It's better to play it safe right now. I'm sure that this weekend decides if you're going to be champion, not Jaehyun, right? So even if you don't win here you don't have to be too worried. Don't freak out so much. You only have to tell them that you're focusing on the race here. There's no need to commit to anything beyond that.” You bite your lip, “Honestly Haechan, you'll be fine. Say what comes to your mind, just don't sound overconfident, alright?”

He nods. You give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as the two of you enter the conference room. You'll be sitting behind the reporters, right there. He has nothing to be worried about.

The moderator begins to speak as Haechan sits down next to Seungcheol, “Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to the FIA driver's press conference ahead of the Singapore Grand Prix. Joining us today, on my right we have Doyoung from Mercedes, Jeonghan from Williams, Seungcheol from Ferrari and Haechan from Red Bull.”

The first few questions from the moderator are directed towards the other three, with Jeonghan answering questions about how it's getting more competitive in the midfield right now, to Doyoung talking about the problems he's been facing with the car as of late. The next question, though, goes to Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol, Ferrari are in contention against Red Bull for both the Driver's and the Constructors’ Championship, and it seems the team’s focus has shifted more towards Jaehyun’s title fight. How are you balancing supporting the team’s goals with pursuing your own results this weekend?” The moderator asks.

Haechan can tell it ticks off the man beside him.

“The team’s goal is to secure the best possible result in the Constructors’ Championship, and I’m fully committed to contributing to that. Jaehyun’s in the title fight, and it makes sense for Ferrari to back him. But that doesn’t mean I’m just here to play support. I’m still a competitor, and I’m racing for myself too. My focus is on maximizing my own performance, and if that helps the team, then that’s a win-win.” Seungcheol asserts before setting his mic down.

“Thank you, Seungcheol. Moving on to our championship contender. Haechan, you have a chance to secure the driver's championship this weekend. How are you managing the pressure of that possibility, especially at a track as challenging as Singapore?”

Haechan clears his throat, “Yeah, I mean I'd be lying if I said there was no pressure. But it's a part of the job. I've learned that the moment you start thinking too ahead, you lose focus of what's in front of you right now. So I'm trying to take this entire weekend one step at a time. Singapore is a tough track, nothing's guaranteed. I'm going to approach it like any other race. Try to give my best. If it happens, it does. Otherwise we keep pushing.”

The moderator nods, “Well, all the very best to you. We'll now open the floor to questions from the media.”

A journalist in the first row stands up, “My question is for Haechan.”

“Hello,” Haechan smiles, earning polite laughter from the journalists.

“Both Seungcheol and Doyoung have been in your position before. Have you sought any advice from them on handling the pressure of a title decider?”

“I mean,” Haechan laughs a little, “Not really? I've seen first hand how they've handled it and that in itself has been sort of a lesson. But at the end of the day, all drivers experience things differently and deal with things differently. But who knows, maybe I should ask them.” He turns to look at the two world champions sitting near him.

Seungcheol throws a small smile, “You'd have to ask nicely.”

Haechan rolls his eyes at this, playfully poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue in mock irritation.

Doyoung laughs along with the rest of the room before speaking, “Honestly, with the way he's been driving this season, I wouldn't say he needs our advice.”

The next journalist stands up with a question for Seungcheol.

“There have been rumors going around since Monza that you might be in the talks of leaving Ferrari. Do you have anything to comment on about that?”

“Rumors are just that—rumors. Nothing is confirmed till you hear it from me. Right now, I'm focused on the constructors. Anything beyond that, we will talk when the time comes.” He says with an air of finality, giving the hint that he will not entertain more questions about this.

—

Lee Haechan (RB): Can you wait for me? I'm almost out of debriefing We're going to the same place anyways, I'll drive you [20:29]

You: stalker much? I'm in front of the Ferrari hospitality. [20:34]

Lee Haechan (RB): More like I saw you leaving in the morning Where are youuuu [20:36]

“Hey,” Haechan greets as he walks up to you.

You take his arrival as an excuse to leave, bidding farewell to Jaehyun's PR manager.

“God, you came at the right time, really.” You groan as the two of you walk into the parking lot.

“Why? She's that bad?”

“Don't even get me started,” You let out, exasperated, “I pity Jaehyun, honestly.”

Haechan lets out an offended noise as he opens the door of his car for you. You slip inside, too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice the gesture. When he gets into the driver's seat, he sighs.

“You can't pity my competitors, come on. Unless it's because of what's coming for them.” He jokes.

You sigh, swatting his arm, “No that's not it. She's weirdly really open with whatever is going on at their team. I think if we’d stayed a few more minutes she would’ve straight up started talking about the contract situations in Ferrari.”

“My first PR manager was like that too. And I think because I was a lot younger, he thought he could just control me and boss me around.” Haechan exhales as he drives out of the gates. 

It makes you bristle. “I hate people like that, honestly. Like you’ve got one job, it’s really not that hard to stick to it while being a nice person too.”

Haechan hums, nodding his head. 

“You know, thinking back on it, she was like that in college too. Never knew how to keep things to herself. She had this grand nickname— The Leaky Faucet.”

It makes him laugh. You can’t help but stare at him while he drives. He looks like he feels better than he did in the morning, his shoulders are more relaxed and his head gently moves to the beat of the song playing on the radio. The soft, dim glow of the dashboard makes his features look softer and more innocent.

You look away before he can catch you gazing. “Is the hotel far from the track? I didn’t really have the time to notice it in the morning.”

“Nah,” Haechan glances at you for a moment before focusing on the road again, “We’ll be there in like five minutes. Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re sitting in a car that I’m driving.”

You gasp, “Wow, it is! I’d give you a 4.8 rating out of 5.”

“Where did the 0.2 go?” He scoffs.

You sigh, sinking back into the seat, gazing outside the window at the Marina Bay Sands hotel outside, forever illuminated. “Nowhere. I need to keep your ego in check.”

“You wound me,” He says, making you laugh at the way it sounds so monotone, “By the way, I called my parents up today and they were so excited, I’m pretty sure they already booked tickets to fly in for tomorrow.”

You coo at that, unable to stop your lips from smiling, “That’s great! It’s insane honestly. I mean, you’ve probably heard it from so many people already, but I’m truly very excited for you.”

He pulls into the hotel entrance, shaking his head towards the valet to let him know that he’ll park the car himself. Looking back at you, he smiles. “Thanks pretty.”

If his words didn’t make your breath hitch, you’d be rolling your eyes right now, fighting the urge to pull him by the ears. Too bad you actually fucking like the stupid guy.

“Dahyun’s coming too, I think,” Haechan mumbles as he backs into a parking spot. He does it with only one hand, the other resting casually on the center console. He does it with so much ease that you have to blink a few times to snap out of your thoughts. The effortless way he controls the car, barely glancing at the mirrors, makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. There’s something undeniably attractive about how relaxed and composed he is. You remind yourself that he’s a driver, for god sake. It would be concerning if he didn’t know how to park well.

“I honestly think she’s more excited to see you than see me win.” Haechan speaks again as he turns the ignition off, turning his body sideways to look at you.

Although you scoff, your heart warms at the thought of his sister liking you, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Believe what you will,” He shrugs, “I’m telling the truth, though.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you. For a second, you let yourself savour the idea of being more involved in his world.

“You’re exaggerating, Haechan. But do tell her I’ll be happy to see her as well.” You say, getting out of the car. He follows you, gently shutting the door before locking it behind him.

As the elevator doors close, Haechan speaks up again. “I'm glad you two like each other, honestly. Hope your sister doesn't mind me either.”

You're about to laugh it off and tell him that Rina would love him anyways when the first part of his sentence hits you. A part of you wants to ask him why, wants to put a name on this, wants everything cleared up. The other part wants to let everything die down before you address anything.

Tonight, you ask anyway, sure that you'll regret whatever answer you hear from him. Both your rooms are coincidentally on the 25th floor giving you plenty of time to talk if you must.

“Haechan,” You begin, carefully, “Really, what do you mean by that?”

He looks at you properly, turning his entire body towards you. 

Haechan thinks you feel the same way that he does. Although you're professional most of the time, he's noticed the way you blush or look away when he throws something flirty at you. He's noticed the way you've become much more comfortable with him, the way you don't seem to mind how close you've become. The lines between coworkers and friends had been erased a while ago, but the line between friends and a little something more lies there in the space between you two, stretching long and thick. He wants to bend over it, hold your hand and jump onto your side to erase that too. He's just not sure if tonight is the night. So he makes himself, and hopefully you, a promise.

“Sunday,” He finally says, sounding a little short of breath but determined nonetheless, “I promise we’ll talk about this on Sunday, after the race.”

You nod. In a way you are relieved, but now that you know you're going to hear something from him, it keeps you on your toes. 

When the two of you get off the elevator on the 25th floor, Haechan stops you by grabbing your hand. You glance at it for a second and it makes him take his hand off. You wish you could tell him that you would rather him not do that.

“I hope this doesn't make it awkward between us for the next few days.” Haechan admits, looking down as he shuffles from one foot onto the other.

“Of course not,” You furrow your eyebrows, “It won't, don't worry.”

Your rooms are on two different ends of the corridor, so he shyly bids you goodbye and promises to leave only after he sees you go inside. You can't help the butterflies that rise in your stomach as you turn on your heels to go back to your room. You don't dare to turn back. You don't know if you can control yourself if you do.

—

Saturday, qualifying October 4th

“Welcome back to a crucial qualifying session here under the bright lights of the Marina Bay Circuit! We’re in for a tense evening, and one of the biggest stories heading into this weekend is Lee Haechan’s grid penalty. After taking a fresh energy store, the Red Bull driver will drop ten places from wherever he qualifies today.” 

“Yeah, and that’s a big blow for him. He’s got the chance to walk away with the driver’s championship this weekend, and on a track like Singapore, which is notoriously difficult on the drivers, that’s going to be a tough hill to climb on race day.”

Usually, you don’t sit through qualifying. There are more important things to do back at the hospitality. Articles to overview, media obligations to manage, last-minute preparations for whatever chaos might unfold post-session. But tonight is different. The Red Bull garage is packed, not just with the engineers and strategists and mechanics but with most of the crew that usually don’t attend. It’s an important qualifying that leads to an important day for not just Haechan but the entire team. The last time Red Bull had a world champion on their hands was a long time ago. 

His family is here too, in one of the corners of the garage where there are normal televisions to watch the qualifying. You see Dahyun wave at you and smile in return. You can’t walk up to her right now, but you’d already met her earlier in the day when her mother and her had stopped by the hospitality to grab a coffee before heading down to the garage during FP3. 

You turn your attention back to the screen when you see Haechan roll out of the garage for his first run. The RB21 glows under the artificial lights as he leaves the pitlane. 

“Out lap now. Track conditions look stable. Let’s build into it.”

“Copy.” Haechan responds. 

He’s worried. 

This grid penalty just had to fall on the weekend that mattered the most and there’s nothing he can do to even protest against it because it’s the team’s decision, and because it was done to maximise his performance this weekend in the first place.

As Haechan begins his outlap, he pushes the penalty out of his mind. He needs to focus on getting pole. It’s the only way he can lessen the damage. 

On the bright side, the car feels good under him. He approaches the corners confidently and the car is well balanced, taking the high speed straights well. Maybe the new energy stores were a good decision after all.

You watch as the first times come in. Doyoung sets the benchmark, a 1:35.982. Jeno follows, then Seungcheol. The screen flickers as sector times update, and you feel the tension build as Haechan’s name lights up purple in Sector 1. 

He’s faster than Doyoung by a tenth in sector 1. As Haechan approaches Sector 2, you’re on edge. If he can stay ahead here, sector 3 won’t be too hard. The screen flickers, and there it is—another purple. Faster than Doyoung again.

"Yes!" someone mutters under their breath. You can’t help but feel a surge of pride, even though it’s far from over. 

He hits the final stretch, and you watch as the seconds increase. The timing screens update, but this time, it's Haechan’s name that dominates. A 1:34.926. Purple across the board.

The garage erupts. The engineers shout in excitement, high-fiving each other. The team principal gives a nod of approval, but his focus is already on what’s next. Haechan’s provisional pole doesn’t guarantee anything yet, but it’s a damn good start.

The team radio crackles on Haechan’s side, “Mega job, Haechan. Mega. You can head in if you’d like.”

Haechan doesn’t have room to be satisfied with his performance. He will not, until he has a clear lead over the others. He wants to push, see how much more than a second he can go. Plus, Singapore is a track where the grip increases with more rubber lay-down.

“I’ll stay out.”

After a slow, recharge lap, the team watches as he winds up for another flying lap. It’s a gamble, his tires will have lost some of their peak performance, but if he nails the lap, it won’t matter.

“Alright, you’re clear,” his race engineer says. “Push now.”

Haechan’s first sector is clean and precise. He shaves off time where he can and maneuvers through the corners perfectly. Then comes sector 2. The garage watches as he approaches Turn 14, braking even later than before. The car responds sharply. The rear wobbles, side pods almost grazing the wall, so close that for a moment, everyone in the garage holds their breath. It’s the kind of moment where, if he gets it wrong, that’s the lap over.

But Haechan doesn’t lift. Doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s a purple sector 2. Doing good, push harder if possible.”

“I’m trying, man,” Haechan grits out. He’s already wringing every bit of performance out of the car.

He storms through sector 3, showing insane speed on the straights. You think that the people back at the factory who are most definitely watching right now, deserve to be really proud of themselves.

When Haechan crosses the line again, the times update.

1:34:582.

“What’s the gap?”

A beat of silence, then his engineer’s voice,“P1 by 1.4 seconds. You can box, box.”

And that is pole position occupied for the rest of quali, you think, unable to help the grin on your face as you watch his family celebrate.

The pitlane is still buzzing as the final cars complete their laps, but no one comes close. Haechan’s time remains untouchable. One by one, the names shuffle on the board, but his stays on top.

When the session ends, confirmation comes through. “Session over, P1 confirmed,” his engineer tells him. “We’ll start P10 tomorrow. Lots of work to do but good job, you did your best.”

Haechan knows it too. He climbs out of the car, removes his helmet, and though his face is calm, you know him well enough to see the flicker of frustration behind his eyes. Pole position means nothing when you have to give it up.

He barely has a moment to breathe before his family surrounds him, his mother pulling him into a tight hug before he can even react. He stumbles back a step, but his hands come up instinctively, resting on her back as she murmurs something only he can hear. Whatever frustration was lingering in his posture melts just slightly, replaced by something softer. 

Dahyun grins beside them, waiting for their mother to let go before nudging Haechan in the ribs. “Fastest man on track,” she teases. “Shame you’re not starting there.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, but there’s the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t help himself. His father claps him on the shoulder, saying something about how he drove well regardless, and for a moment, the tension of the session is forgotten.

You hesitate a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. You don’t usually get involved in moments like these. They’re personal, belonging to the drivers and their families, not to you. You know when to blend into the background, to let them have their time. But you also know when to step in, because there’s still a job to do.

Still, approaching feels different this time.

Adjusting the collar of your team polo shirt, you take a breath before stepping forward.

“Haechan,” you say, voice level, “we need to head to the media pen soon.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to you before he gestures for you to come closer. “Oh, right—Dad, Mom, this is my PR rep,” he says casually, “She makes sure I don’t say anything that’ll get me fined.”

His father chuckles, holding out his hand, “Well, that must be a full time job.”

You shake it firmly, offering a small smile, “Some weekends more than the others. But he’s fine.”

“We appreciate it,” his mother says warmly. “This one can be a handful.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back as he sets his helmet on the table, “Come on, I’m really not that bad, she said it herself!”

He turns to you, “Can we please leave before they say something that would actually look like I’m a PR liability?”

You laugh at that, smiling and nodding at his family before you leave behind him.

The paddock is still alive and will be for a few more hours to come. Mechanics start packing up, Jeno’s side practices a pit-stop, engineers bent over their data. Haechan walks ahead, his pace unhurried. He doesn’t look particularly frustrated, but you can tell the result is still sitting with him.

“You’re quiet,” you say as you catch up.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“You drove well.”

He hums, “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It could’ve been worse,” You point out, “You’ve done all that you could have.”

He sighs softly. “Yeah. Still feels shit, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that.

The media pen is bright and waiting. You can see the other drivers and their representatives and trainers hanging around the area, probably waiting for their turn or coming out after finishing. The journalists wait, cameras and mics ready.

Haechan breathes in deeply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly before falling back to his side. Then, with barely a pause, he steps forward, and you follow.

—

The hotel is quieter than expected when you walk in. It’s a little late, but you did expect to see at least a few people from the team in the lobby. You step into the elevator, pressing your floor number before leaning back against the wall, already half distracted by your phone.

The doors are just about to close when a hand slides in between them.

Haechan.

He steps inside, the doors shutting behind him. You blink, caught off guard. It’s late. Too late for him to just be getting back.

“You’re back now?” you ask, brows furrowing.

He leans against the railing on the glass back-wall, hands stuffed into his hoodie’s pockets, eyes trained on the floor. “Meetings went on forever. The debrief was long and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

You nod to yourself. Of course there is.

“What about you though?” Haechan looks up, “Why were you down so late?”

“I went to dinner with a friend,” You shrug.

“How was it?” He hums before looking up at the floor that the elevator stops on. 16. Someone gets on and you step behind, closer to him.

“It was fine,” You reply, a little softer, “Did you eat?”

Haechan nods.

“In your dressing room like a lonely little kid?”

“I didn’t feel like sitting with anyone. Everyone’s just going to talk about strategy and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”

The person gets off on floor 19.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly. He can feel your stare on him, but it doesn’t feel harsh or expecting.

“It’s been a while since I’ve mentally dreaded a race this much.” Haechan sighs, looking at his shoes again, “It’s going to be really hard. Singapore always is, but with this championship hanging on the line, it’s going to be worse.”

You shift, leaning against the railing beside him. “Yeah,” you say, because what else is there? He already knows what tomorrow is. He doesn’t need you to tell him he’ll be fine, or that he can do it. He just needs to say it out loud.

He exhales, pressing his lips together. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“If it makes any difference, I don’t think you will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You sound confident.”

“Someone has to be.”

That pulls a quiet laugh out of him. His fingers rake through his hair, messing it up worse than it already was. “I’m supposed to sleep properly tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. You step out first, Haechan falling into step beside you. When he doesn’t say anything else, you pause, looking back at him. He’s still stuck in his own head.

Before you can think too much about it, you step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down slightly.

You feel him tense for a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, he exhales, his shoulders dropping as he leans into you. His hands come up hesitantly, resting against your back before wrapping around your waist. 

He sighs when you gently rub your palms up and down his back and it sends a chill down your spine. Haechan is warm and soft and smells like fabric softener. His grip tightens, just slightly, like he doesn’t want to let go yet. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and for a second, the weight he’s been carrying all weekend seems to melt away. His body molds easily against yours, the space between you completely gone, like this is exactly where he needed to be without realizing it.

“You’re good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and muffled against your shoulder.

You huff out a small laugh. “At what?”

He shifts, his chin grazing your shoulder. “Making things feel less bad.”

—

Sunday, Race Day October 5th

“Welcome to race day here in Singapore,” the commentary plays in the background. “Today, there’s more than just a race win at stake. For the first time in the track’s history, it may see a driver crowned world champion tonight. Red Bull’s Lee Haechan has a chance to clinch the 2025 World Championship at the Marina Bay Circuit.”

A slow pan across the grid shows the top ten, cars lined up in neat formation, waiting. 

“But it won’t be easy,” the commentator continues. “After taking a grid penalty for a new energy store, Haechan starts tenth, meaning he’ll need to fight his way through the field if he wants to leave here as champion.”

“There’s more,” His co-commentator picks up. “He needs to finish in the top two, and Jaehyun who is still mathematically in the fight, must finish P4 or lower. If that happens, the title is his.”

The team is gathered around his car, making final adjustments. His race engineer says something to him, but Haechan only half listens, nodding out of habit. He already knows what he needs to do.

“And let’s not forget—his teammate, Jeno, starts from P3,” the broadcast continues. “He’s not in the championship fight, but he could be a major factor today, whether that’s helping Red Bull control strategy or playing a defensive role later in the race.”

Haechan exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back as the national anthem begins. He stands among the other drivers, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. He barely hears the music. His mind is already in the race.

There’s no point overthinking now. He’s already run through every scenario, every risk, every move he needs to make. All that’s left is to drive.

As the anthem ends, the grid stirs back to life. Mechanics move around him, engineers making last-minute checks. He reaches for his balaclava, adjusting his gloves, but just before he pulls it on, his eyes flick toward the front row.

Jaehyun’s had a bad qualifying, so Haechan thinks that at least he had a little luck on his side as he watches the former get into his Ferrari standing at P6.

Jeno’s car sits in P3, just ahead of the chaos Haechan will have to navigate.

Jeno is already getting ready, helmet on, listening to his engineer. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to.

Haechan knows he’ll be there when it counts.

He exhales, pulling his helmet on. The engineer beside him pats his back.

"Let’s do this."

The grid clears. Engineers step back, mechanics rush off, the final checks are done. Haechan is in the car, helmet on, visor down. You put your earplugs back in as the roar of all twenty engines amplifies, getting ready for the formation lap.

You should be thinking about the media responsibilities that will come if he wins, if he loses, if something goes wrong. That’s your job. That’s what you always do.

But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, all you can think about is him.

Everything he’s worked for. The pressure he’s carried. The way he refuses to let himself enjoy the good moments because there’s always something more to chase. The way he overthinks, the way he drives like he’s got something to prove, the way he wants this more than anything.

Your fingers tighten, nails digging into your palm.

You want this for him. So badly it makes your chest ache. 

Dahyun stands next to you, palms pressed together beneath her chin. She doesn’t talk. For all the teasing and affection she shows for her brother, she understands this moment isn’t one for words.

You glance at her briefly, catching the way her eyes stay locked on the screen, unblinking. There’s no joke poised on the tip of her tongue, no playful jab about how dramatic all of this feels. Just quiet, unspoken hope.

The two of you stand there, side by side, a little away from her parents, watching as the cars snake through the final sector. The pit wall is alive with movement, engineers murmuring into headsets, strategists making their final calculations. But none of it feels real. Not the voices murmuring in the garage, not the bustling of the mechanics as they settle down, just the car marked with the number 66, rolling into position on the grid.

Dahyun lets out a breath, barely audible. You don’t realize you’ve been holding yours until you exhale, too.

Haechan pulls into his slot. The rest of the field follows.

The engines rev louder than before. The first light flickers on.

Haechan’s grip on his wheel tightens. His hands stay still, his breathing steady.

Two.

The tension in your chest coils tighter. The grid is motionless, waiting, but the air feels electric, charged with everything that’s about to happen.

Three.

Haechan’s foot hovers over the throttle. The start will make or break his race.

Four.

Your palms feel sweaty. It feels like everything is balancing on the edge of a knife.

Five.

Make it count, Haechan thinks.

The lights hold. For a second, and then another.

Then, they go out.

Haechan gets a start so good it almost doesn’t seem real.

The second the lights go out, he’s moving—reaction time faster than most of the midfield teams, his car shooting forward while others hesitate for a split second too long. Before they even reach Turn 1, he’s already ahead of one, then another, slipping into the gaps before they close.

“He’s off to a flying start, already gaining places down the straight!”

The onboard feed flickers, his hands steady, engine roaring as he picks off another car before the braking zone. The midfield is tight, but he’s making space where there shouldn’t be any.

“He’s up to eighth already!”

The next car ahead is slower, leaving the inside open just enough. Haechan takes it without hesitation, braking later and edging forward as they go side by side through the corner. For a second, it looks like the Alpine will hold him off, but Haechan keeps his car planted, forcing him wide on exit.

“Nicely done! That’s seventh!”

The camera shifts, showing the cars funneling through the first corners, the Red Bull slicing through cleanly.

The field begins to stretch out as the front row cars start pulling away, but the midfield is still clustered together, the gaps tight. Haechan is right in the middle of it, eyes fixed ahead, mind already calculating the next move.

“He’s closing in,” commentary picks up. “He’s looking for another place.”

His Red Bull is practically glued to the car in front, catching on the straights, losing slightly in the slower corners. He needs to be patient. The driver ahead knows he’s there. One wrong move could ruin everything.

Haechan waits. The dirty air makes the car slide slightly through the high-speed turn, but he corrects it instinctively. It doesn’t shake him. He’s done this a hundred times before.

And then it happens. A small mistake, a hesitation on the throttle, a loss of momentum. Haechan doesn’t wait.

“He’s making a move! Down the inside!”

You barely realize you’ve shifted forward, hands pressed together, breath held. The car ahead squeezes him, forcing him tighter to the inside line, but he holds firm, braking just late enough to slip ahead.

“He’s through! That’s P6 for Haechan!”

The cars behind him start to grow smaller in his mirrors.

Haechan doesn’t need confirmation. He can feel it in the clean air stretching ahead. The midfield is behind him now. No more defending. No more fighting for scraps.

Now, he hunts.

His race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P5, 3.8 seconds. We’re in a good window. Start pushing.”

“Pace is strong,” the engineer comes back. “You’re faster than the cars ahead.”

Good.

The numbers on his wheel flicker, confirming what he already knows. The gap is shrinking.

Another lap. Another sector. Another second gone.

The laps start blending together.

From Haechan’s perspective, the race has settled for now. No fights, no wheel-to-wheel battles, just the steady determination of closing a gap.

“Gap to P5, 1.6 seconds,” his race engineer updates. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jaehyun is right there.

Haechan doesn’t need an engineer telling him the gap. He can see the Ferrari ahead, steady, controlled, the same way it’s been all season. The same team that spent last year pushing him to the limit, waiting for him to crack.

But not this time.

Mathematically, Jaehyun is still in it. He’s over a hundred points behind, but as long as the title isn’t clinched today, he still has a chance. He’s holding on, dragging this battle out for as long as he can.

But Haechan isn’t interested in waiting.

His grip on the wheel tightens, the tension settling deep in his chest. The car is working under him, the balance just right. He doesn’t have to overthink it. He just has to keep closing.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 1.4 seconds," his race engineer says.

In the garage, your hands are pressed together, fingers locked tight, knuckles stiff. You’re not praying, but it feels close to it.

The energy around you is suffocating. No one is talking, no one is moving. The mechanics are barely breathing, eyes fixed on the monitors. You can’t take your eyes off the screen. The energy is different now. This isn’t just about moving up the order anymore. This is the championship fight, laid out in front of you, two cars, two drivers, one of them about to take everything. He’s the last obstacle, the only thing keeping this title fight alive.

If Haechan doesn’t get past him, it all drags on. Another race. Another chance for Jaehyun to claw his way back.

Jaehyun isn’t making this easy.

Haechan knew he wouldn’t. Even with the championship slipping out of reach, Jaehyun isn’t the type to roll over. He’s still fighting, still defending, still forcing Haechan to work for every inch of track.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 0.8," his engineer calls. "You’re in DRS range."

Finally.

The Ferrari stays planted through the high-speed corners, Jaehyun’s placing the car exactly where it needs to be. No mistakes. No wasted movement. Haechan is faster, but faster isn’t enough.

He closes in on the straight, opens the rear wing, gains a few meters, but Jaehyun moves first, covering the inside, forcing Haechan to think twice.

You hold your breath as the onboard flickers on the screen. He’s close, but not close enough. Not yet.

Haechan tucks in behind him, barely lifting through the next corner, tires screaming for grip.

He waits.

Another straight. Another chance.

This time, he moves first.

A sharp flick to the outside, forcing Jaehyun to react and he does. Just a small shift, a split second of hesitation, enough for Haechan to dive back inside.

Side by side.

You can hear the mechanics shout out in encouragement, elbows on their knees as they bend forward in anticipation, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

They brake late, almost too late, tires locking, fighting for control. Jaehyun holds the line, refusing to back down, squeezing Haechan toward the curb but he doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his foot in. Holds his nerve.

For a second, they’re wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.

Dahyun reaches out for your hand, her grip tight and lips muttering, “Please, please, please don’t touch.”

Then just before the next turn, Haechan edges ahead.

"He’s through! Haechan takes P5 ahead of the Ferrari! It’s an uphill battle now, to make it to P2 and make sure Jaehyun stays behind him.”

Dahyun jumps a little next to you, letting out a cry of relief. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding too. But it isn’t over yet. Not until Haechan sets a solid gap between him and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is still there, still in his mirrors, still waiting for a mistake. And for a second, Haechan almost expects him to fight back immediately, to dive into the next braking zone and throw everything at it.

But he doesn’t.

The Ferrari stays close, but not aggressive. Not reckless. He guesses that this is the biggest difference between Jaehyun and his teammate.

The radio crackles. "Nice work. Let’s pull away now. Next car, 3.4 seconds ahead. How are the tyres feeling?"

Haechan exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

“Starting to wear, but I can hang on for a few more laps. Tell me when the Mercs and Ferrari pit.”

"Copy. We’ll keep you updated," his engineer responds.

Haechan doesn’t say anything after that, eyes locked on the road ahead. The Ferrari and Mercedes up front are still running strong, but their tires are wearing just as fast as his. The undercut is coming. He just doesn’t know when.

He settles into his rhythm, stretching the gap behind him little by little. Jaehyun is fading in his mirrors now, not close enough to be a threat but still there, lingering just out of reach. 

The radio comes back a lap later. "Ferrari in the pits."

Haechan exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the pit lane as Seungcheol peels off early. That’s aggressive. Too early for pure tire strategy.

"He’s playing the team game," his engineer confirms. "Seungcheol could be pitting now to put pressure on Jeno. Joshua might try to hold you up."

Not because Mercedes is helping Ferrari, but because Joshua is racing for himself.

Haechan tightens his grip on the wheel. That’s a problem.

Joshua isn’t just going to let him through. And if he stays out too long, Haechan will get stuck behind him, wasting his tires while Seungcheol gains time on fresh rubber. If Red Bull reacts too late, Haechan could come out of the pits behind both of them.

No. That’s not happening.

"Stay out. We’ll extend and cover the overcut," his engineer tells him. "Let’s push now."

Fine. He can push.

Joshua is just up the road, P3 still in his grasp, but the Mercedes is holding position, taking defensive lines. He knows Haechan is coming. And he’s not going to make it easy.

Haechan exhales slowly. So this is how it’s going to be?

Ahead, Jeno still holds P2 and Doyoung leads the race. The fight up front hasn’t started yet, but the midfield is already shifting. One mistimed stop, one second lost, and everything could flip.

The radio crackles again. "Seungcheol is on hards. Jaehyun’s pit right after him. Jeno and Doyoung are still out."

And every lap spent behind Joshua is a lap lost to Seungcheol.

"Gap to Seungcheol, 19.3 seconds," the engineer calls. "They’re warming up the hards, let’s get past Joshua now."

Yeah. He knows.

The next straight is coming up. He tucks in behind, inching closer, feeling the slipstream pull him forward. DRS open. The Mercedes shifts slightly left, not a full move, just enough to discourage a late lunge.

Haechan lifts. Backs off.

Not yet.

In the garage, you feel the frustration creeping in. He’s fast enough to take the position. But every attempt costs time, and the gap behind is closing.

"Seungcheol is matching our pace," the engineer updates.

You feel a little sick.

Haechan has to go now.

He knows it, too. The moment he brakes into the next corner, his mind is already on the next opportunity. Joshua is covering the inside. Fine.

Haechan sets up wide and gets a better exit. If Joshua wants to defend, he’ll have to do it twice.

The next straight comes up fast.

This time, he doesn’t wait.

A sharp flick to the right, making it look like he’s going for the outside. Joshua shifts, just slightly, just enough—

And Haechan dives left instead.

Inside line. No time to react.

They’re side by side.

Joshua holds his ground, braking as late as he dares, keeping the nose of the Mercedes alongside but Haechan is already there, already committed, tires squealing as he forces the car through the corner.

There’s barely any space, but it’s enough.

Joshua tries to hang on, but the exit is compromised. Haechan is already ahead before the next turn.

"He’s through! Haechan into P3!"

The mechanics start falling into position, wheeling out the tyres. 

"Box, box," the engineer calls immediately. "We cover the undercut now. Let’s go."

It takes Haechan a split second to process it, his hands already moving.

"Understood."

Haechan dives into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in as he barrels toward his box.

The Red Bull crew is already waiting. The stop is fast. Clean. The car drops, the mechanics move  and Haechan launches back out onto the track.

"Good stop. You’re rejoining P7, ahead of Jaehyun."

He exhales, gripping the wheel tighter. That was the first hurdle. But Jaehyun is still there, still a threat. If he gets caught behind traffic now, that gap could disappear in seconds.

Back in the garage, the tension is barely contained.

The screens flicker, cameras shifting between pit exits and live timing. You don’t blink, don’t move, don’t realize how shallow your breathing has become until your chest starts to ache.

By the time the pit cycle is completed, the cars ahead disappearing into the pits to get fresher tyres on, Haechan is back to P3. 

“Jeno is pitting ahead of you, that is P2. He’s been told to stay back, so he will not chase you.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan barely acknowledges the call. He sees the Red Bull peeling off to the right, diving into the pit lane just as he flies past, officially taking P2.

But he doesn’t feel any relief.

The heat is suffocating.

His race suit clings to his skin, drenched in sweat. His gloves feel heavier, his grip on the wheel tighter than it should be. His mouth is dry, but drinking won’t help—the liquid in his drink packet is already warm because of the heat of the engine. He presses the drink button anyways, cringing once the warm water hits his tongue. 

He blinks hard, forcing himself to focus.

"Jeno is rejoining now… P3, just ahead of Joshua."

Good. That’s good. Jeno held out just long enough to help, but not long enough to ruin his own race.

But Haechan can’t think about that right now.

His breathing is heavier, his body dragging against the weight of the car. His shoulders burn from holding the wheel steady through every turn and his entire body hurts. So much. The exhaustion from all the pushing he’s done until now hits him as he finally comes up to a safe position.

“Where is Jaehyun?” he asks, voice rough, eyes flicking to the lap board.

Lap 61.

Two more. Just two more and it’s done.

The radio crackles back. “P6. He’s not a threat.”

He exhales sharply, but it doesn’t feel like relief. Not yet.

In the garage, no one talks. No one moves. The only sound is the low hum of the monitors, the voices over the team radios, the distant roar of the cars.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you don’t even feel it anymore. Lap 61. Two more to go.

You glance sideways at Dahyun. Her hands are clasped so tightly together that her knuckles are white. She hasn’t spoken since the last pit stops, her usual excitement replaced with something quieter, more anxious.

She exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but it’s breathless. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

You don’t answer. Because so do you.

Over the course of the race, Haechan’s parents have come to stand near you two. His mother holds onto his dad. You think she’s praying.

The camera flickers to Haechan’s onboard. His hands are stiff on the wheel, no wasted movement, but you can see it now—the exhaustion. The way his shoulders don’t sit as steady. The way his breathing is heavier through the radio.

The commentators pick up on it, too.

"He’s done everything right today, but you can see the toll it’s taking now. The heat, the intensity, the pressure, it’s all hitting at once."

Dahyun shifts beside you, biting her lip. "Come on, Haechan," she mutters under her breath.

Lap 62. The last one

He’s almost there.

The moment the lap board flashes past, Haechan’s breathing quickens.

One more. Just one more.

Everything hurts. His arms feel leaden, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, his head is pounding.

But the finish line is right there, only one lap away.

“Final lap, Haechan,” his engineer says, voice measured, but he knows they feel it too.

He barely acknowledges it, eyes locked on the road ahead. Doyoung is too far ahead to catch, and Jeno is holding P3. The positions won’t change. It’s just him and the track now.

The crowd is deafening, even through his helmet. He can see the lights flashing from the grandstands, the energy building as he weaves through the final corners.

In the garage, you can’t breathe.

He hasn’t crossed the line yet, but the mechanics are already getting up from their seats to run to the pitwall. There’s not much to go wrong here.

The numbers on the screens blur together, and everything else—the people around you, the cameras, the noise—fades into the background. It’s just him on the monitor, his car flying through the final sector, the realization slowly, finally sinking in.

Dahyun has stopped fidgeting, but her hands are still clasped so tightly together that it looks painful.

He’s almost there.

The final corners. The final turns.

You remember the moment you were told that you’d be his PR rep for this season. It wasn’t meant to be anything special. Just another job, another person to manage, another year of handling media schedules and press conferences. You weren’t supposed to care.

But then the season started.

And you watched him race. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he fought for every position like it was the only thing that mattered, the way he never let himself get too comfortable, the way he refused to believe it was his until the numbers made it undeniable.

You’ve seen him exhausted, frustrated, drowning under the pressure. You’ve heard him at his most bitter, his most doubtful, when he let the weight of it all slip through the cracks.

And you’ve watched him get back in the car every single time.

Now, he’s almost done it. World Champion.

You don’t even realize your fingers are trembling until the moment his car crosses the line.

“He’s done it! Haechan finishes second with Jaehyun at P5, and with that— Lee Haechan is the 2025 World Champion!” The commentator exclaims.

The garage erupts.

Mechanics leap into each other’s arms, engineers cheering into headsets, the pit wall exploding into celebration. Somewhere behind you, someone is yelling, but all you can do is stare at the monitor, at the car with number 66 rolling past the checkered flag.

Dahyun lets out something between a laugh and a sob, hands flying to her mouth before she hugs you tightly. You swallow hard as you hug her back, unable to hold back the grin on your face. It’s an overwhelming kind of relief, not sharp, not explosive, just deep, sinking into your bones, settling in the way you hadn’t let yourself feel until now.

The crowd outside is deafening.

The cheers flood through Haechan’s radio. His engineer’s voice cracks with emotion. Someone from the pit wall is already yelling his name.

But all Haechan does is exhale.

His hands are still locked on the wheel. His arms are trembling, his body aching in ways he doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge yet.

It’s over.

And all he can think about is how long it’s taken.

Every year, every setback, every time he thought he was close only to watch it slip away. Every grueling season where it felt like no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

But this time, it was.

His vision blurs—not from exhaustion, not from sweat—just pure, overwhelming relief.

He breathes in. Breathes out. 

Sees the World Champion board where there should’ve been a P2 in parc fermé. 

When he parks, he finally lets go of the steering wheel, slumping into his seat. 

Jeno is the first to walk over, patting his helmet, his voice muffled but warm. Haechan barely processes it, only catching fragments—"Proud of you, man." Doyoung bends down next, saying something he can’t quite comprehend. The words don’t matter. He knows what they mean.

He nods, hands shaking as he reaches up, pulling off his gloves, his helmet, his balaclava. The rush of cooler air hitting his face is almost dizzying.

The moment he’s free of it, his eyes lift toward the barrier.

His team is there. All of them.

The mechanics, the engineers, the people who have been with him through every season, every late-night debrief, every painful loss. His mother, standing close to his father, hands pressed together as if she can barely believe it. His sister, bouncing on her heels, already reaching over the barrier.

And you.

Haechan doesn’t think. Doesn’t stop.

He moves on instinct, throwing himself out of the cockpit, barely registering his own exhaustion as his legs hit the ground.

And then, he runs.

Straight to them.

The second he reaches the barrier, the arms are already there, grabbing, pulling, holding. Someone ruffles his hair, someone yells his name, but he barely registers who is who. He just knows that this is his team, his people, and they’re all here.

Dahyun is the first to properly reach him, throwing her arms around him, squeezing tight. His mother is next, her hand cradling the side of his face for half a second before she pulls him in. His father’s grip is firm when he hugs him, yelling into his ears that he is proud, so proud.

He barely has time to think before another set of arms wrap around him, yours.

His breath catches for just a second. He can feel how tightly you’re holding on, how solid you feel against him despite how hard everything is still hitting him.

He shuts his eyes for just a moment.

It’s real. It’s over.

And he’s really won.

—

Monday, Post Race October 6th

12:05 AM

The dressing room is quiet.

For the first time in hours, there’s no noise, no cameras, no voices in his ear. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of his team still celebrating downstairs.

Haechan sits on the small bench, head tilted back against the lockers, eyes shut. His whole body aches, the exhaustion hitting now that the adrenaline has fully worn off. 

His damp hair sticks to his forehead and he can still smell the champagne on his race suit that he’s abandoned in a corner of the room. The shower did make him feel better, washing away the litres of champagne that he’d been doused in. His clothes, a normal t-shirt and sweats, feel so much lighter on him after hours of being in the sweat-soaked, heavy race suit. 

The door creaks open.

He knows it’s you before you say anything.

You step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. 

“You’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Your parents are waiting downstairs,” you say softly. “I told them I’d check on you first.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Checking to see if I passed out in here?”

“Something like that.”

You cross the room without hesitating, sinking down beside him. He doesn’t move, but when you lift a hand and press it gently against his back, you feel him lean into your touch, his shoulders losing the last bit of tension he’d been holding onto.

For a moment, you just sit there, your hand tracing slow, absentminded circles between his shoulder blades. The weight of the day still lingers in the air, but this moment feels different. Quieter, softer, just the two of you.

You let out a small breath, glancing at him. “You did it.”

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours.

“I did,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he hasn’t fully let himself believe it yet.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. He hasn’t cut it since the first day you met him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“Sunday,” He finally answers. You hum, a little confused.

“I told you we’ll talk on Sunday.”

You still. It had been the last thing on your mind during the race, so you’re a tiny bit surprised when he brings it up. You breathe in deeply before meeting his eyes and letting out a small laugh.

“Well, World Champion, I don’t know if you know, but it’s Monday now.”

Haechan shakes his head, turning his body to face you. “No, I know. But—” He cuts off, throwing his head back before he reaches out for your hands, “Hold on, I’ve kind of rehearsed this, but I’ve never done this before so give me a moment.”

You blink, a laugh escaping you as he stumbles over his words. “Rehearsed it? Haechan, what are you—”

“I just…” He takes a breath, looking at you with a sort of quiet, soft determination. “Okay, here goes.” He squeezes your hands lightly, his fingers warm against yours. “I’m not good with words, you know that. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I—I just need you to know…” He hesitates, and for a split second, his confidence falters.

You watch him, waiting. Despite knowing what’s coming, you can’t help the way your heart races. You feel breathless for a moment.

“I like you,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the nervousness in his eyes. “I like you more than I ever meant to. More than I’ve ever let myself admit.”

The simplicity of his confession knocks the breath out of you. He’s not asking for anything, not trying to pressure you, but it’s clear he’s laying everything out there, raw and open.

“I didn’t expect this. Didn’t think it would be this important, but it is. And I need you to know that,” he adds softly, his grip tightening just a little on your hands as though he’s grounding himself in the moment.

He waits for you to say something, but the words get stuck. Your mind races, and all you can do is stare at him.

Haechan’s brow furrows slightly, unsure of your silence. “You don’t have to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. “I’m just… surprised. I mean- I’m not, because you’re not very subtle about it. I just didn’t expect you to say it today, you know, after all that’s happened. But I—” You swallow, the truth coming to your lips before you can think. “I like you too.”

You can see the relief flood his face, his shoulders relaxing as though he's been holding his breath. But then, a playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Well, I think I knew too,” he jokes, the tension in his voice lifting with the teasing. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard to tell…”

You blink, surprised by the shift in his tone. “You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just a little,” he grins back, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he shifts closer to you. “You know back there, after I got out of the car, I thought you’d go all WAG mode and kiss me on my helmet or something.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from him, making him laugh, “Oh, so I’m a WAG now? You know I'm really professional. So I’d never do that. In public too? Forget it.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining ‘cause I wouldn’t mind,” Haechan shrugs, “You should do it sometimes.”

You give him an exaggerated look of disbelief, but the warmth spreading through you makes it harder to stay serious. “You really think I would?”

“I’m just saying, it’d be a really nice surprise,” he says, his voice lowering, the teasing fading into something more sincere.

You hesitate for a moment, the playfulness still hanging in the air. And then, before you even fully process it, you lean forward, your hand finding the back of his neck. Haechan’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can react, you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his softly, with a tenderness that’s more than just a playful kiss.

You can feel the warmth of him, his body moving ever so slightly toward yours, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers gently curling around you, anchoring you to him. The world outside this little bubble of yours fades into the background. Haechan’s lips slot perfectly between yours. He still tastes like champagne. You’re not particularly fond of it, but for him, you think you could make an exception.

 His hand slides up to your cheek, fingers brushing against the soft skin there as he tilts his head just slightly, deepening the kiss. You feel his pulse against yours, a rhythm that matches the way your heart begins to race, each beat a little faster, a little louder. 

When you finally pull away, your lips still humming from the closeness, Haechan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath a little quicker than before, as though he’s still coming back to reality. You can’t help but smile softly, feeling something in you settle, like a weight being lifted.

“Was that surprising enough for you?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His smile stretches slowly, like he’s trying to still comprehend. “Definitely.”

The two of you stay silent for a moment, processing and acknowledging whatever just happened when Haechan speaks up again, “But… just for the surprise to hit harder you could do it again.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but before you can even think of a reply, he tugs you just a little closer, his lips brushing against yours again—lighter this time, but just as sure.

WINTER BREAK

December 21st

You hadn’t meant to spill the news to your mother this soon. It had just sort of… happened.

You had been on the phone with her one evening, catching up like you always did when you were both too busy to visit in person. She had been asking about work, about life, about whether you were eating properly, when she had casually slipped in, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

And because you hadn’t really been thinking, half-focused on something on your laptop, you had answered honestly.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then a distinct shift in her tone, lighter, curious. “Oh?”

Your stomach had flipped. There had been no taking it back now.

“Yeah,” you had said again, slower this time, as if easing yourself into the reality of this conversation.

“Since when?”

You had hesitated, glancing at the calendar on your desk. “A little while now.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?”

You had exhaled through your nose, already hearing the teasing smile in her voice. “Eventually?”

She laughed. “Eventually. Right.” A pause, then, “Well? Who is he?”

You had bitten your lip, then said, “Haechan.”

Silence.

Then, after a few seconds, a sharp inhale. “As in your Haechan?”

You had winced. “Yeah.”

“As in the same Haechan I see on TV? The same one you’ve been working with this season?”

“Yeah.”

She had let out an incredulous laugh, clearly caught off guard. “And when exactly did this happen?”

You had hesitated, because when had it happened, really? There had been no defining moment, no grand realization, just a steady shift, an unshakable pull toward something you had probably always known was there.

“It wasn’t all at once,” you had admitted. “It just… made sense.”

Your mom had hummed like she was turning that over in her mind. “Well,” she had said eventually, “if it’s serious enough for you to tell me, you should bring him home for dinner.”

Your breath had hitched. “What?”

She had repeated it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Bring him home. If you care about him, we’d like to meet him properly.”

You had swallowed. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t considered when or how you’d introduce him to your family. Not because you hadn’t been sure about him—you had, you really had—but because the idea of sitting at that table with him, of merging two parts of your life that had always been separate, had made everything feel so real.

But… wasn’t that the point?

You had let out a slow breath. “I’ll ask him.”

Your mom had chuckled knowingly. “Good. Let me know when.”

You don’t bring it up right away.

It’s not that you’re nervous about his reaction—you know he’ll say yes. But when you finally mention it, just a casual, “My mom wants you to come over for dinner,” he still pauses for half a second longer than usual.

Then he blinks. “Dinner? Like, ‘sit at the table, be on my best behavior, answer your dad’s questions’ dinner?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haechan leans back, tilting his head at you. “So, just to clarify, there’s no ‘pretend you don’t know me and let me sneak out the back’ option?”

“Nope.”

He exhales dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright, then. What do I call them? Should I be formal? Or do I go straight to ‘Mom and Dad’ to establish dominance?”

You snort. “If you do that, my dad might actually kick you out.”

“Got it. Saving that for the second dinner.”

You shake your head, watching as he stretches his arms over his head before finally settling back against the cushions. For all his joking, you can tell he’s actually thinking about it. He’s always been quick to roll with things, but this feels like something he’s mentally preparing himself for.

After a beat, he glances at you again, quieter now. “You want me there?”

“Yeah,” you say, just as soft. “I do.”

He holds your gaze for a second before nodding, more certain now. “Alright.”

—

Dinner passes in a comfortable blur.

Haechan is nervous at first. You can tell by the way he sits up a little too straight, the way his fingers drum lightly against his thigh as if he’s reminding himself to stay composed. But as the meal goes on, the warmth of your home eases him in. Your mom fusses over his plate, your dad throws in the occasional dry joke, and Rina’s teasing keeps him engaged. By the time the table is cleared and your mom waves you both off with a “Go relax, I’ve got this,” Haechan follows you upstairs looking much more at ease.

Your childhood room is just as you left it. Familiar, unchanging, a space to return to whenever you visit. You can hear Rina’s Frank Sinatra album playing through the walls. You remember when Rina was still small enough to curl up beside you on lazy afternoons, insisting you play music for her. You remember the way she’d hum along, her voice soft and uncertain, trying to match the notes, how she’d giggle whenever she stumbled over the lyrics. It takes you back to being seventeen, to the quiet comfort of these walls, the long stretches of time where it felt like nothing would ever really change.

But then your eyes land on Haechan as he steps inside, and the memory settles into something different. Not quite distant, but no longer the world you live in.

Seventeen was a lifetime ago. Before flights and paddocks, before conferences and championship fights. Before Haechan.

And yet, here he is, standing in the middle of it all like he belongs. Like there’s room for him here, too.

Because there is, You think fondly.

You watch as his eyes scan the space, gaze moving from the overstuffed bookshelf to the small collection of stuffed animals still tucked into the corner of your bed. He lingers on the little trinkets lining your desk, a few old keychains, a white dreamcatcher from a school trip years ago, a cup of dried-out gel pens you never threw away. It’s a time capsule, a version of you he never got to know.

But it’s the photos on your wall that really draw him in.

He moves closer, his fingers hovering near them but never quite touching. There’s one of you at five, or six maybe, in a navy blue sweatshirt with your hands cupping your cheeks as you smile so wide your eyes disappear. 

Haechan lets out a quiet laugh, turning towards your figure, flopped on your bed. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You were actually the cutest kid alive.”

You grin. “It’s one of my favourite pictures of me too, honestly.”

He nods, but instead of moving on, he lifts his phone and takes a picture. You don’t notice, too lost in the comfort of your bed, the warmth of the moment.

Haechan doesn’t say anything either. Just tucks his phone away and keeps looking, his gaze flicking over another photo from a class trip, where you and your friends are grinning wildly, arms slung around each other. A few graduation photos, one with your parents standing proudly on either side of you, another with Rina making a face behind your shoulder.

You watch as Haechan’s gaze lingers on the framed family photo that sits on your desk, his fingers hovering over the glass like he’s memorizing every detail. There’s something unreadable in his expression, not quite wistful, not quite sad, but thoughtful in a way that makes you want to say something before he gets lost in it.

“That was taken after dinner at my grandma’s house,” you tell him, shifting so you can see it from where you’re sprawled on the bed. “We almost didn’t get a picture because Rina kept running off to play. My dad had to bribe her with extra dessert to get her to stay still.”

Haechan huffs out a quiet laugh at that, his lips quirking up slightly. “I should’ve guessed.”

You nod toward the frame. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

He tilts his head, still staring at it. “I get why.” Then, after a beat, he exhales and glances at you, hesitating for just a second before saying, “This might be a little forward, but… I kind of wish we knew each other before. Like, what if I could’ve been one of those people in your class photos, or—”

“You would have driven me insane,” you interrupt, glancing at him.

Haechan lets out a laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nod, leaning back against your bed. “Absolutely. You would’ve been the kid who never sat still, who found new ways to annoy me every day, who somehow convinced me to break all the rules.”

He smirks, nudging your knee with his. “Sounds like we would’ve had fun.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

Haechan hums, studying your expression for a moment before murmuring, “Still wish I was there.”

The words settle between you, soft but heavy.

You’d never really thought about before. About how your life would have looked if he had been there earlier.

But now, as he sits beside you, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph, you can’t help but picture it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. Would he have been the boy who stole your notes in class? The one who passed you secret messages during exams just to make you roll your eyes? The one who always found a way to drag you into trouble, just so he could laugh at how flustered you got?

You exhale, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating.

Would you have fallen for him faster?

You sit up properly now, meeting his gaze, searching for something in it that you already know is there.

“I think you would’ve fit right in,” you say quietly.

Haechan’s lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and he nods once, like he’s tucking the thought away for later. He looks back at the photo as he sits next to you. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be in one.”

You squeeze his hand, “You will be.”

The two of you settle into an almost comfortable silence when the music from Rina’s room catches your attention.

"There is nothing for me but to love you… and the way you look tonight."

Haechan’s head tilts slightly, a slow, knowing grin creeping onto his lips as he turns to you. “Well, that’s convenient.”

You groan, already feeling the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Oh, come on. Don’t.”

His grin widens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

He shrugs, leaning just a little closer. “I mean… if the music insists.”

You smack his arm, but he only laughs before resting his head on your shoulder. 

—

December 23rd

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Haechan pauses, one hand still adjusting a silver bauble on the tree. He turns to you with an incredulous look. “How can I possibly be doing it wrong?”

“You’re clustering all the ornaments in one spot,” you say, pointing at the lopsided section he’s been working on. “It’s all too heavy on that side.”

He scoffs. “Excuse me for trying to create a focal point.”

“It’s not a gallery wall, it’s a Christmas tree.”

“Same concept.”

You roll your eyes and get up from his couch, stumbling a little over all the boxes on the floor. He flinches, rushing forward to catch you. You don’t fall, but you end up in his arms anyway. You reach to move one of the ornaments, but he swats your hand away. “Nope, decoration rights revoked,” he declares. 

You stare at him in disbelief, eyes falling on the hand that swatted you away before moving to the one around your waist. “Hello? You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can. My tree, my artistic vision.”

You give him a deadpan look. “I was the one who convinced you to get a tree in the first place. Otherwise, your house would just be sad and lifeless. I chose the tree too!” rolling your eyes, you continue, “Besides, your artistic vision looks like it got tired halfway through and took a nap.”

Haechan gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

You bite back a grin as you place a red bauble exactly where he had just moved it from, making him groan in protest.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “I let you into my house, I let you touch my Christmas tree, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Get your hands off me then!”

Haechan doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” He smirks, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist. “I won’t. What are you gonna do about it?”

You open your mouth, then close it, then sigh in defeat. “Nothing,” you mutter.

“That’s what I thought.” He grins, rocking you both slightly where you stand. The Christmas lights cast a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you move. He’s looking at you, not in the teasing, smug way he usually does, but in that softer, quieter way that always makes your chest feel too full.

Then you sigh, glancing at the half-decorated tree. “We’re decorating way too late.”

Haechan groans in agreement. “I know. If we started earlier, this wouldn’t be so stressful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, whose fault is that?”

He blinks at you. “Not mine? I won both championships before December. It’s not my fault they don’t let us go until all the races are over. Blame the F1 calendar instead!”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. It’s the calendar’s fault.”

“Thank you.” He grins, rocking back on his heels. “Finally, some sense.”

You shake your head with a laugh, nudging his shoulder before turning back to the tree. “Still, if we started earlier, we wouldn’t be scrambling to finish before Christmas.”

Haechan hums in agreement, reaching for another ornament. “Guess we just have to get better at this whole off-season thing.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

Haechan nods, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before he looks back at the tree. “Yeah,” he says simply, looping an ornament onto a branch. “We. We are quite good during the season, don't you think?”

He hooks another ornament onto a branch, “Oh, by the way, there’s fruitcake on the kitchen counter.”

You pause, your hand holding an ornament in mid-air and turn to look at him. “Oh?”

He nods, adjusting a light on the tree. “Yeah.”

You frown slightly. “But… you don’t like fruitcake.”

Haechan shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah, but you do.”

You frown slightly, touched by the gesture, “How do you know that?”

Haechan glances at you, lips curving up. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. When have I ever mentioned liking fruitcake?”

He hums, stepping back to take a look at the tree, “I think it was in Budapest. Jeno was talking about how he got sick from eating fruitcake off season.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised that he remembered that.

“As much as I love fruitcake, it’s definitely not the best thing to have in any month other than December,” You admit, “Also, you really have to get the right ones. Some are loaded with too many spices, some are too greasy… I’d never complain about having too many nuts or fruit but I guess people wouldn’t like that either.”

His laughter is light as he lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slipping to your waist. The tree lights flicker in the corner of your vision, a warm golden colour. They remind you of Haechan. 

“This is kind of the last thing I expected getting into this year,” he murmurs after a beat.

You blink, the playfulness between you both settling into something more serious and heartfelt. “What? Decorating a tree with me?”

His fingers drum lightly against your hip. “More like all of this. Us.”

You exhale, nudging your nose against his. “Yeah,” you admit. “Me too.”

Haechan hums, thoughtful. “I mean, if you told me at the start of the season that I’d win both championships and have you here at the end of it, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? What part was more unbelievable?”

“The championships, obviously.” He grins, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You? I think at one point it just became obvious that you were inevitable.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a response, he reaches past you, placing the star in your hands.

“Go on, then.”

You eye him suspiciously. “No catch?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You glance at him again, making sure before standing on your tiptoes to place the star at the top. As you adjust it, Haechan’s hands settle at your waist again, steadying you without a word.

Once you step back, the tree finally completed, he lets out a satisfied hum. “Not bad.”

You turn around to look at him.

He looks back at you, tilting his head, a smile playing on his lips before he leans down

The first time you met Haechan, he barely spared you more than a glance, too caught up in the frustration of strategies and a season that hadn’t even begun. 

Now, Haechan kisses you like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more.

His lips move against yours with a quiet sort of certainty, like he’s memorized exactly how to kiss you. Not rushed, not hesitant, just sure. His hands slide up, fingertips pressing into your back to bring you closer, and when you splay your fingers across the fabric of his sweater, you feel the way his heartbeat kicks up under your touch.

He exhales softly against your lips before kissing you again, deeper this time, slower. The world narrows down to the quiet press of his mouth, the steady warmth of his touch, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering between you. You can feel it in the way he holds you that this isn't something that will slip away.

And then, just for a second, it’s like standing on the grid, the air electric, the whole world holding its breath.

Just before the countdown. Before lights out.

tagging: @yukisroom97 @awktwurtle

[chanswhxre]

Channie's Room [Kinktober '24]

✩ kinktober masterlist ✩ requests ✩ kofi ✩ ao3

♡ Pairing : chan x afab! reader

♡ Genre : smut, daddy kink

♡ Word count : 2.5k words

♡ Warnings : 18+ nsfw, explicit sexual content. I will not put any more specific warnings to avoid spoiling the story. Read at your own risk!

❗️ minors, ageless, and blank blogs that will interact with me or my work will be BLOCKED.

September is almost ending, and nothing in your life seems to be going well. You have a job, but it isn't what you wanted in the first place but it pays well, though; you just broke up with your boyfriend of 2 years, you're getting kicked out of your old apartment for adopting a kitten, and when life couldn't get any worse, your cat just puked on your favorite rug just before you were about to pack it, you wanted to scream, but you didn't want to scare off your cat. You loved the little bugger even if he's a pain in the ass sometimes. You wanted to relax a bit before going back to packing, and you remembered it was Saturday night, and that only means one thing,

🔴 Channie's Room is now LIVE

You settled in with your comfortable clothes, your favorite drink, and, of course, your favorite toy. You got into the stream and saw him, only in a white, fitting tank top, camera stopping on his neck; he's got a new wolf scratch tattoo on his shoulder; shit makes him hotter than ever. 

"Hey everyone, it's your favorite Korean-aussie, Channie!" He greets, making hand gestures.

He seems awfully cute with his greetings. He takes his time to catch up with his viewers and greets his loyal patrons and generous tippers. You've been a patron for as long as you can remember, and you loved his genre. Even though he streams NSFW content, he makes you happy and giddy. You also know deep down that this guy looks good. 

"Oh wow, thanks for the tip, wanderingbae. I haven't even started yet." He giggled, and you could see his abs tense. You bit your lip wondering what he got in store for today's live.

"Tonight, I'm doing requests! I want to know what my baby girls and boys want to see for tonight. So let's open up my ngl." He giggled.

"Oh, baby girl asks if daddy can take his tank off and..wow you want to hear daddy whimper? Tell you how much he likes it and how bad he needs to cum?" How can this man go from cute to sexy in just a blink? He was giggling a few seconds ago, and now he's straight-up teasing.

This would be another Channie's room that surely won't fail to give you mind-blowing orgasms. Let the stream begin!

The following day, you filed for leave to facilitate your moving to a new apartment. You went later in the afternoon after you finished packing all your stuff. Your room was on the fourth floor, and it's just your luck that the elevator was being repaired for the day and would be fixed late in the evening.

"Great, just great." You sighed, looking at your things. You didn't really have a lot of stuff: two big suitcases of clothes and other necessities, a huge box for other essential life stuff such as kitchenware, your cat's things, and your cat carrier. How could you bring these to the fourth floor? Sure, multiple trips wouldn't be the problem, but the weight of what you're going to carry was the one you're worried about.

"Need some help?"

You turned to look at the man who spoke with a familiar voice, making you unconsciously drop your jaw at the gorgeous man in front of you.

"Oh, it's fine. I can wait for the uh elevator."

"Really? I heard it won't be fixed until late in the evening. What floor are you moving to?"

"Fourth, but really, I can wait. I don't want to bother you or anything, " you insisted.

"I live on the fourth floor, too! Nice to meet you, neighbor. My name is Chris." He smiled. You know you're not supposed to trust strangers, especially good-looking ones, but who cares about stranger danger if it's this man? You feel a good vibe from him, and besides, he probably lives next to your new apartment. Getting to know your neighbors is a good start.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, too."

"Let me help you carry these. I insist." He offered again.

"Are you sure? We're probably going to make a few trips up and down."

"I can handle it. Carry what you can, and I'll take care of the rest." He winked.

You carried what you could, and it was done in a flash. How did this guy carry all of it? How does he have so much stamina? He settled your things in the living room, and you thanked him for it. You asked him to stay so you could order food for him as another way of saying thank you, but he said he'd come over another time, and then you added that you could cook for him.

Settling into your new apartment was surprisingly easy, especially when your neighbor is very kind, not to mention eye candy. He gets along with your cat so well. You've shared a few conversations, and you have even invited him over for dinner sometimes or just to hang out, and he would be totally down for it. You've spent quite some time together for a month already, and you'd be a liar if you didn't say you hadn't had a single dirty thought about this man.

"Cool tattoo you got there." You complimented him on the wolf scratch tattoo on his arm. It's the first time you're seeing it since he rarely wears a muscle tee or tank top outside since it's cold. It looked oddly familiar, though.

"Thanks." He smiled.

It was your first time in his apartment since he usually visited yours. He graciously offered to cook dinner tonight, and while he was setting up the table, you looked around and saw a few pictures of him, his baby pictures, his family back in Australia, and his dog. You saw a guitar and a keyboard near the shelf of a thousand albums of probably his favorite artists, and then a small opening of his room showed he had LED lights and a computer setup inside. His room looked like you'd seen it somewhere, but you just couldn't point out where. It's your first time coming to his apartment that's why it baffled you why it was so familiar.

Dinner was served, and it was delicious. Chris opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate. He said that he had reached a milestone on his channel. Chris had told you he worked online as a freelancer, but now that he's mentioned the word "channel," he might be a famous YouTuber, but you were too dumb to notice.

"So, what's your youtube channel? What content do you do?" You asked him.

"Oh, I don't upload on youtube. I livestream on some website."

"What website?" you asked out of curiosity, and then it clicked to you exactly who he was: the broad torso, the muscular arms, the tattoo, and the accent. It's him—it's definitely him. You're not being delusional.

"An adult livestream site." He gave you a mischievous smile. "Judging by your expression, I have a feeling that you know who I am."

"You... you're Channie in Channie's room, aren't you?" you hesitantly said, and he laughed at how cute you were blushing when you mentioned his screen name and channel. Obviously, you were a patron since you knew who he was and the title of his streams, but he didn't know that you were a generous tipper, too.

"Guessed it right." He chuckled. "You a fan?"

You were hesitant to tell him the truth; would he make fun of you? Or would he think that it's hot how you watch him every weekend? Oh how you wanted to scream from fangirling, you've always wanted to see how Channie looked like and you were right, he looked like God had taken the time to perfect him with the just the right amount of everything but overflowing with sexual appeal and gorgeousness all over.

"So you are." He concluded with your reaction, and you gulped. "Hey, there's nothing to be shy of, baby girl."

Your clit buzzed when he called you baby girl, and you might have felt a little wetness start to pool down there.

"You're shitting me. How come I didn't notice right away? Those kissable lips you show from time to time, the fucking hot wolf tattoo—oh shit, I said too many words, was it too much?—"

"So you think I have kissable lips?" He teased.

"No! I mean, yes, you do! I didn't expect you'd be this hot in person and that you'd be m-my neighbor!" You stuttered, getting nervous for the first time in his presence.

"Well, did I exceed your expectations?" he asked, and you nodded, pursing your lips, scared that you'd accidentally tell him your nastiest thoughts about him. "Wolf, got your tongue?"

"N-no..I don't know." You said. 

You can't even look him in the eye. You wondered if he was imagining how you'd play with him every weekend, and you got embarrassed thinking about it, but little did you know he was already imagining it. Did you like his streams? Did you get turned on out of your mind? Did his streams make you sopping wet? Did he help you have earth-shattering orgasms?

Chris thought his heart would burst because of your cuteness, and he couldn't help but be curious; since you saw him cum on cam for god knows how many times, he wanted to see how hot you looked cumming too, but he didn't want to cross a line if you weren't good with it.

"Hey, don't be shy. I should be the one who should be embarrassed. You've seen me play with myself and cum loads of times, I bet." He tried to reassure you.

"Yeah..it was really sexy every time you do." You bit your lip, gathering your courage to look him in the eye. Flashbacks of him playing with himself and shooting hot strings of cum running through your head at full speed.

"I'd really like to see you cum too, if I may." He said, trying to shoot his shot.

"What?" Your eyes widen in shock. "I don't think I look sexy when I cum."

"Let me be the judge of that, kitten." He said, and with that, he moved closer to you, brushing his nose against yours. Were you going crazy? Yes, you were. Were you just letting this man have his way with you? Absolutely. Were you going to make him cum just like in his livestream? Why the hell not? "So, are you down?"

"Yes, daddy." You didn't know how that slipped, but that answer made Chris growl.

You softly placed your lips on his, and he went berserk at how soft your lips were. He didn't want to be rough, but he couldn't help but feel excited, so he cupped your cheeks and deepened the kiss. Your hands roamed around each other's bodies as if you missed each other for a long time, leaving no part untouched.

Chris suddenly carried you, not breaking the kiss and flopping you on his bed. He climbed on top of you. He swiftly unclipped your bra, and before you knew it, both of you were undressed in his bedroom. He trailed kisses down your ear, jaw, and neck all the way down until you felt his hot breath reach your dripping core.

"Fuck, this is how wet you get for me, baby?" He groaned; he couldn't wait anymore and started devouring you.

Wet. Hot. Messy

That's how Chris liked it, and honestly, this was driving you crazy as well. You never thought you would end up like this, sprawled in his bed as he eats you with much gusto. He never tasted cunt as sweet as yours, and that instantly made him addicted to your taste. He circled his skilled tongue on your clit, making you moan loudly, and when he sucked on it, you grabbed on his hair for dear life.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, feeling your orgasm build up.

“Yeah? You like that?” He growled between slurps, drinking your juices like he was deprived of water in the desert.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

“Come on, cum for daddy.”

Your body shook hard as your orgasm washed over you, and Chris hadn’t stopped sucking on your clit even if you were already shaking from sensitivity. He hooked his strong arms around your thighs, preventing you from getting away from his mouth as you writhe from the slight pain and sensitivity.

"Fuck, I would pay to see you cum every damn time!"

As you came down from your high, you pushed him on the bed and straddled him, kissing him, tasting yourself through his mouth.

Finally, you can live out your fantasy of sucking his cock and not just stare at it through the screen. He was already leaking. You always wondered what his cum tasted like, so you licked a bit of it on his precum-coated tip while making eye contact. It was everything you've ever imagined. His eyes were looking directly at yours with desire and anticipation.

You wrapped your hand around his thick girth and spread his precum with your thumb all over the tip of his cock, which earned an exasperated sigh from him. You licked from the bottom of his shaft all the way up before swallowing him whole. You knew Chris was a moaner in his streams, but hearing it in person was absolute euphoria. You sucked and swirled your tongue on his cock as moans spilled from his mouth, and before you knew it, he was already pulling you to sit on it. He got a condom in his bedside drawer and slid it down his thick, hard cock quickly.

You held his cock to position it on your dripping entrance and slowly sank on it. Both of you let out a satisfied groan once he bottomed out. You grinded on his cock at a slow pace which was frustrating him, so he flipped you over and slowly started picking up the pace. It was rough but delicious. Your eyes were rolling to the back of your head as he began hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“Who’s your daddy, baby girl? Tell me.”

“You are...SHIT!” You screamed as he started rubbing your clit with his thumb as he thrusts into you hard and deep.

“Like that baby? You like daddy rubbing your little swollen clit like that?”

“Yes! FUCKING YES, DADDY!”

You felt his cock twitch every time you called him daddy. He continued his ministrations, and he felt your pussy tighten as you reached your peak and then it contracted uncontrollably as if your orgasm was milking Chris into his very own, and with a few sloppy thrusts, he came into the condom. Moans and profanities slipped out of his mouth as you both rode your orgasms out. Chris withdrew and threw the condom out and laid beside you—both of you sweaty and out of breath.

“That was..”

“Mind-blowing.” He finished your sentence for you.

“Mind if we do it again sometimes, daddy?”

He giggled, cringing at the word you called him by in a non-sexual situation.

“Sometimes?” He cocked his eyebrow. “I guess you don’t want the full Chris experience then?”

“Every day then, if you let me join in on your streams someday.” You teased, unserious about joining, but it wouldn't be bad, though.

“Deal!”

✩ reblogs, feedback, & comments are highly appreciated. it motivates me, and it is the lifeline of my blog. To everyone who read and interacted with my works, such as comment, and reblog especially with text, thank you so much 정말 감사합니다 ♡

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© 2024 Chanswhxre

[intheupside]

Crosby to be Canada's 'security blanket' as captain at 4 Nations Face-Off

Indeed, is anyone more deserving of the title of Captain Canada?

“He’s up there,” Tocchet said. “And look, I don’t want to embarrass Sid. But from sitting in the locker room across from Wayne Gretzky, the way Wayne’s demeanor is, the way he acted around his teammates, the way he acted in front of the public, Sid’s got that.

“And then you’ve got the Mark Messier type, not afraid to say things to your teammates if needed at the right time. And I’ve seen Sid do that too, using his voice to let them know something is unacceptable. He’s willing to do that. That to me is a great leader. In all facets. One hundred percent.

“The bottom line: When he puts that jersey on, you can sense the calmness come over the entire country of Canada. It’s almost like he’s our security blanket.”

“From the time I first met him, it’s just the way he always looks to raise the bar,” Bergeron said. “We’ve been teammates and linemates in a lot of these tournaments, and he’s never satisfied. He’s always looking to the next thing. He’s able to enjoy the success but at the same time wanting more. It’s his drive, his determination, there’s a lot of reasons why he’s been so clutch and so important in, what you could say, [is] history.

“He commands respect. I think the country is proud of who he is as a person and how he represents us on the international stage. There’s no missteps. It’s been going on since he’s been 14 years old when they started aiming cameras on him. He’s never had a misstep.”

Bergeron is considered one of the top leaders of his era and won the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award in 2021, an honor Crosby received in 2010.

“I accomplished a lot in my career,” Bergeron said. “But I have to say, I’m so proud that in my time playing, that Sidney was the face of our league and for Canadian hockey. Well deserved.”

Crosby already had his eyes on the 4 Nations prize five months ago, long before he would officially be given the “C” for Team Canada.

Back in early September, Crosby helped organize an unofficial training camp of sorts under the watchful eye of Andy O’Brien, his longtime trainer, in Vail, Colorado. Among those invited to the event were some of Canada’s top players, including Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon, who like Crosby is from Cole Harbour; Edmonton Oilers center Connor McDavid; and Toronto Maple Leafs forward Mitch Marner.

Crosby insists it wasn’t an official Canada team-bonding exercise, pointing out that there were players from other countries there as well. At the same time, he admits it was productive for some of the Canadians on hand to get the opportunity to develop chemistry and play together, something that could come in handy at the 4 Nations and the 2026 Olympics.

Marner, for one, was appreciative of the invite extended him by Crosby and O’Brien.

“It was great,” he said. “Getting to know Sid and some of those guys both on and off the ice, well, I was grateful that they asked me to join them.

“You get to know them on and off the ice a bit. Such great guys. And so much talent out there with guys like Sid, MacKinnon and McDavid.”

And, according to Team Canada and Tampa Bay Lightning coach Jon Cooper, it was just another example of Crosby’s leadership ability to bring players together for a common goal.

“It’s what he does,” Cooper said. “It’s who he is.

“Look at what he did [last] month when we were in Pittsburgh.”

Cooper was referring to a postgame scene after his team had defeated Crosby and the Penguins 5-2 on Jan. 12, a game in which Tampa Bay scored three goals in the final 3:03 to break a 2-2 tie. The uber-competitive Crosby was upset that victory had eluded the Penguins, but still took time to see Cooper afterward to chat about the 4 Nations.

At one point, Crosby asked Cooper to bring out Lightning forwards Brayden Point, Brandon Hagel and Anthony Cirelli, his future 4 Nations teammates, to talk about the upcoming tournament.

“He here is, angry that his team had just lost a game, and he put that aside to talk Team Canada with them,” Cooper said. “They sat there for 20 minutes. They were like kids in a candy store.

“That right there is what true leadership is.”

And, according to Tocchet, what Crosby is all about.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tocchet said. “He’s a guy that carries the torch, and is willing to pass the torch on when he’s done.

“That’s what he’s doing with Cirelli, Hagel, those guys. He basically comes in and says, ‘Hey, you guys are my teammates in a month, I just want to get to know you real quick and let you know what’s at stake.’ He’s done it with other players. I just think it goes so far with his teammates. They legitimately badly want to play with him, to be his teammate.”

[rafesslxt]

Hey!

I love your writing so much, and was wondering if you could write some smut/fluff of Matteo x first time reader where he talks the reader through it. Apart from that you can get creative with it too

Thank you ❤️🙏

thank u very much, i‘m always happy to hear that! 🫶🏻i hope u like this one too <3

🍒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝐦.𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

nsfw content | mattheo riddle x fem reader

aesthetic: 🕯️🥀🍒💋🍂

「 ✦ You tell Mattheo you're ready for your first time with him and he makes it as perfect as possible and talks you through it. ✦ 」

warnings: fluff, sensual smut, virgin!reader, reader‘s first time, experienced Mattheo, kissing, making out, fingering, nipple play, Mattheo talking reader through it, oral (on fem), mattheo masturbating while eating reader out, p in v protected, dirty talk, reader takes protection, aftercare

note: this is the first time that I write more softish smut and also readers first time + English is not my first language

words: 2,9k

When you told Mattheo you're finally ready to sleep with him, he was confused, happy and then confused again. Why in hell would she want me? That's a question he had in mind since the first time you laid eyes on him. Then, he was so happy that you trusted him enough to let him be your first. After all the euphoria, he was confused again. He needed to do this right. So how should he approach the situation?

It was a rainy day in the middle of September. Still pretty warm outside throughout the day but the temperature fell fast as soon as the sun was gone. While you were gone with some friends, Mattheo had prepared his room for the night. He wanted it to be literally perfect.

He told Draco who he shared a dorm with to sleep at Pansy's, your roommate. Then he cleaned everything from top to bottom, so not even a crumb of dirt was left on the floor.

At first he wanted to organize new sheets but remembered your words one time, telling him that you loved the smell of him in his bed and on his clothes. So he let them be for more comfort.

Next thing were candles. A lot of candles. He bought so many that every surface was covered in them for the romantic light. He also got you your favorite flowers, and some rose petals for the floor when you would walk inside the room.

It was perfect, only one thing missing. You.

Mattheo sat on the edge of his bed, nervous like hell. He had everything planned out. How he would touch you, what he would say to you too, to calm your nerves. His knee bounced up and down, his gaze falling to the clock on the wall and outside the window. Maybe he would catch a glimpse of your pretty hair so he would know you're almost there.

His door opened and his head snapped into it's direction. Your whole face lit up when you saw all the candles and rose petals on the floor. "Hey princess." he greets you with a soft voice and walks over to you, pulling you against his body. "What's all this for?" you asked with a shy smile, knowing exactly what is was for and excitement bubbled up in your chest.

"I want it to be special for you and not just like a random night." "It's never a random night with you, Mattheo." He smirks at your comment and raises his eyebrows. "Hey, aren't I supposed to make all these cute and cheesy comments?"

You start giggling and kiss his cheek in a loving way. He smiles down at you, helping you take off your jacket, putting it over the chair in front of his desk with your flowers on it.

"Oh Mattheo, you didn‘t have to!" you melt away when you see your favorite flowers. You turn your head up to him when he suddenly stands behind you again, his arms around your waist.

"Everything for you." he whispers into your ear, giving it a soft kiss. You turn around in his grip and swing your arms around his neck, kissing him with every ounce of love you had. His hands start to roam all over your body, one stroking your back while the other slides up and down your sides before it finds it's way under your hoodie and shirt, touching your bare skin beneath it.

Your cheeks start to heat up, knowing what's going to happen. It feels exciting and scary at the same time, but you are so grateful that it is Mattheo.

"I love you, princess. You know that, right?" Mattheo whispers against your lips, lowering his head. "I know, that's why I want it to be with you. Because I love you too." He smiles brightly at your words, putting both hands on your cheeks now and pulling you closer, kissing you passionate.

He takes his time with you, no matter what. He slowly takes off your hoodie, kisses you slowly at first, carefully walks you to his bed with his lips still on yours and pushes you back onto his bed.

"If you change your mind or you don't like something, feel uncomfortable, anything.. you tell me, okay princess?" he breathes against your lips, climbing over you. Even tho you can't imagine that he could do anything you don't like, you nod your head, telling him you understood.

You trust him with your whole heart and know he would do anything for you and never put you in an uncomfortable position. His hands wander under your shirt, feeling the warm skin under it and the goosebumps that form on it. "Love your skin, always so soft." he smiles at you, lifting up your shirt to cover your stomach in soft but hot kisses.

You bite your lip, your skin already burning with desire when you feel his soft lips leaving wet kisses all over your body. His hands push your shirt further up until it hangs around your chest and neck. "So beautiful." he whispers against your flushed skin, kissing further up to your breasts. His fingers open your bra in a quick and sly way so you don't even notice until the air around you hits your nipples.

"How do you feel?" he whispers, looking up at you. Your eyes are closed and your head relaxed on his soft pillow. "Good.. really good." you breath out, enjoying the new feeling of him so near.

He kisses his way up to your left boob, kissing around your nipple but not touching it while his hand massaged your right one. You buck your hips up against his body which makes him smile even more. "Hmm what's wrong princess?" "Can you please touch me?" you whine, eyes still closed.

"But I already am touching you, baby." "Mattheooo.." you whine again and drag his name out. He chuckles and shakes his head. "Alright but only because it's your first time." He comes up next to your ear and kisses it before whispering again, " Next time I'm gonna make you beg so much for my touch." You gasp and open your eyes to look at him, seeing his mischievous grin on his lips.

You gulp, thinking about how you never thought about what version of Mattheo you would get while having sex with him.

"Don't worry baby, it's all about you this time." he kisses your ear again, going down again to take your left nipple into his mouth. A soft whimper leaves your lips, going straight to Mattheo's ears and already hard cock. He starts to softly kiss it and kitten lick it with his tongue for a while before he sucked on it and scrapes his teeth against them.

Meanwhile he plays with your other one with his fingers. Your nipple squeezed between his thumb and middle finger, his index finger rubs over it in the same rhythm like his tongue.

He already has you wrapped around his fingers with basically no effort. You clench your thighs together, moaning into the air when your nipples start to get more and more sensitive to his touch. From time to time he would switch and suck on your right one, playing with your left between his fingers.

Your hands are already in his soft brown curls, tugging on them when it felt almost too good.

You feel his hand letting go of your nipple and gliding over your body, down towards your pussy. He opens your jeans with one hand, puling them down slowly, tugging on them slightly until you lift your hips to help him, all while he still nibbled on your other nipple.

When he has your jeans pulled down completely, he let his fingers ghost over your underwear, feeling they're already wet. He bites your nipple softly at the feeling, remembering himself to calm down before he loses his mind.

He pulls your underwear to the side, two fingers cautiously dipping between your wet folds. He groans against your skin and looked down to his fingers. "Fuck baby you're soaked. Does my mouth feel that good?" Your cheeks blush at his words, trying to hide them behind your hands which made him let out a soft deep laugh.

"Don't hide baby, it's fucking hot." he looks down again and brushes his fingers over your throbbing clit, making you yelp in a needy tone. "I'm gonna eat you out and prepare you a little, is that alright sweetheart?" he asks in a soft voice. You nod eagerly, making him smirk again.

He let go of you for a short moment to stand up and pull you towards the end of his bed. He spreads your legs and goes down on his knees in front of the bed. Your breathing gets heavier and your brain more nervous than ever. Out of a reflex and shyness your try to push your legs back together but he grips your thighs and pulls them back.

"You've got the prettiest pussy ever baby, I swear. Don't hide from me." You gulp and nod, letting him. He puts your legs over his shoulders, supporting your thighs with his hands, pushing them up slightly, his face now right in front of you.

He gently laps at your clit, looking up to search for a reaction from you. A shaky breath leaves your lips before you buck up your hips. He starts going a little faster, sucking at your folds while his thumb circles your clit. Your hands find his hair again, pulling him closer every time his tongue got faster.

He groans into your pussy and grinds his throbbing cock against the bed. You hear a growl and a deep breath coming from his throat and shoot your head up, looking at him worried. "What's wrong?" "Nothing babygirl, I just really have to hold back to not fuck you senseless with my tongue." He moves his finger faster, letting you feel a deep coiling in your abdomen. "You taste so fucking sweet, shit."

He let's go of one of your thighs and unbuckles his belt, pulling down his zipper and pushing down his pants. He lets out a deep breath again when he finally feels free and without his tight jeans around his hips. He let's his hand wander over his boxer shorts and palms himself through it, grunting into you while his tongue starts fucking your tight hole.

"Oh, Mattheo.. it feels so good." you moan with your eyes closed, completely obvious to where his hand did go. The feeling of his tongue inside you is strange at first but still feels good in combination with his thumb massaging your clit.

He groans against you again when his hand dips into his boxer shorts and pumps his cock up and down, pre-cum already forming on the tip.

He lets go of your clit and replaces his thumb with his mouth who sucks on your little bud now, making you arch your back and moan his name. Gently he enters your hole with one finger, testing the waters on how tight you are. He slowly pumps his finger in and out, adding a second after a few minutes.

"How does it feel?" he asks you, wanting to know if it hurt or felt uncomfortable. "It - It's new but.. it's good." you struggle, your breathing heavier than before.

Mattheo really did his best but at some point he couldn't handle it anymore and let go of his cock and backed away from your pussy.

"I'm sorry baby but I have to feel you." he got back up on the bed and pushes you more up so there is enough room for the both of you. He pulls his shirt over his head and kisses your neck. You look down at him, just now realizing he was naked too, your cheeks blushing when you see how big he was.

"Don't worry 'bout it, it will fit." he grins and reaches out towards his drawer but you stop him. "We don't need it, I'm taking potion since a few months." He raises his eyebrows at you, his cock twitching at the thought of feeling you raw. "Are you sure baby?" " A hundred percent."

He gulps and kisses you passionate, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. He grabs his shaft and runs his tip through your folds, teasing your clit a little bit. "I want you Mattheo.. please.." your begging makes it just sweeter for him. "You're really testing me baby." he breaths out and nods. Slowly and carefully he starts to push his fat tip against your entrance, pushing and pushing until his tip was in.

You both let out a moan at the same time. "You're already so big." "You're already so fucking tight around me." He watches your face for any sort of pain or discomfort but sees nothing, so he pushes forward again until you knit your brows together in pain. He immediately stopped and kissed you. "It's okay, don't stop." you whisper against his lips. "Are you sure? I don't wanna hurt you." he sighs when his hand strokes your cheek lovingly.

"It's gonna hurt anyway, just go slowly but don't stop." you whisper back, kissing his lips. He takes a deep breath before pushing his hips further towards you, but slowly like you asked him to. "You're doing o good baby, you're doing great." he kisses your forehead, not stopping tho. He feels your hands and nails gripping into his back when he is in to the half of his length.

"I'm already half in princess. You feel so good, shit." Even tho it hurts, it feels good too. Not in a stimulating way but it feels good to have him so close to you and feel his skin against yours.

A chuckle leaves your lips when he cursed, feeling a bit proud that you make him feel like that. "We're not even fucking right and your pussy already drives me crazy." he purrs into your ear, making you smile.

He pushes in again, this time a bit faster but still slow. A moan leaves your lips, feeling so full of him. "Tell me when I can move, baby." he groans, trying his best to stay still between your legs but your tight cunt squeezes him so good it is almost impossible not to.

"Move, move please." He bites his lip at your words and slowly starts to move in and out. He watches your face going from pain to your eyes rolling back and your mouth opening when a broken moan leaves your lips.

Mattheo starts moving a bit faster, gripping your hips with both his hands. "F-faster. Hmm Mattheo faster, please." "Shit.." his hips snap forward, bottoming you out completely. "God, your pussy is gripping me so tight baby, you're practically milking me at this point."

He starts to fuck you into his mattress, going harder and faster with time. "You're such a little slut for me, hm? Feeling my cock deep inside you, right baby? Just like that?" he says, hitting your g spots deliciously. Your eyes widen to the new feeling. "Oh my god, again, please do that again.

Sweat starts forming on his forehead, his smile turning smug when you start begging him again. He hits the same spot over and over again. Your walls clench around him, your back arched and a broken sob comes out of your throat. "Fuck yes!" you whine, digging your nails deeper into his skin, leaving marks all over him.

"Hm yes baby, mark me the fuck up so everyone knows I'm fucking yours." he grumbles at the feeling.

"I'm so close Mattheo, please let me come, please." " Fuck where did you lean to beg like that baby?" he groans back and moves his hand down to your sensitive nub, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

"Cum for me baby, let go for me. Cum on my cock." His breathing gets heavy too and your clenching sends him spiraling. With a few last thrusts he sends you over the edge, feeling your walls massage his cock even harder.

"Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum. Where –" "Cum inside me." His eyes shoot open and look at your face. You're laying there, ginning up at him knowing it would drive him nuts. "Fuckk.. " a final thrust is enough for him to pump his cum into you. You bite your bottom lip at the feeling and kiss him deeply, your tongue licking over his lips.

"Kiss me like that again and I'm gonna fuck you stupid, princess." he groans against your lips, half joking half telling the truth. "Let me rest, Riddle." you giggle at his words.

He slowly pulls out of you and stands up. He gets a few tissues and gets between your legs, cleaning you up and leaving a few gentle kisses here and there.

He throws them away and pulls the blanket over the both of you, pulling you into his arms. "Thank you for trusting me to be your first." he whispers into your ear, kissing it softly. "It was perfect Mattheo, I wouldn't want anybody else as my first. I love you." he smiles down at you, cupping your face before kissing you. "I love you too, sweetheart."

i hope you liked it cause like I said it was the first time for me writing about vigrin reader and her first time with someone.

I tried to think about my first time so please don‘t forget its different for everybody and i also can‘t write about sex and blood in combination so sorry if its unrealistic because of that for some of you but tbh when i had my first time there was almost no pain and also just a few drops of blood. So please think about that fact too <3

Taglist:

@justarandomcanadiantransdude @helendeath @thatonepansexual2000 @imabee-oralizard @supernaturaldawning @cardi-bre91 @brodiedoesthings @gxdsfavgal @synicaljah @yourenogoodforme @sofa-couch26 @little-miss-naill @kolsangel @auxcordlawd @itsarajr @jolly4holly @hisparentsgallerryy @slytherinscreamqueen @mixvchelle @littlemadamred @ummmmmmm-username @jeannie-beannie @belle-blue @beautywine @sagetakami @simp-for-fantasy @whyamireadingthis @i-like-pandas5 @jordynhartley2001 @your-local-simp26 @sarisabully @romantasyreader28 @whiteboylover222 @giasus- @batsching @themissingweasley26 @lucygoosylu

@siriusblackslefttoenail 🩷🩷

xoxo sarah <3

[myownwholewildworld]

masterlist

find me in ao3 | discord: arran.macleod | notifs blog

well, hello there! c:

i go by the name of arran in the world wide web, she/her, based in the uk and in my 30s era. i have been writing on and off for almost 20 years now on different platforms, but this is really the first time i venture into the fanfic realm in tumblr, so please be nice! >: my first language is not english but spanish, so if you spot any spelling mistakes, i apologise in advance lol

i've been obsessed with pedrito for quite a while now, so i thought ― i love writing, i love pedro, and, above everything else, i love love love drama, so why not give in and write some fics? i'm sure i'll find some like-minded people here!

i do appreciate any feedback you may want to share with me, as well as interactions (asks, reblogs, comments, likes, anything really!). also please feel free to drop me a message if there's something you would like me to write, i'm always open to suggestions ♡

please assume all my work is 18+, so mdni! do not repost, translate, nor use my work in any way without my explicit permission either.

i'll try to keep this masterlist as up to date as possible.

love,

arran xx

(find my work under the cut!)

🤭 ― fluff

😳 ― light smut

💘 ― explicit smut

💢 ― dark/sensitive theme

🤕 ― angst

🩸 ― graphic content (violence, gore, etc)

wherever you go

series masterlist - 🤭💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. summary: after the events of 26th september 2003, you find yourself under the wing of the miller brothers. it's the older one who catches your attention, but also the one who drives you fucking crazy. you inevitably find yourself gravitating towards him while trying to navigate this postapocalyptic word you're stuck in, with more than one unpleasant surprise...

uniformed!joel one shots

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: uniformed!joel x f!reader. summary: a series of one shots where we get to see the one and only joel miller and all his sides... as long as he's wearing a uniform, ofc. i'm open to any requests you may have, no matter how wild! check #uniformed!joel to see what's already been suggested. come along, don't be shy!

the dark series

series masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: Boston QZ!joel x f!reader. summary: in a post-apocalyptic world, Joel is a man with dark urges, ones that only you can satisfy.

a man called joel

series masterlist - 🤕💢 status: tbd. pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader. summary: joel has lost everyone he held dear: sarah, tess, ellie. and while his brother still remains by his side, joel can't help but drown in the solitude of his jackson home. the rooms are too empty, too silent, so his heart is vacant. he's truly had enough of this life, given up to the point where he's decided to end his own suffering. that is until you move in next door and slowly worm your way into his life....

an old man!joel miller collection

collection masterlist - 💘💢 status: ongoing. pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader. summary: a smutty collection of fics and drabbles for the one and only, joel miller in his peepaw era. no bad things ever happen here, you and him live your best lives together in jackson.

acta, non verba

series masterlist - 🤭😳💘💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: conqueror!marcus x ofc!reader. summary: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all.

per aspera ad astra

series masterlist - 💢🤕🩸 status: ongoing. pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: when your husband dies in battle, his best friend is there to console you, to help you navigate your grief as he does his own. as you become close, feelings flourish. but your father, emperor Traianus, sees Marcus' romantic advances as a way to dethrone him.

love is heartbreak

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: inspired by the age of adaline. kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise?

the road to rome

read here - 🤕💢🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: marcus acacius x war prisoner!f!reader. summary: Gaul, 52 BC. Julius Caesar and his bloodthirsty army have won the final battle of the Gallic Wars atop Mont Auxois, after sieging the oppidum of Alesia for more than a month. with the war coming to a bitter end, you, the daughter of the defeated Vercingetorix of the Arverni, are taken hostage. General Acacius is tasked with bringing you to Rome, letting you believe you’ll only be an entertainment to the masses. little do you know, that’s not the case at all…

the mists of avalon

read here - 🤕🤭💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: arthurian!marcus acacius x cursed!f!reader. summary: you've been regent to the netherworld for as long as you can remember. as the lady of the lake, you know providence will put king marcus acacius in your path. so when he invokes you, you go to him, ready to fulfill your destinies.

the way to a great wide somewhere

read here ; easter eggs - 🤭💘🤕🩸 status: completed. pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story.

when the moon howls

read here - 🤭 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: you meet javier in a café during your sabbatical. you see the man that no one does ― the one who is broken, defeated, crushed by his time as a DEA agent. so you make it your purpose to shine some light on his life, one pumpkin spice latte at a time. -or- the story of how you two fall head over heels for each other c:

when the grief howls

read here - 🤭💢 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. same couple as "when the moon howls". can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him.

pretty nails

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: javi pays for your manicure 😏

wicked whims

read here - 💘 status: oneshot/completed. pairing: javier peña x f!reader. (same couple as "pretty nails") summary: javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.

[babykittenteach]

Re: Theft

You ever watch a crime drama where a detective is going around trying to talk to witnesses and everyone's too scared to say anything?

Okay, imagine basically a year of that.

Last April is when I noticed first that he'd basically yoinked some tags I left on another person's post to make his own post. Then I saw him do something like that to someone else that I didn't know and couldn't talk to.

Then I saw someone post about their fic idea they were working on, people reblogged all excited, including me. Then about an hour or so later PCCP began his own fic with the same idea.

The general post yoinking kept on for a while, and then I assume people know at this point that the fic thing happened to [a writer] I talked to [a writer] privately about it and encouraged blocking. They worked it out privately and I was asked to not pursue. Out of respect, I did not, but I kept paying attention, and I especially was not fond of the guilt tripping way PCCP talked about this.

This was roughly around the time bizarrelittlemew noticed he'd basically rewritten a post from someone else and reblogged the original so they were doing the rounds at the same time. A screenshot of that "coincidence" made the rounds as a funny post? Which was baffling to me.

I talked to at least two other authors who also didn't want to do any kind of confrontation. Add to that a couple other people who'd noticed he was taking post ideas. Still, no one wanted to go anywhere with it. Meanwhile, random fics happened that sounded similar to others --spaceship plots, BDSM clubs, etc. You can probably find these.

Last summer, I posted my first major fic for this fandom, on an account I actually had not intended to link to this art account. (I sort of wanted the writing to stand on its own, and also, I usually post fluffy things for art while writing can get messier.) That made me a no name, and the fic wasn't immediately noticed, but shortly after, I got a kudos from PCCP. And knowing what he had done to other people, I decided to own the fic on this relatively large account so that if he did anything he'd know it was me. And he did. The next day after kudosing the fic, he took a joke from it about Stede falling through the roof to make his own short tumblr fic. A little after that he messaged me to say he really loved my fic and was working on leaving a comment. That never happened, and I was unwilling to talk to him further privately because I have had experience with manipulators that will threaten you with their mental health. If I were going to confront him, I'd prefer witnesses.

This messed me up pretty bad, btw; I was previously in a fandom where someone just search and replaced my entire fic to be about a different ship. That was September.

In October, I was posting my own personal rewatch of S2, and I made a joke about a misheard lyric in part of my large post. A few hours later, PCCP made the same joke its own post. I lost my temper and tried again to talk to people. No one was particularly willing, and I didn't think at that point that any of the examples I personally had the right to share with people, since I'd been asked to drop it by others, would convince anyone.

So, I blocked him outright. The only reason I hadn't before then was because I was still trying to keep track of when he did this shit to people, and like motherfucking clockwork I get a message alerting me that he was posting a Woe Is Me spiel about getting blocked. Also, he was apparently soliciting donations in exchange for fic. Which is, you know, bad.

You'll notice I'm still being vague about examples, because I was asked to leave people out of it. Repeatedly. So I am. If you want more, you'll have to hope other writers come forward.

And basically none of this matters compared to racefaking and tumorfaking, but maybe it gives you a picture of someone with no fucking respect for other people who is willing to manipulate them to avoid consequences.

[steddieas-shegoes]

a birthday halfway forgot

for @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event 'birthday boy' using the prompt 'birthday' and 'age 30'

rated e, minors dni | 3132 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, band manager steve, established relationship, fucking on a motorcycle is ill-advised but they do it anyway, hand jobs, anal sex, domestic fluff

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

He’s looking at the calendar in shock. He didn’t know. He didn’t realize.

It’s January 26th.

It’s Eddie’s 30th birthday. It’s Gareth’s 27th birthday.

Somehow, he lost track of dates in all of the chaos of planning the next tour and being so focused on the April through September parts of the calendar.

“Shit.”

He immediately calls Jeff because he’s sure the next most mature human being in their codependent group of misfits hasn’t forgotten. There’s no way Jeff forgot.

“Shit,” he says when Steve asks.

He forgot.

“Okay. It’s not the end of the world! It’s still early.”

Steve looks at the clock. It is early, but they don’t have time to plan something.

“Make a reservation at that Italian place they both like. The one with the fried meatballs. I’ll get cake. It’ll be fine,” Steve is good in crisis. He’s proven time and time again how quickly he can fix problems on tour. He can do it for this, too. “They won’t know we forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Eddie asks from behind Steve.

“The appointment we made for everyone to see the doctor before tour!” Steve says, way too loud to be considered normal.

Luckily, Eddie is used to Steve being a little manic during the planning stages of tour and doesn’t question his volume or strained smile.

“Is that Gare? He was supposed to call me when he got up,” Eddie steps closer. “It’s almost noon; There’s no way he’s still asleep.”

“It’s Jeff.”

“Jeffery!” Eddie grabs the phone from Steve’s hand and waves his free hand around. “Haven’t you taken my husband away from me enough lately?”

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault they choose to handle most things themselves instead of outsourcing all the tour management to the label. It’s better if Steve and Jeff take care of things.

They talk for a few minutes and Steve decides he needs to pull out the phone book to find a bakery. It’s gonna be a hell of a challenge to find someone capable of personalizing a cake within a few hours, but if anyone can, it’s Steve.

Eddie ends up driving to Gareth’s instead of waiting for his call, which makes Steve’s life a lot easier. He finds a bakery— only had to call six before someone was willing— and tries not to worry too much about how much he’s paying just for a cake. They have money. They can afford an expensive cake.

Eddie and Gareth deserve it.

Steve cannot believe he forgot.

||||||||||||

“You forgot,” Eddie laughs.

The restaurant is empty except for the guys and a handful of staff ready to wait on their every want and need. There’s a balloon on the centerpiece of the table and one gift sitting next to it.

Steve groans.

“Jeff forgot, too.”

Eddie kisses his temple and walks over to the gift. Steve knows it’s Gareth’s gift. Eddie’s can’t be wrapped.

“Hey!” Jeff exclaims, but Eddie waves him off.

“We didn’t forget your birthdays, we just forgot what day it was entirely,” Steve continues. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says and really means it. Eddie doesn’t get upset about this stuff, Steve knows that. “Gareth and I had a bet.”

“That’s what you had to go over to talk to him about?” Steve looks over at Gareth, who is flirting with the waitress while everyone else sits at the table. “How much did you bet?”

“He bet that you guys forgot and wouldn’t remember until we told you. $200.”

“And you?”

Eddie laughs. “I bet that you’d remember in time to pull off a surprise but just barely. $500.”

“Wow. Does he even have that kinda money laying around?” Steve jokes. He does. They all do. They have more money than they need. Their money has money. Literally. It’s accruing interest in accounts.

“You know exactly how much money I have,” Gareth says as he lays an arm around Steve’s shoulders and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “You balanced my checkbook last week and I swear I’ve only spent a few grand since.”

Steve knows he’s joking, but his heart stutters in his chest anyway. Just because they have it doesn’t mean they should be frivolous with it. He knows they all know that, but Gareth is still quick to sign a check for pleasure sometimes.

“Happy birthday, Gare,” Steve says as he leans his head on top of Gareth’s. “Sorry we forgot a little.”

“Eh, it was only a little. We’re celebrating now. Plus, I’m only turning 27. Grandpa over here should start drafting his retirement announcement.”

“I would, but I haven’t developed arthritis yet,” Eddie says as he grabs one of the fried meatballs from the plate near the end of the table. “At the rate you crack your knuckles, you’ll be celebrating your 28th in a care facility.”

“Alright, enough. Let’s order drinks and stop making the staff nervous,” Steve starts to gather everyone to the table, take the lead the way he usually does. It’s natural, and easy, and fun. He likes being the beacon of responsibility for this group. It’s different from his role with the kids in Hawkins— less life or death most of the time— but still a glorified babysitter position. “Behave like the adults you claim to be.”

“Wayne Munson just came out of your mouth,” Eddie says as he sits. “Not sure I like it.”

Steve ignores the bait. He’ll never get them all to be decent guests at this restaurant if he keeps going back and forth with Eddie.

They spend so much time together already, but it’s never difficult to be around each other. They really are codependent at this point; Where one goes, at least one more will follow and he’ll bring beer and sarcasm.

Gareth opens his present, eyes shining when he sees that everyone chipped in to get him the record player he loved when they went to an old record shop in Chicago. It was considered antique and the owner of the shop wasn’t even interested in selling it to him, but Steve is a convincing guy, and the rest of the guys pulled out their own checkbooks to make it happen.

They grabbed a few records for him, too, but he’s already talking about the list he has and where they can find them. Everyone listens because it’s his birthday, only throwing in jibes occasionally instead of constantly. It’s his birthday so they’re taking it easy.

“I guess my gift is these fried meatballs,” Eddie finally says. He doesn’t sound disappointed; That’s how much he loves the fried meatballs.

“Your gift is at home,” Steve pats his knee, dismissive.

Eddie wiggles his brows. “From everyone or just you?”

“Part of it is from everyone,” Steve allows.

“I’m ready to go!” Eddie claps his hands. “Thanks for coming, happy birthday to my birthday twin, blah blah blah.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and reaches for one of the meatballs on Eddie’s plate.

“Just remember the part that came from all of us is not the part you’re so excited about,” he says with his mouth full.

“Love you all, but I definitely have no interest in fucking any of you. See ya!” He waves as he gets up and leaves.

Everyone looks at Steve. He pats Gareth on the shoulder and smiles at everyone else.

“See you guys tomorrow. Not early, though. Unless you wanna see something you’ll never forget,” Steve winks.

Everyone groans but they wave and say goodbye with smiles on their faces.

Eddie’s sitting in the passenger seat when Steve gets to the car. He’s a passenger princess through and through and Steve loves him for it.

“Step on it, baby!”

Steve steps on it, but maintains the speed limit because the last thing they need is a ticket.

||||||

He doesn’t park in the garage because he can’t.

Eddie’s immediately suspicious.

“It’s supposed to rain early in the morning. Don’t you wanna pull the car in?” He asks.

“Can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve smirks. Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt and practically falls out of the car as he bangs on the garage door.

“Open it!” He yells at Steve, who has the button in the car, but thinks this is way more entertaining than doing what Eddie asks. He could always unlock the door and get inside that way, but he knows Eddie realizes what his present is now.

They went all out for his 30th. Even the kids got involved. Wayne picked it out. This has been their best kept secret for months.

The fact that Steve forgot today was the day is crazy in hindsight. He’s had this date circled as delivery day for nearly a month.

Steve finally pushes the button to open the door and Eddie barely waits for it to be lifted above his waist before he’s ducking inside. He screams. High-pitched, girlish in nature, entertaining as hell. Steve almost wishes he could’ve thought to bring the camcorder with him to record this special moment.

“Steve!” Eddie exclaims when he’s done squealing. “A Harley?!”

Steve casually walks into the garage and wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist, kissing his temple.

“Wayne said this is really close to the one you liked when you two went on that trip together,” Steve explains. “We can always paint it if the color isn’t right.”

“It’s perfect. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect,” he babbles, leaving Steve’s arm to sit on the seat, bouncing once as if to test how squishy the seat is.

It’s squishy. Steve checked.

“The helmet even has bats painted on it!” Eddie reaches for the helmet hanging from the handle. “And my name! Stevie!”

“And the helmet is required. Even if you’re just going to Gareth’s house or to the store. No helmet, no motorcycle,” Steve places his hands on his hips. He means business and Eddie knows it better than anyone that safety comes before fun, always.

“I know, I know. I can’t believe this,” Eddie says, still in awe. “I didn’t think you’d ever cave. Who convinced you?”

See, Eddie’s wanted his own bike for at least four years now, ever since he and Wayne went on a bike tour of the Appalachian Mountains. Steve wasn’t necessarily against it, he just knew they didn’t have much time at home to enjoy it, and he did worry that Eddie wouldn’t prioritize safety over fun if he got carried away.

He hates that Frankie of all people managed to convince him by saying there’s nothing hotter than fucking on a Harley.

He’s hoping Frankie’s right.

Instead of answering the question, Steve presses the button that closes the garage door and walks over to the bike.

“You ready for part two?”

“I don’t even know how this can get any better, but sure,” Eddie looks up at him with wide eyes.

Steve pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and strips off his pants and underwear. He shivers, but not because he’s cold. Winter looks a lot different in California than it did in Hawkins, that’s for sure.

“Oh my god. I must be dreaming,” Eddie grins as he leans back, making room for Steve to straddle his thighs on the bike.

It’s a sturdy bike, so he’s not too worried about it falling over while they do this, but a small voice in his head is still telling him to make small movements. He’s not letting Eddie fuck him on this thing until they test it like this.

Steve’s half-hard at the thought of Eddie holding him up on this thing, letting him bounce on his cock. Maybe he’s fantasized about Eddie being a mechanic fixing his car and Steve’s only way to pay for the labor is to ride him until they’re both sweaty and messy, oil stains leaving fingerprints on Steve’s skin.

That’s not what’s happening now, and won’t actually happen ever, but this is close enough.

“Been thinking about you touching me all day,” Steve admits. It’s true, but he’s playing it up a little, fluttering his eyelashes a little. “I wanna take a ride, too.”

“I’ve gotta be the luckiest man in the world,” Eddie groans as he wraps his hand around Steve’s length, squeezing the head of his cock and jerking his hand a few times to bring him to full hardness. “I’ve had this exact dream.”

“How’d the dream go?” Steve gasps as Eddie touches him the right way over and over. He’s good at this, always has been. He finds the right pace and pressure, and he just keeps going, listening for any sign that Steve’s not feeling perfect.

“I got to make you come and then lay you down on the seat and lick you clean,” Eddie ends on a moan. “Please let me do that, baby. I’ll do anything.”

Steve nods, would never stop Eddie from doing that. This sounds like a dream he’s had, too.

His hands hold onto Eddie’s shoulders as he tilts his hips up to push into Eddie’s grasp. He’s close, so close already. He doesn’t think they’ll ever stop being embarrassingly quick when they get their hands on each other.

It’s a gift to know someone so well that you feel like teenagers every time you touch each other.

“C’mon,” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “Make a mess, baby.”

Steve’s always been good at following directions. He moans as he comes, paints his own stomach and Eddie’s hand, opens his eyes to see cum dripping onto the seat under him. He’s sure Eddie doesn’t mind.

He feels shaky, unstable, but only because the bike rocks under them as Eddie pulls his own shirt off and stands, moving Steve so he’s laying back. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s hot as hell.

Eddie licks the cum off Steve’s stomach and dick, takes his time while Steve sucks on his fingers. They’re both still worked up too much to stop, and now that Steve’s slowly coming down, he realizes he wants Eddie to fuck him. Now.

“Get your pants off,” Steve demands.

“Say please,” Eddie teases before sucking a bruise into Steve’s hip.

“Please,” Steve begs, because it’s Eddie’s birthday and he’s gonna do whatever Eddie wants. Eddie likes when he begs a little, even though they both know there’s no need for it. “Fuck me.”

“You look so good like this,” Eddie says as he shoves his pants off. “Not even sure I need to drive this thing if I can have you like this all the time.”

“No more band? Touring? Just fucking me on your motorcycle?” Steve’s laugh turns into a groan when Eddie’s finger circles his hole. “Not sure we can back out of this tour now.”

“You and I both know I’ll find plenty of places to fuck you on tour,” Eddie smiles down at him. “Comfy or do you need to move?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m okay for now. Just want you inside me.”

Eddie opens him up efficiently, doesn’t rub against his prostate until he’s got three fingers inside him.

Trying to stay still is proving to be difficult, and Steve’s pretty sure their pushing the limits of the kickstand.

“C’mon, I’m good. I’m ready,” Steve says. “Fuck me, Eddie, c’mon.”

Fucking on a motorcycle is not easy to do, but they’ve actually fucked in more difficult positions before.

One time, Steve fucked Eddie over an amp backstage. It wasn’t wide enough for either of them to properly sit on, but they managed. They had bruises and some strange red marks for a day or two, but it was worth it.

Another time, the hotel they were staying in had a balcony. Kind of. It was barely more than a small extension of the room with an iron bar around it, but they put that iron bar to the test. It passed, they were sore.

They have to be slow, slower than they normally would be. Steve doesn’t wanna have to bring it in for scuff marks to be buffed out if it falls over on day one.

If he were less flexible, maybe a little older, he’d have to call it. His legs are tight around Eddie’s waist and he’s using more of his ab muscles than he’s used in years to maintain his own stability.

Eddie blankets himself over Steve, barely moving in and out of him. The friction of Steve’s leaking cock against his stomach is probably enough to get him there.

Eddie brushes Steve’s bangs off his face, kisses his forehead, and moans when Steve clenches around his cock.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “You’re the best gift.”

Steve kisses him, mouth open, tongue licking over his teeth. It’s wet and messy, and it’s perfect. The phone’s ringing inside the house, but they’re too close to care about trying to answer. They’ll leave a message.

They both come together, whimpering into each others’ mouths as Eddie’s hips stutter and Steve’s legs fall.

Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. He pulls out slowly, and they both wince at the loss of being filled and being surrounded.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I wanna take this for a ride,” Eddie helps Steve off the bike. “You got a helmet?”

Steve nods. “I assumed you’d want me to come with you at least once.”

“I’ve had dreams, Stevie.”

They both laugh and the phone starts ringing again. Eddie sighs and rushes to get inside.

“Hello?” Steve follows, closing the door behind him. His legs feel numb, almost enough to make him stumble. “Gare, you knew what my gift was and you’re still calling?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Of course I love it. No, you can’t come over for a ride tonight. No, you can’t drive it. No!” Steve is giggling as he kisses Eddie’s shoulder on his way past him to their room. “I don’t care if it’s your birthday, too. It’s my gift.”

Steve drops his clothes in the basket and goes into the bathroom to start the shower. He has no doubt that they’ll get messy again before the night’s over, but they should try to look decent if they’re taking the Harley out for a spin.

He hears Eddie telling Gareth not to call back until tomorrow as he steps into the hot water.

Gareth will worm his way into driving it by the end of the week, Steve’s sure of it. Eddie’s got a soft spot for him that can be seen from space. That’s why there’s a helmet for Gareth sitting in a box in the living room.

Steve thought of everything.

“Does cum stain leather?” Eddie asks as he steps into the shower.

Steve’s brows furrow.

Maybe he didn’t think of everything.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :) 

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison. 

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself. 

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up. 

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen. 

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips. 

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs. 

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission. 

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all. 

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach. 

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness. 

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough. 

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out. 

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry. 

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance. 

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too. 

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first. 

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums. 

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige. 

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes. 

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly,  scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige. 

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence. 

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind. 

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts. 

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it. 

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night. 

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box. 

To her royal highness, 

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do. 

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours, 

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is. 

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible. 

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand. 

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else. 

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said. 

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest  look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender. 

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body. 

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum. 

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips. 

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself. 

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters. 

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK. 

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today.  From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her. 

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments. 

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all. 

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance. 

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm. 

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple. 

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this. 

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference. 

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter. 

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation. 

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige. 

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles. 

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body. 

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly. 

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow. 

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly. 

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now. 

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go,  really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe. 

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk. 

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie. 

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look 

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too. 

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out. 

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch. 

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly. 

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses 

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself. 

“What is?” 

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold. 

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her. 

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple. 

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people. 

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone. 

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone. 

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever. 

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone. 

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

[hoodedjelly]

Sleep walk BTS post!

will go in depth with my process and put better quality drawings in here!

Before any of this i was listening to several fiddauthor/ford playlists to hear a song that really got my brain moving. Funny enough i didn't get Sleep walk from one of the 100+ song playlists i was listening to, it was in my oc playlist (thats a mad scientist who would've thought). Originally i wanted to make a fiddauthor animatic (who knows maybe i will), but THIS SONG just caught my brain in a way i couldn't refuse.

So i technically started working on it the late night of September 27, exactly a week ago! which yes yes i hear you all in unison go "WHAT???" to that, and all I have to say to that is.... I have untreated adhd and lots of caffeine in my system! (honestly felt like ford sometimes while workin on that animatic)

Started it off with some notes, then thumbnails. I had my tbob AND J3 open next to me stood up with clips for reference (prob looked a little insane looking back but its fine)

now for the rough animatic! i did this in Adobe animate 2022 (i'll get back to that later) the only thing that really got changed was i wanted to add the diner scene from j3. i realize now that it messed up the timeline i was going for with the animatic but i like to think things are out of order because of the state ford is in, things start to merge together.

After i sat with this rough animatic for a bit, i wasn't sure if i was going to make it in Adobe animate (what i usually do) or make it all in Clip Studio Paint. I wanted this animatic to be way more visually interesting then i usually do, so CSP it is. But! i only have CSP Pro, so i had to draw and export every single new frame from this animatic.

it was a little tedious at first (again never done an animatic like this before) but i got used to it! I edited it all together in CapCut and thats really it!

The missing J3 pages from TBOB spoke to me in a way that im not fully comfortable talking about to my followers. I put a lot of myself in this animatic then i'd want to realize, it's very important to me. The night when i uploaded it i was literally shaking with anxiety (and caffeine-) but the overwhelming support for it is really amazing, thank you so much! if you have any more questions please ask away i love talking about the art process.

Below im going to talk about the code and put HD backgrounds!

thank you for dyemro on here for cracking the code first! now i can talk about my insane little thought process about it

So i never planned to add a code until halfway through with the animatic. i was watching ThatGFFan videos and him talking about gravity falls codes got my brain cooking. i wanted something sweet and simple (i realize with dyemro's post it wasn't as simple as i thought, give me some slack it's my first time). like what you should with making codes you start at the end. And i wanted something that was a nice send off for drawing ford be fucking miserable for 1 minute and 30 seconds.

so i got this. (honestly every time i look at this drawing after finishing the animatic it makes me real emotional)

There are 4 codes in this whole animatic 0:02, 0:15, 0:30, and 0:58

wanted the first one to be REAL noticeable so people can stop and be like "wait... theres stuff in here". people usually think to use the bill symbols, but no! from the description theres a little hint to use the Author symbols

doing that code it leads to: imgu r.com /a/uZa iVfu (and if you know that double line a under a letter means capitalization + im a dumb dumb that used a code image that didn't have a Z so thats just a normal Z)

it makes a LINK! > imgur.com/a/uZaiVfu <

now enough of that boring stuff, heres some HD screenshots and backgrounds of my fav parts

[ladyylesbian]

Sorority Rules (18+)

Pairing: dom!wandanat x sub!fem!original character

Summary: ‘New Year, New Me’ can start in September...right?

Warnings: MINORS DNI! Pet names, mommy kink, daddy kink, reader has a name? (Honestly idk anymore, tell me if I missed something?)

Word Count: 11.2k

A/N: This really was just me proving something to myself, but I hope you enjoy it all the same :) Continuation of this story is on AO3

you do not have permission to translate/repost my works anywhere! all mistakes are mine and mine alone. likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome & appreciated <3

Freshman year left you beat down on the floor. You had been roomed with a girl named Hela. The two of you had hit it off instantly. In fact, you spent so much time together that everyone would know if they found one of you, then they could find the other nearby, definitely helped that you somehow had the exact same class schedule. By the end of the first semester, Hela asked you out and one week later, she asked you to be her girlfriend. 

What was the happiest month turned dark and lonely. Hela spent more and more of her time focused on her sorority since being officially accepted. She had set completely insane restraints on you. You had to text her every hour whenever you were apart, it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t acknowledge your messages. She even would rarely show up at the dorm room to sleep, claiming that the sorority house was where she needed to be, but demanded a picture of you in bed every night. 

You had long since given up expecting to see her anywhere but during classes, however, when she sat down with the other girls in her sorority looking you right in the eyes as she did, you finally broke. That was your time together and she was so obviously picking them.

That only snowballed into her eating lunch in the quad with them too. She took you to a few sorority parties and introduced you to her ‘favorite person’ and sorority big sister, Carol. The two were attached at the hip which quickly left you to nurse a drink off in the corner. 

You didn’t have the backbone to say anything, blindly hoping she would realize how much she missed you and run back.

It wasn’t until right before the end of year finals that Hela had stayed back in the dorm room once again. The two of you would study nonstop and laugh and joke. Everything you had spent months wishing for was happening. The girl you liked was back.

After finishing your last final before Summer break, you waited for her in the hallway. Less than 15 minutes later she pushed open the classroom door and stepped out. You locked eyes and she rushed up and gave you a hug. “Thank you so much, Madelyn. I really could not have passed these finals without you.”

Smiling warmly at the raven haired girl, “Always. It’s you and me all the time. I couldn’t show up to sophomore year without you next to me.”

Her eyes fell downwards before slowly reaching yours again. “About that, Madelyn, I think we should end things. You are just in such a different place than me and I am changing my major, so we won’t be in the same classes anyways. Not to mention, you can really blow up my phone and I am just not into that. But thank you so much for the help this year.” You can’t help but stare at her wide eyed, blinking repeatedly as you try to process her words. She pats your cheek before turning around and walking down the hall “Have a good summer!”

The only thought running thought your mind is ‘what the fuck.”

-

You cannot believe this day is finally here, sophomore year of college. After a thoroughly disastrous freshman year, you are determined to completely turn your life around. A new roommate, new classes, if you can be picky, then hopefully a solid friend group will be thrown in there too. 

It was still a few days before the actual first day of classes, but you wanted to get into your new dorm and settle in. There were quite a lot of other students with the same idea, all unpacking their parents cars that were stuffed full. You quickly paid the taxi driver and hopped out the back seat. He opened the trunk and lifted your suitcase onto the road. 

Dragging your bag up the sidewalk and settling in the line waiting for the booth to find your new dorm room and collect the room key. You look around, wondering if your new roommate is in this same crowd, thinking if her parents are holding back tears as they hug her goodbye. 

Thankfully, before you can stumble too far down that path, you reach the front of the line. “Name and year?” 

“Oh, uh, Madelyn Andrews. Sophomore.” She flips through the pages and finds your name with ease. Looking down into her organized box of keys, she picks up on set, “Room 616.”

With a soft smile, you accept the key and head towards the sophomore dorms.

Thankfully, there’s an elevator in all the dorm buildings once you’re no longer a freshman. You always joked that it was the university’s way of hazing the entire freshman class. 

The slow elevator had you wondering if you could have walked the stairs and ended up there faster, but eventually, opened onto the sixth floor. You held your breath as you walked up to your door. 

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface and straining to try and hear any movement. It sounded completely empty inside. With a quick ‘thank you’ to the skies above, you push the key into the lock and turn, opening the door. 

Unsurprisingly, it is the same layout as your freshman year dorm, not that you were superstitious, but in the spirit of completely turning your life around you opted for the bed on the right this time.

It didn’t take more than an hour for you to put away your clothes and set up the small mementos of your friends from back home. Walking back over to your suitcase, you pull out a small blanket that barely is long enough to cover your legs and hide it under your pillow. 

Laying on your new bed and scrolling your university’s Instagram page, trying to find something to do that can pass the time. That’s when you see there is an early bird trivia event being hosted at the student center in ten minutes. 

Taking a second to think, you come to the conclusion that this is the perfect chance to meet new people. Reinvent yourself as someone social, someone beyond only one friend turned girlfriend. 

Softly pushing yourself off the elevated bed, you walk over to the shared closet and pull out your favorite white crew neck in case the temperature drops after sunset. With an unbalanced turn, you spin around and pull on your black and gray checkered vans. Hopping over to the mirror to give yourself a fast once over then heading straight out the door.

It’s only a short walk to the student center from your dorm this year, which you’re thankful for, perfect for meeting new people. 

Remembering how heavy the student center door is, you pull hard on the handle. The universe must be laughing at you because that seemed to be the wrong choice. The usually heavy door was light this year and you have just thrown the door as wide as it would go, causing a decently loud sound. 

A few students near the door look at you, but thankfully the other students further into the building haven’t seemed to notice a thing. Which is where the trivia is being held, so you awkwardly walk through the doors and inside.

“Hello, welcome to early bird trivia: musicals. Are you joining a team or registering a new one?” states a wide eyed brunette woman. 

“Oh, I didn’t know we had to have a team..” you begin to look around for anyone you might vaguely recognize. “Not a worry, dear. We have another girl looking for a team too. You two can partner up.” She starts to wave over a blonde, who’s smiling bigger than you would think possible.

She continues, “This is..” she pauses waiting for you. “Madelyn.” 

“And she needs a team as well. So, what will the team name be?”

Before you even have a moment to think of something clever, the blonde speaks up, “Mac n Cheese Lovers.” You cannot help but snort at her abruptness. The brunette hands you a paper and pencil to write down your answers on, “Good luck ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers.”

Following the blonde over to a table near the smoothie bar along the left wall, as she sits down she introduces herself, “Hey. My name is Yelena. I hope you like Mac n Cheese or this team name will be super awkward,” she snickers.

You shake your head slightly, “The name is perfectly fitting. I’m a huge fan,” you laugh, “My name is Madelyn. It’s nice to meet you. So what year are you in?”

“Sophomore,” the blonde replies, “How about you?”

“Same, sophomore.” The two of you continue with small talk for a couple minutes until you hear the game host start speaking. He gives a quick introduction of his name and lets everyone know he’s the student activity director, so he plans all university approved events. Which leads him to a quick warning that means no drinking or drugs at these events since he’s required to report them to the Dean. Then, he gets into the trivia rules.

Once he finishes, Yelena leans over to you, “We have to win. Or at least beat my annoying sister and her girlfriend.” 

You raise your eyebrow at the woman, “If you knew people, how come you didn’t team up with them?”

She waves off your question before pointing them out, “See those two redheads? That’s them. They are insufferable at any sort of competition. We need to show them up and win, so I hope you’re a musical lover because I am most certainly not a musical theater major,” she chuckles as she finishes her sentence.

“They do look insufferable,” you agree with the blonde, “and lucky for you, while I am not a musical theater major, I am a lover of Broadway, so get ready to kick some ass.”

Yelena claps you on the back and laughs, “I like you, Madelyn. Let's do this.”

“Okay, everyone, first question. What musical movie has the song ‘It's the Hard-Knock Life’?”

You quickly write down ‘Annie’ on the paper next to the number one as he repeats the first question.

“Second question, the musical Hairspray is set in what American city?”

Once again, you write down ‘Baltimore’ immediately next to the number two as he repeats the question. 

And the process repeats itself all the way to the end. You, unsurprisingly, knew every answer, besides two. Thankfully Yelena seemed very confident in the answers, which led you to learning that while she was not an overall musical lover, she was obsessed with ‘SIX’, claiming ‘they all should have just murdered that idiotic king’. 

By the end, you and Yelena are laughing together and being shushed by other teams around you trying to think. Yelena pays them no mind while she tries to watch and see if her sister and her girlfriend are guessing the answers correctly by the way she’s writing. You tried to tell her that would be impossible to know, but the blonde paid you as little mind as she did the surrounding teams. 

Finally, the host announces for everyone to settle down and starts going over the list of correct answers. Yelena is practically levitating off the seat with how excited she is. Your team got every question right. “Okay everyone, count up your total of correct answers.” He waits a few seconds before beginning again, “raise your hand if your team got more than five correct.”

Faster than lightning, Yelena's hand is in the air, yours follows quickly. “Raise your hand if your team got more than ten correct.” Three other teams' hands go down. “Raise your hand if your team got more than fifteen correct.” Another two teams’ hands lower. Leaving your team, two other teams, and Yelena’s sister’s team, much to the blonde’s annoyance. 

“Raise your hand if you got more than seventeen correct.” One team puts their hands down. “Raise your hand if you got more than eighteen correct.” The other team drops their hands. Making the final two teams, ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’ and ‘Traitors’, if you were to believe Yelena. 

“Looks like we have a tight race everyone, how exciting, keep your hands up if you got all twenty questions correct.” A moment of tense silence falls over the room, the redheads slowly lower their hands. A loud, piercing scream sounds off beside you, “Yes! Ha! I won! So much for ‘Yelena you don't know anything about musicals. Go find your own team’.” The blonde begins doing her victory dance as you laugh. She grabs your hand and motions for you to victory dance with her. And how could you say no when you are equally excited about the win.

“We have our winners, everyone congratulations to..” the host drags off his sentence.

“Mac n Cheese Lovers!” the two of you say while laughing and dancing together.

“Congratulations to ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’. Thank you to everyone for coming out and starting off this year with a bang! I will see you at the next activity!” Slowly everyone staggers out of the student center and into the night as you’re exchanging Instagrams with Yelena and saying your goodbyes. 

Not even three steps away from the table, you hear someone speaking to Yelena, “Clearly, you didn’t win with your own lack of knowledge. So, what’s her name?” Not wanting to look back and have them know you’re listening, you keep walking as you hear Yelena reply “Madelyn. Why?”

Cursing yourself for not slowing down because now you’re too far away to keep trying to listen, you look over your shoulder right before walking out the doors. Locking eyes with two pairs of green eyes staring back at you.

-

Spending most of your days walking around campus and figuring out the quickest way to each of your classes, then finding a second route.., and a third route, just in case. Eventually making your way to the cafeteria since it’s the only food place open on campus until classes begin and sitting out in the quad people watching as more and more people arrive. You haven’t met up with the blonde, or the two mysterious redheads, you met at trivia since. However, you are often sending memes back and forth which you take as a small step towards your first new friend of the year. 

It’s officially one day until classes start and you still haven’t met your roommate. You have considered walking back to the welcome booth and asking if you even have a roommate since it’s extremely uncommon to not be moved into the dorms by this time. 

As much as most people would love to strike luck and get a free single, that is the absolute last thing you want. 

The universe finally seems to answer your silent worrying and wishing as you hear someone fumbling with the keys outside your door. Quickly, you hop from the bed and rush to open the door. Coming face to face with a dark haired brunette.

“Oh, good, you’re moved in already!” Taken aback by the woman’s words, your focus shifts between her and the large number of boxes next to her in the hallway.

“Do, uh, do you need help?”

“That’d be great. My name’s Kate. You’re Madelyn, right?”

A wave of shock hits you at hearing someone you’ve never met know your name. Seeing the look on your face causes Kate to laugh. She starts to shimmy inside and you hurriedly move to the side, so she can walk in easier. Once she’s in, you step out of the room and pick up one of the boxes. “It is, yeah. So, where do you want this?”

“You can just throw everything on the bed.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to move everything into the small dorm. Laughing as you both try to move around with the now limited floor space since Kate’s bed was quickly filled up with boxes. 

After an offer to help the brunette unpack her things, you figure out she is quite uncaring about her clothes, but she is very particular about her bow. You learn she joined the school archery team last year, but already stands to make captain for her second year. 

She tells you about how last year, on a dare, she hit the bell tower with an arrow. “So, you were the one who caused the crack in the bell tower?” Covering your mouth to try and hide your laugh. She looks at you with wide eyes, “I can’t confirm or deny which clock tower it was.”  

Which only causes you to lose all control and laugh wildly out loud. 

-

Successfully surviving the first four weeks of your second year in college, you get to celebrate at the first football game of the season. Thankfully, Kate is not into the sorority scene like your ex was, so you can go to the game together rather than alone.

With your back against your bed and your feet up the side of the wall, you’re waiting for Kate to get back from her archery practice. She made captain last week which led to you both sneaking out of the dorm at midnight and walking to the nearest pizzeria for a celebratory pizza. Your memory was promptly interrupted by the door slamming into the wall, “Shit. Sorry.”

Laughing at Kate’s mumbled apology to the girls next door who always complain about you two being unnecessarily loud. The brunette throws her sweaty t-shirt at your face which you quickly launch back at her as she softly shuts the door. 

“Hurry up and get ready, Bishop. The game starts in thirty minutes and you smell like a wet dog.”

“Your words are so sweet. Dipped in honey I would say,” Kate’s words laced with sarcasm as she playfully flips you off while kicking off her shoes. 

“Only in honey? You don’t get the soft rose petals or melted chocolate too?” Your words only earn you a deadpan stare from the archer. With a grunt, you push yourself off the wall and sit upright, “Don’t forget that tonight is a black out game, so you need to be in all black to show support.”

“Oh yes, I would hate not to show support. Unfortunately, all my black clothes are currently dirty-”

“I know, which is why I took the liberty of doing our laundry earlier today. Your outfit is laid out on the bed.” You say with a smile and move to make your fingers into the shape of a heart.

Kate can’t help but roll her eyes and laugh, “Of course, you did.” Walking up to her shower bag and picking it up, she heads to the door. “I will be back in no less than 10 minutes, Sargeant,” winking at you, knowing you hate the nickname, before quickly mumbling out, “and thank you for doing my laundry. You’re the best.” and walking out of the room.

Rushing a quick ‘You’re welcome’ out before the door shut. You begin getting dressed yourself, deciding on a black halter top and some black jean shorts with your black high-top converses. Throwing your hair up into a high ponytail, then pulling out your baby hairs so you don’t look like an egg.

True to her word, Kate walks back in 10 minutes later as you put headphones in and stare at the ceiling, you give your roommate privacy to get ready. 

Feeling your headphones ripped out of your ears causes you to face the archer as she smiles, “How do I look? Andrews approved?” Kate stands in front of you in black long sleeve cropped top and blacked ripped jeans.

Jokingly, you raise an eyebrow at her, faking a moment of contemplation before returning the smile, “You look hot. You will definitely grab whoever’s attention you want.”

“I don’t want anyone's attention, '' the brunette scoffs.  

“Sure you don’t and I don’t hope that my 7am professor is sick on Monday,” you retort.

“I don’t even think she is gonna be there,” Kate starts pulling on the sleeves of her shirt, “I don’t think football games are her thing.”

You take a moment to consider what to say. It’s been months since you had a crush on anyone and wanted to try and impress a girl. When you first found out your roommate started crushing on someone, you had been relentless in attempting to have her confess who it was. But as stubborn as you were, Kate was also head strong in keeping her secret. 

“Her loss then. We can post a picture and she’ll see everything she misses out on by skipping the game,” you wink. Linking arms, you and Kate walk out of the dorm and head to the field. 

The first stop you both make is the concession stand since food is the top priority any time the two of you leave the dorm together. Ordering you both an ICEE, yours being coke flavored and Kate’s cherry, and a hot dog each. 

Once arriving at your seats, you turn around and ask the girls behind you if they could take a picture for you. You both hold up your ICEEs, smiling as you cheer for the picture. 

Kate posts the picture on her Instagram, tagging you, and captions the post ‘I’m only here for the ICEEs’.

Quickly commenting ‘and my amazing company’ under her post. Then posting the picture onto your story with hearts underneath.

It’s not until the third quarter that you both finally relent and head to the bathrooms. While standing in line chatting about nothing and everything, the archer tenses beside you and presses herself between you and the wall, “what are yo-”

Kates proceeds to shush you and shrinks further into her hiding spot. Looking around to try and see what has your roommate acting so strange, you come up short since you don’t recognize anyone.

That is until you glance over to the concession line and notice Yelena, who you met your first day back on campus. Quickly turning around to Kate, “Oh, Kate. Do you remember how I told you I met this hilarious girl my first day back?“ You point over to the blonde, “She’s right there. Her name is Yelena.”

The brunette’s face pales suddenly. Worry rushes through you and your eyes immediately start scanning for what’s upset your friend so badly. Until it clicks, “Kate…Oh, Katie,” you start to whisper, “ is Yelena who you have a crush on?”

Her eyes met yours and you can tell you’re right. “I totally know her. I can introduce you if you want. Granted, I haven’t actually spoken with her for over a month, BUT we regularly exchange memes.”

Before Kate could give any response to you, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around.

“Madelyn, I thought it was you! How have you been?” Yelena says with a big smile on her face.

“I’m great. Settling into my classes and wishing I didn’t sign up for a 7am lecture that I completely don’t understand and will need to find a tutor for, the usual. How about you?”

As the blonde opens her mouth to reply, she notices Kate, “Bishop? Madelyn and Bishop? You two know each other?” .

“Roommates,” You both say at the same time before you continue, “We’re roommates. How do you know Kate?”

“She’s my lab partner,” she leans around you and looks at the brunette, “We have a project coming up and I’ve been meaning to reach out and figure out a time that works for you,” she runs her fingers through her blonde hair nervously.

A sneaky smile goes across your face, realizing that Yelena also seems to have a crush on Kate.

The archer stands up suddenly at her crush’s words, “I have archery practice most days, but I’m free on Tuesdays after 3pm, if that works.” 

Yelena simply smiles back, “Tuesdays are great, except, I’m in class until 4. How about you come to my apartment, it’s five minutes from campus, and we can eat and start our research?”

“Off campus?”

“Yeah, my sister and her girlfriend wanted to have a secluded place away from the sorority and invited me to stay there too.”

You nod, listening to the two speak while also trying to give them privacy by looking anywhere else in the slowest moving restroom line.

Suddenly, Yelena’s phone goes off, “Speaking of the devil,” she answers.

You can’t hear whoever it is super well over the crowd cheering at what must have been the best touchdown of the game but once they quiet down you hear that voice again from trivia night, the redheaded sister of Yelena.

The blonde turns over her shoulder to look near the concession line she just came from, “I just want a coke.” You look over in the same direction as Yelena, “No, I don’t want anything else. I will be right back. I was just saying ‘hey’ to Madelyn and Bishop. Get your underwear out of a twist. I’m heading back now. Bye.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest when you finally notice the redhead in line. Making eye contact with her deep green eyes for longer than normal which causes Kate to nudge your shoulder as it’s finally your turn to walk into the restroom.

“Sorry,” you mumble to your roommate before turning back with one final look, receiving a wink from both women.

Kate gives a quick goodbye to Yelena before she walks away and then pushes you through the door.

Your roommate tries to ask you about it in the restroom, but you firmly shut down that topic and turn the conversation around on her. If you had known her crush was on Yelena, then you would have tried long ago to set them up on a blind date. Which is probably why the brunette didn't say who she was spending her days thinking about.

Making your way back to the seats, thankfully, without running into anyone else, you try to wipe the redhead’s face out of your memory, feeling incredibly embarrassed for your behavior when seeing her. 

The last quarter of the game passes in a blur that you aren’t even aware the game ended until you notice the football players celebrating on the field and groups of people moving around you to leave at the same time. You glance up to the scoreboard and see the score, 30-28, your team winning.

Pulling out your phone, you swipe to pull up Instagram and post the scoreboard to your story, ‘our blood, our sweat, your tears’.

Linking your arm with Kate to make sure neither of you get lost on the way out of the stadium, the cool fall breeze whips at your shoulders the second you make it outside, but you welcome it after squeezing against every sweaty jock trying to get out of the stadium at the same time.

The two of you quietly laugh together when you look back to see people squeezing through the doors you just came through. 

Neither of you are paying attention and accidentally bump into someone, to your dismay it was Yelena’s sister. Your body goes rigid at the sight of her. A scowl on her face until she settles her eyes on you then she gives you a soft smile.

“So, so, so sorry about that. We should have paid more attention.” The redhead’s smile slowly grows bigger as you continue talking. “Sorry again.”

You go to turn away and drag Kate along when you feel a warm hand softly wrap around your bicep, “No, I should be ashamed for not giving you more attention when you’re around,” smirking slightly at you.

A small blush rushes to your cheeks, opening and closing your mouth a few times before giving a gentle nod to the woman before turning around again.

Once you are out of hearing range from the redhead, Kate starts laughing, “Oh, you’re like a fly trapped in the spider's web.”

With a quick glare to your roommate and a prompt slap to the arm, “Shut up.”

-

As you lay on your bed, winding down your night time routine, you decide to scroll Instagram. Liking posts from your roommate and best friend, Kate’s, account. You didn’t think you would get as close to the girl as you had, but the two of you got along surprisingly well. Usually, you would be watching a new episode of Grey's Anatomy together tonight, however, Kate finally gathered her nerves and asked out Yelena, her lab partner, on a date. 

Squealing and bouncing in your tiny dorm room bed, “Shut up! You did it? You finally admitted you have a crush on her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!” The brunette laughs in response, “I just asked if she would want to go out to the new ax-throwing bar that just opened up.” She throws herself down on her back onto your bed, frowning and sounding much more somber. “But, Madelyn, Yelena asked if we could go this Thursday. She has to go to the sorority party this Friday.”

Moving around until you're laying down shoulder to shoulder with her, “Psh. Don’t even start, you are going and maybe even getting a second date for Friday.” Wiggling your eyebrows at her and shoving your body slightly into her. 

“If that happens, then you’re coming with me. You need to get out and finally move on from your ex.” Placing your hand over your heart, you playfully scoff and wave off a mumbled agreement, trying to steer away from another possible conversation to find out who your ex is.

Smiling as you recall the memory, you suddenly hear the door to your dorm unlock. 

Kate whispers to someone in the hall, who you assume to be Yelena, “Of course, I’d love to. See you tomorrow.”

Quickly, she walks in and immediately places her back on the door to close it. A wide grin on your roommate's face as she looks over to your bed. First kicking off her shoes, then running to jump into your bed. You stare at her, waiting for her to begin.

Kate sighs before exclaiming, “SHE ASKED ME OUT TO THE SORORITY PARTY TOMORROW!” Wrapping your arms around your friend as you jump together over the great news.”Get ready, Madelyn, you and I are going to a party!”

“Wait, Kate,” You pull back to look at her wide eyed, “I thought you were kidding.”

-

The party started at least an hour ago, but because of your indecisiveness on what to wear, which ended up just being a simple v cut blue dress with white high tops. As you both walk up, you stare at the brick house bursting with music. You hear Kate talking, “Party Rules 101. Don’t forget not to go upstairs with anyone. Do not accept a drink from anyone who is not me. I know you will want to leave early, so do not go without telling or texting that you’re heading out either. Okay?”

You blink a few times before you recognize she wants a reply, “Got it.” She smiles at you and takes your hands before walking up the porch steps.

Kate knocks on the white door. You wonder how anyone would be able to hear the knock inside with how loud the music is playing, but not even five seconds later the door is open. The sound of the music makes you take a step back. Anxiety washing over you instantly as you look down. You don’t even hear the words spoken between your friend and the redhead opening the door. 

Kate’s hold on your hand tightens in hopes to reassure you before she pulls you along to step inside. It isn’t until Kate’s other hand waves to get your attention off the floor that you look up and realize both girls are staring at you expectedly. “I’m sorry, what?” you say softly.

The redhead chuckles and repeats herself, “Hi, I’m Wanda and the Vice President here. We have two bathrooms downstairs, one by the kitchen and one by the laundry room. Also, two upstairs just in case. Drinks, of course, are in the kitchen or the backyard. Is there anyone you are looking for that I can direct you towards? Or anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’m looking for Yelena actually. Do you know where she is?” Kate quickly replies. “She’s in the living room playing beer pong,” Wanda points over to her left, “Go right through there and you will find her.”

With lightning speed, Kate drops your hand and rushes off to find the blonde. Your mouth hangs open as you stare off in the direction she flew. 

The redhead laughs as she looks at you before offering her arm, “Can I escort you anywhere?” Glancing around the foyer, you can't recognize anyone, so you nervously agree and link your arm with hers, “I don’t think I know anyone else here, so anywhere you want to go is fine with me.”

A bright smile spreads on the Vice President's face as she guides you out of the foyer and into the backyard to watch someone attempt a keg stand. You can’t help but look stunned as you watch the girl drink. “Would you like to try?” Wanda startles you with the question. Shaking your head no with absolute certainty that you could never have arm strength or lung capacity. 

After a few moments more of watching, she slowly guides you over to the pool. The redhead kicks off her shoes and motions for you to do the same. The two of you sit down along the edge and place your feet in the water. You start to mindlessly kick your feet along to the music that is playing throughout the speakers. “So, am I allowed to ask your name?”

Multiple memories come to mind with times the Vice President has heard your name, “I’m pretty sure you know my name.”

Wanda’s tongue drags underneath the bottom of her teeth, “Oh, I do, but I want to hear it from your pretty, little mouth.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, taking a moment to settle your racing heart, you slowly speak, “Madelyn.”

Deciding to try and control the conversation you cut her off before she could say anything else. “Do you usually take interest in random people that show up to your sorority’s parties?”

She chuckles at your question, “No, not usually. But I would not say you’re a random person. Plus I have never had the pleasure of someone as captivating as you walk through those doors.”

“Yeah, right.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the redhead. 

She grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, “Oh I didn’t take you for the bratty type.” You could have sworn that her eyes sparkled when she said that. 

You shutter, trying to think of a reply. Your brain is completely lagging at the touch and sound of her voice. Wanda’s thumb moves and pushes between your lips, “Is there anything even going through that little head of yours?”

A small groan rips it way out your throat and your eyelids droop slightly. The redhead pushes down slightly onto your tongue.

Mumbling around her thumb, “Yes.” 

The Vice President’s smirks at your reply, “Yes,” She mocks you, “Yes, to what?”

You shift your eyes back to her as you take in the specific color of her eyes, a sparkling green, this time a soft moan comes out of your lips, “Please..”

You think Wanda must take pity on you because suddenly she drops her hand from your mouth. Everything about her seems to return back to when you first walked in the house. She’s back to being sweet and polite, it makes your head spin. “What brings you to the party tonight, Madelyn? Well besides escorting Bishop, of course.”

This was a question you didn’t know how to answer. Why were you here in the backyard of your ex’s sorority spending time with her Vice President? Glancing around the backyard, noticing that you still don't know anyone here, you sigh, “Honestly, I’m not sure. Kate said I needed to come if she got a second date because, apparently, I need to move on.”

“And do you want to?” She looks at you expectantly, “Move on, that is.”

“I don’t even know what I would have to move on from. It’s been months since we broke up. And she didn’t care about me long before that anyways.” You let out a dry laugh, “I don’t even think she liked me. She just liked sex with me.”

The look on the redhead’s face makes you stop your ranting, “Sorry, that is not proper party conversation,” you force out a laugh, “way too depressing.”

She smiles, dragging her eyes down your torso and onto your legs then pulling them back up before landing her eyes back on your face. “How would you like to find something to drink?” 

Thankful for her change in conversation, you smile slightly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The two of you make your way through the house and into the kitchen, “What will it be? Beer? Vodka?” walking around the kitchen as you listen to her talk. “... Or maybe a juice box?” 

Whipping your head around, you glare at the Vice President, scoffing, “I’m not a child. I can drink alcohol.”

Right after you speak, you hear someone laughing from the archway. “Oh, Wands, what a delightful surprise,” she steps further into the small kitchen, “Tell me you were able to get us this cute little thing to play.”

This makes you snap your head quickly around again. A rush of arousal runs through you when your eyes lock onto the redhead, “And who the hell are you?”

The cheshire smile on her face makes it clear she remembers you, she moves towards you before gently lifting up your hand as she bows her head to place a soft kiss on it, “To you, Madam President.” 

“What the fuck.” You snatch your hand away and look towards the sparkling green eyed woman before returning your gaze in front of you.

“Oh, what a dirty mouth, I will have to clean that out.” The redhead smirks at you. Another wave of arousal hits you, gulping as you maintain eye contact, “Like you’d get the chance.”

Wanda speaks up, breaking the growing tension in the room, “Darling, wouldn’t she just be…” walking up and placing a finger under your chin, her voice dropping, “...divine?” 

You shutter at her words. Eyes bouncing between the two redheads suddenly much closer to you than before. Realizing they have successfully surrounded you, your arousal spiking but you choose to mask with slight panic. “So what is this then? Two spiders trapping someone in their web and then going in for the kill?” Puffing out your chest slightly, trying to gain back some more control. “You think the President and Vice President would require consent.”

Wanda chuckles in your ear behind you, “Oh dear, we do.” Bringing her finger up to brush some hair behind your ear before speaking softly, “We only accept enthusiastic consent. Absolute begging.”

Your knees wobble slightly at her words. “A little archer told us that you needed to move on, and typically we wouldn’t do rebound sex, but you…” The President takes a sharp inhale through her teeth, “You are too special to pass up.”

“So what do you say, baby, want to be ours for the night?” Wanda whispers.

A million thoughts race through your mind. Most importantly, the fact you’ve never had a threesome or sex with people you don’t really know. You look around the kitchen and notice how nobody else even acknowledges the two redheads circling you like prey. 

“I say,” You gulp, mustering all the fake confidence you can find. “I say show me a good time first and we will see.”

The two women share a sinister smile before they each drape an arm around you and walk you out of the kitchen and into a room that only stores a pool table and some chairs. 

“We have the next game.” The President says to the small group finishing up their game before walking you over to the side of the room. She lowers her hands to your hips and lifts you with ease onto the barstool behind you.

Shock fills your face at her actions before you glare at her, “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of sitting in a seat by myself.”

The redhead simply smiles at you before moving to stand next to the side of your chair, absentmindedly running fingers through your hair. 

“Hello? Earth to you. Usually, when someone speaks to you it's polite to respond.” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. She gently turns your head to look at her. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

“Madelyn, I have a name and it’s not baby.” You scoff, “What is your name anyways?”

She winks at you before smirking, “I told you. To you, it’s Madam President.”

“That’s not a name. That’s a title. What’s your name?” Your eyes met the redhead locked in a standstill. You already know you won’t last long. Her eyes trap you in endless pools of deep green. They are powerful and unmoving, you huff, “What’s your name, Madam President?” 

The President lifts her hand and holds your lower lip before pulling it down and out slightly, causing you to look through your lashes to maintain eye contact, the action making you feel as if you’re losing the last shreds of your control. The redhead presses down the slightest bit more before pinching your lip and releasing it, “Natasha.” 

Wanda, who has been repeatedly running her fingers from your shoulder to the knee, leans over you slightly if only to be in your personal space, “Natty, it’s our turn now.”

You go to hop down, but yet again your hips are grabbed and you’re picked up and put down by Natasha’s hands. You give her a glare even as a blush starts covering your cheeks.

“Tsk, tsk. Don’t be like that. I would hate to have to spank that gorgeous ass for the first time surrounded by all these people.” Your blush deepens with your embarrassment at the volume the redhead spoke. The heat pooling between your legs only causes you more confusion. 

The three of you walk towards the table. Natasha moves to rack the balls and Wanda takes you over to pick out a cue stick, grabbing one for Natasha as well. 

It’s decided that you will be on your own team, which you tried to protest by saying you have never played a game of pool in your life, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. 

Wanda starts off by breaking the balls, officially starting your unfair game. She gets a solid into a pocket, “That makes you stripes, baby.” She says in a sickeningly sweet voice before getting two more solid balls into pockets. 

Standing there with your mouth open, you begin to complain, “This is so unfair. There is no way I will be able to even get close to hitting even one of these balls in!” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you in the first round,” Wanda says, holding up her hands. She walks over to you and shows you how to bend down and how to aim your cue stick. You lean down like she showed you but still, you feel her hand press down between your shoulders as she speaks in your ear, “Like this, darling. Eyes level with your target.”

Acutely aware this position has almost completely folded in half on the pool table, you pull back the stick and then push it forward with a decent amount of force. 

And you completely miss. 

To make matters worse, you got one of their balls closer to the pocket instead. Groaning, you stand up and look unamused at the two redheads who are both trying to hold back their smiles at your reaction, “This game is stupid.”

Natasha comes up to the table, leans down, noticeably higher than the position Wanda moved you into. She breathes in and out, then hits the cue ball, causing it to sink a solid ball into the nearby pocket. She glances up at you, smirking, while still leaning down. Causing a completely automatic eye roll. The redhead arches her eyebrow at you before moving to a new spot. She leans down, breathes in and out, and.. misses. “HA!” You cheer as your stripe ball goes into the pocket instead of the solid ball that was next it. 

You walk up to the table for your turn and glance to Wanda for her help again. Natasha subtly shakes her head, which you don’t notice since she was behind you. Wanda simply gives you a nod of her head, encouraging you to try by yourself. So you lean down and focus on which ball you’re aiming for and what pocket is your goal.

Breathing in and out a few times before pulling back your cue stick on your inhale and pushing it forward on your exhale. As the stick connects with the cue ball you feel a stinging on your ass. You immediately stand up and spin around with a glare, “Hey! That’s not fair.”

The President laughs as she looks over your head, “Well, it seemed like good luck because you got the ball in.”

Spinning around again to see if she was lying but there, clear as day, you see your stripe ball missing from the table and sitting in the pocket. “Don’t think for a second that I won't punish whiny, bratty behavior though, baby.” Natasha whispers in your ear, her front flush against your back, “Now, say thank you.”

You shiver at her words. The logical part of your brain can’t stop wondering why you should thank her for spanking you, but when you feel her hands on your hips as she pulls them closer to her own, that part of your mind goes blank. The heat between your legs grows even hotter and you let out a soft sigh before fingers hook under your chin and guide you to look up at Natasha, “Say thank you.” She softly growls. 

“Thank you.” It comes out more as a pant than actual words but the redhead is pleased enough.

The rest of the game crawls by slowly as each redhead tries to work you up with innocent touches and whispered words. Your head becomes fuzzy in the best way, but even in this state you are completely aware that every other stripe ball that’s gone in is because of Wanda and Natasha simply trying to keep the game going. 

With all solid and striped balls now off the table it’s down to whoever can sink the 8 ball in the game. 

Wanda glances at you before smirking, “What if we make a little bet out of this?”

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Are you joking? This whole thing is already a game of if you two can get me into bed.” Natasha licks her lips at your words, causing your cheeks to blush even more than they were. 

The Vice President ignores your reply, “Great! So I was thinking, if we sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show,” you arch your eyebrow at the redhead, “and if you sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show.” She winks at you. 

“That’s absolutely-” You're cut off by Natasha speaking, “Deal.”

“Deal?” You shriek as the two redheads shake each other's hand, “You two cannot agree on this without me also agreeing.”

They both come up to you and place a hand on your cheek, “And do, baby?” Wanda mumbles into your ear. Right after Natasha says, smirking, “Wanna make a deal?”

Your skin flushes at their voices, your mind hanging onto their every word. You slowly close your eyes and your head falls back slightly. Wanda lowers her head to breathe along your neck, occasionally brushing her tongue against it while Natasha’s fingers tangle around your hair, pulling it back. 

A soft moan hits your ears, shocking you when you realize it came from you. Suddenly coming back to yourself, you lightly push off the women, clearing your throat to try and fake your control over yourself once again. “If I sink the 8 ball,” you take a deep breath, “then I decide the next time you touch me.”

Both redheads simply nod their heads in agreement before extending their arms to allow you space for your shot. Looking over the table and considering all the choices you quickly realize that you absolutely have no shot at winning. Ignoring every other reason besides the obvious one, you didn’t want to win.

But you wouldn’t make it apparent to the President and Vice President. 

So you lean down, “Corner pocket.” You spend a considerable amount of time figuring out your angle and practicing the strength of your hit. With one more inhale, you pull back the cue stick then exhale and strike the cue ball.

You hit the 8 ball but it stops just short of falling into the pocket. You give a shy smile to the women before stepping back. 

There’s a silent conversation going on between the redheads before Wanda nods and steps up to the table. “Corner pocket.” She winks at you before aiming at the cue ball and without any delay she strikes. The 8 ball disappearing into the corner pocket. 

Without even a second to think, your feet are suddenly lifted into the air and over Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda comes up to grab the cue stick from you and places it on the pool table.

Once you realize the redhead plans to walk out of the parlor room with you over her shoulder, you begin to protest, “Wait. Wait. I can walk. You don’t have to think I’ll back out of the bet.”

You feel a soft hand brush the back of your thigh as the sparkling green eyed woman steps into your view. 

“Oh, baby, we know, but Natty here is a very proud winner and wants to show you off,” her thin fingers smoothing down your hair. You stare at her dumbfounded as she swipes her thumb across your lower lip, “If you’re a good girl then we’ll give you an extra special reward. Can you do that for us?”

The Vice President allows you your time to process as you blink a few times before nodding your head. 

A swift smack to your ass has you gasping as Natasha corrects your action, “Words baby.”

“Yes.” Another softer smack to your ass. “Yes, I can be a good girl.”

Both redheads make a pleased humming sound before walking out of the room. You try to avoid eye contact with all the partygoers. The blush across your face and chest only grows at your slight embarrassment. 

It isn’t long until you're walking up to the stairs. Suddenly stopping right at the bottom, trying to turn your body at the sound of Kate’s voice. Mortification slams into you when she leans around the redhead holding you to look at your face. 

Her tone relentlessly teasing, “Now, I thought I told you not to go upstairs with anyone,” the memory of her words at your arrival pulled to the front of your mind.

Rolling your eyes at your roommate only caused her to laugh further at your predicament. 

Yelena speaking prompts the brunette to move back into the circle of conversation with her and the redheads, “Don’t kill the poor girl. It would severely ruin my chances with Bishop.”

Natasha laughs at her sister’s comment, “Please, the only thing she’ll get is mind altering pleasure,” pinching your ass when finishing the sentence. “Now, I’d love to chat, but I have a bet to cash in on.”

Wanda leading the way up the stairs, pausing as Kate speaks, looking up at your roommate, “She has a study group tomorrow morning at 10am! She can’t miss it!”

The redheads laugh, continuing up the stairs, the President turns slightly as she walks and salutes to the brunette, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Less than fifteen steps later, you’re carried into a large room. Your heart stopping completely at the sound of the door closing and locking. As if noticing the slight pure panic, Wanda stands by the door twisting the handle, “It locks from inside, so if you twist the handle, then it’s automatically unlocked,” then she relocks the door.

Nodding your head in thanks and understanding of her words, she gives you a reassuring smile in return.

Then, Natasha lightly throws you onto the bed, a grunt leaving your lips, leaning over you, she smirks. Wanda comes up to sit beside your head and gently rubs your forehead with her thumbs.

The deep green eyed woman locks her eyes with yours before placing a soft kiss on your chest, then throwing herself to the empty side of you. 

“Now, don’t keep us waiting,” you turn your head to see sparkling green eyes looking at you.

They wait a few seconds before both women have another silent conversation. Suddenly, you startle the redheads by standing up.

Standing with your hands on your hips, stilling your voice and shifting on your feet, “Well, this will be rather awkward to do in silence.”

The President smirks at you before pulling out her phone and playing ‘Supermassive Black Hole by Muse!’ from her speaker. 

Slowly you begin to sway your hips and drag your fingers across your chest. Kicking your shoes off as sexually as you can. You let the song play for about twenty seconds before you lean down and run your nails up your legs stopping where your thighs meet your center. 

Turning around, you hook one finger under your right strap and pull it down, staring directly into sparkling green eyes. Then, turning your head to face the other direction and repeat the action, but slower, as you look into the deep green eyes.

Your dress only stays up from pushing out your chest. You continue to dance around until you slowly sit down onto your knees. Rolling onto the ground, your head closer to the women,  arching your back as you begin to spread apart your knees. Never looking away from the redheads as your knees hit the floor. Watching as both women tighten their grips on the bed sheets. 

Straightening your legs and bringing them back together, slowly using all your core strength to sit up rather than using your hands. You turn around and crawl over to the bed, standing before placing one foot on the President’s thigh.

She brings her hand up to gently hold onto your calf before digging her nails in. Biting your lip at the minimal pain before moving your hands across your chest, breathlessly Natasha speaks, “God, don’t be that much of a tease. Let Daddy see.”

Grabbing her hands, you bring them up to your chest, she squeezes before pulling down your dress exposing your breasts, strangely thanking yourself for foregoing a bra tonight.

The cool air in the room feeling amazing on your burning skin.

Lowering your foot, you walk over to the Vice President and bend how she showed you earlier during your game of pool. A loud hum of approval leaving her mouth.

Keeping your position, you gather the material at the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. Leaving Wanda staring directly at your covered center. Her finger gently travels up the inside of your thighs, never reaching the apex.

Noticing the dark patch on your light gray underwear, she speaks mockingly, “Do you want Mommy and Daddy to take care of that for you?”

A small moan slips out as you feel two different fingers suddenly press against the dark spot. 

“Words, baby,” both women huskily say at the same time.

“Please, please,” you’re all but moaning.

A smack on your ass that you can tell was from Wanda by the feeling of rings soothing the sting, “Be specific, baby.”

You breathe in and out a few times before roughly swallowing, “Please, take care of me.”

The redheads, losing their lack of control, slowly decide that your answer was good enough for now, for the first time.

Natasha walks around to face you, her hands find your shoulders and makes you stand up. Wanda moves further back on the bed, removing her shirt and bra before leaning against the pillows.

Grabbing onto the President’s face, you stand on your tip toes and connect your lips to hers. She eagerly begins kissing you back, nipping at your lip. Moving her hands to your ass, smacking your ass lightly, so you’ll jump into her arms.

Continuing to kiss you as she walks to the side of the bed and places you down. Ending your kiss, a low whine comes from you. Sealing your lips quickly but both women have already heard you and have lust flashing through their eyes. 

“Now, go ahead and make Mommy feel good while Daddy makes you feel good.” Nodding your head at the redhead’s directions, you turn around and crawl up the bed and between Wanda’s spread legs. She holds up her hands and guides your lips to her nipple.

Natasha begins to massage your ass and tease your slit over your underwear, soaking them further by the second. 

Sucking and pulling on the Vice President’s left nipple, bringing your right hand up to roll her right nipple between your fingers. You continue this while feeling the unending teasing around your clit.

Popping off Wanda’s left nipple, you drag your tongue across her chest until you can wrap your lips around the right nipple, twirling your tongue around the nub.

On the first suck, you feel a rush of cool air hit your center as your underwear is pulled down your legs, moaning loudly at the sensation. Without even a second to spare you feel the redhead’s tongue lick up the wetness on your lips before softly pushing her tongue inside your entrance.

Your jaw slacks at the feeling, your head falls away from the needy nipples in front of you. The redhead pulls you back against her nipple, “That’s a good girl. You’re giving Mommy so much pleasure,” holding you close to feel every sound come from your lips, moans of her own filling the room.

Natasha licks her way up to your clit. Giving soft licks before wrapping her lips around your clit, humming, then pulling softly on the bundle of nerves.

Your knees start shaking at the pleasure, causing you to fall further onto Wanda. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble around the nipple.

Bringing her fingers up to your clit, rubbing circles, “Come on, baby. You're such a good girl for us.”

Her fingers slowly push into you, curling slightly against your velvet walls. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. Let Daddy make you cum, alright?”

A truly unholy sound fell from your lips, clenching around Natasha’s fingers, Wanda lifts your head slightly, so you could reply, “Please, make me cum.”

Lowering her mouth back to your clit as she sucks, licks, and nips all over while her fingers continue a relentless pace. Wanda brings her own finger to your nipples and begins rolling them between her fingers. “God, everything about you, baby. Everything is perfect,” pulling at the nubs blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

“Fuck,” your voice cracking at exclamation. Shaking from the stimulation, the coil in your stomach tightens more with each second.

Wanda leans her head forward next to your ear, “Come for Mommy, baby. Come all over Daddy.”

A simultaneous pinch from the Vice President's fingers on your nipples and the President's pinch on your clit has a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a scream rips from your throat as you cum all over Natasha’s face and fingers and fall on top of Wanda.

Dragging out your orgasm not stopping until she's pulled every sound from your lips does she begin to lick up all traces of your orgasm, sitting up and moving towards the other. You look up just in time to see them share a deep kiss, each moaning at the taste of you on their tongues. 

Breaking apart, deep green eyes look at you, “Do you have another one in you, baby? You came hard enough to drown me,” lust shining in her eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just make me cum that hard again,” your eyes pleading. 

Smirking at you, Wanda moves you to scoot down the bed, tapping your thighs. It takes a second for you to realize where she wants you, but you quickly move to hover above her face. Natasha settles between her girlfriends thighs, removing her skirt and underwear in one pull, “Now, this will be a sight to see,” lowering her mouth immediately, sucking the redhead’s clit into her mouth the way she likes.

Biting your lip at the sight, you sit down, your eyes connecting with the deep green ones between the redhead’s thighs. Allowing the Vice President to move you where she’s most comfortable. Feeling her tongue push into your entrance has you arching your back.

Natasha’s fingers move to Wanda’s clit, rubbing at a brutal pace. Below you the redhead sucks in a sharp breath. Moving to drag her teeth along your clit. 

Your hips arch at the feeling, soft grunts passing from your lips, “Shit.”

Pulling you back against the redhead’s mouth, “Tsk, tsk, where do you think you’re going, baby girl?”

Rutting your hips against the face below you. Moans and pleas mumbling out of your mouth at the suction of your clit. Natasha sits up, keeping her fingers on Wanda’s clit, and leans towards you. Digging your nails into her shoulders, as she begins to leave soft bites along your chest before kissing up your neck. 

Inhaling sharply as her teeth sink into your pulse point, sucking harshly on the delicate skin, “Such a dirty mouth.” 

The pleasure on your clit increases, building up your orgasm quickly. Moaning as you drag your nails down the redhead’s back.

Wanda becomes sloppy underneath you, hinting at her own release coming soon. “Mommy’s getting close. Come with Mommy, baby,” Natasha mumbles against your neck, pushing you right to the edge. 

Sucking your earlobe into her mouth and biting down on your soft skin, “Seeing how you ride Mommy’s face makes me wonder how well you would ride Daddy’s dick,” her words sending both you and the woman beneath you over the edge. 

The Vice President slowly licks your cunt to clean you as the President drags her finger through her girlfriend’s release. Bringing them up to your mouth, “Be a good girl,” and pushing them between your lips. 

A sinful moan escapes both of your lips, though for different reasons. Exhaustion riding through your body allows Natasha to gently lift you off Wanda’s face and leans you against the pillows.

Your eyelids fight too close to receive a moment of rest, quickly winning over your desire to stay conscious. Both women get off the bed walking into the en-suite and cleaning themselves up quickly, returning with a towel for you.

Noticing your sleeping form, the two exchange a look before Wanda’s soft hands spread your knees and gently clean you up. 

“She’s perfect for us,” the President whispers.

“She is, but how can we convince her of that,” the Vice President whispers back.

As a plan forms in her mind, the redhead smirks, “We will just have to show her.”

Wanda throws the towel aiming for the laundry hamper, but misses, before laying down into the bed next to you. Natasha follows suit, listening to the music thrum downstairs while closing her eyes.

-

Groaning and swatting at the air when you hear the familiar sounds of a phone alarm going off.

Your messy morning hair is removed from your face, startling you into opening your eyes. Confusion flashing through you until you see two pairs so similar yet different green eyes.

“Wha-,” you begin, but are cut off.

“I would have let you sleep in more, baby, but we need to get you dressed for your study group. The last thing I need is my little sister trying to murder me for ruining her chances with the archer.” 

Blinking a few times, begging for your brain to catch up, yet all your mind can think of is, “Her name is Kate.”

The redheads smile at you, “Yes, of course, we apologize,” Wanda says sincerely.

With a pat on your thigh, Natasha sits up, “Now, I don't think you want to go to your study group in that little blue dress you were wearing last night, so you can borrow something of ours.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can just run to my dorm. I need to brush my teeth anyway, so it’s okay.” However the looks you receive fills your mind with doubt, “What time is it?”

“9:45am,” Wanda grimaces. Your jaw falls open at the realization that you will definitely not make it in time unless you go straight there. Cursing yourself for not understanding your math course better and needing to go to the study groups in the first place, with a deep breath you look up at the women, “Show me the outfit.” 

Standing in the mirror you can’t complain. It was a simple pair of medium washed jeans, though slightly too long since you are shorter than both women, they have been cuffed and paired with a loose long sleeve shirt sporting their sorority name and logo. You felt a bit like a walking advertisement. The worst part, yet best part, was the sports bra Natasha gave you to wear. 

Cringing as you put on your soiled underwear from the night before, you throw on your shoes and tie your hair into your best messy, not messy, bun. Hurrying down the stairs towards the front door. To your surprise, the redheads follow behind you. Thinking they must be the type to walk out guests, you say nothing. 

Reaching for the door handle, you're cut off by Wanda’s ring-covered hand opening the door for you, extending her arm in an ‘after you, ladies first’ motion. 

Arching an eyebrow at the action before turning to face them, “Thank you for the clothes. I’ll return them washed by the end of next week, swear,” beginning to turn back around before stopping and facing them again, whispering, “and thank you for last night too,” then rushing down the steps of the porch.

Stepping out of the doorway both women laugh before replying, “Now, that you don’t need to thank us for.” Trying to hide your blush from the redheads as you speed walk down the sorority's front lawn, checking your phone for the time, seven minutes to get there, thinking ‘I can do it’ as you break out into a run across campus. 

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop (and his fall)...

.After the fire, Crowley drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or even, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when Aziraphale doesn't react the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[vesna-v-irkutske]

hi vesna, wanted to know what the apparent letter that artyom sent to ''varya'' says if u have time😭

Hi! To be honest, this whole situation is very annoying and stupid.

First of all, who is Varya? Varya is supposedly a 15 year old girl who wanted to break up Artyom and Daphne. A couple of things: - the photos she sent weren't even hers (and they weren't NSFW); - it doesn't look like Artyom knew her real age. Some more information and rumors from r/IrkutskMolotochniki, most of it comes from a person with an extremely annoying way of talking who communicated with Daphne:

Comments from March 22, May 14 (pic. 2 and 3), May 20 and June 1, 2024.

In early August, Daphne made 2 posts on r/Earkutsk (her subreddit) explaining everything. You can read them here and here.

I have one of Artyom's previous letters to Varya, so I'll translate it first.

"Hello, Varya. I received the letter on September 26. I deeply apologize for such a long reply. I can't physically do it faster. I ask you to be understanding… or not =D O-o-oh, I also missed your birthday. This is somehow completely unjust. I apologize for that too. I understand how you've probably been waiting, but you see — I work at the sewing machine, so sometimes I get completely stitched up¹... =) If we live to see it, I'll do better by next birthday. Probably… =) • I'm not against communication, if you're not against communication in such a leisurely, to put it mildly, rhythm. Nice to meet you, by the way =D Thanks for the photo. You've really lifted my spirits. I spent half an hour admiring and licking my lips X) • Jurisprudence is a good choice, I'm a jurist too². What is the reason for this choice? • I'm doing fine, thank you for your concern. What about you? I fill my free time with a little bit of everything. I write letters mostly. Well, I also read, watch TV, listen to the radio, study foreign languages and do music. How do you spend your free time? • My musical preferences are about the same as yours — genre is not as important as quality. But still, by and large, they come down to heavy and electronic music. Do you have any favorite artists, compositions? • I'm both working and studying. Bad habits?.. o.O Well, let's say I don't smoke³. There's no need to talk about alcohol and drugs — there just aren't even such opportunities =) What else do you mean by bad habits? I don't think I have any, I'm almost perfect =D • My relationship with my mom is good. She doesn't miss a single long visit. • As for the girls, my interest here is situational. I don't gravitate towards any particular type, I evaluate all the details of the personality in the aggregate. As for the situation with Daphne, no comments yet =) Thank you for your congratulations and generous wishes. Even though I'm a month and a half late, I wish you well too, and I wish you all your dreams come true =) Since our communication will continue soon, in conclusion, I'd like to ask you what books do you read and what movies do you watch? Good luck! 27.11.2023"

¹ He meant that sometimes he gets too caught up in his work. ² I'm not sure he has a degree. He obviously wouldn't be able to become a sworn advocate AT LEAST because of his reputation. I think it's a matter of terminology. A jurist is a person with expert knowledge of law; someone who analyzes and comments on law. This person is usually a specialist legal scholar, mostly (but not always) with a formal education in law (a law degree) and often a legal practitioner. In the Russian Federation, a jurist can be a person who has received secondary professional or higher legal education. A jurist can provide legal assistance and legal services in criminal, civil, tax, labor, family, inheritance, housing, corporate, administrative and other legal matters. A jurist needs the status of an advocate only to defend someone in a criminal case. In some categories of criminal cases, protection may be provided by persons who don't have an advocate's status. So, basically, as I understand it, MAYBE he can be a jurist, but not an actual advocate/lawyer. Genuinely, whatever, take everything Artyom says with a grain of salt, he likes trolling. ³ Answers this question, I guess.

Now to the letter you sent. 👇🏻

"Varya, hi. I received the letter on November 30. Also, on the very eve of the New Year, I received a photo of you, which you intended to convince me of your coming of age... =) Great photo. You're irresistible =D • Before I get to the main content of your letters, I'll start with the non-main one =) I congratulate you on the past holidays and wish you good health, lots of money, always a great mood, and that everything goes according to plan, and, of course, great and pure love =D Speaking of love. It's a beautiful feeling, isn't it?.. =) It sometimes makes you do rash things, doesn't it? =) That's gratifying that you turned out to be a conscientious girl and immediately after your rash act you wrote to me and repented. This will definitely be counted as a mitigating factor for you in the future¹ =D And who is this girl whose channel² you sent the letter to? What's her name? Any idea why she needs it if she didn't delete it? And here another kind girl wrote to me that it was you who posted the letter in your channel... =) This is probably that misinformation about you. As for the dirt, insults, and threats, who exactly allowed themselves to do this to you? If possible, give at least a couple of examples of people who did this. At least you're not like them, are you? Not being rude or threatening anyone there? =) I don't recommend doing this. Those who do this, especially in relation to those whom I know in a positive light, may not expect anything good from me. • Okay, Varechka. You did something stupid and you did it. Who doesn't? Let's hope that this doesn't lead to more serious difficulties for you, in particular problems with the law. It also happens… Let's finally talk about you. How are you feeling? Not sick anymore? How did you spend the New Year holidays? And what's the news in general? What are you currently studying at your educational institution? You're getting a tertiary education, right? • You write that you go to the gym, well done. What kind of sport do you practice? Or just fitness? You're reviewing photos and videos of me? Well, you have great taste XD I have the same thing with my favorite music artists — I can't get enough forms to list them all =) Well, you know, you saw the playlist³ =) The TV series "Fisher"⁴? Well, yes, I can guess who it's about. Have you watched "The Method"⁵? I think you'll like it too =) • My favorite dish? I wonder why you need this? o.O Mostly pelmeni =D In general, I'm unpretentious in gastronomic matters. As long as it's tasty, healthy and nutritious =) And what's your favorite dish? • As for the cities I've been to, there's not even much to choose from… I've been to Ulan-Ude, Usolye-Sibirskoye (Irkutsk region), Novosibirsk, Omsk, Tyumen, Kirov, Vologda. In the last five of the mentioned cities, I was only in detention centers and saw a little bit of the street from the window of the paddy wagon =) In general, it was difficult to form an opinion about the cities. Well, judging by the data about the cities of the world, which became known to me from wherever it was, then... it's even more difficult X) First of all, I'd like to visit the city of Spijkenisse in the Netherlands⁶. It's a good city, they say =) But Moscow⁷, in general, is not bad either. If you know what I mean... X) • A movie? Perhaps, "Saw." For all time =) And what are your favorite city and movie? • Varechka, what can I sew for you? I can't sew anything but workwear. So no matter what I start sewing, I'll still end up with some kind of cop's or worker's clothes. You don't need that, do you? =) • I'm cool by nature =D There's nothing more to add. • How I feel about trolls on the internet. I don't give a hoot about the internet and everyone who lives in it =) I hardly ever go there, so I don't come into contact with trolls. I was a troll? o.O Where does this information come from?.. Tell me, who is without sin? We all get in the mood to troll. But depending on the skills, the result is different for everyone: who becomes a troll, and who becomes a sad shit X)

• The question about Zonatelecom's⁸ tariff seems to have an underlying reason... =) I haven't used this tariff, because I haven't used phone calls on a regular basis yet. I called with permission, which is not given as often as I'd like. So what's the point in me figuring out these tariffs? And even when you call regularly, I personally don't see the point in them, because if you get a cheaper call than usual, it means you're losing something, because for free pleasure, as they say, someone also has to pay. Thus, the cost of a telephone conversation decreases because the quality of connection deteriorates. And I treasure the connection with my loved ones =D • Oh, I got to your second letter. Hi, Varya =) Things, mood, well-being — everything's all right. And you? I'm glad to know about your dog =) I don't remember what a Yorkshire Terrier looks like, so if you want, you can send me a picture. • Well, Varya, I can't give birth to a story out of the blue, but when it's appropriate in our dialogue, I'll definitely tell you something. Be patient =) All the best! 06.01.2024"

¹ It's not me, it's him writing like an idiot. For a second, he imagined himself as a priest, to whom people should repent of their sins. I mean, this checks out. You know what they say about Christian priests. It's noteworthy that he uses the word "девочка" (little girl) instead of "девушка" (young woman), which would mean a more mature age. 🤮 ² On Telegram. I doubt it exists now, but who knows. ³ A few years ago, Artyom wrote a long list of songs that he listens to, and someone made a playlist on Spotify. ⁴ "Fisher" is a Russian thriller TV series. The plot of the 1st season is based on real events — serial killer Sergey Golovkin, who operated in the Odintsovsky District of the Moscow region from 1986 to 1992, had the nickname "Fisher." ⁵ "The Method" is a Russian crime drama TV series. Some of the characters were loosely based on real criminals, including the Academy maniacs. ⁶ Daphne, Artyom's fiancée, is from the Netherlands. ⁷ Varya probably said that she lives in Moscow. ⁸ Zonatelecom is an app for communication with prisoners. You can call them, write letters, send postcards, money.

Письма на русском для тех, кто хочет прочитать их в оригинале, но не хочет разбирать почерк Артёма. Орфография сохранена.

"Здравствуй, Варя. Письмо получил 26 сентября. Приношу глубочайшие извинения за такой долгий ответ. Быстрее физически никак не могу. Прошу отнестись с пониманием… или не относиться =D О-о-о, я ещё и день твоего рождения пропустил. Это уж как-то совсем неправосудно. Прошу прощения и за это тоже. Понимаю, как ты наверно ждала, но видишь — я работаю на швейке, так что иногда совсем зашиваюсь… =) Если доживём, то к следующему дню рождения исправлюсь. Наверно… =) • Я не против общения, если и ты не против общения в таком неторопливом, мягко говоря, ритме. Приятно познакомиться, кстати =D Благодарю за фото. Очень подняла настроение. Полчаса любовался и облизывался X) • Юриспруденция — хороший выбор, я тоже юрист. Чем такой выбор обусловлен? • Дела у меня в порядке, благодарю за беспокойство. А как у тебя? Свободное время я забиваю всем помаленьку. В основном письма пишу. Ну а так ещё читаю, смотрю телек, слушаю радио, занимаюсь иностранными языками и музыкой. Как ты проводишь свободное время? • Музыкальные предпочтения у меня примерно, как у тебя — не столь важен жанр, сколько качество. Но всё же по большому счёту они сводятся к тяжёлой и электронной музыке. У тебя есть какие-то любимые исполнители, композиции? • Я и работаю, и учусь. Вредные привычки?.. o.O Ну, скажем, я не курю. Об алкоголе и о наркоте и говорить не приходится — тут просто даже возможностей таких нет =) Что ещё подразумевать под вредными привычками? Пожалуй, нет у меня таковых, я почти идеален =D • Отношения с мамой хорошие. Она не пропускает ни одного длительного свидания. • Что касается девушек — тут мой интерес ситуативен. К какому-то определённому типажу не тяготею, все детали личности оцениваю в совокупности. Что касается ситуации с Дафной, то пока без комментариев =) Благодарю за поздравления и щедрые пожелания. Хоть и опоздал на полтора месяца, но и тебя тоже с прошедшим и желаю сбычи всех мечт =) Коль скоро наше общение продолжится, в заключение хотел бы поинтересоваться, какие книги ты читаешь и какое кино смотришь? Удачи! 27.11.2023"

Второе письмо мне пришлось разделить на 2 блока из-за лимита знаков, поэтому там внезапный разрыв. 👇🏻

"Варя, привет. Получил письмо 30 ноября. Также в самое преддверие Нового года получил твою фотографию, которой ты намеревалась убедить меня в своём совершеннолетии... =) Отличная фотография. Ты неотразима =D • Прежде чем я перейду к основному содержанию твоих писем, начну с неосновного =) Поздравляю тебя с минувшими праздниками и желаю здоровья, много денег, всегда отличного настроения, чтобы всё шло по плану, ну и, конечно, большой и чистой любви =D Кстати о любви. Прекрасное чувство, не правда ли?.. =) Оно порой толкает на необдуманные поступки, да? =) Отрадно, что ты оказалась совестливой девочкой и сразу после своего необдуманного поступка написала мне и покаялась. Тебе это в дальнейшем обязательно зачтётся, как смягчающее обстоятельство =D А что это за девочка такая, в чей канал ты отправила письмо? Как её зовут? Есть предположения, зачем ей это нужно, если она не стала его удалять? А мне тут другая добрая девочка написала, что это ты в своём канале выложила письмо... =) Наверно это та самая деза (дезинформация) о тебе. Что касается грязи, оскорблений, угроз, кто конкретно позволил себе такое в отношении тебя? Приведи по возможности хотя бы пару примеров лиц, кто это делал. Ты-то хоть им не уподобляешься? Не грубишь там никому, не угрожаешь? =) Не рекомендую этого делать. Те, кто так делает, тем более по отношению к тем, кого я знаю с хорошей стороны, могут ничего хорошего от меня не ждать. • Ладно, Варечка. Совершила глупость и совершила. С кем не бывает? Будем надеяться на то, что это не обернётся для тебя более серьёзными трудностями, в частности, проблемами с законом. Бывает и такое... Давай лучше наконец о тебе поговорим. Как самочувствие? Больше не болеешь? Как провела Новогодние каникулы? И какие в целом новости? Что сейчас проходите в вашем учебном заведении? Ты же высшее образование получаешь? • Ты пишешь, что в зал ходишь — это ты молодец. Каким видом спорта ты занимаешься? Или просто фитнесом? Фото и видео со мной пересматриваешь? Что ж, у тебя отличный вкус XD С любимыми исполнителями музыки у меня такая же фигня — всех перечислять бланков не напасёшься =) Ну, ты знаешь, ты видела плейлист =) Сериал "Фишер"? Ну да, догадываюсь, о ком это. А "Метод" не смотрела? Думаю, тебе тоже понравится =) • Моё любимое блюдо? Интересно, зачем тебе это? o.O В основном пельмешки =D А вообще я в гастрономических вопросах непритязательный. Лишь бы было вкусно, полезно и питательно =) А какое любимое блюдо у тебя? • Что касается городов, то из тех, в которых я был, даже и выбрать как-то не из чего... Я был в Улан-Удэ, Усолье-Сибирском (Иркутская область), Новосибе, Омске, Тюмени, Кирове, Вологде. В последних пяти из упомянутых городов был только в СИЗО и видел немного улицу из окна автозака =) В общем, мнение о городах составить было сложновато. Ну а если судить по тем данным о городах мира, которые стали мне известны откуда бы то ли было, то... ещё сложнее X) В первую очередь я бы хотел побывать в городе Спейкениссе в Нидерландах. Хороший, говорят, город =) Но и Москва, в общем-то, неплоха. Если ты понимаешь, о чём я... X) • Фильм? Пожалуй, "Пила". На все времена =) А какие твои любимые город и фильм? • Варечка, ну что я могу тебе сшить? Я кроме спецодежды ничего шить не умею. Так что, что бы я ни начал шить, на выходе всё равно получится шмотка мента какого-нибудь или рабочего. Тебе же такое не надо? =) • По характеру я клёвый =D Больше и добавить нечего. • Как я отношусь к троллям в интернете. Да мне по барабану этот интернет и все, кто в нём живёт =) Я-то там практически не бываю, поэтому и с троллями не соприкасаюсь. Я был троллем? o.O Это откуда такие сведения?.. Скажи мне, а кто без греха? У всех у нас бывает настроение потроллить. Только в зависимости от умений результат у всех разный: кто становится троллем, а кто — УГ (унылое говно) X)

• Вопрос о зонателекомовском тарифе, кажется, с подоплёкой... =) Я таким тарифом не пользовался, потому что вообще телефонными звонками я ещё на постоянной основе не пользовался. Я звонил по разрешению, которое даётся не так часто, как хотелось бы. Поэтому смысл мне разбираться в этих тарифах? Да даже когда звонишь регулярно, я лично не вижу в них смысла, потому что если звонок тебе дешевле обычного, значит ты чего-то лишаешься, ибо за бесплатное удовольствие, как говорится, тоже кто-то должен заплатить. Таким образом, стоимость телефонного разговора снижается потому, что ухудшается качество связи. А связью с близкими людьми я дорожу =D • О, добрался до твоего второго письма. Привет, Варя =) Дела, настроение, самочувствие — всё в порядке. А у тебя? Рад узнать о твоей собачке =) Как выглядит йоркширский терьер, не помню, так что, если хочешь, можешь отправить фотку. • Ну, Варь, на ровном месте родить историю я не могу, но когда это будет уместно в нашем диалоге, я обязательно что-нибудь расскажу. Запасись терпением =) Счастливо! 06.01.2024"

[thewadapan]

So why did Transformers One bomb?

Look, I'm just going to say it right off the bat: no, Transformers One is not the best Transformers movie of all time. I am (gritting my teeth) very happy for every single Transformers fan except me, who all seem to have liked it, and most of whom seem to have loved it. I agree that, as a production, it meets some baseline level of technical competence. It's a perfectly fine movie.

It's also the worst-performing Transformers movie Paramount has ever made.

Hopefully, now that its theatrical run has unceremoniously ended, people aren't going to try to rip me to shreds for theoretically threatening this multi-million-dollar film's box office revenue some miniscule amount by sharing a few teensy weensy complaints with my fifty followers.

Because I do just have a few little nitpicks, which I've tried my best to communicate, over the next 17,000 words of this post.

If you're not a Transformers fan, sorry, this essay is mostly written with the assumption that you've seen Transformers One. However, it might still be of some interest as a window into the current state of the franchise. I've written a basic plot summary of the movie to bring you up to speed, in that case. Because Transformers One purports to be the perfect introduction to the story, no homework needed, I've also done you the courtesy of elucidating background context as needed—think of this less as a review, and more as a history lesson, or maybe a "lore explained" YouTube video. After all, that's pretty much all that Transformers One is.

(And if farcically long posts aren't really your thing, you might prefer to listen to the special episode of Our Worlds are in Danger where my pals and I chatted about the film. Many of the hottest takes and silliest bits in this essay are shamelessly stolen from Jo and Umar.)

We've been waiting for Transformers One for a very long time. It's the first animated Transformers film to get a theatrical release since The Transformers: The Movie came out in 1986. It first entered development around a decade ago. Many fandom members I know online got to see it as far back as June. Its US premiere was in September; those of us in the UK had to wait a full extra month before seeing it, for no clear reason. This is a film which purports to show, in broad strokes, for the first time on the big screen, the origin of the Transformers: where they come from, who they are, and why they're fighting.

By the end of its runtime, Transformers One does not actually answer these questions. Don't get me wrong, it takes great pains trying to answer a lot of different, related questions—just ones which nobody was really asking in the first place: What does the word "Autobots" mean, if not "automobile robots"? What does the word "Decepticons" mean, if they're not actually deceitful? Why is he called "Optimus Prime"? Why is he called "Megatron"? If they were friends, why did they fall out? Why does Starscream sound Like That? Where does Energon come from? If "Prime" is a title, what were the other Primes like? How do Transformers transform?

Writer Eric Pearson, coming onto the project as an outsider to Transformers, describes having to go to Hasbro to ask these kinds of questions:

they had a script that outlined the story that they wanted to tell. I knew Optimus Prime and Megatron and I knew Bumblebee as well, or B. I had to ask about some of the other deeper ones, the mythology, “what exactly is the Matrix of Leadership?” Stuff like that.

See, Hasbro does in fact have the answers written down somewhere. The story as I understand it goes something like this. During the wild west of the '80s and '90s, Transformers "canon" was largely a by-the-seat-of-your-pants consensus-based affair between the freelance writers and copywriters the toy company would bring on to advertise their toys. That changed around the turn of the millennium, when late later-CEO Brian Goldner saw how Hasbro's licensed IP lines (such as Star Wars) were more financially successful and realised they could make more money by aggressively promoting their own in-house IP, which they didn't have to pay licensing fees for. (For the curious, a similar thought process at rival toy company Lego was what led to their creation of BIONICLE.)

The guy basically singlehandedly managing the Transformers brand at the time, Aaron Archer, eventually set to reconciling all the self-contradictory lore surrounding Transformers, an endeavour which dovetailed into the creation of the HasLab internal think-tank (best known for Battleship, the 2012 store-brand Michael Bay knockoff which was a failure critically and commercially but not in my heart) and ultimately the creation of the so-called "Binder of Revelation", an internal story bible which cost over $250,000 to produce and has strongly influenced nigh on every piece of Transformers media released since, but which we hadn't actually seen until it got leaked a week ago. As it turns out, the document itself (compiled mostly by marketers and toy designers) is patently useless to any writer: it's a typo-ridden internally-inconsistent wishy-washy mess that mostly describes the characters in terms of a made-up form of Transformers astrology that has otherwise never seen the light of day.

So although the Binder is the baseline story bible for most modern Transformers media, its influence isn't direct per se; it's more accurate to describe it as being an elaborate game of telephone between high-profile cartoons, comics, and other internal documents, with the Binder itself apparently just sitting in a drawer somewhere at Hasbro; Eric Pearson says that he never received a "binder", with the "script" he mentions either being the earlier draft from Andrew Barrer and Gabriel Ferrari (the guys who originally pitched the story), or some other unseen internal document. Director Josh Cooley, however, definitely seems to have been physically handed the Binder or its mass-market adaptation:

I knew that there was a lot of origin to be told, and when I first started, [Hasbro] gave me the Transformers Bible. I could not believe how big it was. I was like, "This is way more than I ever anticipated."

When trailers first dropped for Transformers One, a lot of my friends who are savvy were immediately like: "Oh, this is a weirdly faithful adaptation of the Binder of Revelation, huh."

I. The One True Origin of the Transformers

Half of the people reading this are Transformers fans, and half of you literally could not give less of a shit about Transformers, so if you're in the 'former group (so to speak), you'll just have to bear with me while I bring the rest of us up to speed.

Before the Transformers' civil war begins, Cybertron is being oppressed by the Quintessons. The Quintessons are a race of five-faced aliens (as in, not Transformers), who execute everyone they come across, first introduced in The Transformers: The Movie, presiding over a kangaroo court on a castaway world. In the followup cartoon five-parter "Five Faces of Darkness", writer Flint Dille established that, gasp, they were actually the original creators of the Transformers! But basically nobody else at the time was particularly compelled by this idea, it seems, with most fans preferring the more mythological origin story conceived by Bri'ish writer Simon Furman for the Marvel comics. I think people kind of just didn't like to think of the Transformers as being robots—mass-produced, a fabrication, programmed—as opposed to an alien race of thinking, feeling beings like us. But because the cartoon was important to many kids, a lot of early-2000s media tried to reconcile the cartoon and comic origin stories by stating that the Quintessons didn't actually create the Transformers; rather, they simply colonised the planet early in its history and pretended to be the Transformers' creators, until the truth came out and they got kicked offworld. This is how the Binder of Revelation ultimately paid lip service to the Quintessons. In Transformers One, the Quintessons are just sort of here, they're these evil aliens secretly skimming Energon from its miners, they don't speak English (or whichever language the film was dubbed into in your market region), they're just these nasty societal parasites.

Energon is Transformers fuel. In the original cartoon, it was these glowing pink cubes the Decepticons were always trying to produce using harebrained Saturday-morning-cartoon energy-stealing devices. There was a Cold War going on, America had just been through an "energy crisis", maybe you're old enough to remember any of that. Transformers are these big, complicated machines, so I guess the idea is they need this hyper-compressed superfuel to run off, and their homeworld has run out. By the time of the Binder of Revelation, the concept had been telephoned to the point where Energon is like the lifeblood of Primus or some shit.

Primus is the Transformers God—but not the kind of God you have "faith" in, rather this actual guy whose existence is objectively known in various ways. He transforms into a planet, that's kind of cool, right? Where does Primus come from? Look, it doesn't matter, he's like, the God of Creation, he was there at the start of time. He created all of the Transformers. All the other species in the galaxy, though, they evolved naturally thanks to "science". Actually wait, didn't that Quintus Prime guy go around the universe seeding all the planets with different kinds of Cybertronian life? That's why they're called Quintessons. See, now you know. Who's Quintus Prime?

Okay, so the Thirteen Original Transformers, or the Primes, are the thirteen original Transformers created by Primus. Most of them correspond to different kinds of Transformer: Nexus Prime is the god of Transformers who can combine, Onyx Prime is the god of Transformers who turn into animals, Micronus Prime is the god of Transformers who are small, and Solus Prime is the god of Transformers who are women. You might remember the Primes from Revenge of the Fallen, although there were only seven of them there for whatever reason.

Honestly, The Fallen was the only one who mattered for a long time. The whole reason there's thirteen of them is because thirteen is kind of an unlucky number, right? Twelve would've been fine. But throw in a thirteenth guy, and he betrays everyone, he's this fucked up evil guy. In the Binder of Revelation, though, the Thirteenth Prime is his own special guy shrouded in mystery, because they kind of liked the idea that Optimus Prime would secretly turn out to have been the Thirteenth Prime all along, and he just forgot or something, because that means he has the divine right of Primes. In IDW's 2010s comic-book reboot, the Thirteenth Prime was called "The Arisen"—in reference to that one line in The Transformers: The Movie, "Arise, Rodimus Prime!" (this margin is too narrow to explain who Rodimus Prime is). Towards the end of his run, writer John Barber did some actually interesting stuff with the concept, playing with the ambiguity over whether-or-not Optimus Prime was actually the chosen one.

All of Optimus Prime's immediate predecessors as Autobot leaders, Sentinel Prime, Zeta Prime, the lineage seen in "Five Faces of Darkness"... they're all false Primes. They're Primes in name only. In fact, IDW had a whole procession of these cartoonishly evil dictators thanks to a few continuity errors leading to the addition of a couple of extra narratively-redundant fuckers. Transformers One tries to simplify it slightly by just saying that Zeta Prime was one of the Primes for real—occupying that thirteenth "free space"—and it was just Sentinel Prime who was only a normal Transformer pretending to be a Prime, then Optimus Prime who's a real boy.

But if he's not a Prime from the start, Optimus Prime needs another name in the meantime. In the '80s cartoon episode "War Dawn", before he was called Optimus Prime, he was called "Orion Pax". Have you noticed that Optimus Prime is kind of an odd-one-out amongst all the straightup-English-word names like "Bumblebee" and "Ratchet" and "Jazz"? That's because his name was one of a tiny handful from very early in the franchise's development, before writer Bob Budiansky came onboard and came up with identities for the vast majority of the toys. Practically everyone Bob Budiansky named is called like, "Bolts" or some shit, long before the characters even know of Earth, which has always just been a contrivance of the setting you're not supposed to think about.

Presumably to create a parallel with Orion Pax's transformation into Optimus Prime, someone at Hasbro in the 2010s came up with a new name for the bot who would become Megatron: "D-16". In real-world terms, this was nothing more than a dorky reference to the Megatron toy's original Japanese release being number 16 in the line ("D" stands for "Destron", which is what they call Decepticons in Japan). But in-universe, the name "D-16" was drawn from the sector of the mine where he worked. I don't get the impression it was originally intended to be part of a broader pattern.

Which is why I'm baffled as to what the hell the reasoning was behind Bumblebee's pre-Earth name, "B-127". There's this bizarre situation in the Bumblebee film, where the name "B-127" first cropped up, where literally every other bot gets a normal cool name with personality like "Cliffjumper" or "Dropkick" except for Bumblebee, who is stuck with this clunky sci-fi name until he makes friends with a human teenager on Earth and she gives him the name Bumblebee. I guess I don't find it confusing that the writers would (correctly) realise it's a bit weird for Bumblebee to be called Bumblebee on an alien planet where bumblebees don't exist. What I find confusing is that they didn't extend that logic to any other character.

So despite everything else in the franchise's direction pointing away from "robot" and towards "alien", Transformers One ends up with this ridiculous situation where two of the most important guys are, for practically the whole movie, simply referred to as "Dee" and "Bee", I guess because the writers correctly realised the numbers sound fucking stupid.

And if you squint, "Elita-1" sorta fits this naming scheme. But the great irony of it is that the very same cartoon episode which coined "Orion Pax" simultaneously established that Elita-1 also used to go by a different name: "Ariel"! Like the Little Mermaid. Y'know, because an "aerial" is a type of electrical component- oh, forget it.

By the time the script made it into Eric Pearson's hands, it's obvious that he simply was not thinking about it that deeply. He describes the genesis of a scene where Bumblebee introduces his imaginary friends, "A-atron, EP 5-0-8, and Steve." A-atron was impov'd by Keegan-Michael Key as a reference to one of his own skits on Key & Peele. Steve ("He's foreign.") was literally just because Pearson thought it would be funny. It's true that Steve is an inherently funny name, and I guess if you're struggling to come up with jokes of your own, it can be handy to fall back on something which is inherently funny.

And again, our silly answers to these silly questions beget yet more questions. If he started out as "D-16", then where did the name "Megatron" come from? And if all the Primes have epic made-up fantasy names, then surely that one guy can't just be called "The Fallen", right? That's not a name, that's an epithet. Unfortunately, someone at Hasbro had the bright idea to answer both these questions at once: The Fallen's real name was "Megatronus". Later, for consistency, they threw on the title, and we get "Megatronus Prime", which sounds like what a thirteen-year-old on deviantART in 2014 would call their Steven Universe fusion of Megatron and Optimus Prime. So you see, Megatron actually named himself after Megatronus Prime, famously the most evil of the Primes. In Transformers One, this is changed slightly so Megatronus is merely the strongest of the Primes, as part of its overall effort to make Megatron not look completely insane.

Which, it must be said, is a tall order. Better stories have tried and failed. Back in 2007, Scottish writer Eric Holmes came up with Megatron Origin, a perfectly-fine comic miniseries which drew heavily from the miners' strikes that took place in the UK from 1984-1985, coinciding with the inception of the Transformers franchise. In that comic, Megatron is a lowly miner who, through a series of chance events, winds up at the head of a dangerous political revolutionary movement.

For some reason—I guess because nobody had ever tried to make Megatron anything other than a bloodthirsty cackling madman before—this take on Megatron as a guy who rose up against a corrupt system became the defining interpretation of the character, copy/pasted pretty much wholesale into the Binder of Revelation. Orion Pax also opposes the system, and bonds with Megatron over it, but they disagree on how to fix it: Pax believes in peaceful reform, Megatron just loves to kill. In Transformers One, the problem everyone has with Megatron is basically "whoa, this guy's a little TOO angry!" and there's a point towards the end of the film where Megatron suddenly starts jonesing to kill literally anyone who stands in his way, because he's irrationally angry.

The core problem here—and it's kind of the Magneto problem, the Killmonger problem, whatever better-known example you care to insert here—is that these guys all fundamentally exist just to be a big villain who loves to kill people and who ultimately gets defeated, but the kids who grew up on this stuff in the '80s are now adults who are no longer satisfied with cardboard cutout villains. People like a complex villain, they like a villain who has a point. They like to root for both sides. And in fact, it's easier to sell more toys to people who are rooting for both sides, if your villain is just another kind of hero. But you don't really need to take the same effort with the good guys: they're good by design, righteous by nature. They don't need to stand for something, they just need to stand against the guy whose whole thing is that he loves to kill people.

But again, we're starting from a place where the evil faction—who half the planet will ultimately align themselves with—are literally called "Decepticons". It's a name you'd only ever call yourself ironically, maybe reclaiming it from your enemies. In this film, there's some tortured logic that implies they're called Decepticons because they were deceived by Sentinel Prime. Like if you met a gang of guys who call themselves "The Robbers", but it turns out to be because they got robbed one time, and they actually have zero intention of stealing from anyone.

The Autobots are easier, of course. "Auto" is a prefix that just means, like, the self, or whatever. And the most agreeably American ideal of all is selfishness the power of the individual, the freedom to seize one's own destiny. Prime's original '80s motto, "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings," is bastardised in Transformers One into the slightly less rolls-out-off-the-tongue "Freedom and autonomy are the rights of all sentient beings," because (I can only assume) they forgot to work the word "autonomy" earlier into the script. If they ever greenlit Transformers Three, I suppose the motto would have ended up as something like "Freedom, autonomy, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope are the rights of all sentient beings." Even though bodily autonomy is one of the most salient motifs present in the film—all but referred to by name—I suppose the filmmakers were worried that you might think, when Prime says "freedom", that he actually means something completely different. So now you see! "Autobots" is actually the descriptive name of a political movement which believes in obviously good things. Like "Moms for Liberty".

Okay, so the cannier among you have probably spotted the mean rhetorical trick I'm pulling with this encyclopedia-entry-ass introduction. By sarcastically relitigating all the storytelling choices I dislike from the last 20 years of Transformers lore, I can build up a negative association with Transformers One without even reviewing the movie itself! On a subtextual level, I'm deliberately misattributing these bad ideas to the filmmakers, conveniently ignoring the mountains of evidence to suggest that they were just trying to make the best of whatever Hasbro handed them from on high. If anything—you might think—the filmmakers deserve even more credit, for spinning this shite into something even remotely good on the big screen.

Like, you'd be wrong, but I can see why you might think that.

II. The Spider-Verse of Transformers

Okay, I can see that I've spat in your soup. I'm sorry. There are lots of good bits in Transformers One. I can even think of one or two of them off the top of my head, without really racking my brains.

Maybe halfway through the film, there is one specific moment where the story suddenly promises to get good. You can pinpoint it down to the word, down to the frame even. Our heroes have just discovered that their planet's leader, Sentinel Prime, is a complete fraud who's been secretly exploiting them ever since they were born—and worse, castrated them by removing their transformation cogs. They are all very cross about this. Orion Pax expresses that he wants to come up with a plan to expose Sentinel Prime. Megatron is too angry to listen. Orion Pax asks, "Don't you want to stop him?" And Megatron replies, "No, I want to KILL him!" And there's like, a little tint of red creeping into the glow of his eyes.

Whoa. Chills. Up to this point in the film, Megatron has been kind of surly at times, but he's otherwise a generic kids' movie protagonist. He's often chipper. He makes quips. He has this banter with Orion Pax where he's always complaining. It's literally that one "Optimist Prime"/"Negatron" comic, committed to film. Like I'm not even being facetious, one of the film's few obligatory "emotional moments" has Elita-1 sit Orion Pax down and say, "You know what I love about you? You always see the bright side. Like you're some kind of OPTIMIST or something." And then later completely unrelatedly God gives him the mandate of heaven and says "ARISE, OPTIMUS PRIME!" Y'see, as originally conceived, "Optimus" is the word "Optimum" if it was a name, which is why people sometimes localise his name as "Best #1". But it's genuinely kind of cute to reverse-engineer the etymology as coming from "optimist", I guess. Like, it's stupid, but it's cute.

Argh, I got distracted with naming minutia again! Entirely my bad. That's the last time, I promise. Where was I? Right, we'd just found out that Megatron is kind of scary. Brian Tyree Henry's line delivery as he growls "KILL" is his crowning achievement in this film.

Where Optimus Prime's character arc in this movie sees him change from a funny, rebellious spirit to a complete personality vacuum, Megatron's character arc is kind of the opposite. When we're first introduced to him, it's weirdly hard to get a handle on who he is. He's a fanboy for Megatronus, the strongest and most morally-unremarkable of the Primes. He looks up to Sentinel Prime. He likes sports. He doesn't like breaking the rules. In fact, we get the sense that, were it not for his friendship with Orion Pax, he would be literally indistinguishable from the legion of silent crowd-filling background characters he works with. But the moment he starts to become Megatron, it's like everything starts to click. Gears catch, where once they ground and idled. There is something in this guy that was made to fight, made to kill, made to rule. It's sick.

And the underlying tension in his friendship with Optimus suddenly snaps into focus. Megatron is mad at Sentinel Prime, but Sentinel Prime isn't there, he's somewhere else, far below... and he can't help but turn that anger on the next closest thing to an authority figure he has in his life, which is his peer-pressuring bestie, Orion Pax. There is a part of Megatron that wishes he'd never learned the truth, and he blames Orion Pax for his cursed knowledge, for constantly leading them into predicaments on his stupid flights of fancy. Now that he knows, he can't go back to how he was. He can't stop thinking about it.

I'll be honest, it rules. Obviously it rules. It's complicated and toxic and darker than this movie was marketed to be. In interview, Josh Cooley describes the draft of the script he was presented with when he joined the project as having been far more jokey, light-hearted, glib—and it seems we can credit him for saying "Look, this ain't right, the minute the credits roll these guys are going to be at civil war for millions of years."

So, they started talking about it in — what did you say, 2015? I came on board in 2020, and when I came on board there was the first draft of the script. So I don't think they'd been working on it that entire time, but they'd been thinking about it, for sure. And the script that I read was a little more comical? But it was clear that that wasn't the right tone for this film specifically, because we know there's gonna be a war, civil war on Cybertron, you can't have everybody making jokes and then all of a sudden there's a war. So, um, the stakes were really important for this film. And because our characters at the beginning are a little naive, and just on the younger side, not as experienced, it allowed more freedom for them to be a little looser and have fun really getting to know these characters. But once they realize something's going on and things are getting real, it needs to get real.

Cooley also describes his "in" on the film as being the brotherly relationship between Optimus Prime and Megatron (they're not literally brothers in this film, though they have been in the past), which perhaps explains why Megatron and Optimus Prime get to be characters, instead of just like, guys who are there.

That was always the goal from the beginning and what got me on board. It was this relationship between these two characters that was very human and brotherly. I thought about my relationship with my brother and how I could bring that in. It’s not like we’re enemies, but we grew up together and then went down our different paths, but we’re still brotherly. I became a writer-director and live in a fantasy land, and he became a homicide detective who deals with reality, so we’re two very different mindsets. I have always been fascinated by the idea of two people who come from the same place but end up in different ones. From the very beginning, I was like, ‘That’s something I can relate to.’

Anyway, things I liked, what else. There's that joke at the very start, after the excruciating lore powerpoint, where Orion Pax does a fake-out like he's going to transform, the music briefly swells, and then it just cuts to him legging it down the corridor. In a similar vein, I liked the idea behind the Iacon 5000, where Orion Pax has them run in the race. I felt like the execution of the race left a bit to be desired—the only other participant who matters is Darkwing—but it's still honestly the best big action setpiece in the film. There's also that bit at the end where Megatron and Optimus Prime are both changing into their final forms simultaneously, and it's basically a Homestuck Flash (what would that be, "[S] OPTIMUS PRIME. ARISE."?), so obviously I liked that. Oh, and I really liked the environment design where the planet's landscape is constantly transforming, that's brand-new, someone had an Idea there, and it creates visual interest during the initial Energon-mining scene... even if I wished it had actually paid off in a more meaningful way than "the planet's crust opens as Prime falls to get the Matrix"—like, someone really should've gotten eaten by the planet, that's a cracking Disney death scene and they left it on the table! I also liked getting to see my blorbo, Vector Prime, on the big screen.

I think, as a Transformers fan who's had to sit through a lot of really quite sexist, racist, and plain bad films, you're well within your rights to come out of this one ready to give it a fucking Oscar. You should be ecstatic! It has none of those pesky humans clogging up the frame. It has plenty of robot action. It has jokes which- well I struggle to call many of them "funny", but they're at least trying to be funny in a different way to Michael Bay's films. The film is obviously a massive love letter to... honestly every part of Transformers except the live-action movies. It is an incredibly faithful and earnest adaptation of all the lore and iconography that has randomly accumulated the way it has over the last forty years of bullshit.

My main point of contention, then, is with the overriding sentiment I'm seeing from pretty much everyone else in the fandom: that this is not just the best Transformers movie, but that it's a great animated movie period, that it does for Transformers what Into the Spider-Verse did for Spider-Man, what The Last Wish did for Puss in Boots, and what Mutant Mayhem did for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That, in effect, this film will make you "get it". That it's better-looking, better-written, and more meaningful than a silly toy commercial has any right to be.

I think you can definitely see some loose influence from Spider-Verse in the overall look of the film—particularly in its color grading, and in the design of its main setting, the underground city of Iacon, where the upside-down skyscrapers hanging from the ceiling evoke the iconic "falling upwards" shot from Spider-Verse. Like The Last Wish, it's an animated franchise film that spent much longer than you'd think in development, only for the release of Into the Spider-Verse to have an immediate impact on its visual style... without actually affecting the basic story to the same extent. Both Transformers One and The Last Wish, in many ways, feel like stories concocted using an older formula; in particular, Transformers One bears startling similarities to a similar toy-franchise-prequel, BIONICLE 2: Legends of Metru Nui, which was released twenty years ago! By contrast, Mutant Mayhem—which had a much shorter development period—is a direct reaction to Spider-Verse in both aesthetic and narrative, and it has a much more distinctive creative direction as a result.

If you look at how all these titles have performed in cinemas, I think you can make a pretty strong case that audiences are perfectly willing to go out and see this kind of flick. A glance at Wikipedia tells me that Mutant Mayhem, The Bad Guys, and The Last Wish grossed double, triple, and quadruple their budgets respectively. In terms of the pre-existing cultural cachet they were banking on, we're talking about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a children's book series I'd never heard of, and fucking Puss in Boots. You cannot tell me that Transformers, as a brand, is on the same level as any of these properties. Meanwhile, Transformers One hardly broke even, while The Wild Robot—another DreamWorks film based on a children's book I've never heard of, which it ended up competing with in theatres—grosses three times its budget. My friends who've seen The Wild Robot say it made them cry.

Face it: Transformers One has not lit the world on fire. I've seen a lot of people cope with this by suggesting that it's to do with the film's staggered release, or even by claiming that the film's marketing was somehow misleading. I'll be honest, upon seeing it, it did not strike me as being at all dissimilar to the trailers. You can maybe say that the trailers undersold the depth of Orion Pax's and Megatron's relationship—which is its best aspect—but honestly, I think if they'd taken a lot of those scenes out of context and put them in early teasers, audiences would've laughed it out of theatres. Like, c'mon, it's toy robots, stop pretending it's Shakespeare. And otherwise, what you see is what you get; it's exactly what it says on the tin.

I wonder how many Transformers fans, on some level, have noticed that even when we're supposedly "eating good", and watching "peak cinema", our films just aren't as good as everyone else's. They're something you'll enjoy if you're already highly predisposed to enjoy them. But otherwise, they're not turning heads. They're not as funny, or as heartfelt, or as complex, or as exciting, or as charming, or as memorable, or as beautiful as these other films. Unlike with Spider-Verse, there's no word-of-mouth amongst normal people to say that this is a film worth seeing.

What I perceive in studios hoping to recreate the flash-in-the-pan success of Spider-Verse is a misunderstanding of what made people go crazy for that movie in the first place. Yes, it changed our conception of what an 3D-animated film could look like. Yes, the multiverse is very cool and all that. Yes, it had a huge IP attached to it. But on a more fundamental level, that movie has a fantastic story underpinning it. The script is razor-sharp. The story is beautifully complex. The vision of New York City it presents is a living, breathing place, populated by real people. It has the kind of craft to it that can only come from truly obsessive creators cultivating an absolutely miserable professional environment for a legion of passionate animators.

In interview, Transformers producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura actually spoke surprisingly candidly about his view on crunch:

I probably shouldn't answer this question, because I'm not exactly PC on my answer. I think the nature of filmmaking is, we're really lucky to work in a business that's about passion. Passion doesn't fit really well into a timeline, so inevitably you come to a crunch time. It's just true in the live action, it's true in every movie, and authors always tell me that about when they're writing their books — it's the same thing happens to them! There's something about the creative process that's not — it's unruly. So, I think if you're enjoying it, you need to recognize that. Like, you know, I don't wanna abuse anybody, and y'know — if you get into that period where people have to really work too hard, you gotta help them in that situation, then. 'Cause it's gonna come. It does on every movie. I've never seen it not come, no matter how well you plan, et cetera. 'Cause it's not a science what we're doing at all, and there's all these discoveries that happen near the end, which makes you go "oh, let's do some more, come on!". We discovered that on this movie, where we're calling ILM going "we've got a few ideas, you know, do you have enough man-hours?". [...] Like, you gotta be conscious of it — in live-action, for instance, there are some studios that are so cheap that when you're on — sort of medium location-distance and you're shooting 'til midnight, they don't pay for a hotel room. It's like, well, no-no-no, you pay for a hotel room. You protect the people.

According to everyone who worked on Transformers One, everyone who worked on Transformers One was very passionate about it. But there are parts of this film where I think you can say, pretty objectively, that it's falling short of its intended effect. So I guess maybe they weren't that passionate. I'm not saying that to be mean! It's just... isn't that better than the alternative—that this was the best they could do?

III. I did not care for The Godfather

At one point in the film, the gang's magic map leads them to a scary cave, which looks like this:

Bumblebee fills the dead air by saying, "A cave, with teeth. Nothing scary about that!" The joke here is that this is a cave that looks like a mouth. But as depicted, it's a cave that looks like a mouth that doesn't look like a cave! I get that this is an alien planet, but stalactites don't grow that way on Earth, so when you see the cave onscreen, your gut reaction isn't "oh my, what a frightening cave!". No, this is a cave that makes you say, "that's not a cave, that's some kind of alien monster".

(It's not like "cave turns out to be a monster" would in any way be a fresh twist. In BIONICLE 2: Legends of Metru Nui, there's a bit where a character swims into a scary cave, and it turns out to be the mouth of a massive sea serpent. In The Empire Strikes Back, the Millennium Falcon briefly hides in an asteroid tunnel which turns out to be a giant space worm. So I'm definitely not saying Transformers One would've been a better film if it had used this stock trope.)

Then once the heroes go inside, we're whisked off to an entirely different set of concept artwork, for this lush organic underground paradise. There's no danger there. The cave itself is reduced to a strange little footnote. Maybe it's only in the story because a concept artist drew it before they'd worked out the finer points of the narrative, and Keegan-Michael Key just ended up ad-libbing the "teeth!" line when he was told to vamp for a few seconds. Or maybe the teeth gag was fully written into the script from the start, and the environment artists just interpreted it way too literally.

Like, I'm sorry, I don't mean to start off on the wrong foot here by harping on about the cave thing—it's not a perfect example anyway—but to me it's a microcosm for my frustration towards what I perceive to be a lack of creative vision in this film. So much of the film feels like it's not there to be entertaining, or meaningful, or narratively load-bearing... it's just obligatory, something they threw in for the sake of having anything at all. It's colors and sounds. When you see the spiky shape onscreen, you think, "ooh, this film was pretty bouba earlier, but now it's more kiki!" They get the comedian to improvise a few one-liners while the characters walk from place to place. And it's like, yes, this is a film for children. Of course the heroes have an adventure map with a big red X on it. In many respects this is a glorified episode of Pocoyo, or the modern equivalent, which I guess is "Baby Shark | Animal Songs For Children".

Nowhere is this sense of "we are obliged to put this in the movie" felt more strongly than in its supporting cast. When you look closely, you notice that Bumblebee and Elita-1—placed prominently in the film's marketing and being technically present for much of its runtime—don't actually do anything of narrative significance. They don't make choices that impact the story; they're just there, and it would not take much rewriting to excise them entirely, so it's just Orion Pax and Megatron on their little adventure. In fact, I'll just come out and say it: I think Transformers One would have been a better movie if Bumblebee and Elita-1 were not in it.

It helps that, from a Doylist perspective, the motivations for their inclusion are perfectly transparent. Firstly, think of the merchandise! Secondly, in Bumblebee's case, it's fucking Bumblebee, he's the whole reason half the kids will be watching, you can't not have him in there. Whenever Bumblebee's not onscreen, all the other characters should be asking, "where's Bumblebee?" Also, I think the creative team felt that they could use Bumblebee tactically to balance some of the darkness in the story.

In the G1 cartoon, Bumblebee just has the default Autobot personality—good-natured, a little sarcastic—with the dial turned a little more towards friendliness. There's this iconic anecdote from the production that cartoon, where writer David Wise found himself in exactly the same situation Transformers writers are finding themselves in forty years later: he was told to write a story about something called "Vector Sigma", and he had no fucking clue what Vector Sigma was supposed to be. So he asked story editor Bryce Malek, who also had no fucking idea. Malek in turn asked Hasbro, and was told that Vector Sigma was "the computer that gave all the Transformers personalities". Upon hearing this, Malek said, "Well, it didn't do a very good job, did it!" Vector Sigma, in case you missed it, does actually appear in Transformers One, as the polygonal shape that transitions into the Matrix of Leadership in the opening powerpoint; I guess they're one and the same now. Some things never change: in Michael Bay's Transformers movies, there is again just a single default personality that every single Autobot shares, a braggadacious action-hero facade over genuine bloodthirst. Who can forget that iconic moment in Revenge of the Fallen where Bumblebee rips out Ravage's spine in grisly slow-mo?

Aside from the fact that he's small and yellow, Bumblebee in Transformers One bears very little resemblance to any incarnation of the character kids might be accustomed to. Instead, he occupies a stock comic-relief archetype, he's a zany guy who goes "Well, that just happened!" If anything, his one joke in the third act—wanton murder—reads like it could maybe be a reference to his many Mortal Kombat fatalities in Bay's films. Beginning in 2007's Transformers Animated, Bumblebee has sometimes possessed deployable "stingers" that flip out from his hands, as a fun action feature for toys. Clearly someone on Transformers One saw this and thought it was the funniest fucking thing that Bumblebee has "knife hands", because the character spends the third act of the movie just shouting "knife hands!" and cutting people in half like a medieval terror.

(In the UK, Bumblebee's lines were re-recorded at the last minute so he says "sword hands" instead. This is because in the UK, we generally aren't able to kill each other using guns, so it's knives that are the big armed-violence boogeyman. Everyone's always talking about how all the kids have knives. And look, I'm not someone to indulge in moral panic, but genuinely, when I look at Bumblebee chasing around people with knives, saying, "I'm gonna cut these guys, watch!", I'm like... what the fuck were they thinking when they wrote that?)

Frankly, whatever is going on with Bumblebee is just an entirely different movie to everything else that's happening. When Bee shanks his twelfth nameless lackey in a row, the movie's like, awww, you're sweet! But when Megatron tries to kill the one (1) evil dictator who's just fucking branded him, who's still lying to his face while his people continue to die to the guy's fuckin' honor guard, Optimus Prime is like, HELLO, HUMAN RESOURCES?

Bumblebee is solely here to be funny, but there's a point in the film where it needs to become a war story, and the best they can think to do with Bumblebee is to have him kill people but in like, a funny way.

As for Elita-1... look, to put it very bluntly, she is in this movie to be a woman. Transformers has had a long, long forty-year history of boys'-club exclusionism, if not outright misogyny, and each new series usually has a token female character, as a kind of fig-leaf for the fact that really, the only fucking thing Hasbro cares about is that the boys are buying the toys. Beginning in the 1986 movie, it was Arcee who got to be "the pink one" for many years of fiction—but not toys, y'see, when parents want to buy something for their beloved young lad, they don't buy "the pink one", no sir. In the 2010s, wow-cool-OC Windblade took over for a stint as leading lady, decked out in a commercially-non-threatening red color scheme. Recently, though, it's been Elita-1—Optimus Prime's girlfriend from the original '80s cartoon—who's been the go-to female character, and she's increasingly allowed to be pink.

There is a lot of love for these characters amongst creatives and fans alike, and especially in the last decade, female Transformers have been both more numerous and better-written than ever. Unfortunately Transformers One, which depicts Elita-1 as an arms-crossing career-obsessed buzzkill, whose arc sees her learn her place in deference to a less-competent man... well let's just say it struck me as a significant step back in this regard.

There's this great interview with Scarlett Johansson, voice of Elita-1, where she's trying to describe what makes her character interesting, and it's like she's drawing blood from a stone. She's like, "yeah, so Elita-1, I would say, she's on her own journey, because at the start of the film it's sort of like she's working at a big company, you know, and she wants to get a promotion, but then later on she learns that she can't, y'know, get a promotion". Look, it's not that Scarlett Johansson does a bad job—in fact, considering the material she's working with, she practically carries Elita-1 entirely on the back of her performance—it's just that I can't shake the impression that the filmmakers would rather pay Scarlett Johansson god knows how many thousands of dollars than try to think of a second actress that they know of.

As I've already complained, Transformers One has a pretty thin cast, but it effectively only has two other female characters who do anything. Airachnid is a secondary antagonist, Sentinel Prime's spymaster/enforcer, and it's clear that some concept artist really fucking popped off when designing her. She has eyes in the back of her head, and it's ten times creepier than that makes it sound. Her spiderlegs also create some visual interest during fight scenes. As a character, Airachnid has zero internality and is not interesting, but she is cool, so you'll get no complaints from me there.

The film's other other female character is Chromia, who wins the Iacon 5000 race at the last moment. She really comes out of nowhere to clinch it. It's funny, because the leaderboards show this one guy, Mirage, hovering near the top of the rankings for almost the whole sequence. And Chromia's character model really looks suspiciously like Mirage's. In fact, there's a different character who stands around in the background a couple of times who looks much more like Chromia. Funnily enough, that background character is even called Chromia in concept art! So if you connect the dots, it really seems that the "Chromia" who is the best racer on Cybertron was originally meant to be Mirage, a guy, until they switched the character's gender at the very last minute, and didn't bother changing the leaderboards to match.

There are two possible explanations for this. The first is that Mirage was the dark horse of Rise of the Beasts, and for some reason they felt like his depiction in Transformers One would've gotten in the way of their plans for the character somehow. It's plausible, I guess. The second, infinitely funnier option, is that at some point someone working on the movie realised that they only put two women in the film, scrambled to look through the feature to find a suitable character to gender-swap, only to discover to their horror that they'd forgotten to put in any characters whatsoever. Fuck it, the racer guy! He can be a girl. Diversity win, the fastest class traitor on Cybertron... is a woman!

In case you were wondering about the Transformers One toyline leaderboards, by my count, Orion Pax has ten new transforming toys currently announced or in stores, Bumblebee and Megatron have six each, Sentinel Prime has four, Alpha Trion has two, Elita-1 has two, Airachnid has one, Starscream has one, Wheeljack has one, and the Quintesson High Commander has one. In fact, one of Elita-1's toys—the collector-oriented high-quality Studio Series release—isn't scheduled for release until some undetermined point later next year, and she was entirely absent from leaked lists of upcoming releases, which to me smacks of "we realised last-minute that it would look really really bad if we didn't bother to release a good toy of the one woman in the film". Oh, and obviously, Chromia has no toys—but there is an "Iacon Race" three-pack consisting of Megatron, Orion Pax... and Mirage. Go figure.

The thing is, all of the stuff I'm grousing about here is pretty much standard fare for kids' films targeted more at boys. Hell, even The Lego Movie—which is basically the gold standard of toy commercials—gave supporting protagonist Wyldstyle a pretty similar arc to the one Elita-1 gets here, which was probably the weakest element of that film. Evidently conscious of this, Lord & Miller redeemed themselves by devoting the entirety of The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part to deconstructing common narratives surrounding gender roles. I guess I just wish the young girls who presumably comprise some portion of Transformers One theatergoers could actually get anything out of Elita-1 as a character. Ah, what do I know, maybe it's still considered countercultural simply to depict a woman punching people.

Still, to give credit where it's due: Transformers One doesn't remotely touch the gender-essentialism prevalent in the Binder of Revelation, treating female Transformers no differently to their male counterparts in lore terms. Solus Prime is, it seems, just a Prime who happened to be a woman, rather than the mythological Eve after whom all women are patterned. There's a scene where our heroes are gifted the Transformation Cogs of the fallen Primes, and the Primes named thankfully bear no particular relation to the characters; in other words, Elita-1 isn't given Solus Prime's cog. As Alpha Trion puts it: "What defines a Transformer is not the cog in his chest, but the spark that resides in their core." Dude really remembered nonbinary people exist halfway through that sentence huh.

(Actually, the bigger mistake would've been with Megatron: if he was given Megatronus Prime's cog from the start, then this would've created the unfortunate implication that his descent into evil was only the result of Megatronus Prime's fucked up and evil cog, rather than a choice Megatron made of his own free will. The film instead has it the other way around: Megatron's radicalisation into a "might makes right" philosophy is what causes him to covet Megatronus Prime's transformation cog, to steal that power from Sentinel Prime, who stole the cogs of both Megatronus and Megatron in the first place. That's cool! This does create a bit of unfortunate narrative dissonance with Alpha Trion's words, alas, as it does seem like Megatronus Prime's cog really is more powerful than the others, because it gives both Sentinel Prime and Megatron a powerup.)

There's just something that I find so dreadfully mercenary about this movie's cast—honestly, everyone except Orion Pax, Megatron, and maybe Sentinel Prime. Take Darkwing, for example. Bro was clearly designed from the ground up to fill this stock character role of "bully who pushes our guys around and later gets his comeuppance". For a more interesting take on that exact same archetype, look no further than Todd Sureblade from Nimona, a bigoted knight who gets a whole damn character arc in the background, which directly complements that film's main themes.

Again, I'm not playing some kind of guessing game here, the authorial evidence is right there: Darkwing didn't even have a name until Hasbro designer Mark Maher was shown a picture of the character and asked, "If this was a Decepticon flyer, who would it be?" This is actually par for the course with ILM; most of their concept art is labelled with very basic descriptions, with the exact trademarks being picked in conjunction with Hasbro at a later point. Darkwing just stands out in Transformers One because he's the only recurring speaking character who's an OC in all but name (unless you count Bumblebee), he's the one guy who's been invented from scratch with total creative freedom, and he's boring as sin. It's like the filmmakers just couldn't conceive of a children's movie without that stock character—and they clearly had no idea what to do with him once they'd invented him, because he disappears entirely from the film at the start of the third act, when Orion Pax throws him into an arcade cabinet, which they have in the mines on Cybertron for some reason.

In a film with as painfully few named speaking characters as Transformers One, there's really no excuse for having this kind of one-dimensionality in their portrayals. Genuinely, I ask—who are Orion Pax and Megatron fighting to liberate? Jazz, one of the biggest personalities from the original G1 cartoon, who gets all of two boilerplate lines here? Cooley seems to think so:

As you’re designing them the background characters are almost like Lego pieces where you put different heads on different bodies just to fill in a crowd. But some of them would be brought forward and be painted specific colors so that it represents a character that I didn’t know was such a big deal. But there was stuff—like Jazz, for example, has a pretty big role. It was important to have a relationship with a character that we know gets to be saved.

To me, the idea that casual cinemagoers would be invested in any of the Transformers as characters is laughable. Michael Bay's characters are famous for being hateful non-entities. In terms of the films, Jazz is best remembered for dying at the end of the first one, seventeen years ago; he looks completely different here. The one breakout character in recent years—Mirage, as played by Pete Davidson in Rise of the Beasts—was, as I've already mentioned, written out so that the movie could reach its girl quota... not that he would've had any lines anyway.

And I just don't buy the idea that the complete dearth of compelling characterisation in this film is just an unfortunate side-effect of its clipped one-hour-thirty runtime—that, given even half an hour longer, the film would suddenly be crowded with rich portrayals of all your Transformers faves. Bumblebee and Elita-1, ostensibly two of the most important characters in the film, are not in this movie because the movie is interested in telling their stories. They are in this movie for the sake of being in this movie. It insists upon itself.

IV. No politics means no politics

In fact, putting aside merchandising considerations, Elita-1 and Bumblebee serve one very specific purpose in narrative terms. The trait Optimus Prime and Megatron have always had in common is that they are both leaders—and what is a leader, without anyone to lead? Without Bumblebee and Elita-1, you'd have this farcical situation where the only person Optimus Prime ever gets to boss around is Megatron, until the very end of the movie when God makes him king of all Cybertron. The High Guard, Starscream's gang of exiles, serve a similar narrative purpose for Megatron; they're a ready-made army who've just been sitting around waiting for him to show up and take charge.

Towards the end, the movie does actually take care to show both Orion Pax and Megatron rallying groups of Cybertronians: in Pax's case, he reveals the truth to his legion of interchangable miner friends, while Megatron riles up the High Guard mob. Again, there's a bit of that narrative sleight-of-hand, a bit of a thematic cop-out, where the question of "how do Optimus Prime and Megatron come to be leaders of their factions?" is answered only in the most literal possible interpretation. Yes, we technically see the exact chain of events that lead to this point—but both characters are portrayed as born leaders. We don't see them grow into the role, except physically. The moment Megatron decides he wants to rule, he's able to take charge. Likewise, Optimus Prime just gets divinely appointed by God. At a key point, Megatron loudly declares "I will never trust a so-called leader ever again", and the movie plays a fucking scare chord like this is supposed to be ominous. Like, oh no! Optimus Prime is a leader! And they're friends! Whatever will Megatron do when he finds out his friend, Optimus Prime, is a leader?

I don't think the movie has given any real thought to what a leader actually is. It seems to take a stance that power cannot be taken, i.e. through violent action, as Sentinel Prime and Megatron do. That one scene with Elita-1 suggests the most important trait for a leader to have, above and beyond any particular competency, is simply hope and optimism. What I just can't wrap my head around is the fact that the counterpoint the movie presents to Megatron, in the form of Orion Pax becoming Optimus Prime, does not support a belief in collective action or basic democracy—rather, it's a boring sword-in-the-stone divine-right-of-kings fantasy.

Except I do have a theory for why the film is like this. Let's look again at that interview with Eric Pearson, who came onboard in the "late middle" of production:

One of the first things that I did was a big pass on Sentinel Prime. I just felt like he was too obviously telegraphing his wickedness in previous versions, and I felt like, “No, he’s a carnival barker.” He’s got to be a big salesman. He’s a bullshitter, honestly is what he is.

(Honestly, if this is Sentinel after a "big pass" to make his villainy more of a twist, I shudder to think what the earlier drafts were like.)

Now, let's see how WIRED introduces their interview with Josh Cooley, titled "Transformers One Isn't as Silly as It Looks":

He liked the script, which traces how Optimus Prime (Chris Hemsworth) and Megatron (Brian Tyree Henry) went from friends to enemies. But as the world went into lockdown as Covid-19 spread, Cooley found his story changing, if only slightly. Trump was still in office when Cooley started working on the film, and he was having meetings with the producers and they’d “start these meetings off on Zoom just going, like, ‘Holy crap what is going on in this world?’” he says. Ultimately, the infighting they were seeing between Democrats and Republicans in the same family became an undercurrent in the film’s friends-to-enemies storyline, “because that’s what Transformers is.”

So it's like, oh, this is a 2016 election thing. This is just that one election that broke everyone's brains. Of course this movie about a made-up political struggle on an alien planet being developed from 2015-2020 wouldn't be like, hey, you know what might fix our society's problems, is if we had an election. Of course the main villain is a "big salesman" "bullshitter" who says things like "The truth is what I make it!". Wow, guys, your film is so-o-o politically-conscious, and very pretty.

The fantasy is more or less that Donald Trump's army of reactionaries is marching on Washington to seize power through violent means, and on the way he drops Joe Biden into the Grand Canyon, but just before Joe hits the ground a giant fucking bald eagle swoops in to catch him and squawks, "God finds you worthy! Arise, President Biden!"

In our escapist little morality play, our best friend slash allegorical dad gets made king of the planet, and we all get jobs in the government. As in, one of the funniest lines in the movie is straightup Bumblebee exulting, "This is the greatest day of my life. I get to work for the government!" When Prime met Bumblebee—an hour ago—the dude was talking to imaginary friends, and honestly the only fucking skill he's demonstrated since then is cold-blooded murder. We have this dissonance in the storytelling, where it's mostly a story about four friends going on an adventure (are they even friends? Most of them hate each other!), but it's also a founding-fathers political origin story, which means there comes a point where our hero just suddenly starts bossing his friends around in a deep voice, and they're like, "Yes, sir!" It creates this unhinged situation where the "good" faction on Cybertron is ruled by the biblical chosen one and his nepotism buddies.

Per that quote from WIRED (or are they just putting words in Cooley's mouth? I can't help but notice they don't give an exact quote!), the film is ultimately sympathetic to the bad guys (the Republicans, I guess). It deliberately suggests that there is really nothing that should divide the Autobots and the Decepticons: their political goals, it claims, are identical, and they only disagree on the means by which to achieve them. The Decepticons, who are angry and hateful, have simply been misled by a power-hungry liar with charisma—first Sentinel, then Megatron—and so the tragedy is that they are artificially pushed into conflict with their fellow men, when really they should be uniting to stand against their common enemy, the foreigner illuminati trying to steal Cybertron's wealth.

Now, I know I've just handed you a get-out-of-jail-free card. My political allegory here is chock full of holes. What, are Sentinel Prime and Megatron both Donald Trump? Get a grip. Obviously any real-world commentary in Transformers One was only intended in the loosest sense imaginable: things like, "people should be free to change into whatever they want!" I'm being unfair, I'm reading too much into it, this is a cartoon movie for children, and if I want politics, I should start reading some fucking books. Also, come to mention it, my whole argument about that cave earlier really didn't hold water, and- I know, alright? I know.

V. Place / Place, Cybertron

I'm not mad at this toy commercial because its politics don't quite align with mine. I'm not mad at it for having a boring-ass supporting cast. I'm not mad at it for reheating a bunch of half-baked lore I didn't care for from the early 2010s. I've actually spent a lot of time mad about Transformers media that I've thought was bad. There's Transformers: Armada, where the English translators are fully asleep at the wheel and render even the most basic cartoon plots incomprehensible though constant mistranslations. There's Transformers: Micromasters, where two white guys wrote a downtrodden race of tiny Cybertronians who greet each other like "Wattup, my micro!". There's the recent series of Transformers: EarthSpark, where there's an episode that I can only describe as "the Wonka Experience but it's an episode of a children's cartoon", with a plotline that mostly revolves around our child heroes straightup robbing a Onceler-looking businessman of his most valuable possession. There's Transformers: Age of Extinction, with that one scene, and also the rest of that movie. In fact, I would go so far as to say that most Transformers fiction is some combination of bad, offensive, and offensively bad.

So even though I've just spent thousands of words whinging and moaning about how I didn't like Transformers One, the truth is that I had a perfectly nice time at the cinema. I got to go see it with five of my pals who love Transformers just as much as I do, and we had a blast. It is easily in the top 50% of all Transformers fiction.

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, I guess I've always given a lot of thought to what Transformers looks like from the outside. Maybe it's that I'm compelled to spend so much time and money on it, that it somehow compels me to vomit up these kinds of essays, and all I want is to be able to make it make sense to anyone in my life. It would be so, so nice if I could just sit down in the cinema with a friend or family member for a couple of hours, and at the end of it, they'd be able to walk out and say, "Okay, I guess I see what you get out of it." Rise of the Beasts was kind of that movie for me, but Rise of the Beasts is also the seventh instalment in a blockbuster franchise. It kind of takes for granted everything about Transformers.

It doesn't answer, "what the fuck is a Transformer anyway?"

For many years now, fans have noticed a marked aversion to using the word "transform" as a verb, or even as a noun. Optimus Prime no longer says, "Autobots, transform and roll out!", he just says, "Roll out!". Transformers no longer transform, they "convert". In fact, Transformers are no longer Transformers at all: they are "Transformers bots", the italics here serving to distinguish a registered trademark. This is because the worms in suits at Hasbro are worried that, if they continue to use the word "transform" by its dictionary definition—that is, to change—then rival toy companies will be able to make the case that anything that transforms can legally be described as a Transformer. It will become a generic trademark, like Velcro, or Band-Aid, or Dumpster.

Yet in Transformers One, "Transformers" is not just the noun by which the characters are referred to—rather, it's used in a descriptive sense to specifically mean "Cybertronians who can transform"! Characters are constantly talking about whether they can or can't transform. Prime gets to say his catchphrase in full. It's a miracle. Not only that, characters even get to say the word "kill" instead of "defeat" or "destroy".

Transformers One has a level of unrestricted creative freedom not seen since the 1986 animated film. This is a film unconstrained by location shooting, or licensing deals, or uncooperative actors; through the magic of CGI, for every single frame of its one-hour-thirty runtime, the filmmakers can put literally whatever they want on the screen. They were given the assignment, "Make an animated prequel set on Cybertron telling the origin story of Optimus Prime and Megatron", handed an estimated $147 million and a blank page, and told to go nuts. Like those born with transformation cogs, Transformers One had the power to become anything it wanted to be.

The 1986 animated film took that carte blanche to do whatever the fuck it wanted, and basically singlehandedly defined the direction of the franchise ever since. On a lore level, in terms of tone, I would say that Transformers owes practically everything to The Transformers: The Movie. Cartoons, comics, films, and video games have adapted every single one of its scenes countless times over. I'm not necessarily saying that it's a good film, or even that it's a particularly original film—much of it is ripped off from Star Wars—just that it took the franchise somewhere it hadn't gone before. It was looking to the future. As in, literally, it was set in 2005, at the time two decades into the future.

What gets me down about Transformers One is that—like most major franchise media released since The Force Awakens—all it can do is think about the past. Swathes of it are devoted to painstakingly recreating or setting up the various bits of iconography which have arbitrarily come to define the franchise. Even when it appears to be taking things in a new direction, it's not long before it course-corrects back into familiar territory: Steve Buscemi invents a surprisingly fresh take on Starscream's voice, and then Megatron half-strangles him to death, saddling him with a post-produced rasp to emulate Chris Latta's iconic performance from forty years ago.

The very title of the film, Transformers One, is an allusion to the line, "Till all are one," which originates in The Transformers: The Movie. In an early script for that '80s feature, it was actually "Till all life sparks are one", referring to a literal metaphysical process in that draft whereby one Transformer's life force could be passed on to another, presumably with the belief that they would all eventually be merged into a single afterlife. In the finalized story, it's just this kind of mystical phrase vaguely evoking concepts of togetherness and unity.

Transformers One brushes up against the phrase a couple of times. Alpha Trion almost says it at one point, when passing on his dead siblings' transformation cogs: "They were one. You are one. All are one!" Whatever that means. Later, Orion Pax starts a chant amongst the miners: "Together as one!" And finally, at the very end of the movie, during his obligatory film-ending monologue, Optimus Prime again goes: "And now, we stand here together... as one." (Half of Cybertron has just been banished to the surface forever.) "[...] Here, all are truly... Autobots." (Again, half of Cybertron- Optimus, what the fuck are you talking about?) Regardless, this is inexplicably the one instance where the movie doesn't twist itself up into knots trying to nail the exact phrasing.

Actually, there is one other sideways reference like this I can think of. Early in the film, Orion Pax is chatting up Elita, and he remarks, "Feel like I have enough power in my to drill down and touch Primus himself." To which Elita replies, "You don't have the touch or the power." This is kind of a nonsensical retort unless you know that in the 1986 movie, one of the most iconic songs on the soundtrack was "The Touch" by Stan Bush, which had the chorus line: "You got the touch! You got the power!" It's a banger. Anyway, remember when I said Darkwing gets chucked through an arcade cabinet? Well, here's Cooley revealing why that arcade cabinet is in the film:

I actually wrote [that exchange between Orion Pax and Elita] because I love that song. [...] And we had this one version where D-16 and Orion were playing a video game, like a stand-up old arcade game—it was inspired to look like that, but a Cybertonian version of that. They’re playing that together like friends and the song, like the 8-bit song that’s playing is ["The Touch"]. But that scene got nixed. And so I wanted to work it in there somewhere. And I just felt like a natural place for it. But that was one where I’m like, "I just love that song and those lyrics and that’s Transformers to me so I want to get that in there."

(I've had to amend that quote to fill in the blanks where the article has redacted "spoilers" for the movie. Spoiler culture is an absolute pox, I swear. Can't have the audiences knowing about one (1) mid joke in advance—the movie barely has enough jokes to fill a "Transformers One Funny Moments" compilation as it is!)

This actually isn't the first time Hasbro has "nixed" a reference to "The Touch" in major Transformers media. In the Transformers: Cyberverse episode "The Alliance", a character references "The Touch" right before a training montage which is clearly supposed to have the track playing, except instead it's been replaced by a generic rock instrumental, presumably because they couldn't afford the license. And in Daniel Warren Johnson's Eisner-award-winning bestselling comic run, there's one panel where he clearly wanted to include the song's lyrics as a sound effect, but wasn't allowed, so the final sound effect famously reads "YOU KNOW THE SONG". But that's a random episode of a bargain-bin cartoon, and an indie-darling comic series—not a $147 million blockbuster. You really have to wonder if it came down to money, or if it was something else. God knows Transformers One would not actually be improved for having a chiptune remix of "The Touch" in it, anyway.

The most egregious misplaced bit of fanwank in the film isn't even in dialogue. In the 1986 film, there's this one iconic moment when Optimus Prime arrives at the besieged Autobot City, drives through a crowd of Decepticons in truck mode, then fires some afterburners, launching his cab up into the air, where he transforms mid-leap, drawing his blaster to shoot a couple of Decepticons before hitting the ground. It's a fantastic bit of original animation. It's the Akira slide of Transformers. And, surprise surprise, it crops up in Transformers One. In the climactic final fight, Orion Pax shows up to save Megatron, and he does the thing.

But the problem is... he's not in truck mode! The film just cuts to him standing there in the middle of some anonymous mooks, then he does a standing jump into the air, the movie momentarily goes into extreme slow-mo like he's doing a fucking quick-time event, then he shoots a couple of guys and drops to the ground. There's no momentum. It exists purely to create that simulacrum, to take the single most iconic frame from that bit of 1986 animation, and stretch that one frame into infinity. The context is discarded, irrelevant. All that matters is that brief moment of recognition: "I know what that iiis!" God knows Transformers One has precious little in the way of impactful fight animation of its own; the choreography is stiff and uninspired, while the shots themselves are nauseatingly cluttered. Often, the best it can do is pilfer from older, better stories.

"Did you clap at any of the new moments and memorable characters?" "Were there any?"

Look, I get it. Transformers One is a prequel. By definition, it can't change the future. It has to play with the characters that are already in the toybox. But I do think it had this really special opportunity: to show theatregoers where the Transformers come from. To show us Cybertron not as a distant star or a barren scrapyard, but as a living, thriving alien world, unlike Earth, something special and worth protecting in its own right. Something new and memorable. In Rise of the Beasts—probably the best Transformers movie by default—when Optimus Prime is at his lowest, he wants nothing more to return home... but home is something we've only ever seen as a cold dystopia, ruled by Decepticons. The version of Transformers One I had hoped to see was one that would have imbued Optimus' homesickness with greater meaning. I wanted to feel his loss, and to hope that one day the war will end, and Cybertron can be restored.

I think Transformers One sincerely tries to achieve this effect. The concept artists have clearly put a great deal of time and thought into Cybertron as an environment. When the artbook comes out, I'm keen to see how much stuff didn't make it into the finished film. You have to assume most of it got cut, because there's next to nothing left!

At the end of the film, battle lines are drawn, the civil war is about to start... but strangely, the movie's setting does not convey the sense that anything beautiful is being lost. Nobody is unwillingly turned to violence, innocence-lost; they're all too eager to get to killing, friggin' Bumblebee is gleeful about it. There's no beautiful, iconic landmark, which gets tragically destroyed, like in some kind of Transformers 9/11—"What have we done! Where will this war take us!". There's no part of Cybertron's natural ecological environment to be ruined by the war, because the surface world is already turbofucked by the Quintessons to begin with. No, rather, we have the total opposite: Optimus Prime finding the Matrix (which was just, like, hanging out in the core of Cybertron or whatever) actually restores Energon to the planet, removing the unnatural scarcity which was the entire impetus behind the film's dystopia. He made Cybertron great again. So again, Transformers One fails to answer one of the most fundamental questions one might expect of a Transformers prequel: "When did things on Cybertron get so bad?" The movie ends with the planet in better shape to how it started!

The big original idea that Transformers One has is that Cybertron, the planet itself, should be in a constant state of transformation. I've already talked about the beautiful shapeshifting landscapes, but it's also the moving buildings, the complicated mechanisms, the roads and rails that magically lay themselves between the vehicles and their destinations. I've already mentioned how odd I find it that none of these environmental transformations have any significance to the story; the closest it comes to some sort of payoff is when Orion Pax falls into the hole that makes you king.

What I find most perplexing are the deer. When the gang makes it to the surface, the idea is to show the natural beauty of the surface, which the cogless have been denied their whole lives. The mountains glisten as they move. Nebulae glow in the night sky. The surface is blanketed in organic (?) plantlife, like a watering can forgotten in a garden. And, most strikingly, there are deer: mechanical animals, just like those found on Earth, being hunted for sport by the evil Quintessons. When the cruisers near, their glowing horns turn red with alarm, and they prance around in fear.

I'm reminded of a brief gag from the third season of Transformers: Cyberverse—one of very few shows to have devoted any serious effort to Cybertronian worldbuilding—in the episode "Thunderhowl". Bumblebee and Chromia stumble across a "singlehorn" (read: unicorn), and when it senses danger, it neighs, transforms into a rocket, and blasts out of frame. And apart from being really cute and funny, it's like, oh, of course that's what animals are like on Cybertron! Everything on this planet transforms. Why not the animals?

For whatever reason, the deer in Transformers One are like the one thing that don't transform. Why the hell not? If Cyberverse could find the budget for its split-second sight gag, surely this blockbuster could, I don't know, have them turn into dirt bikes with antler-handlebars. That would've been something, right? If not, then at least could we maybe see some other animals on Cybertron, to really get across that alien biodiversity? Of course not. See, the deer exist to communicate one very specific story beat: a single moment of trepidation, where the heroes know there's danger nearby, but they don't know what. And all you need for that is a single kind of prey animal, with some kind of warning light to let you know, hey, there's danger! Once this purpose is fulfilled, the deer have no further significance to the story.

We need only look to BIONICLE 2: Legends of Metru Nui to see this exact same beat play out with a modicum of competence and creative flair. Also in the second act—in fact, at practically the exact same timestamp—our heroes, the Toa, have a run-in with the bad guys, and they're nearly captured... but then there's this sudden rumble of danger approaching, we don't know what. It turns out to be a herd of giant Kikanalo! They send the bad guys packing, except they nearly trample our heroes too! But then, Toa Nokama's mask begins to glow, and she discovers that her mask grants her the ability to talk to animals. They learn some vital information from the Kikanalo, and are able to ride the creatures for the next stage of their adventure. Finally, when they can go no further, the Kikanalo cave in the passage behind the heroes to ensure they won't be pursued. Holy shit, that's like, five different story beats with just that one type of creature!

It's not just that Transformers One struggles with that kind of basic narrative flow, where a single element serves multiple purposes. It's that often, it wastes precious time creating redundant setups to achieve the same effect twice.

For example, Megatronus Prime's face happens to look exactly like (what we know will be) the Decepticon insignia. At the beginning of the movie, Orion Pax mollifies Megatron by giving him a rare decal of Megatronus Prime's face. Traditionally, Megatron wears his insignia in the middle of his chest—but in this film, nearly every character has a big hole in the middle of their chest, where their missing transformation cog should go. So Megatron sticks the decal on his shoulder instead.

Later, he gets a cog, and the hole in his chest is filled. When Sentinel Prime captures Megatron, he notices the Megatronus sticker, and rips it off. Then, he re-applies it on Megatron's chest—purely so it's in the "right" place for the iconography. And then, he uses his gun to crudely brand Megatron with a tracing of Megatronus' face, inadvertently creating the Decepticon symbol. Finally, in a post-credits scene, Megatron has fashioned a proper Decepticon brand with which to brand himself and his followers. So in effect, there are four separate moments where Megatron gets the symbol! Orion sticking it on his shoulder, Sentinel moving it to his chest, Sentinel mutilating him, and finally Megatron branding himself. You can make an argument that the symbol starts out meaning one thing, but ends up meaning another thing, which has a kind of tragic significance—but I think you would struggle to distinguish subtle shades of meaning from all four of these brandings. Considering the movie only has an hour and a half to work with, I find this lack of narrative economy to be honestly embarrassing.

(My friend Jo also points out what a misstep it is to just have Megatronus Prime's face perfectly resemble the Decepticon symbol from the start. Had it been a looser, more stylised—that is to say, original—design, the moment where Sentinel Prime roughly carves it into Megatron's chest could be a shocking reveal, as the basic outlines are abstracted and simplified. Gasp, that's the origin of the Decepticon symbol! Instead, from the very moment that sticker first shows up, it's like... oh, well, there it is I guess.)

In a similar vein, both Optimus Prime and Megatron undergo two different transformations at different points in the movie: first, when Alpha Trion gives them transformation cogs, and second, when respectively they obtain the Matrix of Leadership/Megatronus' cog. The gun that sprouts from Megatron's arm in his intermediary form bears a much closer to resemblance to his iconic "fusion cannon" than the triple-barrelled cannon he ends up with in his final form. Again, in such a short film, can we really say whatever subtlety this brings to Megatron's arc is worth all this fanfare? Now, Redditors ask: "What is the EXACT moment D-16 became Megatron?"

In fact, probably the only point of criticism I've seen levied at Transformer One from within the Transformers fandom at large is that Megatron's arc is maybe a little "rushed". He starts out being best bros forever with Orion Pax, and by the end of the film, he's ready to drop the guy into a bottomless pit. The film takes a lot of time to justify his anger at Sentinel Prime, but the deterioration of his friendship with Orion goes much more unspoken, and is framed more as a point of irrationality: psychologically, Megatron comes to conflate his bossy friend with his oppressive ruler. I liked this, personally. I liked that it's as if a switch gets flipped in Megatron's head. But you do just kind of have to buy into it. The film itself does not put in the work to really sell you on the friendship souring, because again, it's too busy fucking around with two (2) magical girl transformation sequences for each of them.

Everything in the film is like this. They go into the cave and meet Alpha Trion, then leave the cave so they can watch a FMV cutscene with Sentinel Prime and the Quintessons, who've coincidentally arrived at that exact moment, basically just to rehash what they've just been told... and then they go back into the cave so Alpha Trion can resume his infodump, and then they end up clashing with Sentinel Prime's forces once that's done. At the beginning of the movie, they're at the very bottom in the mines, then they get banished to an even lower level, then they banish themselves all the way up to the surface, then they return to Iacon, and then Megatron gets banished to the surface again so he can be mesmerized by the beauty of the world and/or get gunched by Quintessons depending on what the film wanted me to take away from this. Compare to Minecraft but I survive in PARKOUR CIVILIZATION [FULL MOVIE], where the theme of class struggle is pretty efficiently depicted in the vertically-stratified setting.

I just find it so wasteful. Outside of the one scene where they're introduced, the Quintessons—ostensibly the true architects of Cybertron's oppressive status quo—may as well not exist. If not for Orion Pax addressing his closing remarks to the Quintessons, almost as an afterthought, I'd assume the film wants us to forget about them entirely, as it knows full well that its paltry runtime does not give it time for a second action-climax against the aliens. Even as sequel bait, it feels halfhearted at best; Josh Cooley is clearly already bored of Transformers, and seems unlikely to come back for another round unless the money is really really good (which *glances at the box office* it's not). So what the fuck are the Quintessons here for? Was the idea that Sentinel might just have pulled off his coup singlehandedly really so hard to stomach? Could the conspiracy not have been simplified to just involve Sentinel and his Transformer cronies? Hang on, are all the Transformers seen at the start of the film in on it, or just some of them? How's it decided who keeps their cogs and who doesn't?

VI. Into nothing

Why does this movie, where the main selling point is ostensibly that we're getting to see Transformers civilization for the first time, mostly focus on all these guys who can't fucking transform? Surely the entire thing that makes the setting fun is the Zootopia angle of, look, they're all different animals! Or the Elemental angle of, look, they're all different elements! Or the Emoji Movie angle of, look, they're all different emoji! Or the Cars angle of, look, they're all different cars! This is a Transformers film which features several significant sequences involving these cool trains, and there is absolutely zero indication that these trains are themselves Transformers. This is a Transformers film which extensively focuses on miners, and none of them transform into mining vehicles; they're holding, friggin', space jackhammers. Even the premise of "isn't it sad that these ones can't transform" is kind of undercut by the fact that all the miners get to wear fucking jetpacks, which is a frankly much cooler and more effective method of locomotion than driving.

I'm just sick of Transformers stories having zero interest in the basic premise of Transformers, which is to say, they transform into something. I also think this is the biggest dissonance between casual audiences, who think "oh yeah, Optimus Prime, that guy who turns into a truck", and Transformers fans, who think, "oh yeah, Optimus Prime, the messiah or something". Normal people love to know what the Transformers turn into. They ask, "Wait, is there a Transformer that turns into [insert silly vehicle here]?" Of course people are interested in that angle! Vehicles are such a huge part of our daily lives—honestly, for those of us living in cities, more so than animals, the classical elements, or emoji—but the closest Transformers One comes to engaging with this lens is that aforementioned Iacon 5000 race sequence. By and large, it presents a world which is made for standing up and walking around. And personally I do think that's an insane approach to take?

Is the excuse that cars can't emote? Nonsense. If you've ever seen a traffic jam, you'll know that cars can sure as hell emote. Pixar, where Josh Cooley cut his teeth, famously spent a lot of time working out how to put a facial expression on a car. No, the problem dates back to the very start of the franchise.

In the 1980s, two main people were responsible for writing the comic stories: American writer Bob Budiansky, and British writer Simon Furman. Budiansky approached the premise of the franchise from an external, human perspective, writing about culture clash, and taking delight in the Transformers' mechanical alien nature as "robots in disguise". Meanwhile, Furman wrote the Transformers as giant people: he focused on their own internal conflicts and motivations, and the grand history of their war. Pretty much every Transformers story ever told can be boiled down to one of these schools of thought: Budianskian, or Furmanist.

Budiansky quit the comic after fifty issues, allowing Furman to take the reigns as sole writer, and Furman basically got the final word on what the Transformers are. They did not evolve from naturally-occurring gears, levers and pulleys. They were not designed by a supercomputer, or built by an alien race. They are the chosen sons of God. The Thirteen are, of course, an invention of Furman's. And Transformers One is perhaps the most Furmanist story ever told. It's the culmination of years and years of lore building up, ossifying into something you can no longer describe as the history of a universe—no, this is a mythology. It's the most perfect form of brand alignment imaginable: this is not an origin story, this is the origin story. It's been the origin story for a better part of the decade—and now that everyone's seen it in theatres, it will be the origin story forever.

It's not just the fiction, either, by the way. These days, if you go into the store to buy a Transformers toy, chances are it'll turn into some misshapen made-up futuristic concept car with unpainted windows and wheels that don't even roll—and that's terrible.

There's truly a lot to hate about Michael Bay's Transformers films, but with each new entry that's released following his departure from the franchise, I feel like I only find myself appreciating them more. In the 2007 Transformers movie, we see the Transformers crash-landing on Earth in their "protoforms", and their movements are animated like they're shy, like they're naked until they scan an Earth vehicle and adopt a disguise. The visual impact of Megatron, meanwhile, is that he doesn't adopt a disguise in that movie: he's a horrible metal skeleton that turns into a jet made of knives. It's weird and alien and it rules.

In the 1980s Transformers cartoon, and in the last-minute Cybertron-set prologue added to Bumblebee, and now in Transformers One, the Transformers look basically the same on Cybertron as they eventually do upon their arrival to Earth. Optimus Prime turns, unmistakably, into a truck. He has windows on his chest, and smokestacks on his arms. He doesn't have these features because he disguises himself as an Earth truck. He has those details because that's just what Optimus Prime looks like. They're his "essential brand elements", or "trademark details", which "identify the must-have elements in character design to be carried across all creative expressions". Prime may take any form he wishes, so long as it looks exactly like himself. A mask of my own face—I'd wear that.

What I find fucked up about the reception towards Transformers One is that a lot of people seemed very invested in its success—and not its popular success, certainly not its artistic success, but rather its commercial success. They wanted this to be the first film to make one bumblebillion dollars. They wanted Hasbro to line its fucking pockets and make movies like this forever. So if you express any kind of negativity towards this film online, which might theoretically affect some other person's decision of whether or not to go and see it, which might theoretically affect the profit it makes at the cinema, which might theoretically affect the future of the franchise in some unknown way, then you're some sort of fandom traitor who oughta be executed.

If you're so worried about the future of the franchise, the fandom really isn't where you should be looking. Like, c'mon, the Transformers fandom has been good as gold, we buy so many toys. Meanwhile, Hasbro just got finished laying off around 100 employees with no warning to make their books look a bit better. Transformers designer John Warden—who'd worked at Hasbro for 25 years, is widely credited with inventing the modern paradigm of Transformers toylines, and ultimately became the creative director of both Transformers and G.I. Joe—was on assignment to a convention in the UK with the rest of the Transformers team when he heard the news. Suffice to say, he did not end up making a public appearance at the convention. With his work's health insurance snatched away without notice, he's had to resort to crowdfunding to pay his family's medical bills. As a well-known figure in the toy industry, he will presumably find a new job and land on his feet, but the same cannot be said for all 99 of the remaining employees we're told have been unceremoniously dumped.

The Binder of Revelation, which has been something of a holy grail of behind-the-scenes material for over a decade, has finally been leaked—presumably by one of these guys, presumably out of spite.

Now, I'm not going to pretend to have been paying particularly close attention to Hasbro's financials, but from where I'm sitting, it sure seems that ever since the sudden death of then-CEO Brian Goldner in 2021—credited for saving the company in 2000, and overseeing the explosive growth of its intellectual property ever since then—his replacement, Chris P. Cocks (or "Crispy Cocks", as we're all now calling him), has been dead set on gutting the company for all it's worth. The Power Rangers franchise, which the company acquired for $522 million in 2018, is dead in the water, with huge quantities of physical assets being flogged at auction for quick cash. In 2019, they acquired the entertainment company eOne for $4.0 billion, and now they're selling off the whole shebang (except the cash-printing Peppa Pig franchise) for just $500 million. I guess maybe they just fucked it big style?

Because now, Crispy Cocks has proudly announced that Hasbro is going to stop financing movies altogether.

I'm sure that in the wake of this announcement, many of those aforementioned fandom pundits will be drawing a correlation between this announcement, and the box-office figures for Transformers One, and the fact that you personally failed to convince your Mom to go see it with you or whatever. "Ah, you see! They didn't make enough of their money back, and now they're consolidating. Simple economic cause and effect. Market forces." And look, I'm not going to sit here and claim these things are wholly unrelated. Of course they're very related. But I am going to make the case that, in truth, nobody at Hasbro really cared how Transformers One did. Unless it turned out to be some pie-in-the-sky runaway hit, I don't think the future of the Transformers film franchise would've been particularly different if only the film had done better.

With Paramount, Hasbro has been making these movies and having them underperform ever since 2017's The Last Knight—which apparently lost Paramount $100 million—and that's because at the end of the day, what they're most interested in isn't making movies. It's making toy commercials. And on that level, the Transformers films have clearly been a success so far.

Now, Crispy Cocks' skinsuit fashions itself as a gamer, so he can personify Hasbro's hardcore pivot towards digital and tabletop gaming. While we await the release of the assuredly-dogshit, assuredly-hell-to-have-worked-on, assuredly-never-coming-out Transformers: Reactivate, the brand has been whored out to a procession of mobile games you've never heard of, glorified gambling machines designed to hack the monkey part of your brain with bright colors and Things You Recognize. The exact content of these games is irrelevant; all that matters is the announcement, on every single pop culture news outlet simultaneously (naturally—they're all owned by the same company, talk about Monopoly), of New Collaboration Between Transformers And Goon Warriors Free To Download Now. Your daily, weekly, bi-annual reminder to think about that thing you can buy.

That's all any of this stuff is.

All these words spilled about what a good movie Transformers One is, and how bad it is, and why the marketing failed it, and what the next one might be like, and- none of it mattered! It does not matter. From the beginning, this movie was always going to be too preoccupied with its own mercenary interests to be something anyone would ever be able to seriously talk about as a work of art, even corporate art. The actual content of the movie is irrelevant; I've spent very little of this review talking about it, because there's nothing there to talk about. It is the mere fact of the movie's existence that serves its purpose. Like the Optimus Prime Fortnite skin, it's enough for it to occupy our attention.

Maybe that's why they staggered the film's release date: because some marketing exec watched the rough cut and realised, if everyone saw it at once, we'd be done talking about it within a fortnight. And in ten years' time, after it has been paraded around whichever streaming services survive 'til then, and nearly every last cent of revenue has been squeezed out of it, the kids will be able to watch it on YouTube with ad breaks, and decide what they want for Christmas.

To the Transformers fans reading this, I am begging you, unless you happen to own shares in Hasbro for some fucking reason, to disabuse yourself of the feeling that you owe any kind of loyalty to a toy franchise. It shouldn't matter to you one jot how Transformers One did in theatres. The people who actually make the product you care about, the friendly faces paraded before you on livestreams and press tours, don't see this money anyway—they too are merely assets, who can be fired and replaced with cheaper, inferior equivalents.

I'm sure many of you will have, from the very start, seen this review for the foolish endeavour it is. I've wasted all this time criticising Transformers One for its lack of artistic vision, when the truth is, Transformers One is playing an entirely different game. Like the Disney Channel running "Fishy Facts!" segments to subliminally get kids interested in fish a full year and a half before the release of Finding Nemo, this is not a product—it's an ad for a product.

...

Okay I'll be honest, I don't entirely love where this review has ended up. It ends on kind of a "bummer note", I guess you could say. Flashing back to sections I. and II., I feel like things started out so fun. We had that whole bit at the start where I was telling you about the Transformers, remember that? We learned so much together. And there were even a few moments where I was able to express some kind of sincere joy and appreciation over this thing that I supposedly adore so much. Sure, I did a lot of complaining, but it was fun complaining, right? It had like, a sarcastic edge to it, sort of.

What happened? Why am I suddenly talking like I want to cut someone's head off? As I grow more bitter, I type this essay with increasing difficulty. The massive gun that's sprouted from my forearm keeps colliding with my monitor.

Hasbro descends from on high to reward @TFHypeGuy, a grown-ass adult who has spent untold unpaid hours fearlessly replying to every single viral tweet to tell people to go see the film, somehow netting himself 80,000 followers in the process, with a crate of toys, which was probably his end goal from the start. He and I duel. We trade blow after blow. Finally, he clobbers me with a Walmart-exclusive light-up Ultimate Energon Optimus Prime figure. "It didn't have to end this way," he says. Then he banishes me to the surface world to think on my sins.

VII. The Wrong Trousers 👖 | Train Chase Scene 🚂 | Wallace & Gromit

When Eric Pearson came onto the project,

It was late middle of the game. They had a script that had the outline of the story, which is still very much the structural bones of the story now. But what I found interesting about animation is there are certain things that were far along in the process. The train escape to the surface was very far along, so that was just kind of locked. Maybe you could change a line here or there. Meanwhile, the opening, the whole first 10 minutes, was all storyboards and sketches, which changed a bunch of times.

And I do think that's a really difficult position for a scriptwriter to be in. Sure, the parts of the screenplay I feel able to attribute to Pearson, I wasn't particularly impressed by. But I think this anecdote goes to show how unnatural the constraints can be on a story like this. When you think of like, a scene that's key to Transformers One, you're probably imagining something like the Megatron/Optimus fight, or the scene in the mine—not the train scene, which is basically a bit of arbitrary connective tissue bridging the two main locations in the film.

Josh Cooley, the film's director, the face of the film on the press circuit from a creative standpoint, came onboard after five years of previous development work was already done. Writers Andrew Barrer and Gabriel Ferrari, who originally pitched the film and presumably wrote the early drafts of the story, might have already left the project by that point. Aaron Archer and Rik Alvarez, the creative forces behind the Binder of Revelation, left Hasbro years before the film was even pitched. It's no wonder to me that the final result feels incoherent, disjointed, and oddly stilted. It's certainly no wonder that nobody at Hasbro today really seems to care about the film; it's not their baby. If any of the people credited with bringing the project to completion had been given full creative freedom to make whatever Transformers movie they wanted, it would've looked completely different.

Luckily, there are still plenty of areas of the franchise where creators have just been allowed to go ham. Over in Japan, TRIGGER has taken a modest budget for a music-video and produced one of the most visually-striking bits of animation in the franchise, a true love-letter to all the weird parts of its forty-year history. And in America, comic creator Daniel Warren Johnson is halfway through his Eisner-winning new run on the title, which is the kind of thing I would basically recommend to anyone without caveats as being a phenomenal story, period. If that comic can be said to be an advert for anything, it's for Skybound's other, nowhere-near-as-good comic series, or for the unofficial unlicensed copyright-infringing Magic Square Optimus Prime toy Daniel Warren Johnson apparently used as reference the whole time.

I dunno, maybe Hasbro stepping back from financing these films is a good thing, in the long run. Maybe we can do without Transformers movies for a while. And however many years down the line, maybe Paramount or some other studio will put together a new team of talent, and they'll get to do whatever it is they want. And maybe the movie they make will be the one that knocks everyone's socks off.

Truly, I don't know where the road leads from here. It hasn't been built yet. It could turn out to go anywhere.

If you made it this far, I hope some of what I've said has been entertaining or interesting. Thanks for reading!

Time to for me to come clean. There is one other reason why I've waited so long to release this review... and that's because I have a special announcement to make. Last month I set myself a little challenge: to write something that's at least as long as this review, but which isn't another negative-nancy tirade. It's a story.

The working title is "Ice Road Transformers". It's like an episode of that one reality TV show about Canadians driving trucks across frozen lakes—except the truck is Optimus Prime.

Early reviews say it's good! It'll be going through several rounds of revisions, to turn it into a well-oiled machine, hopefully in time for a seasonally-appropriate wide release in February. I'm very excited for you to be able to read it. You can follow me here or on Bluesky to be the first to find out when it's ready!

I'd like to thank my friends Jo and Umar for their work interviewing Cooley and di Bonaventura during the film's press circuit, along with Viv, Callum, and Omar for allowing me to enjoy this film much more than I otherwise might have. I wouldn't have been able to express many of my feelings about this movie nearly so cogently if not for the conversations I had with them. Additional thanks go to Chris McFeely, as his Transformers: The Basics videos (linked throughout this essay) refreshed my memory on a lot of the Aligned stuff, sparing me from having to read The Covenant of Primus again.