#I can picture the scene in my mind & it feels like a punch to the gut

[helenofblackthorns]

intermission grief but it's Charles arriving in Alicante & like brushing off the Inquisitor to speak to his Aunt and Uncle, to tell them that Christopher, little Kit, is dead. where he finally chooses family over politics, because even though he could take charge of the situation and be the one who informs the Clave what happened in London, he doesn't. he leaves it to Martin Wentworth or someone like him, because the more important thing is family, that they heard it from him, not apart of some political brief.

[xan-izme]

Dubble Life 12 (ATSV x Reader x Batfam)

A/n: Just a chapter full of fluff for now(Or is it 🤡)

Part 11

You stared at the therapist with a blank expression. Irritation was clear in your eyes. Your defining silence and small glare did not affect the therapist.

"I was told by your father, that this isn't your first session with a therapist." The therapist, Mrs. Dean spoke with a firm yet soft tone. She very beautiful. Maybe in her early to mid 30's. Her hair up in a neat bun, but some curls managed to poke out in a graceful way.

". . . yeah." You gave a short response.

"Well, you already know the drill. So, I'll dive right in. You originally lived in New York. How are you adjusting to Gotham." Mrs. Dean crossed one leg over the other while waiting for your response.

"It's okay." Your eyes seemed to be more interested in looking around the office.

Mrs. Dean nods and intertwined her fingers while letting her hands lay on her lap. "And school? I've heard your practically a genius."

"I guess." You spot a hand drawn picture on Mrs. Deans desk along with a little teddy bear. There was a small corner that looked like it was for kids. It had dolls. Other types of toys. A small table for kids.

Mrs. Dean noticed you looking at her little kid corner. "I work with a lot of kids that your age and younger. It helps the younger kids feel more comfortable."

You nod and let out a small thoughtful hum and focused your eyes back on Mrs. Dean.

Mrs. Dean gives you a small smile. "Back to you."

Bruce had put you into therapy. Which you were not happy about of course. You didn't need therapy. It made you feel weak, and it's not like you can tell your therapist everything. Most of your trauma was due to your life as Spiderwoman.

You got back from your session. Walking into the manor your hit with the smell of fresh baked sweets. You get curious and walked into the kitchen where you see Alfred baking and Damian doing his homework on the counter.

"Hmm. Smells good." You spoke as you walked into the kitchen.

"Sister!" Damian spoke up. His tone with slight excitement. You walked over and ruffled Damians head. "Hey cupcake." You mumbled with a small soft smile. Damian turned his head up to you as you wrapped your arm around the youngers shoulder.

"Ah, Ms. Y/n. How was your therapy session?" Alfred spoke as he pulled out the first batch of cookies from the oven.

"Oh, it was great. Had a wonderful time." Your tone was clear with sarcasm.

"Seriously?" Damian piped up, seemingly not taking your sarcasm into note. You chuckled as you smiled down at Damian. "Your funny cupcake." You ruffled his head once more and smuggled him with a hug and kisses.

"Ugh- stop!" Damian struggled to push you away. You were surprisingly strong. (He wasn't actually even trying)

Alfred watched the sweet scene in front of him with s fond smile upon his face.

Jason walked in. Looking like he just woke up with messy hair while wearing boxers.

"Where's my kisses?" Jason spoke up while staring at you and Damian. You and Damian frown at the sight of Jason.

"I can punch you." You gave the older man a "sweet" smile as you held Damian close to you.

Jason flipped you off while Alfred had his backed turned. Which you and Damian returned by flipping him off together.

You and Damian were watching a drama show while eating popcorn. It was fairly silent. Damian had his head on your shoulder while you had your head on his.

". . .Sister." Damian spoke up in a quite tone while you two kept your eyes on the tv. You let out a small hum of acknowledgement.

"Do you hate it here?"

Damians question made you pause. You lean your head away from his to look at him. Your brows furrowed. "Why would you think that cupcake?''

Damian stared up at you, his expression a little sad but mainly conflicted. Wondering if he should tell you what was on his mind. Worried if he does say what was on his mind, whatever you respond with might confirm with what he asked. "Well. . . I overheard the argument you and father had."

You let out a sigh while turning your head away, clenching your jaw. "Right. That."

Damian frowns and held his head down. You turn your head back to stare down at Damian with small frown. ". . . Hey. Look at me."

Damian slowly looks up at you. Expecting some sort of deep frown or a sad look on your face. But he's greeted with your usual soft smile.

"What I said to Bruce was. . . wrong. I didn't mean it. But most importantly. I don't want you thinking I hate being here. I got you here with me, what's to hate?" You pinched his nose and hugged him. Damian hugs back while letting out a small sigh of relief.

While hugging Damian, you glanced down and see a bruise underneath back of his shirt. You frown and lean away from the hug to tug on the shirt and get a better look at the bruise.

"What is this?" Your tone turned protective. Damian was quick to pull away.

"Nothing! . . . I bumped into a bookshelf pretty hard in the library yesterday."

"Oh. . . Okay." You still had a small doubtful look on your face. A still a little worried.

A week goes by and your back in Ms. Deans office.

"So, do you have any friends?" Mrs. Deans asked with a small smile.

You were seated across from Mrs. Dean. "Yeah."

Mrs. Dean nods. "You don't talk much about them."

"They don't live here in Gotham. But we keep in contact." You were referring to your friends in the Society. It was a lie about keeping in contact part. Of course, you knew you were the problem for that.

"I see. Have you tried to make friends here in Gotham? In school or outside of school?"

You shook your head with a small bitter smile. "A lot of people already know I'm Bruce's daughter. Hard to make friends who, actually want to be friends. You know?"

Mrs. Dean nods in understanding before asking another question. "I'm sure there are a lot of pros to being Bruce Wayne's daughter."

You let out a chuckle. "Yeah. I got a little brother. A dad. Money. I was broke as hell."

Mrs. Dean chuckled at the last part.

"Anything I want I could ask for. I can get it. . . But sometimes I want go to the past."

Mrs. Dean's brow raised at your words. "Now why is that."

You paused for a moment. You had a faraway look on your face as you spoke. "Everything before. . ." You sighed as your mind wondered back to her.

"Never mind." You mumbled as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Mrs. Dean seems to already know what you were about to say. But she doesn't press you about it. Not yet at least.

"You mentioned your brother?" Mrs. Dean thankfully changed the subject. She watches your uneasy expression turn into a fond smile. "Damian. Yeah. He's a tough one. He acts so tough and mature, but in truth he's just a little baby. We weren't close at first. . . he actually hated me."

You chuckled to yourself as you thought back to your first encounter with Damian.

"What changed?" Mrs. Dean tilted her head.

You seem to think deeply about her question. ". . . I guess I kind of saw myself in him."

Mrs. Dean became more interested by your words.

"I used to do that too when I was younger. I acted like an adult. Thought if I did that people on the streets would take me more seriously. No one would mess with me if I acted tough." You had that faraway look on your face again. Thinking back to the past.

"I never really got to act like a kid. Felt like that was the only way to be taken seriously by others. To be trusted to do things on your own. I saw that In Damian. But that's not how a kid should act or worry about." You held your head high and gave Mrs. Dean a confident look.

"I don't want him to worry about stuff a 12 your old shouldn't even worry about. I know I probably can't give him what he already has. But I got my love. And that should be enough. . . right?"

Mrs. Dean smiled. "Yes. I'm sure your love is enough."

"Ugh, why the hell is this level so hard." You grumbled as you set down the controller. Getting frustrated over a game and a certain level you couldn't pass.

Tim chucked as he watched you stress over it. Jason right behind him reading a book. "How long have you been stuck on this level?"

"A week." You mumbled as you turn to look at Tim. Catching Jason make an amused face at your frustration.

"Shut up Jason." You glared at the older.

"Wha- I didn't even say anything!" Jason looked offended.

"Your stupid face did." You huffed in annoyance. Tim laughed and hopped over the couch and sat next to you. "Can I help?"

Your eyes lit up with hope. "Oh my gosh really?" Tim gave you a smile and nods. "Yes! please help."

Since Tim already played this game and finished it. He showed you multiple ways to beat this level. You had fun with Tim. You and Jason would argue here and there. But overall, it was fun.

As it got dark. Tim and Jason suddenly got an Alert on their phones. "Sorry Y/n. Me and Jason have to go. But I'll play with you next week."

You were a little sad. And confused at the sudden rush, but you understood. "Oh, okay. Bye."

Jason ruffled your head as he followed behind Tim. "Hey!"

Jason quickly ran out the room as you threw a pillow towards him.

"Do you ever feel left out?" Mrs. Dean asked as she watched you play with a small ball you picked out from the kids corner.

"Left out? No not really." You tossed the ball up in the air and caught it.

"How about I sum out the question. Do you feel left out in your family? With the Waynes I mean."

You hum as you thought about it. "Sometimes, I guess. Everyone treats me good. But I kind of feel like, an outsider sometimes."

"Do you think it's because of the way you were raised that you assume that. Suddenly living one life then now to this." Mrs. Dean watched as you let her words sink in.

"Yeah. I guess so. They knew each other longer and stuff. So that's probably why I feel that way. . . but. It kind of feels like something more."

Mrs. Dean's Brow raised "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged as you fumbled with the small ball in your hands. "It's like they all have this, thing. Like a bond with each other that I probably won't understand. . ." You seemed to think about it before shrugging "Maybe because they are all guys? I heard fathers have deeper connections with their sons."

Mrs. Dean hums and leans back into her chair. "Well, that can be some cases. Do you think Mr. Wayne doesn't pay much attention to you than your brothers?"

You shook your head. "No, he gives me attention. He's. . . a good man. He wouldn't neglect any of his kids. He's also a busy guy. So, if he's not around much I don't hold it against him."

Mrs. Dean nods. "You seem to be a very open-minded person."

It was late in the night when you had awoken from a nightmare. You tried to go back to sleep. But your mind betrayed you. Keeping you up and refusing you sleep for what felt like hours.

So, you wondered downstairs. In hopes of getting something that could make you fall asleep. You slowly enter the kitchen that was engulfed in darkness. Before you could reach for the light switch. The light was turned on by another.

"Ms. Y/n."

It was Alfred.

"Hey Alfred. Sorry I just came for something to drink." You mumbled as you approached the fridge.

"A nightmare?" Alfreds question caused you to pause. "How did you-"

"I know the look of a child who has come out from a bad dream Ms. Y/n." Alfred shooed you to sit at the counter as he made you a warm drink.

You just sat in silence as Alfred spoke.

"Do you usually get nightmares?" Alfred still has his back turned to you as he made your drink. ". . . Sometimes. Nothing too bad. Just need to lay off the horror films I guess." You let out a small chuckle.

"I see. Your father had a lot of nightmares as well when he was around master Dameon's age." Alfred slides the cup to you. You take the warm cup into your cold hands. The warmth sending a sort of satiation through you.

"Bruce?" You took a sip from the warm drink as you eyed the Butler. Alfred nods as he turns to clean up. "Especially after Master Bruce's parents passed."

Your expression dropped slightly. Both parents at such a young age.

"Must have been hard." You mumbled as you thought to yourself.

Alfred glanced to your slight glum expression.

"Yes. Same for Master Dick, and Master Tim. Along with Master Jason. All boys lost their parents at young ages. Master Damians mother left him with Bruce after the death of his grandfather. It took him awhile to move on after that."

You stayed silent as Alfred spoke.

". . . Why are you telling me this." You were lean back against your chair as you stared up at Alfred with slight confusion.

Alfred turned back around and handed you a treat.

"Everyone here has lost someone. Your brothers and Master Bruce will understand your pain. You don't need to hide it."

And with that the butler walked off back to where he had come from. Leaving you to let his words sink in.

"You have trust issues."

You couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Mrs. Dean's words. "Whoa, I just got here. And I'm very trusting. I'm here talking to you. I tell you my feelings and thoughts."

"Yes. But you don't tell me the full truth. Which I don't expect you to. But having trust issues doesn't mean you don't trust someone when it comes to talking about your feelings and thoughts. Trusting someone with yourself is different with trusting yourself with another. You, Y/n don't trust yourself."

"What are you going on about." You lean back into the chair as you gave Mrs. Dean a look of confusion.

"You don't trust that you would do the right thing. You don't trust yourself when it comes to situations that involve you being needed. You make yourself look bad, but not too bad to the point where others don't trust you." Mrs. Dean flips a page from her clip bored.

"You always talked about others in a good honest light. I ask a question about you, and you would either answer in short answers or divert the conversation about another."

"Come on now. It's not like that." You chuckled a little with a lazy smile. Mrs. Dean narrows at how nonchalant you're acting. You're acting. You're a good actor. And she sees it.

And you know she knows.

You are acting smug about it. But why. Why are you playing around like this-

Mrs. Dean catches you glancing to the teddy bear on her desk with a knowing look.

You smirked as you see realization creep upon Mrs. Dean.

There was a nanny-cam in that toy bear. You spotted it on day one. Yet you didn't say anything. You spoke about your thoughts and feelings to her. Most of it was true as well. You were yourself in the sessions you had with her.

You did all that while knowing of the nanny-cam.

"How did you. . ." Mrs. Dean spoke in a low tone. Almost like a whisper as she stared at you with wide eyes.

You simply smiled. "Like you said. I'm practically a genius."

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

@huening-ly, @mariadvorak @superherosdystopiafreak @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx @arthurswife @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @josiepapen @natashanice165 @amber-content @mahbeanz @azurewisteria @seraph101 @skepvids @lara20aral @iwasveronica @jackrabbitem @nickey-diano @idonthaveanameforthisacc @sekidekiboombeki @masters-blog

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Code: White Analysis

I finally saw the Spy x family movie Code: White!!

It was fantastic. I loved it 💖

Here's what I think (spoilers below the picture 😉):

Twilight

It's super evident Twilight cares A LOT about his family. As soon as Handler tells him someone else will take over Operation Strix, he's worried and, during the movie, he goes around like a crazy man doing all sorts of crazy things to keep his family. Nevertheless, the biggest giveaway about this happens when:

Twilight puts Anya before his mission!! Yes, you read right: Agent Twilight receives a direct order from WISE telling him that recovering the microfilm had priority over rescuing Anya and Mr. Spy puts his daughter's safety first and goes to her rescue (which eventually led to getting the microfilm back, but still).

Yor

Yor is a total mom here. She protects her baby and plays with her too 😌 She acts like a mom too because she's always trying to keep the family together; she's the one who reminds that to Loid when he's all frantic working. Here, Yor displays one of her best quality: emotional intelligence. And of course, during the movie at the big fight scene she looks like a total badass.

Now about the big Twiyor moment...

Like I mentioned before here, there's a fake and a real Twiyor moment in the movie. The fake Twiyor moment happens when Yor gets drunk and asks Loid to tell her how he really feels about her (!!!)...before passing out 🫤 You've probably seen plenty of images about that:

The real Twiyor moment happens later, thanks to the captain of the Twiyor ship 🫡 Anya Forger, who pushes her parents to ride the Ferris wheel alone so they can flirt. Here, Yor tells him (crying) that she saw him with his "girlfriend" and Loid clarifies it was just a random stranger (it was Nightfall) asking for directions. This is when the real Twiyor moment happens:

Listen, we could argue that Twilight here was being a liar and trying to fix the situation between them "for the mission", but I choose to believe something different. In my opinion, Twilight was being sincere and he wanted not only to reassure Yor but to pour his heart out and reassure himself. Come on, the man repeated their wedding vows! He was getting carried away (it was too much for our shy Yor) and if it wasn't for Yor punching him out of the Ferris wheel, I think this would have ended in the Twiyor kiss we've all been waiting 😆 (maybe one day!).

Something worth mentioning is that when Twilight and Yor get off the Ferris wheel, Anya reads their minds, but we don't get to know what her parents are thinking 😏 she just smiles and that's how she knows everything is okay between her parents. Little sus, right? I am sure Anya knows what's really going on between those two (read about that here).

This happens again, when Twilight rescues Anya from the kidnappers. We all know Mr. Spy is bad at expressing his emotions, so when he's finally reunited with his daughter, he doesn't show much of anything. Anya hugs him, picks her head up and reads his mind. Just like the last time, we don't get to know what Anya reads inside her papa's mind, but she smiles. Funny how this only happens twice in the movie, in both occasions related to his wife and daughter 🤔

So now, the big question: Is this movie canon?

In this case, every person who sees the movie can form their own opinion about that. In my opinion, since there was no identity reveal nor anything that would change the plot in the manga, I think it's okay to consider it canon. So, until the author says it's not canon, I'm going to consider it part of it.

Overall, it was a fantastic movie, very funny, with plenty of Forger family moments and that something that makes Spy x family so special 💖

[emositecc]

God I fucking hate Victoria the crybaby so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every page she's in, every scene, every fanart, every comic, she's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass personality on her stupid green face. Absolutely no part of her ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. Her stupid fucking dress? Who the hell wears a dress like that. Her dumb fucking lizard tail? Her shitty, annoying bastard attitude ? The three thousand percent dumbass shitass fucking haircut that no woman has EVER FUCKING SHITTY HAIR DESING HAD IN THE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate her. I hate her so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a comic or a fanart of her, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Boo hoo, I'm Bitchtoria the fuckshit whiny ass woman, woe is me. PITY ME 😢😢😢😢". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like shrek but if shrek was written by vivziepop. Your dumb fucking hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking dress and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top shitty ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene she's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a walmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know she's just a shitty fucking sad woman in a stupid fucking fan comic, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate her. I hate hier on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the bitch wife is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate her so much. I hate her so, so fucking much. I want to light her ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat her to death with her own stupid fucking punchable face. I want to punch her to death. I want to bash her brains out. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that her existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional woman

you've gone on sending me these kinds of messages in my ask box everytime i've updated my comic, even mentioning r*pe in your latest ones. At first I thought this is a bit, but now i honestly dont know. I think you need help and for your own good and mine, I'm going to be blocking you.

This probably wont stop you from reading my comic in other platforms but if you still do, please refrain from messaging me or whatnot because I will just block you again.

okay, thank you.

^ and that's not even ALL of it.

there's like 50+ more

get help.

[aquarelliwrites]

Go For Broke, Chapter 1: First Loser, Second Loser

the Monaco 2022 Grand Prix weekend retold. // series masterlist

Picture the Monaco riviera on a Thursday morning. Mechanics buzzing around cars and stacks of tyres, reporters and photographers streaming in through the gates, and a Ferrari driver sitting squeezed between the pit wall monitors and the wall on the second story of her garage. A thick pane of glass muffling the chatter and racket growing louder by the minute.

Away from the overwhelming sea of rich tourists, camera lenses and microphones, sleep clawed at the edges of her vision and the cobwebbed peripheral hallways of her mind. The iced coffee and half-eaten pastry on the floor next to her weren’t doing a good job of holding it back on their own.

A long, quiet stanza shattered with the note of a simple “Ciao.” 

“Fuck!” Her hand came up sharply - to punch her teammate in the face, or rest over her heart to calm it? She couldn’t know.

“Wouldn’t have pinned you for fight, puzzone. You seem more like a flight type of person.” He - Charles - laughed, fiddling with the vlog camera in his right hand. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning, my ass. Gave me the scare of my life just now.”

The liar grinned. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“Sure. What are you doing up here, anyway?” Giving the floor right next to her a little pat, she prompted him to sit down and join her behind the wall of computers. It’s not like anyone was there to tell them they were in the way.

“I’m recording a behind-the-scenes vlog this weekend. This seemed like a good place to get some aerial footage, but I was going to go up to the terrace as well, to see which was better.” His answer was enthusiastic, and she smiled and nodded as he continued to talk about his camera specs and when the lighting on track should be the best. Alas, it didn’t distract him as well as she’d hoped. “Why are you sleeping up here?”

“I couldn’t sleep very well last night.” Understatement of the century. The heels of her palms rubbed her eyes in a vague attempt to somehow rectify an entire night’s worth of tossing and turning.

“How come?” Finally setting his camera down, he glanced back at her. “Oh, you smudged your, um..”

“Eye pencil? Of course I did.” With a sigh too deep to be indicating exclusively frustration over her messed-up makeup, she swiped whatever smudges she could from her under eyes. “I don’t know. At first, everything was too loud. Then it got too quiet, so I had to put on music. Then it was too hot, then too cold. I think I also spent a while staring at the ceiling.” And crying. That part went unsaid, though. “I’m just a bit nervous about the weekend, I think.” 

Did she say ‘understatement of the century’ earlier? She was fairly sure this beat the record. It was a miracle she'd managed to keep down the few bites she did.

He grimaced slightly, extended his hand to hold hers, gave it a slight squeeze even. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“No worries. Not your fault, monello.”

A smile reappeared on his face at the childish nickname. “Come on, you’re the only one of us who actually likes media day.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She managed a small smile. Now that she was distracted, he managed to swipe the rest of her pastry - not without earning a slap to the wrist in the process.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t eating it!” He yells in complete defense of his actions. Had she been actually hungry, she might have killed him then and there. 

“It’s fine. I was done with it.”

Media didn't suck as much as she expected it to. Not that it usually did.

There were the ever-present questions, of course. It was a mental checklist, maybe bingo card, every week: 

Are she and Charles dating? (No.)

How does it feel to be the first woman in Formula 1 since Lella Lombardi to score points? (Good, but there should have been women before her.)

Which brands of haircare or skincare did she use? (Lots, but what did it matter when she wore a helmet most of the time?)

Does she feel like she can keep up with the rest of the grid? (This one usually just received a blank stare until the interviewer got too uncomfortable to wait for an answer.)

Was it sad that she got excited to actually talk about the car she'd be driving? Incredibly.

The rest of the interviews were crammed full of hopes that Charles would finally do well, that the team would do well as a whole, that- well, you get the point.

Minutes later, the photographers that managed to walk out first got treated to a great shot of supposedly sworn enemies - two Ferrari drivers and two Red Bull Racing drivers - standing near the exit of the media pen and watching reporters file out.

Chatting with Sergio - Checo, she and everybody else called him - was the best way to spend the, seemingly, geological eon Charles and Max took to debrief each other about… well, about everything. Those guys didn't talk all that much outside of the paddock, and they were practically neighbors. It's weird.

She always found Checo more approachable, anyway. Whenever she even walked past his Dutch teammate, she could practically feel his icy gaze shooting daggers through her. If looks could kill, she'd have died a hundred times over.

Not that she didn't return the glares - she found it quite enjoyable to produce a staring contest out of thin air, and it would usually end up with him looking away, the slightest of unnoticed blushes settling upon the tips of his ears.

Today, Checo had a delightful surprise - a guy on Twitter doing imitations of F1-related personalities. She laughed along at the stuttering blunders of Will Buxton and the monotone accented voice resembling Checo's uncannily, and even the one of Max struggling to open a can of Red Bull and swearing profusely upon receiving radio instructions, but what really got her to look aghast was the next impression. Of her.

“Come on, that's no girl voice!” She was sure they were attracting attention with their laughter, since their teammates both looked over in confusion. “He sounds like he inhaled helium!”

“No, no, he sounds correct to me.” Checo faux-wiped a tear from his eye.

“It absolutely does not!”

“Here, Charles, Max, take a look at this.” They complied - and unfortunately, did not agree with her.

“I don't know, that pretty much sounds like you. Whenever I hear you speak it's like a caffeinated chipmunk squeaking at me all angrily.” Max laughed, and she felt blood rush up to her face, embarrassment and anger mixing dangerously.

“I don't know, Verstappen, you not being able to open a can of Red Bull on your own also seemed fairly accurate.” Her sweet tone did nothing to disguise the way the words dripped with acid. He grimaced like they actually burned.

“Sorry, schat, my mistake. Truly, will you ever forgive me?” He turned away - to speak with her teammate once more. 

The guy was fucking insufferable. And the nicknames he gave her only fueled a desire to crush him out on the track. What the hell did schat even mean?

Charles squinted behind his sunglasses. “What in the fresh hell are they doing?” 

A long, obnoxiously loud slurp identical to that of a nearly empty plastic cup that used to store iced coffee sounded off from next to him. “Will you stop that?” He huffed a laugh.

“Stop what?” The second slurp managed to sound more ear-grating than the first. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

“Just… look over there, right?”

The pair stood on the third-story terrace of the Ferrari garage - a feature unique to the Monaco race - and stared out into the harbor. The Red Bull Energy Station was a raft, and it was huge, so the commotion near their swimming pool was easily visible to anyone higher than the second floor.

“That's Max and Checo, Charles.”

“No, idiot, I know that. Look at what they're doing.” He gestured, exasperated, so she cocked a hip and leaned forward over the railing to get a better look.

“They're putting rubber ducks in the pool. Or just a bunch of…” she squinted as well, “tiny yellow blobs. I’m guessing ducks, though?”

“I'm at a loss for words.”

“Charles, you are so dramatic. They just had me blindfold you to drive a sim lap in Imola a couple of weeks ago.”

“That's different.”

“We've done shit more insane than releasing a couple dozen yellow duckies into a pool.”

“Okay, and?

They observe as Max seems to… fish one out of water? A couple of moments later, he's speaking to someone on the phone, and Checo looks like he'll burst if he doesn't let go of his laughter.

“This has to be for the YouTube channel, right?” She half-turned to him to see the confusion and disbelief visible all over his face.

“Definitely. Max wouldn't agree to do that if it wasn't some sort of PR.”

“Okay, loverboy.” His encyclopedic knowledge of Max would annoy her to death if she didn't know every fact she could dig up about him. Some would call it obsessive - she'd just explain it as studying her rival's weaknesses. 

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Okay, see, he just looks like he's crying again!” Charles’ voice raised a little.

“I don't understand why you're so worked up over this.” It was his turn to observe his teammate's nonchalant, if a little curious, exterior.

“You're- ugh. Whatever. Now he's just calling someone again.”

“Oh, to be a fly on that deck. I'd kill to know what Checo was laughing at.” With a final slurp, she rediscovered one last sip of her drink that had missed her entirely.

“Ooh, be careful.” His voice was laced with a teasing undertone behind her.

She shot Charles a confused look.

It's Friday now, and all their successful data gathering in both practice sessions earned them the privilege - she'd beg to differ - of an ice bath. She's tried and failed to kick, scream, and claw her way out of them (metaphorically, of course) before.

It was, however, a relief to finally get to take her hoodie off. It had been sensible clothing mere hours earlier, but it was positively stifling then. She let out a dramatic gasp at the freedom of weather-appropriate attire.

“What do you mean?”

“Getting changed? In front of everyone? What will the media think?” His voice was nothing but crystal clear sarcasm, with his face distorted in an expression of faux disapproval. “Scandalous. I thought I taught you better.”

A puzzled laugh escaped her. “Wh-? Why the hell are you shaking your head at me? I have a top on.” She gestured to the, realistically, fairly modest swimsuit top on herself.

“Did you even think of the poor engineers who will be so distracted from working on our cars?” 

The level of this man's theatricality was show-stopping and infuriating simultaneously. “Charles. Darling.”

“Hm?”

“You were literally flashing your tits to, oh, I don't know, about… what, half the paddock? And thousands of SkyTV viewers? Like, ten minutes ago?”

“What? Me? I could never.” He even did a pearl-clutching motion at the very implication. She rolled her eyes.

“You are literally wearing less clothing than me right now. Like, if you turn around, you'll count approximately… two dozen Paddock Club girls drooling over your biceps as we speak.”

“No… Well, touché. They want us in the tubs now, though.”

“That's- yes, why else did you think I was undressing?”

“You can never know with you.”

She rolled up the towel in her hand in order to smack him as hard as she could, but he only laughed. “Prick.”

The ice bath was terrible. Awful. She wished she could be poetic and compare it to a breath of winter's night, or a fireless hearth - that would not do it justice. Plunging into the tub was the ninth circle of hell, with Dante and Virgil observing her slow and painful eternal fate.

The media people were having a field day with Charles. She didn't know how he managed to keep his composure enough to let them film thirst traps.

“Fuck me, this is miserable.” Her teeth were chattering so hard that she thought her lower jaw would soon start creaking on its hinges from the motion. She watched the goosebumps blooming all over her thighs and arms. And Charles was fucking laughing, the bastard.

“Mon dieu, I don't know what I did to wrong you,” she uttered through gritted teeth towards the sky, “but I swear never to do it again.”

The sky, of course, didn't respond. Her teammate thought it was a good time to pipe up, though.

“You took me out two years ago, in Alfa Romeo. This is karma.”

Her head snapped towards him, if only to lower her sunglasses and glare at him over the tops of the frames. He didn't bother looking up from checking his fingernails.

“That wasn't even my fault- Fuck, this is so cold.”

When the Ferrari social media girl let her know she'd start filming her then, the only thing she could do is nod curtly, jaw clenched.

“How are you feeling after FP1 and FP2?”

“Very… very positive about the weekend.” If nothing else, every single muscle in her body seizing at the freezing water might finally be the thing to give her better abs.

“And how are you feeling?”

“What, right now?” The girl nodded. “Arguably worse than before I got in. I'll be loving it when I get out in- when can I get out?” 

The small gaggle of Ferrari employees around her laughed. “Oh, yes, hilarious, I bet.” 

“Ah, you're being dramatic now. It's not a duck's cold.” His badly translated French idiom forced a small smile onto her face. Both of them being multilingual more often than not meant one of them being stared at in confusion over a poor choice of words that got mistranslated on its way over their tongue. 

“I'm just saying, it's a perfectly pleasant and sunny day. I don't understand what need there was for a plastic tub colder than a Siberian lake?”

An ice cube hit her head. Her glare only made Charles smile sweetly.

“If I wasn't under threat of all of Monaco skinning me alive at any harm done to you, I'd throttle you right now.”

He blew her a kiss. Bitch.

Champagne bubbled past her lips on the second step that Sunday. It was a Red Bull 1-3, with an incredibly disappointed Charles down in P4. She only managed to spot his melancholic expression down in the crowd of navy and red when the Mexican anthem was playing its last notes. 

The race was a spectacle by Monaco standards - an incredible 21 overtakes and a fight for P2 for the entire duration. She had barely managed to drag the Ferrari over the finish line on mediums so torn up, they might have punctured on the following lap. Really, she was just counting her lucky stars.

She blinked rapidly, wiping alcohol from her eyes. Or was it still sweat from the race? Taking a long drag from the bottle seemed to cool her down enough. Checo was chatting with Max, both of them soaked just like her. She was delighted at his win, and happier more when she realized she beat Max. A smile grew on her face uncontrollably at the thought of the way she practically skipped past the third step and straight into second place - his eyes burning holes in the side of her head the entire time. If looks could kill, they’d be cleaning her dead body off the floor before any trophies could even be handed out.

Had she glared back at him, he’d have turned his head abruptly to avoid notice.

To be entirely honest, she wasn’t even sure when a rivalry between them began to form. They never karted together - maybe she only saw him a couple of times when she was very young and he was in a category above hers. While he had skipped F2 altogether and left Charles his F3 seat, she was still fighting through regional F4 championships. When she was in Alfa Romeo with Kimi in 2020, he was already winning with Red Bull.

Maybe she had grown tired of the news of his wins; or he had had it with her successfully playing the media darling; or both of them started growing abrasive every time the other flaunted a better result as proudly as a championship win.

To put it shortly: If the two of them were involved, it tended to be tense.

Flashing Max a proud and mocking grin from behind Checo’s back only resulted in a scoff and a roll of his eyes. Or at least she guessed - the champagne stuck to her lashes made her vision a kaleidoscope a little more than she would’ve liked.

After they had their picture taken, she gathered her trophy against her hip and the open bottle limply in her other hand. Had she walked off the podium any faster than she did, she wouldn’t have caught his muttering.

“You always have to one-up everyone, huh?”

“Not everyone.” She smiled, sweetly. “Just you.”

“Aw, I’m honored.” He spoke in a tone that was anything but honored. “You only try so hard to keep up with me, schat?” Again with the ridiculous nickname. Was he calling her shit?

“In your dreams, Verstappen. S’not my fault I’m just so naturally talented, and you’re… you. You know?” Anyone who heard her dry reply might have doubted she even believed the praise she threw at herself. Except Max.

“Was it natural talent when-”

“Alright, children, enough.” Checo’s arms came around both of their shoulders as he led them off the podium. “Kid, do you want to come to the energy station- Max, don’t look at me like that- do you want to come watch the pool dive? Horner said he might wear a… what’s it called? The swimming underwear?”

“Um, Speedos?”

“Yes!” The snap of his fingers rang behind her right ear. “A Union Jack Speedo.” 

“That’s… supposed to be enticing?”

He shrugged, letting go of both of them now that the trio was away from cameras. Max left immediately. “Invite Charles. I’ll see if I can get any other drivers to come.”

“Me and Charles? I thought we were practically Public Enemies #1 and #2 over there?”

“Ah, well… yes. Maybe don’t come in red.”

“Incredibly helpful as always, Checo.”

Raising his pointer finger at her, he looked more like a dad than ever before. “Don’t give me that tone.” He received only a sly grin and an eyeroll.

“Any plans for tonight?”

“You’ll see it in the groupchat.”

The Red Bull Energy Station ended up looking more like a millionaire’s- no, billionaire’s college pool party that afternoon, with more and more people filtering in by the minute.

In a show of solidarity towards her teammate, she had stolen the P2 champagne for him and herself to share in a walk around the marina. Already, they observed yacht owners getting ready for the afterparty of the year all around them.

“You look surprisingly somber.” He said after a long silence. 

She simply took a long swig of lukewarm alcohol to avoid answering.

“Are you-” He stopped. Hesitated. “Is- Um, how are you doing?”

“Good.” A response typical for someone who most definitely was not good. “Very good.”

“Are you su-”

“Y’know, I’m very excited for tonight. I don’t get to party it up in Monaco much.” Cutting him off looked to be the best option right then. “Last year was more chill.”

“...Yes, we went for a picnic up to that viewpoint with Charlotte and… who were you dating then?”

“Oh, Antonio? I wasn’t serious with him.”

“Oh?” He gratefully took the bottle when she offered it. “I thought you were.”

“It’s hard to be. You of all people should know how the media reacts to our relationships.” Among other things.

Having not even realized it, they were now standing before the Red Bull hospitality - if that was a correct term for the frat raft it appeared to be.

“Shall we?” He said. She swallowed.

“Might as well.”

To be fair, the deck was comfortable. And loud. Incredibly loud. They were offered Red Bulls - which they accepted, as they weren’t, y’know, animals. In a few minutes, she found herself sitting on the railing to get a better look over everybody else’s heads, while he leaned against it right next to her. 

And to her mixed disappointment and relief, Christian Horner did not wear a Union Jack Speedo while jumping into the pool. He didn’t even jump - Max shoved him in after Checo.

The little party went on for a little while, but her social battery was dying and relying on Charles’ charms didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. When she announced her decision to leave to him, he agreed quickly, still carrying her souvenir bottle for her.

Unfortunately for them, nobody else had. The crowd was still there, much like a great number of immovable concrete walls, and they struggled to make their way to the stairs. Charles, being a bit taller and more broad-shouldered, went first in an attempt to push his way through. She, however, got separated fairly easily and had little control in being accidentally herded to the pool’s edge like cattle.

“Hey, wait-” Someone she had no time to see collided with her, sending her right into the water.

Or they would have, if her arm wasn’t abruptly grabbed by the most irritating, bothersome individual who she could have possibly crossed paths with at that moment.

He had an annoyed look in his eyes. “Watch it.”

“...Thank you.” It was painful for her dignity to say while he pulled her back to a standing position. Not waiting for a response, she hurried after Charles.

And left Max standing alone in the crowd. 

NOTE: Honestly, I'm not that happy with this but I am glad that I finally got it out. Slightly anticlimatic for a first chapter? Yeah, nothing I can do about that now. Also this wasn't beta read, sorry for the mistakes you were forced to endure lol

TAGLIST: @falk0r3

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[xdirtyxlittlexgirl]

Hurting & Healing

Pairing: Henry Cavill X Reader

Summary: You get into a terrible accident while Henry's away on shoot

Warning: Super angsty, fluff, mentions of death

Henry finally got a five minute break from his shoot and decided to finally give you a call. He had missed you terribly for the past two months as he was away shooting, and you both got very little time together between shoots. He had requested the director to take some time off so he can finally be with you again and his wish was granted, and he was excited yet relieved to know that he will be seeing you again in a few days. He sat in his chair, sipping his coffee trying to call you but your phone went to voicemail. This was unusual. You had a habit of always picking up his calls in a few seconds. Henry's heart was racing as he tried calling you again and again, but your phone was repeatedly going straight to the voicemail. He couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that was now gnawing on him.

He was about to call you once more when the director called him back to resume the shoot. Reluctantly, he made his way back, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you. Safe to say he was worried at this point. He decided to ask his managers to try and connect with you while he was working. "Please just keep trying. My mind is thinking things, and I am not feeling good about this. I need to speak with her as soon as possible. You get it? Please." He said sternly to one of his managers, finally making his way back to the set.

But as the shoot went on, his anxiety grew by every ticking second, and he couldn't focus on anything except you. He was on edge and snapping at everyone around him in frustration. He had a temper problem, and it aggravated when he was worried and helpless. He was in the middle of the scene which he was already finding very hard to focus on, when he heard the director say cut. His managers interrupted the shoot and asked him to come to the vanity van. Henry could sense their unease, and his temper flared further. "What's going on? Why the hell are you guys not telling me?" he snapped.

Finally, one of his managers sighed and reluctantly handed him the phone, making him almost snatch it out of the others hand, which displayed a picture of you, bruised and battered laying in a hospital bed. Henry's heart sank. "She got in an accident this morning, and is now being treated in the City hospital. We have called and requested to have the best team of doctors work on her case..." His mind went blank as he kept staring at the pictures and his manager's voice faded in the background replacing it with pure silence.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to process what he was seeing. After a few good minutes he was pulled from his thoughts as he looked red eyed at his managers. "What the hell happened? Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Fuck!" he yelled punching the wall next to him in pure frustration as he bruised his hands. His managers were shaken and scared seeing him like this. One of them calmly explained that the hospital staff tried to reach them, but didn't have any relevant contacts. It wasn't until one of the nurses recognised her and contacted them. They explained that they had arranged for a charter flight to take him to her immediately.

Henry couldn't believe what was happening. He had never felt this helpless in his life. You were his world, and seeing you like this tore him apart. He felt like he had failed you. He wanted to be around you. He knew how much you were missing him. He was now blaming himself for your situation. "Fuck! I wish I was there with her sooner! I wish I was there with her to protect her. It was my fucking job. It is all my fucking fault. Fuck!" He said through gritted teeth as he again punched his hand this time in the car door creating an evident dent. His managers were doing everything to calm him down, but it was all in vain.

Trembling with fear and anguish, Henry packed his bags and rushed to the airport. The flight felt like an eternity, and his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and he couldn't help but think the worst, which pained him even more. He sat in the plane, his mind in a haze. The world around him seemed distorted, like a funhouse mirror that distorted and twisted everything into a grotesque caricature. He couldn't believe that you were just fine last night, all smiling and beautiful, and now you laid in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while he had been away. You meant everything to him, and the thought of losing you was making him lose his sanity. He didn't know he loved you this much, that every second felt like eternity knowing he could lose you.

He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, but his chest felt tight, and the air seemed to escape him. He could feel his temper rising, his frustration mounting with every passing moment. He pounded his fists on the armrest, feeling a surge of anger that he couldn't control. "Why did this have to happen?" he muttered to himself. "Why her? Why now?" The plane hit turbulence, and Henry jolted in his seat, the sudden movement breaking through his thoughts. He looked around, his eyes falling on the bottle and glass that lay on the table in front of him. Without thinking, he reached out and knocked them off the table, the sound of shattering glass filling the cabin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it was no use. The anger was still there, simmering just below the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

The flight attendant approached him, concerned etched on her face. "Sir, is everything okay?" she asked softly. He shook his head, unable to speak, and the flight attendant nodded sympathetically before walking away. He was afraid. Terribly scared to lose you. The words by his managers from before, finally echoed in his head. They mentioned you were in a critical condition, although they followed it up with a lot of hope, he couldn't shake away the sight of you, which made his fear grow stronger.

"God, please let her be okay," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I can't bear to see her like this." Finally his anger started to leave his body, replacing it with intense pain, guilt, fear, and hurt. He was alone with his thoughts, trapped in a prison of his own making. He couldn't escape the pain, no matter how hard he tried. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his own emotions, and the only way out of it, was to finally see you.

"I love you, princess" he whispered, the words barely audible over the roar of the plane's engines. "Please be okay." He said looking at the wallpaper of the two of you on his mobile, his throat tightening and choking with pain.

As the plane landed, Henry's heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel his anxiety and stress levels skyrocketing. His managers were already arranging for a safe passage through the airport, but as they stepped outside, a mob of fans surrounded him, all clamoring for his attention.

"Mr. Cavill, can we have a picture with you?"

"Please sign me an autograph, Henry!"

Henry tried to sign a few of them off politely, begging them to let him leave, but as he pushed through the crowd, he heard a fan talking about you. "I'm not (y/n), but I deserve some attention too!" His frustration boiled over, and he turned around, scolding her almost tearing up talking about you. "She's in the hospital fighting for her life, and all you care about is a damn autograph? Get some perspective woman!" Finally, he broke free from the crowd and drove towards the hospital. His heart sank as he saw the sign "Intensive Care Unit" in bold letters. He asked the receptionist for your whereabouts, and the receptionist recognized him immediately.

"Oh my god, you're Henry Cavill! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first. Follow me, Mr Cavill, I'll take you to her doctor." As they entered the doctor's cabin, Henry could feel his frustration, pain, and rage building up inside of him. The doctor gave him a somber look and spoke in a serious tone. "Mr. Cavill, I'm sorry to say that (y/n) has suffered severe head trauma, and the chances of her recovery are low. She is at a high risk of amnesia or worse, of slipping into coma. We are doing everything we can to keep her stable, but we need to prepare you for the worst." Henry felt like his world was crumbling around him. The doctor's words were like a punch in the gut, and he felt his eyes welling up with tears. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, losing the whole of his heart.

"Please, doctor, do everything in your power to save her. I can't lose her. I just can't." He spoke between tears trying to get the words out of his throat, although they came barely over a whisper. The doctor gave him a sympathetic look, knowing that there was only so much they could do. He was shattered into a million pieces, and he felt like he was drowning in his own pain and despair. All he could do was hold onto hope and pray for a miracle.

He sat in the waiting area, his eyes glued to the door of the ICU room. His mind is racing, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He has been waiting there for hours, hoping and praying that the doctors will give him some good news. Finally, the door opens, and the doctor steps out. Henry stands up, his fear plastered on his face as he approaches the doctor. "How is she?" he asks, his voice trembling with emotion.

The doctor takes a deep breath and looks Henry in the eye. "She's stable," he says. "But she still hasn't regained consciousness. We're doing everything we can, but the next few hours are critical." He nods, he felt his heart sinking. He felt like he's been hit by a truck. He can't believe that this was happening. He's never felt so powerless in his life. All he can do is sit and wait and hope. He was finally here, but he still couldn't do anything to fix you, to save you, to protect you...

He had begged the doctor to let him see her but he refused. The doctor explained how they're still treating your wounds and he will be able to see you later today. He nodded and patiently, yet impatiently waited outside the ICU. Hours pass, and finally, the doctor comes back to him. "Although she's still unconscious, we have shifted her to a room, and you can go see her now." he says. His heart leaps into his throat as he follows the doctor into the room. He sees you lying there, pale and still, hooked up to all sorts of machines. His heart breaks at the sight.

He takes her hand in his, feeling the coldness of your skin. Tears well up in his eyes once again, as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Baby girl, I'm here," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. Please, come back to me. I need you." He said, finally breaking into a sob that he had been holding for hours.

He sits by your side, holding your hand and talking to you, telling you all the things he's been holding back for so long. He tells you how much he loves you, how he can't imagine his life without you, how he'll do anything to make you better. He tells you all the things he's sorry for, all the things he wishes he could have done differently. His trying his best to make you feel his presence and bring you to life again. He needed you to speak back to him. As he talks, tears roll down his cheeks, and he can feel the pain and sorrow inside him grow. He's never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he knows that if you won't make it, he'll never be the same again. He tries to shake these negative thoughts and for now, all he can do is hope and pray and be by your side, holding your hand.

Hours passed as he didn't realise and fell asleep, curled up in a chair beside your bed, holding your hand tightly. He was exhausted, emotionally drained, and his body ached from sitting in the same position for so long, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to be there for you, to be the first thing you see when you wake up. As the night passed, he was into a deep slumber, but he was quickly awoken by a faint voice calling his name. He jerked upright, his heart pounding in his chest, as looked at you in shock. Yoy were awake.

"Baby?" he said, his voice choked with emotion. "Oh my God, you're awake. Are you okay? How do you feel?" He asked everything without a breath. He then immediately rang the bell to call the nurses and the doctor. "How is she now?" He asked impatiently to the doctor. "She's surprisingly much better Mr Cavill, looks like you were what she needed to heal." The doctor said finally leaving the two of you alone.

"How are you feeling princess? You scared me so much. I'm so glad you're okay. Fuck." He said with tears running down his face as he held her hand right continuously kissing your hand. You smiled weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel...okay. A little sore. But I'm glad to see you. I thought I'd never see you again" His eyes filled with tears as he leaned in and lifted you gently into his arms, holding you close to him. "Oh, baby don't say that. I would never let anything happen to you." he said, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here. I should have been there to protect you. I can't believe this happened." You stroked his cheek and smiled reassuringly. "It's not your fault, Henry. It was an accident. I'm just glad you're here now." He just held you like his life depended on it. You could feel how scared he was and how he was holding onto you like a little baby. You ran your hand gently through his hair and you can already feel yourself healing. He was your medicine. He was your relief. You couldn't imagine you were holding him after almost two months and now you didn't want to let go.

Henry took a deep breath and kissed your lips, feeling overwhelmed with relief and love. "I was so scared," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know what to do. I thought I was going to lose you." Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him. "You're not going to lose me," she said, your voice soft but firm. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Henry and you're stuck with me." You said giggling a little through your tears. His heart swelled with love and emotion as he looked down at you. "I love you so much more my princess. God I love you so much more..." he said, his voice thick with emotion. For a few moments, you just held each other, lost in your love and relief. You can feel how his heart has now picked a softer pace. He needed you as much as you needed him.

Later, he pulled back a little, looking at you with concern. "What happened?" he asked. "How did this happen?" You knew you were gonna get in trouble if you answered this. You just smiled weakly but he asked again as you sighed. "I remember losing control of the car...and then hitting the tree. After that, everything is a blur. But I'm okay now and so much better with you here." You said trying to glaze everything with hope and happiness, in hopes that he won't get mad at you. He hated your age old secondhand car and had strictly asked you to take the new ones he has parked up for you. He even offered to drive his Aston Martin around. But you loved this car, it was the first thing you bought with your own money. Although he was right, this car had served you enough, and now just something you should be keeping for sentimental value.

He looked at you with narrowed eyes. "How many times have I asked you to stay away from this junk? What if I had lost you today? Hun?" He snapped. He was now angry but you expected this. He was worried for you and he was right, this car almost took your life today. "I'm sorry Henry. I won't do it again" You say politely pulling him in a hug as he immediately melts down and nuzzles his head in your hair. "I know baby, I'm sorry to get mad at you, but I almost thought I lost you today. I was so scared, and I have told you so many times to dump that car. I just.. I wanted to save your from exactly this." He said softly now gently rubbing your back and kissing your head and shoulders. "I'm so sorry baby, I promise I won't do it again. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you." You say stroking his cheek and leaning in to kiss him.

You were kissing him after two months and it felt like tasting heaven. He was your medicine. His words, his touch, his kisses, everything healed you. He healed you and you wanted nothing more. Henry smiled through the kiss and hugged you tightly, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. "I love you too, my princess," he said. "I love you more than anything. And I'm never going to let anything happen to you again."

____

A/N: Please send in your fic requests! Asks Open!

[seeingivy]

sick with sadness

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter

an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.

previous chapter

--

Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it. 

He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it. 

From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco. 

His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables. 

And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body. 

He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.

He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it. 

And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them. 

“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.” 

Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. 

Is there something wrong with him?

“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass. 

“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it. 

Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank. 

The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns. 

When the sadness takes residence in his chest.

--

“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right. 

The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him. 

He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.

Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up. 

He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side. 

The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life. 

Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this. 

And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother. 

“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side. 

If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too. 

“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday. 

“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers. 

From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day. 

“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.” 

“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.

Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed. 

Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her. 

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege. 

Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better. 

Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do. 

Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do. 

And he knows that’s not the case here. 

She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt. 

He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.  

It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week. 

Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right. 

You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it. 

--

Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him. 

He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden. 

“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!” 

“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side. 

Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks. 

And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party. 

“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off. 

“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile. 

“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.

“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention. 

Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves. 

In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn. 

Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie. 

The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months. 

And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t. 

“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back. 

“Sure.” Eren responds. 

“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing. 

Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him. 

“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco. 

The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them

“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling. 

“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.” 

Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.

“Are you drinking apple cider?” 

“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds. 

Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family. 

All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself. 

“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks. 

“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds. 

“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts. 

“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further. 

“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?” 

Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James. 

Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him. 

One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.

And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him. 

He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people. 

And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port. 

It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder. 

“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months. 

“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-” 

Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall. 

Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment. 

“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face. 

“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks.. 

“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds. 

Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this. 

“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“That’s my job.” 

Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles. 

“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.” 

“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds. 

Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him. 

“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.

“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden. 

Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.” 

Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response. 

Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.

The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him. 

Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being. 

But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.

Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind. 

“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states. 

“I’d help you.” Historia responds. 

“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks. 

“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.” 

Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing. 

“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-” 

“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading. 

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-” 

“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on. 

“Hisu. I-” 

“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says. 

“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile. 

“Shut up, Marco.” she responds. 

Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week. 

It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in. 

--

Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?” 

“Eh. Almost.” 

Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining. 

“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.” 

Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy. 

“Because I’m a failure?” 

“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?” 

The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word. 

The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career. 

“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds. 

He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible. 

“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks. 

“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look. 

Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you. 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?” 

“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.” 

“You’re so vulgar.” 

“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-” 

“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence. 

“You watched?” 

“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.” 

He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown. 

“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.” 

“Me too.” 

He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon. 

“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?” 

“There’s stupid things on my tour?” 

“Just the one.” 

“Please enlighten me, wise one.” 

“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.” 

“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?” 

He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile. 

He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.

--

“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer. 

“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.” 

“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air. 

Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.

“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash. 

“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains. 

“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side. 

Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.

Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script. 

Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script. 

Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button. 

Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal. 

And underneath, Reiner’s inscription. 

fuck. 

He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side. 

Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want. 

And Bertholdt’s commentary. 

yall fucking? 

Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it. 

“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-” 

“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen. 

Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.

Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder. 

“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.” 

Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets. 

“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-” 

“No.” Eren responds. 

Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes. 

He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now. 

The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front. 

Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D 

He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together. 

And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too. 

Isn’t it?

--

Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry. 

It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after. 

Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them. 

Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you. 

It’s humiliating. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Min.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain. 

“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds. 

Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.

Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.

“So, Eren?” 

“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-” 

“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out. 

Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out. 

Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between. 

Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty. 

“Eren. You okay?” 

Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter. 

Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face. 

“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.” 

He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him. 

And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking. 

“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.” 

Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now. 

“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on. 

Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears. 

It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out. 

“Eren.”

He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water. 

Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange. 

Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him. 

“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.” 

Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him. 

“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.” 

“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-” 

“You and I could be really helpful to each other.” 

He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer. 

“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.” 

Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face. 

Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day. 

It's the worst mistake he makes.

--

next part

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[superums]

niran "bua" Pruksamanee x tank! reader

gn!reader. fluff. alight angst. slight ableism (its in passing). no y/n or name usage. established relationship. reader is an overwatch agent. usages of thai, tell if they're wrong pls :3. no pronouns besides one mention of the word 'woman'. no gendered terms. both reader & niran are 28-31. you're a tank though its not explicitly mentioned.

colored text: niran. you.

sorry i've been gone from so long i started playing baldurs gate😭

general headcannons

you used to be a famous boxer. you were on billboards, headlining major fighting events, making tons of money goes pay-per-view fights—you were a star. you loved hearing your fans chant your name, telling off hecklers in the crowd and the adrenaline running through your veins you left the scene.

during your professional career you used to watch the news and wish you could do something about the things that were going on in the world.

you wanted to help badly but you weren't super human nor did you have any smarts to make up for it. you were just a boxer with a mean right hook.

then your life seemed to change for an instant—you lost both your arms a terrorist attack. it happened quickly; one minute you were fighting at the heavyweight championship the next you were screaming at the top of your lungs as smoke clouded your vision.

you ended your career not long after. you felt like a shell of yourself, not only because of your new disability and the phantom pains that came with it, but also because all you know is fighting.

the prosthetics the doctors offered you didn't feel the same. some couldn't hold a punch, others were hallow and the force of your you exerted would smash it into pieces without you trying.

for a while you were hounded by paparazzi, every time you were in headlines they would run up to you and say things like "it must be hard for you to go from on top of the world to nothing all in a year" or "i pity you really."

you tried to get used to the comments but no matter how many times you tried to swallow the humiliation you felt it just wouldn't go away.

after viral picture of you at the beach without your prosthetics on where people called you everything but a child of god you just decided to go far away from everyone.

you moved to a cabin on a prairie. being so far and out of the way it was a miracle you found him, or well—he found you. he came when you were close to giving up on your dream of fighting ever again.

you were sitting on your porch when you saw him from the corner of your eye standing at your warn down shack. he might have been trying to break into your house or knock you out you're not sure but you offered him a place to stay.

it might've been crazy, to let a stranger live in your roof but it was a decision made out of loneliness. he said his name niran. you let him stay with you. at first it was just for a couple of days; but then it turned into a week, then a month become months.

after a while finally he told you why he was trying to break into your house to begin with.

"i'm a fugitive." came out of his mouth as you both sat next to each other. his cold metal hand would be on top of yours if it was still there.

you turned to face him, calculating what you should say next. you've only know him for a month, its too short to know someone but you felt like he was the nicest person you've met. "i have a price on my head in a few places... seventeen to be exact...." he continued; voice getting lower as he continued. his brown eyes searching for anger or disgust on your face. instead he was met with a mix of curiosity, confusion and maybe a little fear.

"w...what for? if you can say." silence filled the room for a bit, niran was fidgeting with his prosthetic before opening his mouth again. "i...i made a new form of life, i want to heal people."

his voice wavered a little. back then his mind really didn't understand why but in his heart wanted you to accept him, not because he was alone—but because he loved you.

you accepted him without a second thought and after that you let him stay with you. over the months he started to have feelings for you; seeing your smile, the soft voice that was so much different from the one you used in the ring. seeing how you talk to him he might have fallen in love with you as soon as he met you.

you let him advance his technology in your basement and in return he gave you new arms out of hard light.

you knew you liked him but after that; giving you a second chance with arms you could feel things with, if you didn't love him then you definitely loved him after that.

with the new pair of new arms you felt indebted to him. you started training very soon after you got used to your arms not only because you missed it but because now you feel like you have to protect him from vishkar.

when you started dating he's so sweet to you. i'm a strong believer that niran is soft with his lovers even if he is a bit of a flirt. he never rushed things with you, always going slow with everything

it took him weeks of not months to kiss you for the first time, he didn't want to rush anything with you especially when if you're still vulnerable about your situation.

he set up a lovely picnic when he realized he so desperately wanted to kiss you. a large pink tree stood in the large plot of land you call a backyard. he planted plants both real and artificial— hoping it conveyed his love for you well.

he held your hands, his flesh and cybernetic hands held yours with such softness. as he led you to the picnic blanket you felt like you were in a movie; the baby pink tree pulsated and it made you feel gooey (in a good way), the phantom pains you experienced seems to disappear in that moment, leaving just you and niran.

as you both ate he talked to you like about his day how he planned this for months. at some point in your talk strayed away from normal topics, you felt his flesh hand caress your jaw only then you noticed how close you two were; niran peering down at you.

"i've been thinking..." he whispered, you twos lips almost gravitating towards each other—stopping when you two were only a foot apart. "i want to take things slow, not to rush you.." the tree pulsed again as you stared into his eyes, his voice so gentle with you as if you'd break if he talked louder than a whisper.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, you heart warmed at the words; you didn't even speak instead you leaned in more until your lips touched. it was a kiss you of a movie, his cybernetic hand went to you back as his flesh one held your jaw. passion flowed through the two of you and its all you've ever wanted; a movie like kiss with niran.

i imagine he's very passionate when it comes to you. when he kisses you it's almost like it'll be his last; he puts his hand on your chin and cradles your head literally every time it doesn't matter whats going on

his nicknames for you หัวใจของฉัน, ดอกไม้ของฉัน, love, darling and rose

translation: my heart, my soul

he wants his pet names to represent how deeply he loves you and if you don't speak thai he'll use the most intense words he knows.

you're devoted to not only loving but protecting niran! you've tried to train him for the worst case scenario of vishkar coming; and you've come to realize he's a lover not a fighter

so when he told you he was going to join overwatch you told him you were going to follow him and were prepared to argue with him if he said other wise but instead he told you "i was hoping you'd say that"

in game head cannons

while niran flirts with the roster in a joking way just know he seriously means it when he's talking to you! some moments playful and fun while others are more... intense

you: *sigh* it's so cold, i don't know how you're dealing with this

lifeweaver: lets hug! we can warm each other up!

you: *sigh*... it's so cold, i don't know how you're dealing with this

lifeweaver: i just imagine you and i feel so warm (sexual innuendo)

he thinks it's funny to mess with you even if it's in-front of your friends. down worry in reality he wont say things like that too loud... just between you two.

when you get elems he has multiple voice lines where he's in absolute awe in what you can do and they vary on how many kills you get.

1-2 kills usually gets a "you're so cool~" or "you're blooming!" while 3-5 gets a "it's amazing such strong actions can belong to someone so gentle."

i imagine being life gripped feels the same as being dropped from a super high place almost like a roller coster so maybe you have voice lines where you express you hate getting pulled

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: ah! it feels so weird when you do that

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: im gonna hurl..

if you're critical when he pulls you however your tone changes to something more thankful and sweet

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: you love me! you really love me!

reference

lifeweaver: *pulls you*

you: oh niran, i could just kiss you right now!

reference

you two probably have skins that match for sure. you have an epic that just a recolor of your normal skin but its mostly white and you have baby pink forget-me-nots made out of biolight in your hair.

when he eliminates you he's always so cheeky about it. he says "*laughs* forgive me my love!" and "ยกโทษให้ฉันดอกไม้ของฉัน"

translation: forgive me my flower

when he kills you via melee however he always says "*gasp* you must train some more!" and "it looks like i'm the strongest now! *giggles*"

when you send him to the spawn room his voices lines always make him seem more in love with you than upset. he says "*sigh dreamily* oh i love that in a woman" , "such brute strength makes me love them more..." and "พวกเขาทําให้ฉันกระเด็นออกจากเท้าของฉันอย่างแท้จริง!"

translation: they knocked me off my feet literally!

[scarletttries]

NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Steven Grant (Moon Knight) +  Ice cream/lollipop teasing (prompt list here)

It would be frankly embarrassing how easily, and quickly, you could wind Steven up with the slightest bit of effort. A fact that made Steven mortified, and excited you greatly. 

You'd been hoping to have Steven to yourself for the weekend, only for your plans to get rudely interrupted by Donna calling him in to cover for someone at the museum before you'd really had the chance to get your hands on him at all. Naturally Steven apologised profusely despite it not being his fault, and suggested you come visit him at the end of the day, promising you a private tour of the museum in exchange for your patience. You happily agreed to the plan, but only because you'd heard Steven mention a few behind-the-scenes places in the museum you couldn't resist the opportunity to drag him to. 

The day seemed to drag for Steven at his little counter; making inventory lists, punching endless numbers into his till, and doing a double-take every time someone walked in, just in case it was you, trying to hide the disappointment on his face when he realised he still had to wait a little longer until he saw you again. It had only been a few months since he first mustered up all his nerve to ask you out for coffee, and now he almost didn't feel himself when he wasn't around you. Like somehow your beauty and exuberance and kindness reflected onto him until he was sure he was the best, and happiest, version of himself there had ever been. He found himself picturing your pretty smile first thing in the morning, still completely in disbelief that he was the person that got to wake up beside you and see it. 

"Earth to Steven." You said again, starting to worry as you waved a hand in front of his face, watching his eyes slowly focus on reality again as he jumped in surprise.

"Sorry love! I was completely out of it then, I must have looked like a right plonker. If it helps, I was thinking about you." He offered bashfully, watching the mischievous smile forming on your face as you scanned the offerings around his station, 

"Oh really, what was I wearing?" You fought back a laugh at the crimson colour that immediately flooded into his cheeks at the question, a thread of stutters and stumbled words all you got in response. "What are these Steven?" You cut off his attempt to elaborate by picking up a round red lollipop held in a spiraling display at the far end of the ledge. 

"They're just lollipops that are supposed to make your tongue change colour, I don't know what they have to do with history or science, but people seem to love 'em." If you didn't have your back to him he would've seen the glimmer of an idea in your eyes before you spun and asked with an innocent grin, "Can I buy one please? For our tour." 

"Of course, my treat love." He smiled softly as he watched you unwrap the plastic coating, face falling to accomodate a deep gulp as he watched you flick your tongue over the glistening red orb, before slowly sliding it between your lips. He could feel his pulse quicken as you let out a soft hum at its taste, eyes trailing over to his as you commented, tone needlessly sultry, 

"Mm, strawberry." He ignored the ache building beside his hand as he quickly fumbled in his pocket to pull out a few coins, glad that it was his final transaction of the day as his blood seemed to be leaving his brain in favour of more fun areas. Taking your outstretched hand and leading you towards his favourite exhibits, he took a deep breath trying to steady himself from your effects on him. But you wouldn't let that happen. 

As you moved between glass cases, it wasn't hard to tell your little ploy was having the intended effect. Steven would find himself tripping over his words, and his feet, trying to keep his mind on anything but the sugary draw of your lips. While you looked intently at each artifact he explained, he could only bring himself to stare at your mouth, watching your tongue circle the lollipop, lapping up the sticky droplets forming before running over the tip, making Steven shift awkwardly from one foot to the other, desperately trying to push the images of how good he knew it felt to have you sucking him that way. 

You were surprised with how long he tried to keep his composure, clearly embarrassed by his obvious physical reaction, squirming to stand with his legs obscuring his crotch from your view, tugging at his collar as pink seemed to flush his skin as it stained your lips. It wasn't until you asked him if your tongue was "all pink now" before sticking it out at him with a devilish glint in your eyes that a little voice in his head made him realise he never stood a chance. 

"Do you want to see where, uh, we put the new, what's the word... museum stuff?" He spluttered out, already gripping your hand a little more firmly as he picked up the pace towards the stockroom he knew wouldn't get checked this time of night. 

"Lead the way handsome." You said happily, keeping your tone just innocent enough that you wouldn't completely give yourself away. Steven practically ripped open the door as he barged inside, panting from the short walk and the long-building frustration throbbing inside him. "Are you okay Steven?" You asked, saccharine sweet as you took the lollipop between your lips, exaggerating the sucking action with your cheeks. 

"Um, yes. But also no." He mumbled, volume rising as he stepped towards you, framing your body against the door as he checked the lock. He planted one hand beside your head as the other slowly wrapped around the paper stick emerging from your lips, fingers gently pulling until the sweet escaped your lips with an audible pop. He moved deliberately slowly, your own heart racing at the hungry look in his eyes, slightly disheveled by an afternoon of your relentless teasing. Tentatively he pressed his lips to yours, eagerness rushing through him as the taste of strawberries flooded his mouth, his tongue plunging forward to follow its sweetness. You fought back a smile at his obvious keenness, frantically capturing your lips and exploring your mouth until he needed to pull away for breath, chest heaving with the overwhelming excitement. The hunger in his eyes hadn't dissipated at all, desperate desire burning inside him, hindering his ability to ask for what he so clearly wanted. You decided you'd been cruel enough, bringing your hands to his thighs as you slowly lowered to your knees. 

"Is there something other than a lollipop you want me to put in my mouth Steven?" It took every ounce of his self-control not to lose it right there, your wide eyes staring up at him as your fingers toyed with buttons of his slacks, his silent but awestruck nod giving you the permission you needed. You could feel him straining against the fabric as you slid down his zip, peeling his trousers and boxers down his thighs until his aching manhood sprang free, already leaking its own sweet, sticky mess at his uncontrollable thoughts of you. Steven looked apologetic at his state despite your satisfied smile as you wrapped your hand around him, mumbling as you started to gentle rub away the throbbing tension, 

"I'm sorry love, you're just so beautiful and with that lollipop, I couldn't stop thinking about, uh, things and - Oh!" His apology halted as brought your rosy red tongue to his glistening tip, lapping at it just like in his thoughts, humming happily as his eyes fluttered shut, 

"Don't apologise Steven, you're way better than Strawberry." As if to prove your point you took him deeply between your lips, moaning as his hips bucked at the contact, slamming himself down your throat. The empty storage space was filled with whimpers and panting as he rubbed against the inside of your cheeks, feeling the soft warmth he'd been picturing all afternoon, eyes fixed to your bobbing head, watching you like the miraculous entity that you are, trying to capture the moment in all its glory in his mind, in case he never felt something so perfect again. The way your eyes looked up at him adoringly, the wet glide of your tongue as you pulled away, only to hum in satisfaction as you brought him back down your throat again, it was too much. Better than his imagination by a long stretch. His daydreams could never do your soft, warm touch justice. He could feel the pressure building inside him as he relished every sensation your movements created. 

"Love, I'm gonna - um, you should -" He tried to warn you, not sure of the proper wording and fumbling over himself as you seemed to apply more pressure, picking up the pace as he crossed his threshold, a deep groan ripping free of his throat as his hips began to stutter, his release filling your cheeks as you drew every last drop of pleasure from him. 

Steven watched in wide-eyed affection as you swallowed his seed like he was just another sweet treat, before sticking out your pink tongue while gently helping him back into his trousers. You pointed at the now much smaller sweet, still clutched in the hand that wasn't propped against the door, possibly the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely. 

"Can I have that back now?" The cheeky glint in your beaming smile filled Steven with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as he shook his head, putting the lollipop in his own mouth instead, looking a little panicked as he spoke, 

"Absolutely not. You're banned from buying lollipops at my gift shop." He smiled at the incredulous laugh that burst from your lips as he helped you off your knees, sure you were going to be the death of him, but unable to think of a better way to go. 

[1800-fight-me]

Expressed Devotion

Aemond Targaryen x Petite!Female!Reader

A Practice Makes Perfect Fic - This can be read as a stand alone fic or part of the series!

Rating: Mature- This is still not for minors!

Warnings: Allusions to sex but other than that it's just fluff!

Word Count: About 1.2k

Synopsis: On the year anniversary of your marriage to Aemond, you try to spoil and surprise him but he manages to beat you to the punch.

Author’s Note: Happy late valentine's day!! I hope this syrupy sweet romantic little ficlet makes up for me posting it late! This is a combination of three requests I've gotten, sorry it is not exactly the same as the requests but hopefully y'all like it! Unfortunately I'll be deleting the other valentine's requests as I won't be able to fulfill them.

Important announcement!! I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

You were jittery with excitement. It was the anniversary of your marriage to Aemond and you felt you had acquired the perfect gift for him. Well, two gifts really. One for him and another for him to see you wear.

You were certain he would appreciate it. You were determined to impress upon him your utter love and devotion for him this evening, no matter what it took.

A bit of heat licked up your spine as you pictured yourself on your knees before him.

No, you would think about that later.

You needed to focus on the task at hand.

You made your way back to the Red Keep, then quickly to your shared chambers.

The gift was in a small box and you planned to wrap a ribbon around it to make it complete. The other you planned to wrap yourself in.

You burst through the doors of your room and stopped short.

Your eyes widened and you gasped softly.

Aemond smirked at you, a prideful and self satisfied smile he had clearly earned.

Your eyes darted about the room as hundreds of red and black roses, the color of his house, covered nearly every surface.

Vases nearly overflowed with the vibrant flowers and petals covered the bed.

“Oh, Aemond,” you said breathily as you tried to take in the scene before you.

Your handsome husband even held more flowers in his hands.

“It is the anniversary of the best day of my life, my sweet little wife, did you know that?” he asked you with so much love in his gaze you couldn’t help the tears that filled your eyes.

You shut the doors behind you, set the gifts down on the nearby table, and stepped closer to him.

“I did know that, dear husband, I had a plan to spoil you but it appears you have bested me in the element of surprise.”

He handed you the roses, and you crushed them between your body and his as you threw yourself against him and pulled him down enough that you could reach him and pressed your lips against his.

He chuckled into the kiss and you nipped at his bottom lip.

He pulled the flowers from you and dropped them on the side table as he tugged you backwards towards the bed.

He sat on the edge and situated you on top of his lap.

“I love you, little wife, my heart, as black and shriveled as it is, belongs to you completely,” he said as he kissed you heatedly.

His lips moved against yours and at the press of his tongue into your mouth your mind began to feel fuzzy.

“Hm,” he hummed happily as he tasted you, devoured you, attempted to make you his in the way he had just confessed you had secured his affections.

But not fuzzy enough to make you forget.

“Wait!” you said suddenly.

He pulled back and raised his eyebrow at you.

“I got you two gifts,” you said as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You are the only gift I need,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to your jaw before he trailed his lips down the side of your neck to the hollow of your throat.

“Aemond!” you protested weakly.

He huffed.

“Alright, little wife, if it cannot wait,” he helped you stand.

You grinned.

“Wait there,” you said as you strode to where you had placed the gifts, snatched them up, and strode into the adjoining sitting room and shut the door behind you.

You heard him sigh in exasperation as you did so.

You smirked. He would soon have no qualms about having to wait.

You slipped out of your dress and underclothes and then carefully slipped on the black lace lingerie that barely covered anything, but complimented your body beautifully and led the eye right to your most enticing curves.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled in satisfaction.

At the sound of the door opening once again, Aemond sat up from where he had been laying on the bed and twiddling his thumbs in impatience.

“Good gods,” he breathed out as he saw you.

You grinned.

“I am far too wicked for the gods to have blessed me with such a perfect woman,” he said.

You walked closer to him and allowed him to place his large hands on your waist.

“Enough talk of the gods, perhaps you should instead focus on worshiping your wife,” you said seductively as you grazed your lips against his.

“Fuck, yes,” he agreed emphatically as he quickly stood and switched your positions so you were the one who now laid on the bed.

The other gift fell out of your hand and slid across the bed to be forgotten until your husband finished proving his devotion to you.

Lace was ripped and thrown to the side and sounds of pleasure echoed through your chambers until both you and Aemond had properly worshiped one another and experienced the type of ecstasy that only comes from true love.

You lay contented in his arms atop the rose petals that covered your bed.

“I am glad we were wed,” you said as you absentmindedly ran your fingers across his chest.

“As am I,” he said as he laced his fingers with yours and pressed a kiss to the top of your hand.

“Oh, damn it!” you exclaimed suddenly.

“What is it?” Aemond asked.

“I forgot to give you your other gift, we were far too distracted,” you said bashfully.

He released his hold on you and you clambered across the excessively large bed until you could reach the box.

You slid back to him and snuggled into his chest once again as you handed it to him.

He tugged on the ribbon and unwrapped it much more carefully than he had unwrapped his other present.

You watched as he opened the box and gasped softly in surprise.

“Oh, little love, what is this?” he asked in wonder.

You took the eyepatch out of the box and turned to face him.

“Well the one you wear seems to be rather old and worn, and though I always prefer to gaze upon your handsome face with nothing blocking my view, I figured if you were determined to wear an eyepatch the least I could do was get you a new one,” you said and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He turned his face, nudged his nose against yours, and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

He pulled back from you and you smiled.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“No one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift. Is that your house sigil imprinted upon the leather?” he asked and his voice was thick with emotion.

He took it from you and turned it this way and that to properly view it.

“Yes! And yours on the other end of the strap as well,” you said with a grin.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You took it from his hand and placed it in the proper place around his head and across his sapphire eye.

He hummed in contentment.

“What is the verdict?” he asked.

“Handsome as ever, my love,” you said with a smirk.

He grinned and pulled you into another deep kiss.

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- One Shots

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

Heading Straight to You by @lucienarcheron

Inspired by a tumblr post I've also linked below: "I need elain to have her anthony bridgerton moment where lucien asks if she wants him to sever the bond and leave & she goes “do you think there’s a corner on this earth that you could travel to far enough to free me from this torment? you are the bane of my existence. and the object of all my desires."

So I decided to give elucien their own bridgerton moment :) Enjoy!

Hot and Clumsy by @witch-and-her-witcher

Feyre had warned him against falling into bed with her sister - but why hadn't she warned Lucien against the greater threat?

Of falling deeply, madly, inconceivably in love with Elain Archeron.

or

Lucien catches feelings bad in the yoga studio.

full moon, white honey by @shardminds

The worn parchment that had once held a recipe lay untouched in her quarters. She no longer needed it. Celandine, White Myrtle, Brain of a Drowner. Crush, Boil with Spirit, Bottle once cooled. Thirteen words seared into her bones. For the Witcher who too often showed her his.

all is for love, is for mind by @shardminds

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left.

“What does love feel like?”

Letters by @nocasdatsgay

Lucien takes the brunt of Koschei’s curse and using her powers Elain sees the key to saving him is somewhere in the stack of letters he’s sent her over the years.

Hover Corte by. @areyoudreaminof

On her own self-imposed exile, Elain finds herself in the human lands to offer help to the Band of Exiles and try to make some progress with her estranged mate. Lucien, meanwhile, can’t quite find his footing with Elain. With the clock ticking, can they finally come to an understanding?

This Time, I'm Ready by @lucienarcheron

Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

A Heartbreak in Mid-December by @climbthemountain2020

Lucien gets rip-roaring drunk after yet another failure of a Solstice and spends some time reflecting on the events that led him here. He decides that perhaps it's time to let go of the bond once and for all.

OR

ClimbTheMountain2020 couldn't stop picturing Elucien scenarios while listening to Neck Deep.

A Cut Above The Rest by @crazy-ache

“Wait!” Elain clambered to her feet, jumping off the bed. He looked at her expectedly, dagger in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. What was there to say? That she had always secretly adored his hair just the way it was? That he couldn’t possibly cut it before she even had the chance to run her fingers through it? “Let me do it,” she said.

While on the run in the Continent, Elain and Lucien must discuss what has remained unspoken after a frightening incident.

Desperately Waiting by shipatfirstsight

She tries not to think about Lucien

And now good-morrow to our waking souls by zipadeea

“Good morrow to you, little Lucien,” Rhysand crooned as he stepped forth from the shadowy ether, watching Lucien stand slowly and brush the grass from his trousers. “Here to treat with me again regarding my bargain with Feyre darling?”

Lucien took a deep breath, willing the need to punch the smirk off Rhysand’s smug face out of his body.

“No. Well,” Lucien said thoughtfully. “Yes. I suppose. I want you to keep her. Don’t bring Feyre back at the end of the week. Keep her in the Night Court.”

***

Lucien tries to save the three Archeron sisters. He fails.

Cinnamon and Honey by @velidewrites

Lucien has long given up on his crush on Elain Archeron — until she drops by his flower shop to return a bouquet from her now ex-boyfriend.

I Can't Help Myself From Looking At You by @tuzna-pesma-snova

Years have passed since Elain had last seen Lucien and since she had broken the bond. But once all High Lords get invited to Nyx's 18th birthday party their encounter is inevitable. Will this encounter change everything or not?

Rita's Shenanigans by @vulpes-fennec

Hoping to break the ice with her mate, Elain enlists her family’s help in setting up a night out at Rita’s. A post-ACOSF, Modern AU (with Fae lore).

Troublesome Child by NovaComette

Rhysand and Feyre left for the day and it's up to Elain and Lucien to take care of Nyx. And what hell of a day they'll have to deal with.

Help! I'm Fainting by @sunshinebingo

“I need a healer,” Elain loudly exclaimed. “What!?” Lucien pulled his chair back in a panicked state. Was she sick? What was – Elain reached him before he could stand and oh so gently dropped herself on his lap with a breathless, “Help! I’m fainting.”

...

When his mate barged into his office claiming to be sick, Lucien had to find out what she had and how to take care of her.

bet on me by @crazy-ache

Elain is caught sulking at her sister's mating ceremony. Lucien wagers a drinking game to prove who knows the other best.

“Go on. Tell me all about myself, Lucien Vanserra.”

And there is the matter of something charged sitting between them at the table. He was challenging her. An invitation for friction, a consideration to be included in the joke, a bid to entwine in something deliciously improper. Elain could not remember the last time anyone had offered her anything remotely tantalizing.

Inspiration by @lucienarcheron

Prompt: Modern AU | Aspiring writer Elain Archeron is looking for some inspiration for her new novel when she happens to meet the perfect man for the job.

Forget Me Not by @lucienarcheron

Drunk Elain and her shenanigans.

in eternal bloom by @crazy-ache

On the quest to find the sixth mortal queen, Lucien Vanserra meets a human with brown eyes and that same stubborn Archeron nose. Together, on their search for Vassa, Lucien befriends Elain’s father, and learns a bit more about his mate.

I Like You by @fieldofdaisiies

Elain decides that she is ready to make a move towards Lucien. And yes, it is a bit sad.

Speak Now by @separatist-apologist

I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you are not the kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don't touch) by @belabellissima

But in the end, it didn’t matter what Elain did to protect the puzzle - three pieces had been missing right from the start. They would never fall into place. Elain felt like that puzzle every time she saw Lucien, every time Feyre brought up his name, tried to push Elain into accepting him. She could see the image, see the outcome in her mind - the perfect life, the love, the children, the years together - but she wasn’t whole. She was lacking those pieces - the one thing that would make her the full image of a perfect, doting wife.

Or: The author saying ace!Elain rights.

Metamorphosis by @starry-mantle

How a butterfly and some reference books lead Elain to reconsider the mate she's been trying so hard to ignore.

A Feeling So Peculiar by @rarephloxes

As Elain struggles to embrace her new body after being drowned in the Cauldron for political purposes she has never been privy to, she undertakes the gruesome journey to dissociate herself from whomever she has ever been or could ever become, Elain feels ready to do what it takes to quiet her mind and dull her senses. In her haste and need to flee while staying inside, she finds herself drawn to knowledge that will change the course of her destiny.

-

Or: The Healer!Elain fic

curses and gifts by @crazy-ache

In which Elain is cursed to live that fateful day with the Cauldron again and again and again. Until a choice is made.

lost in your current (like a priceless wine) by @withclawandvine

On Elain’s birthday Lucien sends her a gift. She decides she’s going to put an end to these unwanted, unreciprocated presents once and for all. Instead, something begins.

Sunshine and Reunions by @shallyne

This Oneshot plays in the same Universe as Sunshine and Promises BUT you can read it seperately

Elain is sick and Lucien visits her

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 30

Alternate Prompt: overdose, self-harm

cw: drug use, overdose, attempted suicide, self-harm (by way of attempted suicide)

Summary:

“Roy,” Jamie’s voice breaks. “I did something stupid.” - Jamie made a mistake.

Here on AO3

“You’ve ever having one of those days where it feels like someone forgot to turn the lights on? Like you can still see everything and all, but that’s just your mind feeling in the blanks… It ain’t the same, ‘s not really there or nothing, and you know you should feel something about it, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t…”

Roy sets down his kitchen knife. Double-checks the screen on his phone, where the word ‘Prick’ is still proudly displayed at the top of the connected call. For reasons Roy can no longer remember, his profile picture is a photo of a gecko wearing a pink feather boa and sunglasses.

Nothing could be further away from the wet rasp on the other end of the line. The hoarse, dying slur, almost too low to hear.

Roy moves away from the cutting board and towards the windows, like having extra light will help him hear over the sudden pounding of his heart. “Where are you?”

A wet sniffle crackles at the other end of the line. 

“At home,” Jamie says. Below the off-putting gravel, he sounds tired. “I haven���t left the house in days.”

“Well, that’s part of your problem. You need to go outside,” snaps Roy. He curses under his breath; his fucking shoe won’t go on. “Are you – listen, just stay there, alright?”

“Roy,” Jamie’s voice breaks. “I did something stupid.”

“No.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he chokes, an awful hacking that isn’t natural, too wet and violent. “I didn't feel good. I didn’t feel anything. I just wanted to feel better. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

“No. Listen to me now, alright? You’re gonna hang up. You’re gonna call 999.”

“No.” Roy can picture him shaking his head. “No, I can’t. I don’t want. it’s- its not that big a-“

He stumbles on the lie.

Roy grabs his keys. He doesn’t close the front door behind him.

“Jay, I’m on my way, okay? We’ll figure it out together-“

The call drops.

Roy doesn’t remember the drive. He pulls up to the front of Jamie’s house. Leaves the car running. Punches in the door code. Probably breaks the latch, because it takes an eternity to unlock and he doesn’t have the fucking time to wait before pushing his way through.

The house when he enters is stifling in its silence, with not a slice of life to be found.

The living room is empty. Roy rounds the kitchen, eyes drawn  the tile, but there’s nothing – no body that’s gone cold. Nothing still and lifeless and moulded in the shape of his best friend.

He takes the stairs two at a time. If his knee screams, he doesn’t hear it. The distance between himself and the physical world remains at an arms length as Roy bangs open the bedroom door. The curtains are pulled shut to the world, and every mound of clothes on the floor casts shadows on the cave walls.

The bathroom is similar, empty and lifeless and undefinably wrong in a way that escapes Roy’s limited focus, beyond the fact that neither contains Jamie.

After he checks the guest rooms, his soul pulls him back towards the bedroom to stand in the doorway. It’s clawing at his chest, the feeling that he’s just missed him. That if stands on the precipice of this cliff, he’ll hear it. A pitiful whine, a croak, something, anything to prove there’s still air or a heartbeat or just a fucking chance that Roy isn’t too late.

But there’s nothing, and nothing is what walks down the stairs. Nothing stands in the middle of the living room, a lighthouse rotating back and forth looking for signs of life in a terrifyingly placid sea.

Small signals catch his attention, buoying him to one last strand of hope. Jamie’s bag, bright orange like a safety vest, waves for his attention. Jamie’s wallet with all its evidence of existence. His shoes; bright red, a happy red. Nothing like the scene Roy’s been envisioning. His cellphone charger-

His phone.

Roy fumbles his phone from his pocket. The stupid fucking gecko flashing across his screen when all Roy needs, all he wants, is a fucking glimpse of what he’s searching for.

He dials the number.

Billy Joel calls to him from outside.

Roy throws open the sliding glass door so hard he’s amazed it doesn’t shatter.

Sat against the wall of his house with knees tucked tight against his chest is Jamie. He stares up at him, stunned, his mouth mouth agape

“You told me to go outside,” he croaks.

His hair is stringy and unwashed under Roy’s hand. Tears streak his face. His complexion is sharply pale against the dark of his stubble, and his pupils blown unnaturally wide. Something chalky and wet sticks to his chin, and a matching patch on the back of his sleeve, and there’s apparently a whole upturned bottle of pills lost in the dark rank of his bedroom where Roy didn’t see it.

But he’s alive. Roy can feel his heartbeat where he presses him against his chest. He can feel warm puffs of air against his neck as Jamie sobs, as he apologises, as Roy rocks him, uncertain and unknowing of the future.

But he’s alive.

That’s a fucking start.

[crazystargirl]

hiiii! i saw you wanted some request so i got you! can i request a jack champion x reader where the two of them are on the avatar set just goofing off and being totally oblivious to their feelings for each other while everyone just ships them so hard thank youuuu i love your blog!!!!!!!

take one !

pairing ! - jack champion x reader 

word count ! - 0.6k 

a/n ! - BRO ANON ILYSM MY REQUESTS WERE LITERALLY A DRIED UP WELL BEFORE ( except for that rlly good smut request but idk how to write smut 😭 ) i also don't think i did this request justice since ive been writing it this whole week and im sick, stressed, and dealing with a lot of issues about friends and grades [ i'll add photos later ]

you basically grew up on the set of avatar the way of water with all the other younger cast members, who practically were family to you at this point

most people try not to play favorites with their friends but you did and tried your best not to reveal to everyone that your favorite was jack. everyone found out anyway even though you thought you were sneaky

but anyways that's not the point

you and jack were "the duo" on set and loved goofing off with each other even though some scenes took longer to film because of this, no one really minded since they all shipped you two

like c'mon you two were so oblivious to the "flirty" side if your friendship that you guys were basically a lost cause

so one day britain, trinity, and jamie decided something needed to happen like cmon the tension was becoming too unbearable 

today you guys needed to film a scene where your character, spider, and the rest of the Sully kids were running around the forest before you guys find the recoms

this scene wouldn't have taken that long if it weren’t for you and Jack

you two were not taking anything seriously, stopping every five seconds because jack would trip you or you would push him into the set structure

and then when james would tell you guys what you needed to improve on the scene, you and jack would be playing roblox or scrolling through memes instead of listening

james had decided you two needed a break because you guys had filmed a lot already and you and jack were not helping get anymore done

so now you and jack were hunched over your phone where you kept making jack try on all these filters and you kept taking pictures for later 

jamie came up behind you two and tapped you and jack on the shoulders that were closest to each other and since you guys were hunched over, you ended up kissing while trying to see who tapped you two

you both froze and quickly moved away from each other, embarrassed

you guys heard cheering behind you and looked to see the rest of the cast even the adults, clapping and cheering, while jamie stood laughing his head off

"im going to fucking kill you!" you yelled at jamie, getting up to chase him

"y/n! i need a dollar for the swear jar since you cursed!" trinity yelled, also laughing while you and jack were chasing jamie around

eventually jack tackled him since there was no way you would actually be able to tackle jamie because of the unfair height advantage 

after jamie was on the ground, jack kept punching him, enough to slightly hurt but not enough to bruise while you held his legs down so he wouldn't kick jack

then you got the idea to steal jamie's phone and quickly took it from his pocket, tugging on jack's arm to tell him "let's go"

you guys ran into one of the storage closets no one uses and sat down, unlocking jamie's phone easily

"so you wanna talk about what happened there?" jack said, playing with your hair as you leaned your head on his chest, scrolling on jamie's phone

"mmmm no i rather not" you said, looking up and kissing him again

jack pulls you into his arms and you guys end up staying like that for the rest of the day, messing around on yours, jack's, or jamie's phone

and of course everyone knows damn well where yall are put who would want to ruin this sweet moment that they had been working on to push on you two?

taglist ! - @xyzstar, @gwenlore, @dizscreams, @kaesworldxx, @urmomcomsiimiamour, @nonniesworld, @chemtr4ilz, @abodyhasbeenfound, @phsychobanana

lmk if you want to be added/removed !

© crazystargirl || do NOT copy or repost without my permission

[t0ast-ghost]

Okay so I’m back on my bullshit (watching the original series for the first time) I’ll just start by giving a brief look at episode 4 and then a much longer look at episode 5.

Episode 4 (Where No Man Has Gone Before):

- where the fuck is Bones, I miss him :((

- please let Spock wear blue, cool colours suit him

- there’s a moment when Elizabeth is defending Gary and the whole room looks at her like “damn you got the whole room laughing”

- guys wait, just hit him with a rock, seriously

- “Nobody but us chickens doctor” - Kirk

- Scotty on da bridge

- there’s something about Star Trek and their psychiatrists always being women or being weaker, I wanna see a psychiatrist who is super buff and trained. Like you better process your feelings and seek help (I guess Ezri is more tough, but I still think her character is not well done)

- I bet those contacts hurt and were blinding. Like evil dead contacts were super thick and hurt and that was in the 80s, this is the 60s so those could not have been comfortable

- I like when things just appear/disappear in this show

- Kirk won’t hesitate to punch a bitch

- “I felt for him too” that’s such a big moment, Spock admitting that to Kirk

Episode 5 (The Naked Time):

My knowledge of this episode comes from the second episode of next generation so…

- damn those suits are orange

- “he was taking a shower fully clothed” mind your damn business

- OMG LEONARD MCCOY!

- “And as for my anatomy being different from yours, I am delighted.” DAMN GET HIM

- I think they may be flirting ur honour

- WHAT?!? Is that allowed??? I mean uhm…

- OMG ITS GEORGE TAKEI

- that blood is pink.. oops he’s dead now

- Bones sitting on tables/horizontal surfaces like this compilation

- uhm why’s he circle him like that tho

- “I want the impossible checked out too” WHAT, STOP BULLYING HIM!!!

- falling

- more falling

- YEAH KIRK YOUD BETTER BE SORRY DONT GET MAD AT YOUR CREW!!!

- oh wait is that nurse chapel?!? I haven’t seen strange new worlds (other than the lower decks episode) but I know chapel has a relationship with Spock

- I like how fucking emotional Spock actually is. Like I know he’s under the control of the virus in this episode but he shows so many emotions anyway. I love him.

- “I am in control of my emotions” sure bbygirl

- but in more seriousness this scene is amazing

- Sulu: let’s out the most pained terrifying scream

Bones: ._.

- “hey can I get a sip of that water” “it’s not water” “oh vodka I like your style” “it’s a complex chain of molecules that acts like alcohol when it enters the bloodstream” “what” “it’s sweat alcohol, pussy” (bones when explaining how the virus works)

- “Jim when I feel friendship for you, I’m ashamed” how do I- how am I- what do I do with that line

- James Kirk not afraid to slap a bitch

- SPOCK NOT AFRAID TO SLAP A BITCH BACK

- “SINNER REPENT” just write REDRUM stfu

- BONES Was it necessary to RIP HIS SHIRT???

- “are you alright James?” SIR CALM DOWN SPOCK CALM YOURSELF

- it is funny how immediately after both Spock and McCoy are right by Kirk’s side

- “time warp” ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW MENTIONED

- and they decided not to become time travellers

Okie dokie, if ya got this far, thanks! I’m enjoying watching through this and I like sharing it with all of you. Follow for more I guess?

the first episode thoughts

And all the other episodes thoughts

My Star Trek experience has been all over the place lol (next generation to lower decks to ds9 to aos and now arriving at tos (yeah I know it’s terrible I watched aos first but KARL URBAN))

[writerbuddha]

I am conflicted about something with Star Wars. I have been thinking about the Jedi, Anakin, and what could have been done different and what would have happened if the Jedi Council had just said no to training Anakin.

I feel a lot of Anakin's issues stem from being separated from his mother when he was 9. Luke and Leia handled the lose of their loved ones better because they lost theirs when they were 19. Whereas Anakin spent a decade worrying about his mother because as far as he knew she was a slave until Watto told him what became of her.

I feel if the Jedi had freed her and give Anakin a note from her that explained she was free his training about have gone better and he would have been able to handle things better. And before it is brought up, yes she died when she was free, but my focus is on Anakin and him spending 10 years worrying about her.

But the Jedi do not help her and even stranger she has made no attempt to contact Anakin at the Jedi Temple. I guess she could have, I don't know if the Jedi would allow them to talk. Based on a line from Anakin, he says he's not allowed to be with the people he loves, I assume the Jedi would not.

So we have the story as told and we know what happens there.

If the Jedi Council refuses Anakin's training and he goes back to Tatooine or Obi-Wan leaves and trains Anakin he isn't around Palpatine and all that so he might do better but the Jedi Order still gets taken out.

I did a rewatch of the Prequels over the last few days and found Anakin really was not key to any part of Palpatine's plan. Remove Anakin and Mace and the other masters would not know Palpatine is a Sith Lord when they confront him. Although that situation probably wouldn't happen like that because I believe Palpatine revealed where General Grievous was to get Obi-Wan out of the picture and it is Palpatine that tells Anakin in the opera.

With all this in mind I have come to the conclusion that the Jedi were handed the Golden Ticket (Anakin) to destroy the Sith and instead of cashing it in to win they punched their own ticket out of existence by not addressing the situation with his mother.

The Jedi need Anakin to win, I watched a behind the scenes video where Lucas says the prophecy is real, Anakin is the chosen one, and he does fulfill the prophecy in Return of the Jedi.

And given a theme of Star Wars is nature, balance, and I see that the Jedi Order had reacted it's evolutionary dead end because the Jedi could not adapt to survive which is do something outside their rules and no allowing Anakin's training was not that in of itself. They needed to do more to help the child.

With Lucas confirming the prophecy is real and all that I am left to conclude that Anakin would have destroyed the Sith some other way.

I guess the lesson with the Jedi Order is that institutional stagnation will lead to destruction. The Jedi and Sith are cycles of life, both predators, and the Sith had evolved while the Jedi did not. Nature and the Force are unforgiving I guess.

So I guess in the grand scheme of things, what I am trying to say, is the Jedi Order had reached it's end and was mean to shuffle off.

Dear Anon,

You feel, a lot of Anakin's issues stem from being separated from his mother when he was 9, and you feel, if the Jedi had freed her and give Anakin a note from her that explained she was free his training about have gone better and he would have been able to handle things better.

The thing is, I don't get these feelings when I watch the movies. And I have to admit, I'm a bit in trouble here, because I am not sure if I can put my finger on what evokes these feelings in you. I'm all virtual ears if you are OK with telling me!

To me, it was always clear that Anakin himself tells us the cause of his issues: "I don't want things to change." And as the Jedi Masters point it out: he is afraid to lose his mother. Yoda explains he has much fear in him, which can be a problem, because there's always fear behind anger, which is behind hate, and these are adding up to a state of suffering, which also a state of being on the dark side.

The story what's told illustrates this perfectly.

You imply that you think, the older one gets, the easier for them to handle the loss of a loved one.

With all kindness in my heart, I have to tell you, that's just not true. The only thing age does is that when we get older, we more or less successfully internalize a sense of "I must get over this, I must beat this, I must take this blow with a straight face." So, we learn how to suffer with clenched teeth and screaming and weeping in the inside, because we're told, that's adult and mature. In my experience, real, genuine ability to handle the loss in a constructive way requires ceasing attachment to your loved one and develop unconditional love for them. That is, however, accessible for us in any age.

You say, Anakin spent the ten years between Episode I and II in constant worry for his mother's well-being, which undermined his Jedi training.

Since you said, you re-watched Episodes I-II-III recently, please help me: on which part or parts of the movies you draw this conclusion? What makes you think that he felt that his mother is in constant danger? Because to be honest, I see Anakin being afraid of losing his mother, I see him missing his mother, I see him being sad over not being with his mother, but I don't see him worrying for her well-being. He is afraid of losing her - he is not fearing for her.

He even says, "I don't know why I keep dreaming about her" in Episode II, and when he realizes that he’s having premonitions about his mother being in pain, and returns to Tatooine, his behavior toward Watto is quite friendly, rather than jumping to the conclusion that it must be his former slaver, who harmed Shmi, pretty heavily implying that he did not expect Shmi to get hurt while he is away, training.

You find it strange that Shmi did not contact with Anakin, and you vaguely suggest that she was not allowed to communicate with Anakin, because the Jedi would forbid it.

In Episode II, when they discuss the life of the Jedi Knight, Padmé says, "Must be difficult, having sworn your life to the Jedi... not being able to visit the places you like or do the things you like." To which Anakin replies: "Or be with the people that I love." Now, you read this in a way that says: Jedi Knights are not allowed to do the things they enjoy, visit the places they enjoy or be with the people they enjoy to be with. To me, this does not make too much sense.

To me, the discussion is about the fact that Jedi Knights go to the places and be with the people where they are needed, with who they need them, as their duty dictates this. Not where they would like to be, or with the people they would like to be.

When I watch Episode I, I see no reason to believe that Shmi and Anakin expected to be able to communicate, which makes sense - Tatooine is the seat of a crime lord, it would be rather strange if the heart of the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order would be a "phone call" away. I'm afraid, you read too much into this, which seems to be founded on the idea that the Jedi are frowning upon love.

You say, the Jedi could have done more for Anakin and they were supposed to change.

Well, at the end of the day, Anakin was resisting their teachings - that's not something that only he could have change. Instead, he wanted to stop things changing, he wanted to stop the sun from setting and to stop people from dying. From where I stand, I can see no flaw in how the Jedi Order operated.

You seem to say that the Jedi Council was wrong to not to say no to training Anakin.

With all fairness, the Jedi Council actually did say no to training Anakin, because he was too old to be trained. In the end, they said yes, because they felt, the right thing to do is to train him to cultivate unconditional love for all living beings, to cease his grasping and clinging to coming and passing things and to overcome his fear, anger, hate and aggression, and to train him to be a selfless guardian of peace and justice in the known universe. So we have the story as told and we know what happens there. But in Episodes IV, V and VI it's powerfully stated that it's not impossible. Luke started his own training even later in his life, and he was able to become a true Jedi Knight, something that Anakin failed to achieve until the very end.

You seem to say, since Darth Sidious would have been able to orchestrate the separatist crisis and the clone wars with the clone army, thus he would have been able to butcher the Jedi and turn the Republic into the Empire without Anakin helping him, proves that the Jedi Order was beyond saving, it was "institutionally dead". And that they are "predators" and they were meant to be erased.

I am truly sorry, but I have to say, I genuine have no idea of what makes you draw this conclusion. I have the feeling that there is something else going on that is unrelated to Star Wars, that you might need to work out... If I'm wrong about this, I apologize. It comes off like something else is going on.

[tyrantisterror]

Can you give some advice on how to write scary/dark fantasy media for a younger audience, like Gravity Falls, Coraline, The Owl House and Trollhunters (to some extent) etc? How to balance scary and silly elements so it doesn't get too frightening but still keep an eerie atmosphere, and make the story feel like a folktale/have folk-tale-like elements.

I haven't written anything with children/young adults specifically in mind, so I don't know whether I can really be considered an expert in this subject, but I'll try my best.

So, the examples you listed all work in part because they don't talk down to their audience. They accept the idea that children/adolescents/young adults are still, you know, people, people who understand that there are things to be afraid of in this world and that it's not all sunshine lollipops and rainbows. Kids, even little kids, know the world can be violent and dangerous, even if they don't fully understand how harsh those dangers can be. 3 year olds will draw pictures of lions with red scribbles around their mouths to show they've been eating meat from their prey - kids know the world is dark.

The purpose of horror media is to allow us to explore the things that make us afraid in a safe, fictional context - to get the experience of confronting what lurks in the shadows without actually risking getting eaten by it. And it serves that function for kids as much as adults - kids LOVE a good scary story.

So good scary kids' media isn't really different in overall content than good scary adult media. The stakes have to be real, the characters have to react with real fear, et cetera. The difference is really just in how severe you make it.

Like, Gravity Falls had zombies, child-eating monsters, etc., but it didn't have, like, scenes of zombies tearing people open ala Day of the Dead, or cracking open skulls to eat the brains like in Return of the Living Dead. The Owl House has some pretty intense body horror, especially with Emperor Belos, but it's abstracted enough not to be too visceral, too real, too traumatizing for children. It's all about pulling your punch just enough to keep from actually showing children something they're not prepared for, but not so much that they don't flinch in response to it anymore.

Artists complain, mostly rightfully, about how corporations force censorship on them, especially when they're working in kids' media, but it's noticeable that often that censorship creates something exquisitely creative. Batman the Animated Series was barred from showing the Joker kill people, so instead he hits them with a nonlethal gas that leaves them with a horrible rictus grin - a nightmarish and unique image that still scared the piss out of many a kid, while never crossing that line into the inappropriately grotesque.

So I guess the rule of thumb is to write your story like you would any other scary story, but whenever you hit upon the normal scary payoff, think of how you could do something technically less gruesome yet more creatively awful. How can you take a normal horror scenario and replace "death" with, well, something like the Joker gas?