#and being like yikes but also that is how I think isn’t it is really difficult

[tsuchinokoroyale]

I want so badly to have the slut era I’ve never gotten to experience, but my boyfriend has such a viscerally negative reaction to the idea of being open 😔 I don’t know what to do 😭

Long-ish answer beneath the cut:

Eh I’d much prefer to be in my chill boyfriend(s) era but those just aren’t the cards I’m being dealt so I’m doing my best to enjoy my getting tossed around by handsome strangers era 🤭 my bit of unwarranted advice knowing nothing of your situation is to peek under the hood and really take a Mike’s hard look at what you value.

If you value the relationship more, you’ll probably just have to bite your lip and put some elbow grease into putting your imagination to work having some healthy fantasies. Write out some narsty smut or something and get those desires out in creative ways haha.

If you value the freedom to explore more, that’s a lot tougher. Cuz it is a legitimate feeling and I actually know a couple who divorced this year bc they’ve only ever dated each other since high school and that curiosity of what it would be like to date other people turned into a desire and that evolved into resentment at the other person for “holding them back” which was messy as hell. I’m not at all saying dump his ass but like ethical non-monogamy exists for a reason, like there are rules and agreements and arrangements you can put in place to respect those kinds of boundaries but if it is still a hard no, it’s back to weighing your values. I’ve known exactly 0 cases where going on a break to live out a slut era and then rejoining worked out in a healthy way so I would also advise against that.

Knowing so little about anything with your situation I would never call a verdict, but in my experience the fantasy of a slut era is alluring but also best relegated to fantasy. I have had my slut era(s) but they weren’t ever as hot or as interesting as finding ways to be slutty with the person I’m with, but I’m definitely one of the more monogamy coded-poly people out there so your mileage will vary 🙂‍↕️

[stillwatervoid]

Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.

Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.

Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 12.2k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!

You're here | Part 2

Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do—for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.

So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.

(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)

So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.

So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.

It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.

Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.

Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.

One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.

“Found you,” he whispers.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.

(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”

But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”

I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.

I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)

And then, there he is.

“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”

You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.

For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.

You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.

(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”

You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”

He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”

Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.

“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”) 

“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.

But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.

“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.

“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.” 

And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.

Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.

Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?

Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.

A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.

And you wonder.

Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.

“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”

Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.

“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”

He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.

(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”

“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”

“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”

Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”

“Then stop!”

“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”

Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.

“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”

His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.

Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.

“I’m sorry,” he’d murmur, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

You’d breathe in, closing your eyes. “Don’t be.”)

Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.

“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”

“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”

“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”

“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”

Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.

And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.

You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.

“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.

“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.

“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.

The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.

(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”

You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”

He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)

“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?

But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?

Is he even Mark—

“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”

You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”

You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.

“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”

You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.

Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?

Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.

But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.

“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?” 

His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.” 

Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.

Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.

This isn’t the Mark you know and love.

Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.

Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.

Because you let him.

Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.

“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.

He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”

Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.

Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.

You’re not afraid. You can’t be.

Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.

Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.

The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.

“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”

His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.

“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”

Your body betrays you.

Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.

It welcomes him.

Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.

“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”

You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.

He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”

He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—” 

He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.

It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.

“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.

“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.” 

And then he dives.

His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.

“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.

“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”

Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—

But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.

And your mind blanks.

Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.

You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.

You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.

“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”

Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.

“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.

And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.

It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.

(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.

You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.

“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”

A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.

“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)

But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.

Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.

The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.

“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”

He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.

Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.

“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”

A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.

But it’s still not enough.

Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.

Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.

“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”

With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.

“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”

You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.

His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”

His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.

“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”

He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.

“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”

Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.

“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”

His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.

“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”

Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.

“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”

But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.

“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”

His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.

“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”

You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”

But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.

The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.

Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.

“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”

Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

And then it hits you.

White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.

“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”

You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.

“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”

(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.

You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.

You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”

“William never complains.”

“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”

His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”

“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.

Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”

“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)

Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.

“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”

The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.

“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.

“Mark—”

“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”

The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.

Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?

His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.

“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”

Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.

Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”

(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”

You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”

He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”

“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.

Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”

“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”

Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.

Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”

“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”

“You won’t even tell me?”

Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)

A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.

Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.

“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”

Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.

“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”

Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.

“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.

“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”

You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.

But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.

Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.

“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”

You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.

And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.

So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”

He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”

His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.

Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.

That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.

You should stop.

You should have never let it go this far.

But then—

“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.

Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.

“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”

His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.

And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.

“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”

And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.

“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”

The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.

“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”

The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.

Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”

His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.

Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.

“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”

Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.

“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”

A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.

“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”

Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.

The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.

“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”

Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.

Then—your phone starts ringing again.

This time, Mark notices.

He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.

“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”

Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.

“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”

“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”

But he’s quicker.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”

A shudder rips through you.

Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.

Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.

“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”

His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.

“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”

Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.

Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”

Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.

“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”

Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.

“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.

“…Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”

Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.

“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”

The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.

“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.

Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.

“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”

You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.

“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”

You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.

That yeah—he’s here.

And yeah—he’s fucking you.

For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.

Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”

No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.

“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.

“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”

“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”

The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”

The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.

“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.

Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.

Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.

Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.

“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”

Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”

But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.

“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”

“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”

A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.

“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”

He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—

“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”

Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.

It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.

“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”

And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”

You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.

Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.

You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.

“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.

It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.

Because how dare you?

How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?

And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.

You know you’re wrong.

You know time is running out.

And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.

But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.

(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”

Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.

“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”

“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”

He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”

And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.

And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.

But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)

“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.

And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.

Now, he never might.

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part vii

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series: part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | ...

April 14-18, 2025

April 19 - 21, 2025

[Transcription of video excerpt "Tennis Stars Surprise Fans..."]

“Describe my dream girl? Ideally she’d also be really into tennis, or we might have a difficult time of finding common ground,” Grigor jokes.

The fan continues. “If you had to marry someone on the tour right now, who would it be?”

“Oof, marry?! I’m not ready for that,” he laughs. “Who do you think I should marry? Who’d be a good match for me?”

“I mean, my favorite tennis player is Y/N L/N,” the fan shrugs. Dimitrov smirks, and repeats her name.

“What?” The fan questions, unsure what’s caused his reaction. “It’s just, isn’t she already dating – never mind. I don't think I'm her type.”

“My favourite is Maria Sharapova, but she isn’t on this tour,” the other fan interjects. This seems to amuse Dimitrov even more. “That’s my ex-girlfriend.”

Switch to Y/N L/N

“Shall I call her now? We’ll just give it a go,” she pulls out her phone and selects Coco’s contact. When she does pick up, she immediately turns the screen to the two fans who stare at the tennis player in awe. “Say hello to my new friends Co,” Y/N says enthusiastically. “Oh, hi – what’s up?” “They put us in a gondola, and they could ask me anything – and they wanted to know who I hung out with the most on tour. So obviously, I had to call.”

“Of course,” Coco agrees, and is about to respond when she gets interrupted by another voice and winces. “Yikes, that’s my sign to hang up to and avoid a penalty drill. I’ll see you later, have fun!”

“Well there you go,” Y/N grins as she hangs up. “To be honest, this is how most of our conversations go – we always get interrupted by one of us having to go and train.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t playing tennis?”

She purses her lips and thinks about it for a moment. “I’d probably run a dog rescue. Or a pet rescue at least. I think I’d like that.”

April 25 - 29, 2025

[Transcription of press conference post-quarter final]

Y/N, you are also one of the signatories of the letter that was sent to both the WTA and ATP - asking to renegotiate the prize money to be won at Grand Slams. Can you tell us more about why you made that decision?

"Yeah, sure. It's not just about the slams by the way - it's about the entire WTA and ATP tours. I'm lucky now to be in a position where I don't have to qualify and automatically enter tournaments. So my chances of being able to support myself and my team financially are much better. When you don't have that position, it's really hard to be a pro tennis player. It shouldn't be that hard, and it certainly shouldn't be an obstacle or barrier for players wanting to enter tournaments or wanting to actually dedicate their life to the craft of playing tennis at such high level. Plus, the percentage of money that now goes to players versus the tour itself is also skewed. Not just in terms of ATP versus WTA, but also in terms of what the organizers get versus what we get as players. There's examples out there of fairer agreements in other sports, also included in the letter."

Thank you. I was also wondering if you feel like the requirements of playing the tour are fair and equitable, considering both the money you receive if you win & the division of labor between WTA and ATP players?

"Quite frankly, no. I mean, we do a lot of media - all of us have those obligations. But it's men who get all the headlines. If you look at tennistv or espn - most tennis content is focused on male players. Yet we are out here, too. And then I get used as content instead about who I'm dating. Not exactly comparable experiences, I'd say."

You and your opponent Naomi Osaka have both also been vocal about mental health, and its effects on athletes' performance. Your friend Lando Norris, who was in the crowd today, has also been an advocate for open conversations around this topic. Do you have those with one another, too?

"He's here? Really? I'm too focused on the court to know what happens off of it, but that's so nice to know, thank you! I forgot your question, sorry."

He is, yeah. My question was if it's a topic you talk about with your fellow tour players, or even with friends who may or may not be in sports?

"You know, I wish I could say yes, but the honest answer is no. It's not brought up often, because it is definitely also still seen as another potential element to exploit. It's hard to be open, but I'm working on trusting my friends with my brain chemistry."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘ ∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘∘•···············•∘

A/N: it's 2AM, here we are (iykyk)... I used too many images, and had to use a good old classic text divider instead of the image divider I've been using for this fic, sorry about that! Next up: Concern, Physical Touch and Shenanigans when in Rome

part viii is available here now

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2

[jthealien]

Foreshadowing I’ve Found for THAT Reveal

Spoilers for the Season 1 finale under the cut!!!

HI GUYS HOW ARE WE FEELING WOW

I’ve spent the weeks in between the fast pass release and now rereading and looking for every bit of foreshadowing I could find for B- I mean Nox… being a key. (Or at least key adjacent)

Side Note: I’m playing fast and loose with the definition of foreshadowing here. Some are pretty small details or silly observations, but my list my rules :P

So here it is compiled in a massive (vaguely chronological) list with numbered photos!

Also if there’s anything I missed (I’m sure there is) please add it!!

———

1) The literal first scene of the comic is a crescent moon (in a purple background), which we now know is Nox/the villain key’s symbol

2) (Ep. 13) Nox knows “plenty about the keys.” uh yeah I bet you would

3) (Ep. 13) Chase asks if Nox is part of Ex Libris and wants to make the keys more miserable, which seems to make him really upset. It’s understandable, I’d be pretty upset if I was implied to be working with my tormentors to make my own life even worse.

4) (Ep. 13) From the start Nox assumes Chase wants the keys for something selfish. Considering Ex Libris treats the keys like objects, and some of the keys (like Bronze) are pretty weary around people, that’s not an unreasonable assumption. Nox is so accustomed to being used by higher ups for selfish wishes

—This puts his outburst in Ep. 31 in a whole new light, specifically the line about Chase wanting to befriend the keys. He’s so convinced that couldn’t be true because it’s never been true for him.

5) Each of the keys has a specific junk food/snack they like. Silver has cheese, Bronze has peanut butter, Goldie has gummies, and it seems Nox has chocolate :]

6) (Ep. 20) “Every last thing” about the keys is his business in his words

—Guess that includes himself

7) Metals can rust, and Nox isn’t a fan of water (besides baths, but I assume that’s because he can control when he goes in and for how long)

8) When you stick a key in a book, they automatically know the story (as said by Bronze in Ep. 21). This explains why Nox seems to know a book’s plot no matter what

9) (Ep. 28) He says that the keys can take advantage of “certain loopholes.” In that moment, this is a reference to what characters a key can use for their role. But it could also be a nod to how keys can technically use other keys to enter stories. He’d know that since it’s what he’s been doing this whole time.

10) In the infamous “They feed you, right?” scene (Ep. 29), we’ve always kind of assumed that — yeah — Ex Libris just doesn’t feed him often. But in this scene, Chase ALSO says “keep you locked up.” I have a feeling that’s actually what Buddy got upset about. Ex Libris probably did keep him locked up as a key, which has to be really traumatic considering his severe claustrophobia.

11) (Ep. 31) Nox assumes Chase’s wish is just as “self-serving” as his is, which we now know is to be human again.

—(Nox actually projects a lot of his own feelings onto Chase, I’ll talk about that some other time though.)

—Referring back to number 5, during this whole confrontation, Nox is convinced that Chase only wants Narratonin for a wish. As a key, of course he’d think that, because that’s all that the humans usually around him want.

12) ”Nobody should have to accept being the villain if they’re trying their best not to be.” (Ep. 30) and “I get it, you’re the villain around here…” (Ep. 32)

—He literally IS the villain

—(Also I didn’t have room to include it, but Nox gets a really sad look on his face after Chase says that last line. yikes..)

13) (Ep. 32) In response to Chase talking about trusting humans, Nox says “them.” He could’ve said something like ‘people’ or ‘anyone,’ but his wording here implies that he sees human beings as separate from himself.

14) The crescent moon necklace on his outfit in Sick Days, as well as the half-ones on his jacket. If you really think about it you could also count the gemstones near his eyes as representing his gem eyes.

—It’s maybe a little strange that this outfit is the one he decided to make so similar to his key form. But it makes sense considering the previous arc was Beach Boys, where Nox became more trusting of Chase

15) (Ep. 35) He’s never been sick because keys can’t get sick.

16) (Ep. 36) He says “real people” and “person,“ showing again how he might not think of himself as either of those. (See number 13)

17) (Ep. 39) There’s a lock on Nox’s coffin

18) (Ep. 39) I originally thought it was the lighting but nope, his ear is literally gray! Also his hair here is less spiky at the ends, like how it is in his key form

19) (Ep. 39) He looks surprised by his reflection, because he’s only used to seeing his human form while in the books.

—In fact, since you can’t see yourself in the book mirrors, when’s the last time he saw himself as a human?

20) (Ep. 39) The broken key-ring looking thing around his neck

21) (Ep. 49) “Good, that means I’m taller than someone for once.” if only you knew, Chase..

22) The entirety of Ep. 50 confirming that keys can go into books

23) (Ep. 53) He gets really pissy over the idea of his teeth being “baby”. Might be carry over from his grudge against being like 5 inches tall in reality

24) (Ep. 53) His claustrophobia could stem from being stuck in his key form and being put in a box for weeks or months at a time.

—He keeps repeating that he just needs to “wait it out” and “it’s fine” because that’s all he could do and think as a key

25) (Ep. 54) “That moon is too close” following the scene where Buddy decides to lower his guard and work on his harmful behaviors. We now know the symbol of the villain key is the moon, so it could be Nox trying to distance himself from his role as the villain.

26) (Ep. 55) The crescent moon on Bad Cat’s lapel

27) (Ep. 56) “Some people are very good at disguising their true nature” in reference to Nox. It’s quite literal, in this case.

28) All the characters’ eyes are drawn in a very specific way, no matter their color (black shading taking up half the iris, the white shine). Every character except Nox, that is.

—Well, every character except Nox and the key’s human forms. I always thought it was meant to make him seem more intimidating (which it Does), but it really might be a byproduct of being a key. The queen in Friends and Family (Ep. 56) almost has Nox’s exact eye color, and her eyes are still colored in the usual way. So it’s definitely more than a stylistic choice.

—Makes me wonder what Nox looked like pre-key form. ..Did he still have his bright blue high beams..

29) Dreams by Day is about a key having a dream/flashback, and Dreams by Night is.. also about a key having a dream/flashback

———

And that’s all I have for now!! I’m absolutely going to find something else the millisecond I post this but like u said please add anything you notice.

[cattlemons]

hi, if you're okay with writing for him, wanderer x reader hcs? (it can be short and brief!!) /nf

The Archivist and The Stubborn Scholar

TW: Not proofread and the punctuations on this might be kinda yikes (tried my best tho), this particular big boy is 1,7k words big (very short and super brief (❁´◡`❁))

Hope you like this, my first ever nonnie! (I wanna frame you like a first dollar)

I feel like the Wanderer is kind of a tough nut to crack because his trauma wall is 100 inches thick.

At the beginning, he’s really just huffing and puffing and being a total jerk to you (and everyone else). To be honest, you’re just trying your best to tough it out and not cuss him out every chance you get.

Technically, he isn’t a permanent student of the Vahumana; he only comes in to borrow research papers he needs for his own paper and then he’s off again. So, there's no reason for you to see him all that much.

But aside from being a student, you’re also the Akedemiya’s archivist, so you do meet him fairly often. Not that you enjoyed his prickly presence at first. It was quite the nuisance, if anything.

Every time he comes in to borrow something, it feels like he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you.

He’s also frustratingly accurate in pressing your buttons; like he knows exactly what makes you tick and explode.

You want to chop his head off.

Luckily for him, you’re closer to Celestia than he is because your patience for him is on par with that of a saint.

“I need a paper on Tatarasuna, but I want it as recent as possible. The closer to ‘yesterday’ it is published, the better.”

Looking away from your own paper, you looked at him like he grew five heads, each wearing a big ‘ol hat. To your defense, you’re only four beats off.

“Look, I know you’re an honored guest of the Archon and only recently started joining in on this research writing business, but you’ve got to learn how we do things here,” you huffed as you searched for a written guideline you have not needed for a while now.

Pulling the paper out of your bag, you pointed and explained the graphic drawn on it.

“First, you go and find out which collection of research papers you need and ask me politely if we have it here in the archives. Then, I tell you if we have it or not before asking if you want it copied and if you need more assistance—”

“Okay, fine. I want Tatarasuna papers and assistance.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Why’d you stop talking if you weren’t finished?”

“You interrupted me?!”

That’s basically how an average conversation with him goes.

But as time goes on, the hate turns into dislike and then into pretend hate and finally into secret like.

At the start of his research, the visits are few and far between, but as the research starts getting heavier, his visits get more frequent too.

He also likes to work on the tables right outside the archival building for “quicker access to papers.”

This is not for the public, but he also kind of maybe perhaps secretly likes looking at the archivist.

He just likes looking at you when you’re confused about why the journal you’re reading is spewing lies. He also likes looking at you when you huff at your paper because the wording is all messed up.

Yeah, his sadistic tendencies were not wiped away when he pulled his stunt on the Irminsul. You can’t win them all, I guess.

Anyway, it’s all totally because he likes seeing you suffer. You’re on top of his “pain in the ass” list, after all!

Not because you look adorable when you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

Definitely not because he knows you didn’t get enough sleep last night (he heard your friend chastise you about it) and you made a bunch of mistake on your paper.

He DEFINITELY DOES NOT find your tired eyes and sleepy yawns cute (like a very angry cat he DOES NOT want to take care of).

But really, he actually believes in this reasoning. He simply thinks it's schadenfreude.

Man’s smart when scheming but dumb bum when anything else.

He does not catch on to his feelings all that quick. In fact, it took him embarrassingly long.

He had to do a lot of soul searching and experience a ton of jealousy to finally realize that maybe he likes you more than he hates you.

Or rather, he likes you more than he originally allowed himself to like you.

Oh no! It’s the consequences of having a heart because a heart isn’t an object but the accumulation of interactions that build the psyche and emotion! Darn, life lesson! (Wanderer, probably)

The Wanderer decided that he’s going to work on his paper in the archive building today. He’s not in the mood to sit in some shitty cafe and listen to incessant chatter.

Wow, he wished he had chosen the cafe instead.

“Hey! Who told you, you can just take a paper out of the archive and waltz your merry way home? Give that back. Right now!”

“I thought we were friends,” Kaveh mumbled in faux hurt as he stretched his hands out to return the paper to you.

“Archivist first. Friend second,” you huffed out, snatching the scroll of paper out of his hands.

The blond proceeded to clutch his chest and make a scene.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such good friends with the man. At least then, he’d act civil.

Meanwhile, the Wanderer was watching all this from the front row seat; absolutely soaked with friendly-banter-that-he-misunderstood-as-lovey-dovey-affection. Your interaction with Kaveh spilled over into the splash zone of his seat in the archival building and he hated it.

In his mind, he came up with the conclusion that the heat in his heart is coming from a place of annoyance.

Why are you so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why is the blond one also so loud at 7 in the fucking morning?

Why are you even entertaining guests this early in the morning? Didn’t you refuse him any service when he came this early a few weeks ago?

Why is this guy any special?

Somewhere much deeper in his mind, he thought differently.

I thought you were only grumpy with me.

You said ‘friend’ to him, right?

Why does that ease me slightly?

But you treat me like that too… Am I a ‘friend’ as well?

Why does that hurt even more?

After that moment, his visits get less frequent. When he does visit, though, he keeps things brief and… polite?

You even tried to start up a banter; mentioning something you know (on a normal day) would get his veins popping and kick-start a back-and-forth and then some.

To no avail, he stayed silent and just looked mildly inconvenienced.

This confused you to Celestia and back and then to Celestia again and then back again.

He’s honestly not too sure why he distanced himself from you in the first place.

But hindsight is 20/20 because after a much-needed self-evaluation session (by ‘self’ I mean himself and Nahida) he knows it’s because he doesn’t want a fourth addition to his list of major betrayals.

Not that he’ll actually agree with that statement out loud. But inside, he gets it.

Of course, this understanding is between his own person. You, unfortunately, were completely out of the loop.

You thought you had somehow pissed him off beyond forgiveness or crossed some kind of line.

At one point, you thought that the banter was, in a very weird way, flirting.

But maybe you got it wrong. What if he never saw you as a friend at all, let alone someone he might like.

You decided that if a relationship(?) friendship(?) has to die, then it’s going out with a bang.

*(bang = mutual understanding on what went wrong and peacefully going back to being strangers).

So, you visited him one day. Out of work hours too (mmmm how bold).

The knock on his door broke the puppet out of his cluttered thoughts; thoughts of a certain archivist he misses. Grunting as he stood, he closed the book he pretended to read in favor of opening the door.

“Who is it?”

He opened the door just as the ‘intruder’ reached to knock on the door again. He doesn’t know why you thought that knocking needed that much force but he’s certain it’s way too much.

Anger poked at him as he yelled, “That’s going to bruise, idiot.”

It won’t.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You should be! That hurts.”

It did not.

“Not about that! I’m sorry for whatever happened between you and me to make you hate me…”

The fuck?

“You don’t have to forgive me or anything. I get that you have some sort of past to make you that way and I probably overstepped somewhere but… I thought we were friends. I thought if you were to revert back to us being enemies again, at least you’d tell me why…”

The Fuck?

“Is it because you know I like you? If that’s the case, you’re not fully wrong but I can just throw that away because I know you’re probably not looking for something like that and that’s probably the bit where I overstepped and you know I’m not even fully invested in it so really I can just stop!”

The FUCK?

So much for mutual understanding. With how things are going, it’s more of an individual understanding.

You got way too nervous and now things are spilling left and right and he’s not even saying anything?! He’s just staring at you like you grew five heads, each wearing a big ol' hat. You took a breath to continue your long-winded mess of a rant when he clutched your shoulders.

“Stop for a second, will you, motor-mouth.”

You clammed up right away, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not going to ever say this again but I like you too. It’s shit and I hate feeling it because… because I’ve never felt before, okay? So, stop talking all that crap about throwing important things away, it's pissing me off.”

You fully started sobbing now. He panicked and pulled you in for a very awkward, very stiff, but very loving hug. Snot got on his robe and cape as you cried your emotions out on him.

He found he didn’t quite mind. He could use less snot, sure, but he was glad you cared this much over him. He's never had anyone worry over him, let alone to the point of crying.

Soon, tears prickled his eyes but it's alright because relief found his heart.

By the way, he did say it again. He said it 1,000 times before your eventual marriage and 5,000 more times but with ‘love’ as a substitute for ‘like’.

What a liar.

a.n. My first ever request and I’m so incredibly chill about it (lies I jumped and screamed slightly). Anyway, I’m not sure what you’d like to see so I made this about how you came to be the wanderer's partner. Send in another one if you want something more specific (I’ll literally smile and break my cheek muscles if you do).

[rosemary-writes]

How he holds you

(Lost boys x gender neutral reader headcanons)

Warnings: Marko being a lil cheeky

Authors note: heeeyy chickens, long time no see♡I transferred to university and I have little to no time to write stuff like this anymore. Buut since it’s October, I gotta do my fav boys

David

-David doesn’t really hold you per say. You more or less cling and hold on to him.

-He doesn’t like seeming too vulnerable or soft when in public. Especially while on the boardwalk and the surf nazis are out and about

-However, if you’re standing next to him, he will casually put his hand on the back of yours. Theres something about his palm resting on your hand that just makes him feel content

-When you two are in the cave and hes sitting in his chair or on the couch, he always beckons you to sit on his lap. While you’re on his lap, he’ll snake his arm around your back and rest his hand on your thigh or butt.

-While he says its to “keep hold of what's his” it’s also so your back isnt digging into the metal of his wheelchair.

-It’s old and rusty and he doesnt really want you to be squirming cause it’s hurting your skin

-Some nights when the two of you are alone or you had a bad day, he lets you lay on his chest while he lays down on the couch.

-Your hands fall to his chest and his arms will wrap around you to keep you pressed comfortably against him.

-Even though his heart no longer beats, you swear you sometimes hear faint thumps when you mumble how much you love him into his chest

-Overall 6/10 cause he only holds you back every few weeks.

Dwayne

-Dwayne isn’t afraid to wrap an arm around your waist or hips while in public. It’s his way of showing people that you’re his partner and to keep you close to him

-He’ll sometimes put his fingers through your belt loops

-When meeting up in public, he’ll loosely wrap his arms around your hips while giving you a kiss. When meeting you in private, like at your house, he will actually give you a decent hug

-I like to think that Dwayne will link pinkies with you while walking around the boardwalk sometimes. He thinks it’s really sweet.

-When you two are in the cave, he’ll come up behind you and snake his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. His stubble tends to tickle your neck a bit

-he might take in a big inhale of your scent

-When you two cuddle, hes pulling you so close to him that you’re practically smothering him

-He loves it

-His hands will move all over the place. Your back, hips, thighs, butt, maybe one in your hair

-If you fall asleep, hes on cloud 9. He’ll most likely move you both into a small nest spot in the cave and either fall asleep with you or stay awake to watch you sleep. If you guys are at your place, he watches over you while you sleep.

-10/10 cause his cuddles are top notch

Paul

-Paul can’t keep his hands to himself so hes holding you all the damn time.

-Had a bad day? Let him hold you, he wants to make you feel better

-Theres a puddle on the ground? He’ll carry you over it

-Yikes babe, your shoe is untied, guess he’s gotta hold you so you don’t trip

-Yeah, hes very touchy

-Out on the boardwalk he loves to hold your hands. Like, he hates having to let go of your hand if you have to do something.

-Heaven forbid you want to eat or need to sneeze

-On the occasions where he takes you flying with him, he keeps you so close to him. He would never drop you but theres been a few times where you slipped from his grasp and it spooked you. So, he’ll have an iron grip on you while flying over the ocean or Santa Carla

-If you’re ever with him when he’s having a smoke sesh, he goes to maximum handsyness. God help you if you need to pee

-Like Dwayne, his hands are going everywhere, but hes gripping you as if you’re going to float away.

-He loves keeping you close because you’re so warm against his cold body. His cold hands will slip under your shirt and move around. He’s not trying to tickle you, he just loves how warm your back is.

-9.5/10 because his hands are cold as hell

Marko

-Marko’s not as handsy as the others

-Once in a blue moon, Marko lets you wrap your arms around him and he will envelop you in his jacket. It’s warm and it’s a really rare soft moment with him. It only happens when you forget a jacket and you’re both on the boardwalk and it’s freezing. Surprisingly, hes warm because of how thick his jacket is

-However, he mostly keeps a hand in your back pocket or he’ll pinch your butt. If hes showing you something, he takes your hand to lead you.

-Thats about as far as it goes in public.

-However, in private, it is a totally different scene

-He likes to hold you from behind. He sneaks up and wraps his arms around you while shoving his face into your hair

-He’ll only do this when no one is around. He does not want the others to see him like this.

-He does like to cuddle with you. He’s the big spoon and youre always the little spoon

-The feeling of your body expanding while breathing tends to calm him down since he easily gets wound up.

-While spooning you, he’ll lean forward just a bit to kiss you on the cheek. He will also sometimes entwine your hands and kiss the back of your hand.

-He warms up underneath the covers with you.

-Moments like that remind him that it’s okay to be relaxed with others

-I give him a 7/10

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere //// Part 3

Part 1 • 2• 4

With your trial on hold and them still in desperate need of their technician, no one goes too far 

But you are isolated by most 

And verbally tested by the lieutenant

“Oh hi, I was cooking some potatoes if you’d like to have some?”

“Hm, so you have time to ruin our ship’s programming and to waste supplies; instead of the pre-made meals that are just as nutritious?”

“It’s not going to waste. I’m going to eat–”

“Talk to me when you have some form of value, again.”

Jule’s anger helps Vera identify the thoughts they’ve been having about ‘accidentally’ unlocking the doors of the airlock for the lieutenant

“Can you believe them after so much (Y/n) has done to help, this is how they repay them?!” 

“Not to mention the harassment they think goes unseen.”

“Exactly! I feel less inclined to help these people every day.”

It doesn’t get any better

No matter how many times Jules can get the Captain to ridicule this behavior it never stops

It gets bad enough that Vera stops you from going into your room one day

“Vera! What’s going on, you’re scaring me?”

“I do not mean to but the state of your room…well it is best you spend the night with Jules.”

“Yikes…is my box from home okay?”

“...I cannot definitively answer that I am contacting the hazard containment team now.”

One night turns into many which oddly enough improves your mood

Jules was never really social anyway so his room is a comfy place

You both naturally grow closer with each other and Vera in your lonesome

It’s easy to keep you happy that way

Vera will inform you when the theater is empty or the art room is restocked just for you

So that you can enjoy in peace

But Jule and Vera don’t have that luxury of just avoiding everyone

They both intently watch and listen to the crew become a real hostile place

Not just for you but for Vera too 

Turns out the Captain isn’t too thrilled about the ship gaining sentience

“You are the technician, fix it!”

“It’s not something I can just ‘fix.’ Also historically this is the first ship to gain sentience like this and not in a violent fashion.”

“I DON’T CARE!! I SIGNED UP TO COMMAND THESE PEOPLE NOT A SHIP!”

Hatred for Vera grows as people whine about threats

In truth, they aren’t threats

They’re Vera criticizing their violent ‘pranks’ against you

When the accusations become louder talks of abandoning the ship are more frequent

“These people are so awful I’m getting just about tired of helping them at all.”

“Me too.”

“…Hey, d’ya want to do something that’s going to make them crap their pants?”

“Sure!” 

In absolute rebellion, Jule reveals a plan kept secret among the crew about ‘the artificial protector’

Having all the physical features of a human man but all the innards of the greatest metal and technology known to mankind

To most, it looks like any other passenger still being kept in a pod but of course, this one’s different

As their prized genius technician, Jule’s expertise would be needed to access it anyway because he knows the inner workings so well

It has a separate AI installed, an older one meant to take control if the ship were to malfunction in any way

Jule immediately fries that circuit board completely 

putting one that connects to Vera’s system before hiding the robot back inside it’s pod

“Why cannot I not try it out now?”

“Because it’ll screw with my plans if you do.”

“But…I want to feel you both.”

“Soon Ver. Soon.”

Part 4: Coming?

[pomegranate-fawn]

Cater x Reader

'#Sleepover'

Notes: Notes: Yuu is gender neutral and as such they/them pronouns are used, not beta read, fluff, slight angst, slightly ooc. I've had this particular fanfic idea since like...2023, yeah. I always second guess myself when it comes to writing. Actually, one of my professors once said a writer prefers to think about the act of writing instead of performing it. I think he was right, it's far more indulgent to think about everything I want to write instead of doing it. But here I am, over two years later and actually writing this fic idea. Recently, I've mainly been writing in first person for what is now a scrapped original project, so it was a little bit stiff to write in third person again, I hope you can forgive me for any awkward wording. But I really enjoyed writing this, I really wanna finish this series by the end of the year, I think if I try to do at least one or two fics a week then it'll somehow work out!

Twst x reader masterpost

Wc: 1,511

Due to being friends with Ace and Deuce, Yuu often found themselves at Heartslabyul, even being given special permission from Riddle on occasion to spend the night. Yes, that meant usually crashing on the couch of the common area of the dorm, but compared to the dump that Ramshackle was, it was like staying at a luxury resort. Not to mention the fact that Trey would often manage to save at least one or two homemade snacks for Yuu to indulge in. 

As Heartslabyul was the most crammed dorm at the school, the best place to rest was always one of the couches, but one day, as you were fluffing up the stiff pillow you always borrowed from Deuce, the prefect heard a soft pair of footsteps approaching them. As they turned to face whoever was approaching, they were met with none other than Cater, already dressed in his pj’s just as Yuu was.

Though unlike the blank black t-shirt and sweats that the Ramshackle dorm leader was wearing, Cater was far more dressed up. Not only did he wear a shirt of the same weird character that was on his phone case, but he also wore a cozy cardigan, it looked so soft. Even softer than Grim, it was incredibly tempting to just reach over and pet the soft fabric as if it was a cute animal. Lastly, he wore a pair of lounge pants that matched his shirt and a pair of equally fluffy slippers. 

“Hey, prefect! I heard from one of the freshies that you sleep out here…How long has this been going on for?” “I don’t do it every night…only once a month.” “Yikes…That’s still once a month too many. Sleeping on the couch is like, so not good for your long term health. Is there something wrong with your dorm?” “I mean…it’s not the best…” “I mean, obviously. But I mean…did something else happen? Omg are the ghosts bothering you? I could totally get them to back off-”

“Cater, I just…like the change of scenery. Riddle said I could spend the night on occasion as long as I’m quiet.”

While Yuu had expected this to be the end of the conversation, Cater merely continued to stare at the dorm leader, his expression unreadable for once. Cater was always so bubbly or mischievous, the only time Yuu can remember seeing him upset was after Riddle had overblotted, though that look was far more worried than angry or dull. But right now it’s impossible to consider what he’s thinking. But after what feels like an eternity, he smiles softly, almost sympathetically, and holds out his hand. “I get that, a change of scenery can be nice…But my point still stands. Sleeping on the couch is not a good look. I get that we’re cramped but we can’t be treating a visitor like this! So you’re coming to my room.” “...Huh?” “It’ll be like a sleepover! I haven’t done one of those in forever! I mean we can’t have any fun snacks since rule #79 says you can’t eat any snacks after 9 pm on a Thursday…Isn’t that such a freaky rule?”

“I…How does that even become a rule?”

“Who knows? But come on! Let’s have a sleepover!” Without giving the prefect much of an option, Cater revoked his hand as he took a hold of the firm pillow and the thin blanket that Yuu had brought, tucking them both under his hands with a grin and walking off towards the hallway. It was either follow him or sleep without any amenities…as a result, the prefect followed the ginger out of the common area.

Cater’s room was the same size as the rooms the Freshman slept in, the big difference was that this room belongs only to him, he didn’t have to share it with multiple or even one roommate. Due to the space being his own dedicated room, it was not only far more spacious than the dorm rooms normally were, but it was also decorated exactly to Cater’s tastes. It was adorable and trendy, as if it came right out of some influencers video. Of course, considering that Cater was always posting on magicam and trying to make it big as an influencer, it made sense that his room looked so carefully curated. 

His bed was also huge, it looked far more comfortable than the couch, and even better than the nearly broken old mattress Yuu was forced to sleep on at Ramshackle. It looked like a normal, proper bed. Much like the bed they used back home…the thought immediately brought a frown to their face, though they managed to shove aside nostalgic musings of the past as Cater turned back around. “You’re okay sharing a bed, right? I mean it's really spacious! Like we won’t be squished so I don’t think it’s a big deal!” “I mean…it can’t be worse than sharing a bed with Grim.” “O M G! Do not compare me to your freaky cat!”

Regardless of the previously somber mood that Yuu was in, Cater’s dramatic reaction pulled the softest laugh from their lips. Once more, Cater merely stared at the noise, only to smile again, the same sad smile he held right before suggesting the sleepover. He approached, once more holding out his hand to Yuu, though this time they accepted it. He gently rubbed his thumb over the top of the smooth skin as he escorted the prefect towards his vanity, their grasp on each other breaking as Cater placed both hands onto their shoulders, easing them to sit down at one of the two chairs at the vanity.

He took a seat next to them, looking slightly anxious before he grabbed a plush headband and slipped it on, helping to keep some of his hair out of his face before he held out a similar plush one to Yuu.

“I was thinking…Before we get some sleep we need to do our skincare! Do you do any normally?” “Aside from sunscreen…no. But don’t tell Vil that.” “I would never sell you out like that. I’m not a snitch.” He teased lightly before leaning forward, helping to put the headband onto the prefect pushing back their hair and keeping it secure. His hands then rested on their face, one hand on their cheek and the other on their forehead.

“...Ah, you have dry skin. Not like painfully so but that’s your skin type. Look, there’s like barely any oil on you…I have combination type, that’s like the worst. I’m always oily and I get pimples so easily!” “You do?” “Yeah, why else would I be so serious about my routine?” “Heh…Sorry, I guess I just thought…you know…You didn’t get that kind of stuff.” “I’m not flawless like some people at this school…I just…work hard to appear that way!”

“You pull it off well…But it’s okay to slow down a bit from time to time.”

“...You should be telling that to yourself. You deserve a break far more than I ever will…I do have some products that should work for you, I just need to look for a moment.” Just as Cater began to dig through some of the products on the vanity, Yuu’s hand gently grabbed at the sleeve of his cardigan, causing the ginger to pause as his eyes locked with the prefects. “...We could both use a break. You don’t need to put yourself down in order to lift me up, I don’t want you doing that.” “...You wanted a change of space. It’s cause…you miss home, right?”

“...Of course I do…I didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. I just woke up here.”

Slowly, his hand gently cupped one of their cheeks, his sad smile returning.

“...You deserve to rest, I don’t…If I was in your position…I don’t think I’d miss home. I dread going back, but you can’t return…It’s not fair. I mean the headmage uses you like his personal secretary, it’s not fair…” “Cater…I’m okay, really…I mean of course I get homesick, but…having friends like you and Ace and Deuce…even Grim, it really helps. I guess what really upsets me is…I don’t know if I’ll wake up one day and then I’ll be back home. That’s what really scares me, not being able to say goodbye again…” “...That won’t happen. I can just…I can sense it. You’ll be able to go home but it won’t just be sudden.” “...Maybe you could come with me?” The thought is impulsive, it comes out before Yuu can even realize what they’re saying. Cater’s face looks surprised at the suggestion and then…he laughs, his face lighting up before he leaned forward and pulled the prefect into a warm embrace.

“Yeah, I’d love that…I’ll go with you once we figure out a way to get you home.” “...You’ll lose all your magicam followers most likely…” “Oh yeah…Does your world have social media?” “Yeah, a ton of them.” “Then I’ll manage.” His grip on Yuu tightened slightly and yet it was the most warm and comforting hug they had experienced in who knows how long.

[n0t-evenhere]

SPOILERS AHEAD for thunderblots*

Okay, I have a few thoughts that have been swimming around in my head. Thunderbolts* a great movie all in all amazing. However, when I watched the movie, when I first watched it, all I could think about was Ray and Bob. Legitimately, Bob what physically altered to fit the “American hero” dream. Died blond hair, blue eyes, made to fight the bill.

Ray’s hair was changed, his face was coved to removed moles and what not to make sure that one, his identity isn’t found out and two, to hide imperfections! Both are being subjected to the “American hero” requirement.

Emotionally, I feel like they aren’t as aligned with each other, Ray I feel like he used to be in Bobs spot, wanting to be something great, to be loved by the people. Now, Ray just doesn’t really care. He’s been in the game long enough that, he just wants to be done. He is trying to find a reason to go on. While Bob is slow being okay with who he is. Both of them do have a sucky back story that haunts them sometimes so, yea.

When I saw sentry fighting, I could only imagine that this must be a fraction of what it’s like to fight Ray. I’ll show a vid. (Video isn’t mine)

How terrifying is that! Like, my goodness I would probably die on the spot then at his hands cause, yikes! Ray had infected my brain in every shape and form it’s not even funny. 😆

Also, when we were told he can’t sing. Look up Sebastian stand singing on tik tok. You’ll find it since I can’t post more than one video in one post. Anyway, byyyyeeeee.

[tragicbeauty1991]

So with the new Snow White film coming out now (which I haven’t seen yet, though I have listened to the soundtrack and like a lot of the new music), I decided to go back and rewatch the original since I haven’t seen it in ages. I wanted to see what I picked up on as an adult now that I might have missed or just not really appreciated as a kid. A few observations…

- The animation is just so incredible when you consider how much effort went into it. Can you imagine being in the audience when this first came out? Just… seeing the vibrant colors, the moving water and clouds and bubbles looking so lifelike? You can see in a few shots how they used multiple layers of images. Just…so much work and love went into this.

- The first character we ever see in a Disney film is the villain and she knows how to make an entrance!

- The detail on things like the queen’s throne, the carvings on the dwarves’ shelves and stairs, etc…they’re just so beautiful and could easily have been simplified.

- The Prince seems to be immediately in love with Snow White, it’s true, but what strikes me is that (1) It’s possible he’s noticed her before. We don’t know. He may have fallen in love with her for the kindness he’s seen her display to others. (2) The girl is dressed in rags like a servant. Sure, she lives in the castle but for all he knows, she’s just a maid. And it doesn’t matter to him. He just sees this beautiful, sweet girl and said, “Yep, I think I’m in love with her and want to marry her, regardless of her social status.”

- The men in this film as a whole are just…so much softer and gentler than in so many modern films. Like, it’s not that they’re not manly men…but they’re also not afraid to show emotion. The Prince isn’t afraid of singing a love song to the girl he thinks is attractive. The huntsman weeps and begs for forgiveness because he can’t bear the thought of hurting Snow and then tells her to run, risking his own safety and possibly the safety of his family if he has one. (He’s gotta know if the queen figures out she was lied to, it’ll be his heart cut out and put into a box.) Maybe she reminds him of his own daughter… The dwarves are exceptionally kind and welcoming to her. Grumpy is really the only one who even makes a show at pretending not to like her and being “manly” but when it comes down to it, he ends up being the one leading the charge to save her and one of the first to break down crying when they don’t get there in time and they have to lay her to rest.

- Speaking of which…I love Grumpy. He’s quite possibly my favorite character in the film because he’s so complex comparatively speaking. Everyone else is exactly what their name says they are. Grumpy…he’s really not as Grumpy as he pretends to be sometimes. He’s a lovable, good-hearted guy who just doesn’t want to be perceived as weak.

- We see Snow praying. That never happens in modern films. And it’s just so sweet that her first thought is to ask for God to bless the dwarves rather than to even ask for anything for herself when she is literally on the run for her life.

- Snow as a whole is just so selfless and gentle and compassionate. We never see her curse the queen or wish evil on her. When she comes to the dwarves’ cottage and initially thinks it’s a bunch of kids living there, her first thought is that if they’re orphans, she’ll take care of them herself…despite not being much more than a kid herself.

- The queen is legit a psychopath. Maybe even arguably a serial killer. Like…there are multiple skeletons in the dungeon still in the same position they were in when they died, like the one reaching for the water bucket. That means when they died she didn’t even bother to remove the bodies. She just left them there to rot. And considering her lair is down there, it’s not like she wouldn’t have passed by their decomposing bodies. Just…YIKES. Do not mess with this woman. (On the other hand, why not just chain Snow up down there and let her die? I mean, obviously we’re all glad that didn’t happen but that would have solved her problem…)

- We see seasons pass after Snow dies and is laid to rest in the glass coffin. That means the dwarves were out there keeping the flowers fresh and things looking nice every day for months. Also, the prince has been searching for her this whole time. He didn’t just give up when he didn’t see her at the castle anymore. He went out looking for her and then when he hears she’s dead, he still goes to pay his respects to her. Dude’s got it bad. That’s not just a crush. That’s some serious devotion right there. He had no way of knowing she’d come back to life when he kissed her. He just wanted to see her one last time and say goodbye.

- Also, I’m just gonna say that if her body was incorrupt for that long, and Christianity seems to exist in this universe (given that she was praying earlier in the film) it wouldn’t be unreasonable for the dwarves and the prince to think she was a literal saint…which, considering her kindness, isn’t totally out there.

- I love that even when she unexpectedly wakes up, the Prince recognizes how much she means to the dwarves and holds each of them up for her to kiss goodbye.

- Okay, this one is silly and overthinking things, I know, but what happened to the realm after the queen died and Snow was also presumed dead?? Like, who is ruling the kingdom? And then she goes off with the prince to HIS castle… I’m a little concerned for her kingdom. 😂 I guess once she marries the prince, the realms would be joined and they’d rule both kingdoms but man, for those few months with no one on the throne, it must have been absolute chaos.

- Overall, Snow White still holds up well today. Better than many of the classics, honestly. I hope the new remake does it justice.

[wayward-robin]

No spoilers past the current ep if possible folks! I’m going in blind!

3x02 – Sink or Swim thoughts

Oh my goodness what an ep! Big shout out to the crew for doing such an amazing job with a very ambitious set.

Loved the water stunts with Buck being thrown around at the beginning. Clever way of showing how powerless people can be in the water. And I know why it was, but I will admit that the water being so clean was mildly funny.

Chris’ actor is just mind bogglingly good! All his scenes were brilliant.

Buck playing games with Chris to distract him from the bodies was cleverly done but good grief this show loves traumatising already traumatised characters, doesn’t it?! I mean in the last what 6 months(?) Chris has lost his mom and Buck got crushed. Now this? Yikes!

I think Bobby only has himself to blame with how Buck is turning out to be as a firefighter. Bobby refused to quit on that guy and his stepson when they were stuck on that boat. Bobby can believe Buck’s a bit reckless all he wants but Bobby can’t argue he isn’t reckless himself after that stunt!

I didn’t think both would survive but hey, they’re out on a rescue boat at least.

Maddie and her drowning victim - in his attic no less! - was so sad! All the ways you can die in the aftermath are scary to think about but drowning in your attic is unique.

Athena’s highway incident with May was harrowing. Athena just did her thing and got control and as scared as she was May really stepped up. I’m so glad the woman she was looking after was saved! Go May! She really is Athena’s daughter.

I cannot believe Eddie has gone this entire ep and not realised Chris and Buck are in danger… ah the suspense!

And Chris has just vanished over the side of the fire engine?! What?! OK I am trusting this show that it won’t kill off my favourite kid character but holy crap. I feel like I need a lay down after this but I also really, really need to know what happens next!

Loving this opening arc! I thought it would be really hard to top the earthquake but they’ve definitely outdone themselves here!

[dream-with-a-fever]

Are there any other Ginny or Harry ships that you dabble in?

Or if you don’t what’s your opinion on them.

no i’m a hinny truther all the way i’m afraid!

with harry potter ships, i really only like most of the canon pairings, and i don’t really ship those characters with anyone else (that being said, i do love both remadora and wolfstar… because por qué no los dos?)

but i do have MANY many opinions on other harry or ginny pairings. let’s go through them, shall we?

ginny x luna ; nothing against them, they’re cute. i just personally haven’t viewed their relationship as anything more than platonic, but i understand why people would like that dynamic

ginny x michael ; i don’t think anyone ships these two (lol) but because they’re canon i thought i’d include them. he’s a whiny loser and gin deserves better. NEXT

ginny x dean ; same as above, and they’re fine???? in no way do i ship them or think there’s a world where they end up together but i think their relationship in the books is a bit rocky, but fine.

ginny x draco ; now controversial opinion, i think as a crackship, they are v interesting to me. much more than dramione (yikes) or drarry. but i think malfoy’s canon personality traits would have to be completely amended to make any couple with him work.

ginny x blaise ; this one is random asf to me? i’m guessing it’s because blaise admitted he thinks she’s hot (even tho he said he wouldn’t touch a blood traitor..) i mean i guess they’d be a good looking couple lol? but idk

harry x hermione ; i think i’ve made it clear how much i hate them as a romantic pairing. they give the biggest sibling energy ever. if anything hermione is more like a mother fussing over her son. love love LOVE their friendship but they are just not compatible in that way.

harry x ron ; i loooooove them but more as a brotp. they mean so so much to me. that being said, they make more sense than harry and hermione lol

harry x draco ; i really really really don’t like this ship. as a crackship, i can kind of see potential (same as drinny) but again you would have to change a lot of malfoy’s (and also probably harry’s) canon personality traits to make it work. malfoy is such a whiny, selfish, cowardly bully. there’s nothing really intriguing or like alluring about him (which is why i find it funny when people paint him as this dark character with a sob story like… no. he was a spoilt little brat, with no redeeming qualities). it wasn’t until his own life was at risk, and the shoe was on the other foot that he actually seemed to show some maturity. but even then, he still didn’t care about anyone else, but himself. just concerned with saving his own skin and happy to let others (innocents) die to get the job done. big yikes. harry would (and DID) hate that man.

harry x tom ; now this has got to be the WORST one. like i have a LOT of hatred for this ship. i can’t believe it actually is a ship to begin with??? shipping a grown man with a child?? let alone shipping said child with the man that tried to murder him as an infant (and about 2637274 times after that), the man that murdered his parents, the man who is responsible for his life being so miserable and traumatising… like yes diary riddle is hawt we know this. but just because harry interacts with him as his teenage self (and sees his memories) doesn’t mean tom riddle isn’t a fully grown man in a teeny bopper body, he just took the substance (lol). like why is this even a thing, i’ll never understand.

harry x luna ; in the films, they looked sweet together, but that’s because the wackiness of book luna was removed. if anything, she had a bit of a crush on ron. evanna lynch also put it well, harry’s negative energy would not mesh well with luna. he needs someone who can pull him out of his downward spiral, and call him out when he needs it, which i think luna wouldn’t do/want to do. sweet friendship, but that’s it.

harry x cedric *** ; meant to include these two!! i think this is very cute. if harry was gay/bi, i think i would want him with cedric. he definitely had a bit of a bromance with him regardless. love love love cedric. poor boy :(

that’s all the ships i can really think of, but yeah those are my opinions (emphasis on MY opinions, that i have, you are more than welcome to disagree). hinny all the way babyyy

[oddly-casual]

Puzzlematsu Another One Overanalysis

Okay so I caved and properly edited my analysis of the Puzzlematsu set Another One. Not sure what its another one of, but I think it might be related to the Angel&Devil set because of its similar theming and colors.

The Angel & Devil set was more about right verses wrong. How the NEET’s approach things they actually struggle with (Example Kara and being a pushover).

The sets are also called Insider, and the description mentions them having an inner battle. More than that I think these sets specifically might be about inner desire, and how they choose to confront the thing their minds hide away.

Each set has one of the sextuplets being suddenly confronted with a shadow with a cracked mask, the last image always being how that Sextuplet choice to confront this piece of themself. I, personally, love the way they’re presented to us.

I like to make myself laugh by saying the shadow is coming out of Osomatsu’s ass.

For Osomatsu’s set, it repeats a lot of what we already know, but I like how it presents it to us.

Osomatsu is a park when his shadow shows up. A place he and his brothers spent a lot of time as children and as an adult its where he can be surrounded by like minded individuals (literal children). In the show itself, Osomatsu is known to bum around the park for day drinking or even just because he has nothing better to do. He’s literally surrounded by nostalgia and I think that’s where his shadow is the strongest.

The real meat of the meal comes from the final image of each set. It’s an explosion of color and conflict and Osomatsu’s just has so much to chew on.

For starters, Osomatsu's mask isn’t the only one with a smile on it. It is, however, the only mask with sharp teeth. Most of its cracks are from the top of the head and barely reach the eyes.

The masks are just that, masks for hidden desire or maybe even their more buried nature. For someone who is openly a piece of garbage, why is the mask so intact? What can we get from the mask itself?

It could be that the mask has such sharp teeth as a scare tactic. Something that makes others steer clear of it as a defense mechanism, or it could be how Osomatsu genuinely sees himself. Someone dangerous or aggressive. The cracks on the top of the mask could even be seen as devil horns, much like the image of Devilmatsu that Osomatsu is known for.

More over, Osomatsu is the only Matsu who is aggressive with their inner self so openly. Is it something he really doesn’t want to deal with? Or something he’s forcefully repressing? The inner self appears smug, like it knows there's nothing Osomatsu could do that would force it away forever.

I also find it interesting and kind of cute- how each sextuplet has a token in Osomatsu’s set, rather than anything that is unique to him. There is the money, but money is superficial. Everybody likes money.

The money itself is scattered and all over the place. Instead, its the little tokens of his brothers that are placed behind protective walls. Kept in place, unbroken, and where Osomatsu can keep an eye on them.

And really, that can mean so much. From- he loves his brothers- to -yikes- but regardless I think its an interesting way to frame Osomatsu’s perspective of his family and his inner self.

Karamatsu’s location of choice is a little hard for me to put my finger on in terms of meaning. Really, if we wanted a place that mostly belonged to Karamatsu, he would be on the bridge or the roof even. Except he’s not, so I wondered what made this window so important.

On one hand, I think they chose it as a reference to The Karamatsu Incident, even the sky changes when the shadow appears.

It could also just be because Karamatsu’s home is his safe place and where he likes to look at himself the most.

It’s also a little on the nose that his shadow comes from the mirror in a time of literal self reflection. Not to mention the shadow is the only one that directly grabs Karamatsu- almost like its demanding his attention.

For such a flashy guy, Karamatsu’s final image in the set is shockingly simple. The only thing really note worthy of his background would be his glasses and the arrows.

As for his glasses, they do get broken quite a bit in the show. He also uses them to hide, or appear more confident. In this confrontation, he doesn’t need to hide- hence why they're so out of reach. It could also be hinting at a shattered confidence.

The arrows? I’m not completely sure why those are there. The only thing I can really think of, is Todomatsu and the Five Demons. When each brother was hit with arrows when Todomatsu was eating them up verbally.

Which could mean the arrows are a stand in for hurtful words. If we want to take it more literal, then the arrows could represent the stand still Karamatsu feels in his life. The arrows are stuck, embedded in crystal. They cannot fulfill their purpose and they cannot go further than what they’ve reached. If you catch my drift.

Karamatsu’s mask is the only one with a frown on its face. The only shadow that shows its sadness.

We know Karamatsu is an emotional and sensitive guy, so that isn't too surprising. He tries to be a larger than life cool guy, but he’s actually super sensitive (His background being the most cracked and shattered could also hint at this.)

But his mask is just a bit more cracked up then Osomatsu’s, and if we follow a similar line of thinking when it comes to the mask, it could be how Karamatsu sees his buried emotions. Sad and pathetic- or its just how his emotions really are.

Not to mention Karamatsu is the one comforting his inner self. Meaning he is aware of its existence, accepts it, but still hides it. That, or he understands it but just isn’t ready for the mask to come off yet.

He’s cringe and he’s not free

This set feels like the equivalent of doing something fun only to stop and realize you probably look cringe as fuck. Like drawing your homestuck oc in 2025- I say, as I look in a mirror

Once again, Choromatsu is in the comfort of his own home, where he can indulge in his interests and have fun. That’s when the self reflection kicks in, but its inviting and encouraging. It wants Choromatsu’s attention, or maybe to distract him.

Like Osomatsu, most of the meat comes from the final image. I’ve noticed Choromatsu is very self aware, but chooses denial more often than not.

Choromatsu openly admits to being a pervert. That he likes being lazy, and that he is an asshole- yet he’ll double back into denial right after confessions like that.

His background is structured, but its also breaking apart. Things like his glow sticks and his cardboard appliances are restricted by vines with thorns. Though I still have some trouble trying to figure out what that means.

Thorns can generally represent sacrifice or even just holding something hostage. Really, it could go either way.

Choromatsu could see these things as something he’s forcing himself to hold onto despite the facts that they’re holding him back.

It could also be things he feels like he can’t indulge in, because he needs to be proper member of society. Only his inner self trying to get him to let go of expectation. A battle of mind and heart.

Choromatsu doesn’t look at his inner self, but they are physically touching. Meaning he knows what his inner self wants, and he is aware of it, but he’s trying to pretend it’s not there. Like he doesn’t want to acknowledge it as a piece of himself but doesn’t force it away.

Sources!

Here’s the fandom Wiki for the set itself

The images themself I got directly from User @snowimatsu appreciate you sugarplum

It was really fun revisiting an older analysis of mine to touch it up, especially seeing how differently I view the characters now. I should have the younger brother’s dissection up by tomorrow. Kiss kiss!

Edit:

The younger brothers have been finished. Enjoy!

[revelauver]

⌕ race review!   ֢֢֢ ◝﹝bahrain [ 04/13/25 ]

🏎️_⠀ op81, cl16, gr63, pg10, ka12, ln4, mv1, cs55, lh44, & yt22 are the quali top 10!

i had to miss most of bahrain because i had a flight to catch 💔 but i was there for the start! and caught up to watch the rest just now ofc

lando that was INSANE, up 3 places instantly from p6? HE IS LOCKED IN 🔒 i’m convinced the farther lando is back on the grid, the better his start is

george quickly took it back and almost caught OSCAR in turn 1, who had a good start

jesus christ george what were you on today

JESUS LECHRIST WHAT HAPPENED TO CHARLES 😭 HE HAD P2 AND LOST IT TO HALF THE BRITISH ARMY

and then he spent the rest of the race defending like a maniac against them + the french. the nation of monaco knows no peace

Ollie gained like five positions in like one turn OMFG

Kimi babe we like to drive ON the track

and because this is MY race review, we are going to be discussing the disastrous kimi antonelli subplot in extensive detail

he was the only driver on a 3 stop strategy PITTING FOR SOFTS EACH TIME 💀 

he lost so much time in the pits, came out into heavy DRS traffic every time, and the tires just kept wearing off from there as he tried to get by AND THEN got super unlucky with the timing of the safety car just after pitting for the softs (hence the 3 stop strategy)

but that overtake on max was just beautiful i could CRYY 😭he checked that item off the bucket list ✅

speaking of max he was NOT having a good time 💀

literally everything that could have gone wrong in that accursed redbull garage went wrong

strategy? flop. PIT LIGHTS? flop. car? what do YOU think 🫵

p6 was a miracle considering how close max was to a nervous breakdown

YUKI IN THE POINTS 🎉 he was dealing with the pit lights and terrible car, but at least the team had him on a better strategy than max 😬

vcarbs (isack) where did y’all go

i don’t even bother to ask about sauber anymore

the things that kimi must sacrifice for an op81 win 💔like yikes, flashbacks to the floor damage in china

nobody does a recovery drive like ollie bearman—10 places HELLO? His family’s radio was so cute

he and kimi fighting for p10 okay prema deja vu 😍

aston martin, i fear adrian newey is your only hope. not even alonso can save you now

how tf did george keep lando back with a car falling apart (transponder, drs, brakes, & dash) faster than oscar piastri’s lap times 👀 i was not familiar with your game

lewis dotd for being the only unproblematic driver in bahrain and consequently making up 4 places. fair tbh 🫡

as for charles, ferrari didn’t even really fuck up the strategy or the pit stops 😭

he fought sooo hard against EVERYONE for those positions, but i wonder what the race could have been like had he held onto the start

also because this is my MY race review, we are going to be discussing oscar piastri dominance in extensive detail

first mclaren driver on pole in bahrain? first mclaren driver to win in bahrain? AND BY 15 WHOLE SECONDS?

plus his lap times were SO FAST! he had 0.39 second a lap advantage ON AVERAGE to the next fastest driver

absolutely flawless race i could not be happier ☺️🫶

got to give lando his flowers though! he made it onto the podium (one for every race of the year)

i guess we have to talk about alpine -_-

finally scored some points via the french driver, and now every single f1 team has points!

jack was jumping ALL OVER the graphics, but eventually landed in p15 💔 i was really rooting for him

let’s review the penalties for today because they were being handed out like crazy: (1) 5-second penalty to ln4 for a false start, (2) 10-second penalty to cs55 for forcing ka12 off the track, (3) 5-second penalty to jd7 for exceeding track limits, (4) 5-second penalty to ll30 for a safety car infringement AND (5) 10-second penalty to ll30 for colliding with nh27

shockingly no ocon appearance

and this isn’t even including both mercs getting a 1-place grid penalty during quali for the pit exit

in another episode of the carlos sainz shakespearean-tragedy soap opera, he had to retire bc of damage from the yuki contact 😭 man shaved his entire body for an extra tenth of speed for a p8 in quali only to dnf from a literal black hole in the side of his car

guest star alex albon also had his own quali woes, but he made up a couple places 💅 you go girl

the graphics were actually driving me up the wall. pinnacle of motorsport my ass

i was following the bbc live report on my way to the airport, and it showed george disappearing from the time sheets. I THOUGHT BRO DNFED FOR A SOLID 2 MINUTES 😃 and then there were no places listed for any driver behind p10

there wasn’t a single overtake for the lead, and this was still the best race of the season, purely from entertainment pov alone! we got so much quality racing, overtakes, and unexpected results. I honestly loved seeing all the teams taking risks with strategies and trying different ones, regardless of how well they were executed on track

i couldn't be more excited to go into saudi next week! less than 15 points separating the top 4 drivers in the championship, and anything could happen

contact me @ ⠀꒱⠀ . ⠀ 1-800-hot-n-fun ⠀ —— ⠀ ✧ !

[poptartcat]

My 100% honest thoughts on The Outsiders Musical

Hey so I watched the musical and I definitely have Thoughts. But to make things easier I’ll start with my bad ones and good ones (they’re about equal)

Bad things

Holy crap they all got butchered.

Dally’s so soft??? I knew he probably would be and it feel too off for Run Run Brother and by Little Brother he’s already been like “Woah Johnny’s gone” so it didn’t feel wrong but the whole time? Yikes man. And he’s not supposed to be so nice to Johnny, and definitely not the rest of the gang. And in softening him it kind of loses the blow of WHY him deciding to take his life was so big. I DO like their decision to talk about how much he traveled and how they thought he was skipping town though, and to make it him getting hit by a train. My guy Soda is shirtless a lot of the time he’s on stage (or at least at the start) and it kinda rubs me the wrong way. And I didn’t really like his section during Grease Got A Hold bc yes, people think he’s hot but he’s much more than that and the musical doesn’t touch on that as much as I hoped. And I literally had to read the freaking script to realize Steve was even in the musical to begin with. I didn’t know that other guy was him. Two-Bit… well, nothing really. But he’s not as relevant as I expected so I can’t even really note much. I think Ace was an unnecessary addition because she didn’t do anything. At all. Didn’t even remember her name. Just was confused as to who she was and I think the musical fandom has their work cut out for them.

Ponyboy, Darry, and especially Johnny got well done compared to their book counterparts. I like how we get a less fearful dynamic but at the same time, it’s only been a week within the musical since he got jumped so why isn’t he more affected? Why isn’t he as scared as he was in the book or movie? I constantly forget he got jumped but he’s super faithful to the book and movie. I think Darry’s a little more aggressive than I expected but if they dialed down the physical nature of it a smidge I think he was otherwise perfect. I think their choice to have Dally and Darry have this kind of rivalry was interesting but it would’ve been better suited as maybe Soda and Darry with Darry seeing how Pony idolizes Soda and getting angry (and maybe manifesting in him later yelling at Soda which then causes the slap yk?). And also just SO MUCH rejecting of being a greaser was also interesting because yeah, he could’ve been a soc but he didn’t hate being a greaser. More like he hated that it held him back sometimes. (Also I noticed he wore the same pants Socs did and idk if that was intentional but that was SUCH a cool detail.) Ponyboy was maybe the most in character. The only thing I really disagree with his how much they kind of tried to push the “he’s our chance! He’s very different from everyone else!” (“Look he wants to be a Soc” comment from Bob at the start. Soda when they’re in bed. Great expectations existing. Grease Got A Hold existing like as if he didn’t already smoke and grease his hair and get into rumbles) and they just treat him like this innocent like he’s not no connection to this world he grew up in, yk? Didn’t always like it but was def part of it.

The pacing was bad. They put so so many songs almost back to back there was no time to breathe. The only one I thought fit was Grease Got A Hold right into Runs In The Family because it’s the majority of the gang and then Darry, who keeps rejecting his greaser name throughout the musical. But I think Grease Got A Hold, Great Expecations, and Trouble, maybe Far Away from Tulsa and/or Death’s At My Door could’ve all been cut out, as much as I love them. I think they could’ve spent more time building the story and possibly the character dynamics. I also think Grease Got A Hold could’ve replaced the scene where Ponyboy asks everyone why they fight. I did think it was and I think it makes so much more sense there because Grease Got A Hold literally felt so thrown in there as I was watching. Tf you mean this chronic smoker, proud-of-his-greasy-hair boy needed to be dubbed a “real” greaser?? No??? But really if I wasn’t previously invested I wouldn’t really understand. I didn’t understand at moments even with that knowledge.

And this one’s a small gripe but Paul and Bob Just how it felt like Paul was only thrown in because Paul and Darry but they don’t actually do anything with that. Nothing with Pony also knowing Paul. Nothing with Darry knowing Paul. Nothing with Johnny now knowing Bob by name and all them knowing Paul and Bob associate and how Paul and Darry’s past may be why they targeted Ponyboy and Johnny and later Two-Bit because it’s all so glossed over it makes me mad. You have this now do something!!

Even smaller gripe but Ponyboy remembering his dreams :( He’s not supposed to that’s why they’re scary. And they’re not dreams they’re nightmares. That’s why Soda and Ponyboy sleep together.

Good things

THE ACTORS WERE FABULOUS!!! I kept looking at the background to see how the other characters reacted and they were ALWAYS acting that is real dedication!!! Even the little glances, the fiddling, the subtle pout just UGH IT WAS SO AMAZING!!! They were also SO GOOD at conveying the emotions. Their acting felt so raw, so real!!!! Freaking phenomenon.

The choreography and cinematography was GOREGOUS!! The rumble? Mmm so good!!! I geeked out when they all synced. The scenes where everything freezes or slows had me so excited, like the slap or the fountain!!! And OH MY GOD Justice for Tulsa was so cool with the flashlight and how they interrogated a bunch of people individually was SO MAGICAL GENUINELY!!!! Also when the way they play with lightning was so genius!!! The way some characters go in and go out and sometimes it snaps into place and sometimes it’s a soft switch!!! Oh and during the fire scene and Johnny’s final scene I was SAT. And they’re all such good dancers I gasped when they did that thing where they jump and do a crap ton of turns or were super synced or the slow-mos that genuinely had me forgetting they were doing that LIVE!!

Their singing was next level!! I know they’re literally on broadway but I squealed like a pig every time they started and I could talk for hours about it! (Pun intended)

I like their decision with Dally and the train. I think it’s the next best things that suits his character because they’re both always on the move, always going from place to place, which they mention a lot of Dally doing in the musical. They’re also both unstoppable. You can’t stop them until it’s too late. They didn’t stop, as expected.

Also the choice to have the Curtis parents hit by a not just a train, but actively mention that it was the one that “ran down the belly of the beast” I just LOVE. I think it symbolizes like, the tragedy both sides share and maybe how the rivalry, the split will be the thing to end them all (sounds stupid but idk exactly how to phrase it). Just the train existing as their split had me sitting up and listening intently. ALSO THE FACT THAT IT WAS ON DARRY’S BIRTHDAY!!!! He’s a winter baby, the Curtis parents died in the winter but I just can’t believe it exists in one of the canons. Pony’s birthday present was no frosting and dead parents, so when I think about it like that I can actually see why Darry’s so aggressive. Hm. His birthday isn’t his birthday anymore it’s his parentification day. It’s his hopeless, hopeless day and I think the musical should’ve touched on both that and his and Paul’s relationship more. (But I already said that)

Just. The train. The train being the center, the middle.

Johnny being there for the slap has fed me. I especially noticed the background acting there bc Sky I think looked uncomfortable. And it’s a good lead up to Far Away From Tulsa, and very in character I think because if the Curtis brothers are hitting each other? Yeah no. And he only didn’t run away bc of the gang but now he can only really trust Pony (Darry didn’t mean it but he’s probably lost some trust there) and Pony’s telling him they should leave so why not?

I liked the Cherry lore drop abt her family. This + Emma’s hc of Paul and Cherry being siblings + their dynamic has me begging for more.

And Marcia I really like here in particular. I think the actor (I feel really bad for not knowing her name) just conveyed her in such a way that it clicked. And they did it well without Two-Bit as a catalyst for jokes. I think also the acting in Justice For Tulsa was really great!!!!

THE USE OF STAY GOLD’S INSTRUMENTAL WHEN THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT THE POEM HAD ME JUMP AND POINT LIKE AN ANIMAL I LOVED IT!!!

That’s all I can think of at the moment but I may make another post if I can think of more things.

[freedelusionshere]

Syd getting her own place is a sign of her regaining her full confidence in herself again and not relying on her dad? Carmy knows this as well, because she told him about what happened with Sheridan Road and it forcing her to move in with Emmanuel?

Of course Carmy messes the financial stuff up in S3 while rushing out a partnership agreement to keep Syd from walking, because she pulled off friends and family night without him and he’s terrified of her not needing him which he’s already fessed up to more or less under the table.

We see Syd in S3 fully confident managing the kitchen were it not for Richie and Carmy fucking things up now? They both owe her big-time. More fingers to point at Carmy, even though Richie is still doing major button-pushing.

Carmy’s behavior in S3 in his mind is panicking that Syd will leave him again which turns into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The whole discussion about legacy and setting things right with everyone (fixing everything not realistic) is a world where he knows Syd won’t walk away from him again? Like all the panic attacks and Syd being his peace isn’t really that fair to Syd since he’s shared none of this with her, but it’s like an “Everything will be okay if…” scenario.

But think about it: both Camry and Neil told stories of how Carmy’s family always let him down growing up, especially Donna. Cousin Michelle lived in NYC and was not around.

Syd is the only person who has had his back, let him be himself, let him fuck up and fail, fought with him and then worked it out, shared his vision from the start and helped him get it on track, made him feel good about his career (and not anxiety), loves his creativity…why wouldn’t he be down bad for her? Not only is she his real best friend, but she also looks like Ayo Edebiri, I mean???

They’ve kind of switched places narratively in S3? Carmy is massively doubting his talent, sounds like he’s broke (that partnership agreement yikes to his credit score), and Syd is his idol now.