#and got to keep their character development at the end of the day

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Don’t underestimate this. It nearly killed me as a kid. Neurodivergent baby queer trying to fit in? Yeah, didn’t work so well.

I genuinely LOVE how this is explored in The Handmaids Tale in I want to say season 3?

This is Natalie. I don’t remember her Of- name cause fuck that shit.

She was a good handmaid. She did exactly what she was told. Swallowed the doctrine she’d been forced to live under hook line and sinker. And she told on her walking partner, the main character June, and got a different woman executed as a result. She felt no remorse for this, because in her mind it was the right thing to do and was protecting June.

In response, June wielded her status among the other Handmaids to isolate Natalie. I can’t even blame June for doing so despite where I know that lead. A kind woman was now dead. The Handmaids had to be the one to execute her. June was now farther away from her daughter than ever. I’d probably socially shun the class traitor too.

Anyway.

Natalie was surrounded by people all day every day who shared her values, but was in a different class than them. So she had no genuine connection with them.

She was also surrounded by other women of her class, who were in the exact same boat as her, going through the exact same processes and daily routines and monthly ceremonies and abuse. They were her built in friends and companions. Gilead designed it to be her built in friends and support network. But she sided with their oppressors and had no connection with said built in friends either.

And said built in friends turned on her the same way she had turned on them and she ended up in the middle of a shaming circle.

At some point after that (the timeline in the show being unclear) she snaps and beats the only person who was trying to show her genuine kindness with a can of something at the grocery store. Another handmaid.

She got her hands on a gun and was about to shoot the Aunt in charge of handling her, who had rewarded her for turning on June, but then lead her shaming when June got the opportunity to tell on her. In response, an eye guarding the grocery store shot her. A pregnant handmaid. A very vulnerable class of woman in a very misogynistic society in the one state where she should have been untouchable.

But that just leads to the other side of the coin. The forced isolation that was then forced on June, unofficially for her hand in Natalie’s fate, officially just for being Natalie’s walking partner. “Where else would she be?”

They put Natalie’s brain dead body on life support and tell June to kneel and pray. June can’t leave until there’s a baby.

June is stuck in that room for months.

She isn’t alone all the time. At least not physically. Just like Natalie.

Wives come and go to pray. Other Handmaids come and kneel around her to pray. Aunt Lydia comes and goes to check on her. Doctors come and go to keep the baby alive.

But June is isolated, nonetheless, because she is not permitted to do anything outside of necessary things like eat and sleep. Otherwise, she kneels and waits.

Her knees develop blisters.

Her lips are constantly chapped.

The shadows around her eyes are haunting.

She limps when she walks.

Watching her get up off the floor the first time that episode is painful.

She has lapses in time that are far too real.

She sings the same song over and over again to herself in time to the beeping of the monitors.

Even the woman who held her down while her husband raped her can see she is unwell and is concerned.

And she gets desperate for a way out. Considers killing Natalie and the baby. Reaches into a hazard box and gets a scalpel to do it. Attacks her former mistress when she comes to pray for the baby instead. Ends up cutting herself pretty badly too.

After the attack and hurting herself, the doctor who’s been keeping Natalie going just enough talks to her and patches her up. He says something about what isolation does to a person and June realizes that what’s being done to her is what she did to Natalie.

She goes back to kneeling, and singing in her head. She doesn’t get the scalpel back despite it being put right back in the box she fished it out of.

Once the baby is born, and June is finally free to leave, she chooses to stay behind with Natalie as her body is finally allowed to die off. Sits with her and shows her compassion in a way they didn’t know how to show each other in life. Not in a hellscape like Gilead.

Anyway. It is a great exploration in social isolation and how it can drive a human to their worst.

its crazy how so many people do not understand that social isolation isnt just sitting alone in your apartment all day never speaking to anyone you could be surrounded by acquaintances and friends but have absolutely no genuine connection or shared values so every interaction is shallow its basically just as bad as being alone if not worse

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index Cont: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 28 - 'Boyfriend' | 'Aperture'

word count - 15.7k (sorry I know 🫣)

Campbell flung open the door to Leon and Foster’s place like she’d never left, dropping her sunglasses onto the counter and kicking off her platform slides with a dramatic sigh.

“Okay. Which one of you lot has heard from them?” she demanded, already half-scowling, half-smirking. Foster glanced up from the sofa where she and Leon were curled under a throw blanket watching a film for what must have been the fiftieth time. 

“Cammy, I just texted you welcome back! I don’t even get a hello?” Foster laughed completely amused with Campbell’s intrusion. 

“Don’t deflect,” Campbell snapped, hands on her hips, ponytail swinging. “She was on the phone with me before the vigil, crying, obviously, but since then? Radio silence. No texts. No voice notes. Not even a single random TikTok. Nothing.”

“Maybe she’s grieving.” Leon didn’t look up, taking a purposeful sip from his glass of wine

“Lee.” Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be daft. You’re telling me you think my girl is just grieving? Alone? Quietly? And coincidentally he has gone mia at the same time?” She smirked. 

“I mean…” Leon shrugged with a cheeky smile. ���I don’t know where Trentski’s at to be fair.” He looked at Campbell, hands raised in innocence. It was true. Leon didn’t know Trent’s exact location. But he knew well enough that when Trent didn’t participate in the boys group chats it meant one of two things; footy or you. And well… his England camp ended two days ago. 

“Cam, you know she’s with T,” Foster muttered, suppressing a smirk. “She’s fine. She only goes off-grid when she’s wrapped up in a footballer, drowning in Xerjoff Erba Pura and some deep dimples.” Campbell pointed in confirmation like she’d just solved a murder case. 

“I know that! But why do you lot not care? She hasn’t sent a single message. Like I’m praying it’s because of that certain scouse boy.” Campbell tilted her head at Foster, half serious, half teasing. 

“Trust me… she's horizontal right now.” Foster giggled.  “With said scouse boy obviously. Probably doesn’t even know where her phone is. Just somewhere in his bed. Or lost in the haze of too many orgasms.” She smirked. 

“Eugh, Fos.” Leon grimaced with a shake of his head but only before finally falling into a laugh. “You two need to let them lie.”

“We are!” Foster yelped with a big smile. “...Literally.” 

“Nah, you’re being menaces.” Leon raised a brow. 

“Menaces who care,” Campbell countered proudly. “And if she’s being held hostage in Hale, I want confirmation. I’m giving her till tomorrow before I start calling.”

“Wait, should we make it fun? Like a game?” Foster sat up a bit straighter, grinning.

“What kind of game?” Campbell narrowed her eyes, greedy. 

“Nah. Don’t.” Leon groaned. 

“Whoever gets the first confirmation of their little hideout wins. Loser has to send Trent a voice note saying ‘Thank you for your service.’” Foster declared, with a devious little smirk. Campbell gasped but not without a giggle. Leon rolled his eyes but didn’t really bother protesting. 

“Just let the girl get fucked in peace.” He muttered with a soft chuckle. 

“See! You’re just like us, Lee. We all want the best for them.” Campbell giggled. “Pour me a glass. I’ve got recon to plan.” She cooed plopping down onto the sofa next to Foster.  

—

There was a knock. Then another. Then a third, distinctly impatient. You stirred, limbs tangled beneath soft sheets and Trent’s heavy arm still wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt. His voice was muffled, half-asleep and possessive.

“Mm... don’t answer it.” He whined barely audibly. 

“I have to,” you whispered, trying to peel his arm off you, failing miserably. “They’re going to break the door down.” Five minutes later, barefoot, flushed, and wearing Trent’s T-shirt like a dress, you cracked the door open. And there stood Campbell, chic in sunglasses far too large for the clouded sky, a smoothie in hand and a smug grin playing at her lips.

“Hi, sleeping beauty. Were you in bed?” she smirked, already aware of the situation. You yawned, more post-orgasm than post-nap, and stepped aside.

“Cammy. Uh... yeah. Hi.”  You cooed attempting to play nonchalant. But it was well into the afternoon now, there was no hiding but you’d try.  She stepped in casually, her eyes already sweeping across the flat like a detective on a mission, albeit attempting some subtly. And there it was. A man’s Bottega wallet on the island. Size 11 trainers at the door. The scent of showered skin and candle wax lingering in the air. She didn’t need confirmation. Trent was written all over you, although his Range Rover keys did really cement her assumption. 

“You’re glowing,” she teased over her shoulder. 

“Tea?” You ignored her, heading for the kitchen. 

“Mmm. Sure.” She followed you like a bloodhound, scanning for more dmaning clues, setting her smoothie down. Then, sweetly, too sweetly:

“Do you have my Aquazzura heels? The nude ones… those ones with crystals? I want to wear them to brunch tomorrow.” Your heart stuttered. You knew you were getting played. It was Campbell afterall. 

“Course,” you said casually, a little too quickly.

“They’re in your room, right?”  She hummed as she turned. 

“Cammy! No!” You came rushing from around the island, tea forgotten, grabbing at her arm. “No, no, no”

“What are you hiding?” she grinned, leaning back, with playful resistance. You both nearly doubled over in hushed laughter.

“Stop!” you giggled, flustered and breathless.

“Who are you hiding?” she sang, spinning out of your grip with a devious sparkle in her eye. “Y/N, is there someone here?!” She taunted you in song. You covered your face, cheeks burning. Your head dropped with a reluctant nod. Her jaw dropped in delight. “Oh my god,” she shrieked as quiet as she could.

“Shhh!” you hissed, glancing wildly toward the bedroom. “Cammy, please.”

“Well, I’ll just go get the shoes and be out your hair,” she said sweetly, stepping back toward the door like a cartoon villain just to tease you. 

“Cam! Stop!” You lunged again, grabbing her by the arm again, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I will get them and then I will come talk to you.” You looked her dead in the eye, still out of breath. “Stay.”

“Y/N, is there a boy in your room?” She raised a brow, entertained, mocking, and loving every second.

“Stay.” A beat. Then she plopped herself dramatically onto your sofa, legs crossed, victorious. 

“I’ll wait.” You scurried away, the back of your neck hot, the sound of her stifled giggle trailing after you like perfume.

—-

You opened the door to your bedroom slow and gentle, careful not to disturb Trent.  Warm shadows moved across the bed in slats, sunlight slipping through the gauze of your curtains. The air felt thick with that late-morning kind of stillness, the kind that didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Babyyy,” Trent whined, voice low and syrupy. One arm stretched blindly toward where you stood across the room. His hand grasped at nothing. “Where you goin’…”

“I’m coming back,” you murmured, voice hushed. Your fingers slid along the wardrobe handle, searching for Cam’s heels. “One sec, baby.”

“C’mere.” His voice dipped, sweet and needy. You turned, and his pout alone undid you. You padded barefoot across the floor, leaning over the edge of the bed, brushing your lips to his temple. He smiled, eyes still closed, breath warm against your chest.

“Why you in clothes?” he murmured, hands slipping up your thighs, disappointedly finding the hem of his shirt draped over your frame.  His brows furrowed like it offended him. “Get this off,” he mumbled, tugging lazily at the fabric, trying to gather it over your hips with one hand.

“T…” you warned, eyes flicking toward the cracked door where you knew Campbell would undoubtedly be eavesdropping. 

“Baby, come on,” he whined, this time dragging the shirt up, exposing the softness of your waist. “Don’t need that. Not here. Not now. Come back. Just be with me” You bit your lip, shaking your head as he pulled you closer by the backs of your thighs, and then like magic his shirt was falling somewhere behind you with a careless thud on the floor. He nuzzled into the crook of your body with a satisfied hum, arms winding around your bare waist. “Yeah, there she is,” he purred, voice a hush, like this moment could fold back into sleep if you weren’t careful. From the hall, Campbell could see the tiniest sliver of you go from standing in the room, to sinking into the bed, only for a second. She took in the sliced scene: your hushed giggle, a tanned hand pulling at you, a lazy drawl wanting you like something holy, and a sleepy grin on his face like he’d dreamed you into being. Campbell rolled her eyes with a smirk, returning to minding her business while you “found” the heels she didn’t need.. No need to investigate further. 

Back in the living room, she shook her head with a soft, knowing laugh.

“So gone,” she muttered to herself, opening her phone ready to text Foster and Delaney. “So, completely, stupidly gone.” And back in your room, Trent exhaled against your skin, already half-asleep again, arms locked tight around you like he had no plans of letting you go, not now, not ever.

—

The light was slow and syrupy, golden where it streamed through the curtains, dust catching in the air like flecks of glitter. You were half-covered in the sheets, half trying to get back out of bed, and half trying to stay in it. But currently a 72kg boy was completely draped over you, a warm, heavy weight, all bare skin and tangled limbs, his breath soft against your chest.

“Mmm,” he mumbled sleepily, voice thick and low. “Why you tryna leave me, baby…” You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers over the curls at the top of his hair. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” You softened immediately. A moment cementing Campbell was correct. You were so gone for him. 

“You moved,” he murmured, lips brushing lazily over your skin. “That counts.” You smiled, chest lifting with a soft laugh. 

“Need to get up, baby.” You purred. 

“Nah you don’t,” he grumbled, nuzzling further into your body, arms tightening around your waist. “Stay.” His leg slid between yours again, pulling you back into him, and that’s when you felt it. He was still hard, lazily pressed against your thigh, but too sleepy to do anything about it.

“Really?” you whispered, smiling into his hair. He groaned like it wasn’t his fault. 

“S’not fair. You’re warm and soft and right there.” He tilted his head up, eyes barely open. “What am I supposed to do.”

“Sleep,” you teased, kissing the curve of his jaw.

“Can’t,” he pouted, face buried in your chest again. “Brain’s sleepy. Body’s not.” You giggled, brushing over his curls again. 

“So dramatic.” You teased him. 

“I’m serious. Can’t even move but I still want you.” He hummed. 

“You’re not even fully awake.” You whispered. 

“Still want you.” He kissed over your sternum, slow and languid, half-dreaming it. “Just stay here. Just… lemme hold you.” You softened, chest aching in the sweetest way. His weight was melting you into the mattress, his breath steady against your skin. Everything was quiet. Safe. You sighed, running your fingers up the ridges of his back. 

“Okay. One more minute.” Campbell would understand… you hoped. Either way, a hum of approval purred from Trent’s chest. He shifted just enough to pull you tighter, his body wrapping around yours, lips resting against your shoulder like they belonged there. He was almost asleep again in seconds, hard, needy, but peaceful, like he didn’t care if it was solved or not, as long as you were with him. You waited until his breathing evened out again, the weight of his body fully surrendered across yours, all skin and sleep, lips parted slightly against your shoulder. You could feel his heart, slow and steady against your ribs. Then, carefully, slowly, you peeled yourself from under him. He groaned, face scrunching.

“Nooo,” he whined, voice rough and low, a little raspy from sleep and kissing and everything in between.

“I’m just slipping out for one second,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You go back to sleep, and when you wake up... I’ll be back in your arms, hmm?.” He grumbled incoherently but didn’t argue, his arm lazily draping over the spot you’d just vacated. You tucked the duvet around him like he was something precious. Because he was.

–

The flat was quiet, warm in the midday light. You padded softly toward the kitchen now back in one of Trent’s shirts, too big, hem brushing high on your thighs. Bare legs, flushed cheeks, sleep-swollen lips. You turned the corner and… Click. Your head snapped up. 

“Did you just take a photo of me?” Campbell was lounging at the island now, her phone casually raised, smoothie in hand, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Might’ve,” she said with a shrug.

“For what?” you narrowed your eyes, already smiling. She wiggled her phone with glee. 

“For the group chat. Fos and Delany and I have been worried. But I told them my theory was you’ve been screwed into silence.” You flushed instantly

“Campbell!” You groaned dramatically, hiding your face behind your hands. “Oh my god, Cammy.”

“I thought the wording was clever.” She shrugged, far too pleased with herself.  “You’re literally glowing. Look at you. You’re wearing his shirt and nothing else, aren’t you?” She grinned over her cup.  You didn’t answer, just flushed harder. “That’s a yes,” she sang. “You’re glowing like you’ve been laid horizontal for a full forty-eight.”

“You’re horrible.” You stifled a snort.

“Alive though,” she said smugly, sipping her drink. “Which is all we needed to confirm.” You giggled, walking to the kettle to make her a proper cup. 

“You want tea?” You asked. Campbell notoriously lazy when it came to a good cup and a sucker for yours, nodded immediately but then paused. 

“Only if you spill.” She offered you a deal. And one you couldn’t wait to take. “I want all the details. Where’s Lover Boy now?” She smirked.  You glanced toward the hall, heat licking your cheeks.

“Still sleeping.” You mouthed to her playfully.  Campbell’s smile curled as she pulled out a stool. 

“Perfect. You’ve got three minutes before he realises you’re gone and comes hunting.” You giggled rolling your eyes at her, although you knew it was probably a fair assumption.  

—

The kettle hissed softly behind you, the scent of black tea swirling through the sun-washed kitchen. The soft clink of two mugs set down on the island punctuated the quiet. Campbell had tucked one leg up onto the stool, chin in her hand, watching you with that knowing glint only best friends could wear. You stirred honey into your cup, still flushed in the cheeks, hair a sleepy mess. His shirt hung off one shoulder. You felt bare, but only in that sweet, in-love way.

“So,” Campbell began, dragging the word out. “Are we gonna talk about the fact that you dropped off the grid after Mr. Dyer’s vigil or are we just gonna play housewife and pretend that didn’t happen?”

“Cammy…” You rolled your eyes gently, smiling.

“No, babe, it’s fine. I sent flowers to your parents, you know, as one does, because I thought you might’ve run off to a lighthouse or something to grieve in peace…but no. No, you were just hiding under that man.” She reached out to squeeze your arm lovingly. 

“I wasn’t hiding.” You shook your head, lying straight through your teeth. 

“You were burrowed.” She grinned wickedly, sipping her tea. “Like a very well-sexed mole.”

“Cam!” She giggled and held her hands up, unbothered. 

“Hey, I get it. I deeply get it. But just know the group chat thought you joined a cult and Delaney said if she had to file a missing persons report she’d be pissed.” Your eyes dropped to your tea as you toyed with the string on the bag. 

“Sorry. It’s just… I needed the quiet. After Mr. Dyer and…everything.” Campbell’s expression softened instantly, her teasing folding back. 

“I know,” she murmured. “Only kidding. It’s okay. I was just worried. He was really important to you. I was gonna come back early.” 

“I told you, you didn’t need to.” You glanced up, touched. 

“No. But I would’ve.” She smiled sadly. You reached across the island and held her hand. For a moment, neither of you said anything. “So,” she blinked, tone flipping like a switch, “did you finally say it?” You bit your lip. “Oh my god, you did, didn’t you!” she gasped. You nodded, heat blooming across your cheeks. 

“Cam… it was surreal. Like I could feel the words coming this time, like I knew. But I didn’t want him to say it first. I stopped him.”

“This time.” Campbell rolled her eyes with affection. “How long was the pause before you said it?”

“Maybe like… a full minute.” You giggled

“Must’ve felt like ten years to that boy.” She grinned.

“Shut up,” you laughed, swatting a tea spoon at her.

“Was it cute? Was it, like… cinematic?” You sighed dreamily, nodding into your mug. 

“It was sunset. Top of a hill. He kissed me right when I hit the shutter.” You smiled almost mocking yourself at how cliche it all felt and yet how very real it was.  

“Ughhhhhh. I hate you.” Campbell pouted.  You giggled, covering your face. 

“It was perfect, Cammy. Like, actually perfect. It’s never felt like this with anyone. The way he looks at me… like he already knows.” Your face lit. 

“He’s known… I told you he looks at you differently. Night you met I told you that.” She said smugly. 

“I know, I know, I know. But now… Like the way it feels is just so…” You paused trying to find a word. 

“So it’s the sex?” she whispered, leaning forward, eyes wide and conspiratorial.

“Like…are you asking if we did or…?” You giggled behind your mug. Campbell threw her head to the side teasingly annoyed by your feigned naivety. 

“No, I’m asking now… how does it feel? Like a rating out of ten.” She purred.  You widened your eyes, laughing into your hands. 

“He’s ruined me. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

“Say less,” she whispered, clutching her chest in faux agony. “I knew he had it in him.” You rolled your eyes but you were grinning. 

“But he’s so soft, Cam. Like, it’s…gentle. But then… not.” You smirked recalling it all, every moment, every gasp of air, pulled hair, tender kiss to your cheek, and slap to your ass. 

“Y/N!” she whisper-yelled, swatting the air. “That makes so much sense though. He’s such a controlled guy. And like dedicated and well… obsessed with you so I’m sure in bed that’s a dream combination”

“He’s just—ugh.” You ducked your head, giggling uncontrollably.

“You’re gone,” she teased. You nodded helplessly, cheeks glowing. 

“No, but I really am.”

“Okay but wait, so where are these photos he sent?” She narrowed her eyes on you. You’d texted her about them but after the news of Mr. Dyer’s passing, the conversation shifted and you’d almost forgotten to gush about them in full to her. 

“Oh my god,” you perked up, standing to fetch one. “He sent me this giant box. Every campaign I’ve shot. Framed. Labeled. On matte paper.” 

“Okay so he listens.” She teased clapping silently, knowing very well your distaste for glossy covers. 

“But Cam, he like compiled them and made up like titles and they were wrapped up.” You pouted. A little patronizing but it was cute. “And then at the end… He got this photo frame. One I took of us. The mirror one.” Her eyes lit up. 

“Not the one you snuck into his bag?!” Her jaw slacked a little bit.  You nodded. 

“Can… he framed it. Wrote on it.” You tried to fight back a smile but failed miserably. She clutched her chest again, dramatically collapsing into her elbow. 

“Ugh T. Wow. You win. This is disgusting. I hate how much I love this.” You blushed, barely able to meet her eyes. 

“Yeah.” You sighed. Campbell leaned back, shaking her head with a grin. 

“He’s so in love with you.” Her eyes never faltered in sincerity. 

“I know.” Your bottom lip rolled. 

“And you deserved to be loved like this.” She said a little softer.

“I know,” you whispered, the grin stealing across your face again.

“Well…” she sipped her tea, eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “As long as he keeps putting that look on your face, I’ll allow it.” Campbell set her mug down gently, the soft clink of ceramic against countertop marking a pause. She leaned her elbow along the island, chin in her palm again, but her tone shifted, less sparkle now. A hush beneath the warmth. “Hey…” she said quietly. “But really… are you okay?” You looked up from your tea. “With everything, I mean. With Mr. Dyer. With Trent.” Your smile faltered a little, and for the first time since she stepped through the door, you weren’t glowing. Not really. The flush on your cheeks softened into something more muted.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, blinking slowly. “I’m… sad.” She nodded gently, giving you the space to find the rest. “I feel like…” your voice caught, so you cleared your throat. “Like I lost a piece of myself. He was… he was the first person who saw me do this. All of this. Cameras, lighting, the way I see the world… He gave me the darkroom. He gave me space to fail. He just…got it. Got me.” You exhaled. “And now I keep waking up forgetting he’s gone.” Campbell’s face was soft, her brows pinched together in quiet empathy. “I thought about it at the vigil, I have an ad campaign coming out next month… and he won’t see it. I won’t get to bring him a copy. I think I just keep waiting to go to the shop,” you said. “It’s still there. The photos I left hanging, the ones I hadn’t picked up. One’s I won’t get to share. But it’s like… if I don’t go, he’s still in there.” Campbell reached across the island and took your hand, warm and firm in yours.

“But he’s not gone, you know?” she said gently. “Not really.” You looked up at her, teary. “You have so much of him. Like actual pieces. Printed. Marked. Framed.” Your throat tightened. “That’s not nothing,” she whispered. “That’s love too.” You nodded slowly, your eyes glossy as you squeezed her hand back. A silence stretched, tender and still. And then: “How do you feel about him?” she asked, and her voice was even softer now. “About Trent. Like jokes aside.” You sat back on the stool, letting the air settle over you.

“It’s good,” you said, voice quiet. “It’s so good.” Your lips twitched, bittersweet. “And I’m scared. Is that stupid?”

“Not at all,” Campbell said, shaking her head. “It’s okay to be scared.” You looked down at your tea again. “He loves you,” she added. “Like really loves you. He always has.” You smiled faintly.

“I know,” you whispered.

“And yeah, okay, maybe he’s dropped the ball,” she said, honest but kind. “But so have you. You’ve both had your messes. But now…” she shrugged gently. “There’s no ball to drop.” You breathed out a quiet hum, one that sat between relief and truth. You felt it in your chest. “You’re just together now,” she said.

“Yeah,” you whispered. And you were. In the kitchen’s quiet glow, between fading grief and a full heart, you were. Campbell had just curled her lips into another smug grin, elbow propped on the counter like she was mid-courtroom closing argument.

“I mean, you do kind of owe me your life,” she teased. “Introduced you to the love of it, didn’t I?” You rolled your eyes, grinning. 

“I thought you said I owed you a drink, not a blood oath.” You taunted back.

“Same thing,” she said with a shrug, smug as ever. “Though honestly, maybe Trent owes me…should I send him my rates?” Just as you opened your mouth to clap back, a familiar groggy voice floated from your room, raspy and endearingly needy.

“Baby…” You froze mid-giggle. Then another distant, sleepy voice “Baaaaaaby…” Campbell raised her brows, smirk deepening. 

“He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?” You giggled into your palm. 

“Not a clue.” You whispered. A second later, the door creaked open, and Trent peaked his head out the threshold of your bedroom, hair mussed, voice heavy with sleep, blinking like the light offended him. He leaned lazily on the doorframe, bare chest on show, the other bare part of him still hidden in the room, squinting toward the sound of your laughter. He spotted Campbell instantly, half-hiding against your shoulder, your arms slung loosely around her like two kids caught whispering in class. His eyes narrowed playfully. Then he just sighed, smiling, and turned back into the room for a second. Campbell covered her face and squealed into your arm, giggling. 

“He is gonna kill me,” she whispered. 

“He’ll survive.” You smiled, your heart full and unbothered.  Moments later, Trent re-emerged, this time clothed just enough in a pair of black boxers slung low on his hips. He padded barefoot across the hardwood, a sleepy grin on his lips as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Hi, T,” Campbell sing-songed, feigning innocence.

“Hi, Cam,” he returned, dryly amused. He slipped behind your stool and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before his arms slid around your shoulders, hugging you from behind. “How long you been here, then?” he asked, eyes flicking to Campbell.

“Mmm… since you told “baby” she doesn’t need clothes on,” she teased. He paused, deadpan. 

“Sound.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Can I have this back?” he murmured, hands squeezing your shoulders softly before dipping to your waist, his lips brushing your cheek.

“No,” Campbell replied flatly, lips pressed into a line before she burst into another laugh. “You’ve had her for days!” She yelped in retaliation. You smiled, tilting your face to nuzzle against Trent. You were fully melted into his body now, your back flush to his bare chest, his arms wrapping securely around you like a blanket.

“Alright then,” he grinned, dragging a stool next to yours and sitting with one arm still slung around your chair. “What we yappin’ about then?”

“Cam’s updating me on what the outside’s like,” you teased, eyes closing briefly as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Yeah? Any good?” he quipped, looking first at you, then at Campbell with raised brows.

“Eh…” Campbell gave a shrug, mock unimpressed.

“Not better than in there,” you murmured with a smirk, tipping your chin toward the bedroom. Your fingers ran absentmindedly along Trent’s forearm, still wrapped protectively across you.

“Mm,” Trent hummed, smug. 

“I’m sure your birth control would think otherwise.” Campbell cracked, kicking your chair with her foot.

“Cammy!” you gasped, nearly choking on your tea, scandalized, though the wide smile on your face betrayed you instantly

“What!” she giggled, holding her hands up. “You’re glowing! I’m just giving credit where credit’s due!” Trent chuckled low against your skin, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“She’s got a point.” You rolled your eyes, still blushing, unable to stop smiling even if you tried.

—

“Alright, I’m going to the toilet before she says anything else outrageous,” you teased, laughing as you pulled gently out of Trent’s arms and slid off your stool. Trent caught your wrist, tugging you back just enough to steal a kiss. Quick and sweet, but with enough pressure to make your knees bend slightly and Campbell roll her eyes behind her mug.

“Come back this time,” he murmured, lips brushing yours again, voice low and a little cocky now that you were up and glowing and still wearing nothing but his shirt.

“I’ll literally be right back, T.” You narrowed your eyes, smiling

“Might miss you.” He winked.

“Behave,” you laughed, swatting his chest as you padded out of the room. The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Campbell sipped her tea and tilted her head, watching him with that quiet curiosity only a best friend could carry. Trent let out a sigh through his nose, glancing toward the hallway, then back at her.

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice low, fingers fidgeting with something on the counter, “I should probably say thank you.”

“For what?” Campbell raised an eyebrow

“For introducing me to her properly. You know, the hotel room and that.” He looked up, and for once, there was no smirk. Just something a little raw in his eyes, a little boyish. “And for caring about her. You’ve always done that.” Campbell softened, lips parting, caught off guard by his sincerity. “She’s… I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” 

“You’re lucky, you know.” Campbell blinked, then smiled, small, knowing, like she was trying not to tear up.

“I do know.” He nodded. “That’s why I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

“You better not,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Or I’ll kill you. Lovingly, obviously.” He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders dropping. The light in your flat had shifted,  all warm honey and long shadows pouring through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the quiet after-laugh. The kettle had clicked off, steam curling softly as it filled the space with comfort. Campbell sat perched at the kitchen island, chin in her palm, bare legs crossed in her leggings and a sly glint in her eye as Trent leaned beside her, elbow braced against the counter. The hum of the city outside was muffled,  like this moment had thickened, slowed, hushed. “So…” she said, drawing it out with the arch of a brow.

“What?” Trent glanced sideways, dragging a hand over his curls, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. 

“T,” she said, drawing her voice low and teasing. “Really, don’t fuck this up again.” He scoffed gently, shaking his head, but he didn’t look annoyed. He looked tired in the way love makes you, soft around the edges, wrecked in a good way. 

“Cam, what?” She leaned forward a little, her bracelets clinking faintly against the marble countertop. 

“You love her. You date her. Make her your girlfriend.” He sighed, lips pursed, eyes tracing the grain in the wood cabinetry like it might answer for him. 

“I know. I just… I don’t want to fuck it up. I’m trying to figure out how to do it right. Not too big. Not small either. Just right.” Campbell tilted her head, expression softening.

“Trent,” she murmured. “Honestly…” He turned toward her more fully now, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly as he braced himself.

“Alright, go on then. Give me the advice.” He smiled amused and expectant. 

“Just… whatever it is. Make it feel like you two. Like her and you in your own space. No one else.” She smirked

“I know that. I will.” He nodded slowly

“And tell your friends. She’ll want them to know. That you’re sure.” She dropped her voice slightly, a tenderness creeping in. A smile curled at the edge of his lips.

“They will know.  A joke is already loading, I’m sure.” Campbell gave him a knowing look.

“Good. Just make sure, when you say it… it’s not like, ‘hey, you’re the girl I’m seeing.’ Because she’s not.” He swallowed, eyes fixed on a faint ring of light on the countertop, the sun catching the rim of a teaspoon.

“I know she’s not, Cam,” he echoed, and then looked up, voice low and honest in a way that caught her off guard. “She’s the rest of my life.” Campbell blinked, lips parting for a beat. 

“Aw, T…” She cooed. 

“Don’t. Please.” He grimaced, hand waving her off. 

“Okay, okay. That was good though. Properly good.” She giggled. He gave her a half-smile, leaning back against the island, heart beating louder than the quiet deserved.

“Yeah?” Trent hummed. 

“Yeah.” She gave his arm a soft nudge. “You’ve got her. Just tell her that.” He nodded, absently reaching for your mug, still warm from your hand, like it tethered him to the moment.

—

[Burning Blue - Mariah the Scientist]

The water whispered over your skin, a soft cascade warming your shoulders, tracing the curve of your spine. Morning filtered through the frosted pane of glass beside you, casting the bathroom in a hushed, golden fog. The tiles were warm beneath your feet, the steam curling into the still air like breath held between kisses. You were somewhere in the quiet between thought and feeling, head tilted back under the stream, eyes closed, humming lazily to yourself. The scent of your soap lingered thick in the mist, floral and sweet and faintly citrus. You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt him. A shift in the silence. The gentle scuff of a barefoot step. Then a knock of knuckle to glass. You turned, just as the shower door eased open. Trent stood there, bare and beautiful in the low light, his chest rising with quiet laughter. His skin gleamed golden in the mist, and the steam caught in his tight curls, glinting like it had nowhere else to go but him. His low fade was still fresh, clean lines curving up into his temple, making the softness of his smile even more disarming. You hummed, amused, letting your arms fall to your sides as you looked at him through a veil of steam.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” you teased, voice half-laughter.

“Was too tempting.” His grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Sounded too good to miss.” He stepped inside slow, but soft with you and entirely too smug, entirely too beautiful, droplets already catching on his lashes.  

"Excuse you!” you gasped with a giggle, twisting in the spray as moved. Your gaze fell down to the water clinging to the broad lines of his chest, the playful spark behind his heavy-lidded eyes. You giggled, nose scrunching up as the water splashed gently against his back, and he blinked slow, lashes wet. He braced a hand on either side of you, caging you gently in the hot mist, that crooked smile pulling at his lips, the heat of his body meeting yours with just the distance of breath between.

“Gotta talk to you about something,” he purred, water running down his shoulders, his curls now heavy and dripping. This wasn’t really the plan but Trent couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want a plan. He wanted you. 

“Wow. Must be urgent,” you teased, laughing as your palms slid up his warm, slick abs, feeling his body tense and soften all at once beneath your fingers. But something in his eyes changed, serious now, sincere in a way that made your laughter falter. Your heart thudded once, hard. “You okay?” you asked, quieter, watching the shift in his expression. A strange pressure built in your chest, was he leaving? Was something wrong? You inhaled, slow and shallow, bracing yourself for whatever those impossibly perfect lips might say. He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, his voice almost bashful, muffled by the steam and closeness.

“You think you’d let me be your boyfriend?” Your heart tripped, heat rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the shower. You blinked, smile threatening, breath catching in your chest as your arms slipped around his waist. You nudged his jaw with your nose, bringing him closer, dragging him back into the gravity of you.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you asked, voice feather-light, nearly drowned by the water, but he heard you. Of course he did.

“I really…” He paused, forehead resting against yours, water running down his temple. “Really do. And I don’t just mean for now. I mean I want this. You. Us. I want it.” There was a swell in your chest, something soft and unbearable all at once. Like your ribs couldn’t quite hold the ache of how much you wanted it, too.

“I’m okay with that,” you whispered, lips brushing his, words suspended in the mist like a secret just for him. He smiled into you, slow and sure, his arms wrapping around you under the shower’s warmth. Everything else melted—the water, the tiles, the day. All that remained was him. The heat of him. The steadiness. The love echoing in the hush of this moment. You couldn't feel the water anymore. All you could feel was him.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something warm curling underneath it. “I mean it. I’m locked into this if you’ll let me. Lifetime warranty.” He smirked as he pulled you flush against him, skin to skin beneath the gentle stream of water, your laughter brushing over his jaw like sunlight breaking through fog.

“For a lifetime, huh?” you cooed, one brow raised as your hands skimmed over his shoulders, gliding slick with heat and soap.

“Mhm.” He hummed with certainty, that crooked grin blooming with all his usual cheek, but softened now, deepened by something real. 

“That’s a long time.” You whispered. 

“And I’m gonna love you for long after that,” he said, barely above a whisper, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up again. “Want to do this with you.”

“This being?” you teased gently, raising your bro, already knowing the answer. He rolled his eyes like you’d asked him if the sky was blue. 

“This being you and me.” His hands dropped low, palms molding over the curve of your ass, grounding the moment. “Nobody else. Lifetime loving you. Only you.”

Your breath hitched, not from surprise, but from the way your chest ached sweetly at the way he said it, like it was already written somewhere permanent, carved into time. Then, with a flash of that smug boyish mischief.

“Maybe I throw a ring in there at some point, hmm?” Your soul nearly levitated. You smiled slow, dragging your fingers up the warm, wet plane of his back, curling into his curls, soft and damp against your palm, before leaning in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“If you throw in a ring…” you whispered, “maybe I’ll throw in some babies.” He groaned, low and guttural, hands gripping you tighter. 

“Don’t play with me like tha.” He smiled. 

“T…” you said, pulling back just enough to search his face, the grin playing on your lips, but your eyes full of something deeper. 

“Hmm?” He blinked slow, lids heavy, voice like velvet.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, half-sincere, half-sultry, but hoping you already knew the answer.

“C’mere, baby.” He laughed, kissing you hard, pinning your back against the warm ceramic wall. His lips pressed against your skin, curled in love. “You’re outta your fucking mind if you think you’re not my girlfriend. My baby. The love of my life.” His voice was thick with affection, kisses trailing down your throat between each word like punctuation.

“Keep going…” you whispered a tease, soothed by his lips, lulling your head to the side as he devoured you with soft reverence. He smiled against your collarbone.

“The most beautiful girl in the world.” kiss.  “Sexy.” kiss.  “Talented.” kiss.  “Perfect.” kiss.

“Yours,” you breathed, quieter this time, like it was just for him,  your body humming with it now, your fingers buried in his curls, your voice a ribbon wrapping around his heart. Trent groaned into your skin, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, like he was trying to memorize the taste of that promise. His hands moved over you with aching slowness, water trailing down your back in rivulets, your slick bodies sliding together in a rhythm so gentle it felt reverent.

“You saying that’s a fact now?” he murmured, nosing at your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze molten.

“I’m saying it’s always been a fact.” You smiled, letting your fingers weave up into the curls at the back of his neck, soft and damp. “You’re mine too, you know.” A crooked grin broke across his face, all boyish charm and uncontainable joy. His eyes closed for a beat, like he needed to take in the weight of it, the truth of it.

“Fuck,” he breathed, laughing softly. “I love you so much I feel dumb.” You giggled, brushing your lips over his with featherlight care, your bodies swaying gently under the water like seaweed pulled by the tide. Everything about this moment felt suspended,  heat curling low in your belly, the mist wrapping around you like silk, the smell of him mixed with your body wash and steam.

“Then be dumb,” you whispered, “but only for me.”

“Oh, I will,” he smirked, lifting you easily, your legs wrapping around him like muscle memory, like instinct. “Only ever for you.” He pressed your back against the warm tile again, mouth finding yours in a kiss that was less about urgency and more about certainty, about choosing this, choosing you, again and again. Steam curled around your bodies as the water rained down, but you didn’t feel cold, not even a little. Not with his arms around you. Not with his lips spelling out the rest of your life against your skin.

—

The sun poured gold through the tall windows of the airy, modern restaurant Campbell had claimed for her brunch,  an effortless blend of polished oak tables, plush velvet chairs, and gleaming influencers and industry people. The soft hum of quiet conversations and clinking glasses filled the space, but to you, the world shrank the moment Trent slipped his hand into yours as you crossed the threshold, his presence turned every other face into a soft blur. It was like no one else existed but him. You think it was for a brand. But honestly, Campbell had just invited her friends, the usual crew; friends swirling around with laughter and warmth. 

You had stumbled in a little late, flushed from a kiss that had melted into something deeper, and as you settled beside him, the cool murmur of the room faded behind the warmth radiating from his body pressed close. The soft clink of the restaurant and low chatter surrounded the long sunlit table, brunch in full swing beneath linen parasols. Champagne flutes sweated, rosé ran like blush in the glass, but Trent only had eyes for you. You were curled into his side, your little white dress [ref index] riding up teasingly high, your thigh coyly brushed almost over his lap beneath the white tablecloth, his hand resting there like he owned it. Your fingers played lazily with the collar of his crisp white shirt, still slightly wrinkled from the mad rush to get out the door, not that anyone believed that was what had caused your tardiness.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful today?” He leaned into you, low and easy, lips grazing your ear as he murmured. His hand cupped your chin gently, thumb trailing over your bottom lip.  Your fingers brushed his wrist, then slid up, your palm pressing teasingly on his thigh now. 

“No…” You whispered,lips curling softly. He raised a brow, mock surprise lighting his eyes. “Said I looked sexy when we walked in,” you added, eyes twinkling, your gaze glinting with mischief.

“You do look sexy. Beautiful, too, though.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.  You kissed the pad of his thumb, cheeks flushed, just as his lips dipped to your temple. For a second, everything was quiet between you,just the heat, the citrus sting of mimosa in the air, and the slow hum of being stupidly in love. Then, Kieren, impossibly sharp-eyed and always at the ready to tease Trent, spotted you two locked in your private world. 

“Should we tell them?” Kieren stage-whispered down the table, loudly enough for half the restaurant to hear. “Or should we just quietly leave and let them finish whatever foreplay they started outside on the pavement?” Campbell choked on her iced coffee. Foster exhaled a laugh, covering her eyes with a napkin playfully. You flushed, pulling back slightly but still pressed close to Trent, who chuckled, sliding a possessive hand down your back.Campbell caught the exchange from across the table, her smile teasing but fond, as the moment dissolved into laughter and warm chatter.

“Oh my god, please, don’t start with this Kier.” Leon groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“We’re literally ten minutes into brunch,” Campbell said, shaking her head. “Some of us are just trying to eat our eggs in peace.” Trent didn’t even flinch. 

“Bit rich though from the man who tried to tongue a girl behind a dessert menu last month.” He raised his brows, taunting Kieren. A story that’d been relayed to you from Trent, that’d been relayed to Trent from Leon, who had been told first hand from Kieren about a date he went on. 

“That was different,” Kieren shot back. “That was passion. This is just…disrespectful to the sourdough.” You laughed, head falling against Trent’s shoulder. 

“Don’t listen to them, baby. You do look beautiful.” He dropped a kiss to your hair whispering. 

“Thank you,” you whispered back, unable to keep from grinning.

“Get a room!” Kieren called.

“We had one,” Trent muttered under his breath, lips curling into a smug smile. Your cheeks flamed as you smacked lightly his chest. He only laughed harder, pulling you tighter. “Should’ve been late another half hour,” he murmured into your ear.

“God help us,” Foster said, raising her glass.

“To finally,” Campbell smirked, clinking glasses with Foster. Trent just leaned in again, chin on your shoulder, letting the world blur while he whispered something only meant for you.

—

The clatter of cutlery and soft murmur of conversation wrapped around the long wooden table where you were all sat, sunlight pooling warm across plates of avocado toast and steaming coffee cups. Campbell knew how to throw a brunch. It was always the perfect mix of relaxed energy and effortless style, fresh flowers in low vases, flickering candles, and the faint scent of lemon zest lingering in the air. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, picking at a flaky croissant as the conversation drifted. Campbell was animatedly telling a story about her latest brand trip, Foster chiming in with teasing commentary, and Leon leaning in with genuine interest.

“Y/N, any new shoots coming up for you?” Leon asked casually, swirling his espresso. You glanced at Trent, who caught your eye and offered a small, sly smile. 

“Actually, yeah,” you said lightly, “I’m shooting something for Wales Bonner soon. Just something for new Adidas sambas.” Leon hummed thoughtfully, his brow furrowing just a little as if piecing something together. 

“Nice, nice. Sounds pretty cool. So you’ll grab me a pair?” He teased. 

“I’ll try, Lee.” You smiled.  Trent’s hand slid just enough to press into your thigh beneath the table, a gentle squeeze, brief but deliberate. You caught Campbell’s gaze out of the corner of your eye. Her lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. She said nothing, choosing to hold back, storing the moment for later. You kept your tone casual, deflecting any deeper questions. “Just a quick campaign though.” You added. Leon nodded, clearly intrigued but respectful. 

“Looking forward to seeing it… and getting my shoes.” He winked at you. You laughed but Campbell’s eyes twinkled as she leaned back in her chair, watching the two of you with amused patience. She’d known something was up the moment you mentioned the shoot. The moment that a footballer was potentially in it. And now…she knew right then who that footballer for certain was.

“Want to come to the toilet with me?” she said, her tone low, but the excitement bubbling under it was impossible to miss. Campbell’s eyes caught yours across the table, a mischievous glint dancing in them. You nodded, giving her a quick glance that said ‘yes, I really need to talk to you.’ You hadn’t had a moment alone with her yet, and your best friends still had no clue you had a boyfriend. Foster and Delaney had perked up immediately, sensing that something juicy was about to drop. The four of you slipped away from the table, the clink of cutlery and chatter fading behind the restaurant’s heavy door. Inside the bathroom, the mirror’s soft glow caught your flushed cheeks as Campbell turned, leaning in with that familiar playful smirk.

“So… spill. What’s actually happening with the Wales Bonner shoot you’ve got coming up with? Are you shooting someone we know?” Campbell teased, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know him.” You hummed coyly, tilting your head, trying to keep your cool but failing because your heart was racing. Foster and Delaney exchanged wide-eyed looks, barely containing their excitement.

“Oh, come on, tell us!” Foster urged, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Delaney nodded vigorously, biting her lip to keep from laughing. You hushed them with a finger pressed lightly against your lips. 

“Shhh. Don’t freak out okay?” You hushed them. Delaney dragged her fingers across her mouth like a zipper over. “I didn’t want to tell you who until it officially got confirmed. But… I’m shooting my…” you paused for a moment, eyes shooting around the toilet looking for any potential eavesdroppers. “I’m photographing my boyfriend.” You whispered, a full smile uncontrollably blooming.  The girls stared at you, jaws dropping simultaneously.

“You’re photographing your WHAT!?” Campbell breathed, eyes sparkling. You nodded, cheeks burning. 

“Yes. I’m photographing my boyfriend.” you giggled proudly pushing your hair off your shoulder smug with the word. The room exploded with whispered shrieks and laughter.

“Wait, wait, wait… when did he ask you?!” Delaney squealed, clutching your arm.

“He asked this morning, it was really sweet.” You pouted. 

“Finally! About time, babe!” Foster threw her head back, laughing.  Campbell grinned widely, a little victorious. 

“Ugh I love love.” Campbell gushed squeezing you. You covered your face, laughing despite the embarrassment, your heart warm and full.

“I mean it’s new so maybe keep it hush though.” You cooed gently. 

“Won’t say a peep about you and your boyfriend” Delaney teasing wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Serious though, not even for us. I just don’t want anyone to know I’m dating the boy I’m photographing. I don’t want it to be seen like that’s why either he or I is at this shoot.” You said. 

“Course. Course. That’s fair. They wouldn’t but I get it.” Foster nodded understandingly. 

—

You and the girls slipped back into the warmth of the bustling restaurant, the lively hum of chatter and clinking glasses folding around you. Foster and Delaney caught your eye with wide grins, clearly, the secret was out, but for now, it was safely tucked between close friends. Kieren, perched beside Trent, caught your entrance and smirked knowingly. 

“Trentski,” Kieren leaned forward on his elbows, nursing his third mimosa like it was water. “What’s the plan next week? What are we doing? Got anything interesting going on?” There was an edge to his tone, one only a best mate could slip in, playful but baiting. Trent’s smile tugged slightly wider, a quiet flicker crossing his face like he already knew this was coming.

“Nah, bro. Told you, I'm busy. I got something,” he replied, brushing a hand over his fade, casual, but that glint in his eye gave him away. A touch too pleased with himself. Campbell, across the table, gave him a look so pointed and drunk-smug it could cut through glass. Her brows lifted. Her lips twitched. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t have to. Her eyes danced between you and Trent like she was enjoying a private game. Kieren watched all of it unfold. Slowly. Then suddenly. He blinked once. Then again.

“Ohhh…” he sat back in his chair, letting the realization hit full force. “So when you said ‘the girlfriend thing’s overlapping with work,’ you meant, like… actual work.” The table paused.

“T!” You turned to look at him.  Kieren grinned, eyes wide and mischievous, like a boy who’d just cracked a code. 

“Yeah, man didn’t exactly specify you were the creative direction of the week.” Campbell pressed her napkin to her mouth to hide a laugh. Foster let out a soft gasp. 

“Oh my god.” Delaney blinked once before murmuring. Trent didn’t even flinch. He simply reached under the table and squeezed your thigh, grounding you like it was nothing. Like this was exactly where he wanted you.

“Guess the NDA’s out the window,” Campbell joked, raising her glass. You shook your head, cheeks warm, eyes flicking back to Trent, who just kept smiling, his thumb brushing over your leg, casual and quiet, but comforting. You hadn’t even known he’d told his friends. But he had. And somehow, that made everything feel even more real. 

“They were always gonna find out, baby.” He turned to you, leaning in with a soft, crooked smirk, voice barely a whisper in the hum of the restaurant. You smiled, heart stammering. A ripple of restrained laughter circled the table, and you felt Trent’s warm breath against your temple as he slipped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, heart fluttering, soaking in the moment; the teasing, the closeness, the beautiful secret that was yours alone to share, when the time was right. “I know.” And at that moment, you didn’t even care who else knew. The way he looked at you? Everyone probably already did.

—

The car hummed beneath you, gliding through golden-hour light that slipped like honey between the buildings, painting the streets in warm amber. The windows were slightly fogged from the inside, your laughter still hanging in the air, the kind that only comes after a table of friends, good food, one too many flutes of champagne and the buzz of shared secrets. Trent’s arm curled around your shoulders as you leaned into him, your cheek resting over the soft cotton of his white tee. He smelled like sun-warmed skin and whatever cologne he wore that made your stomach flutter, it was faint now, dulled by the hours you’d spent tangled in each other. You looked up at him, voice a little shy. 

“I hope it’s okay I told the girls. I didn’t say anything specific, I just… I don’t know, it felt right. They could tell anyway.” Trent tilted his head to meet your eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a crooked smile. 

“Baby, I’ve been texting Kier for days about this ” He smirked.

“You haven’t.”  You laughed, hiding your face in his chest. 

“Swear.” He chuckled, voice low, warm. “Think I told him I was gonna marry you before I even asked you to be my girlfriend.” You looked up, heart full and a little achy from how badly you’d needed this, his arms, his sincerity, the ease of it all now that nothing stood between you.

“Yeah?” you whispered. Trent nodded, pulling you in tighter until your legs were almost across his lap, his chin resting in your hair. 

“Yeah. Just feels like, fuck, baby, I don’t even know. Like I’m breathing easier now. Like I’ve got you, proper. And I’m not letting go.” You exhaled slowly against him, melting into the cradle of his body, your fingers threading with his.

“Me neither,” you whispered. “I don’t ever want to let go.” The world blurred past the windows, but inside the car, everything was still, safe, sweet, yours.

—

[Would’ve Been You - Sombr]

The front door clicked shut behind you with a gentle thud, muffling the hum of the outside world. The scent of home hit instantly, laundered cotton, candle wax and something boyish, familiar. The golden light from outside had followed you in, spilling across the hardwood floors like it too wanted to stay close. You slipped off your heels with a sigh, fingertips brushing along the edge of the console table, but before you could move another step, Trent's arms were around your waist from behind.

"Where d’you think you’re going?” he murmured against your neck, voice playful, warm.

“To get changed? To pee? To breathe?” You laughed, light and tired in that sweet, full way. 

“Nope. Can’t have that.” He nuzzled in, dragging his nose along your jaw with ridiculous stubbornness. “Need you here.”

“T,” you laughed, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he just turned you around and walked you backward until your spine met the wall near the stairs. His hands planted on either side of your hips like brackets, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you.

“You’re such a brat,” you teased, reaching up to run your fingers over the curls at the top of his head.

“Mm. And you’re my girl now, so you’ve gotta deal with it,” he said, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “All mine.” Your smile faltered just slightly, replaced by something softer, deeper. He noticed it immediately, brushing your cheek with his thumb like a reassurance, though he didn’t speak on it. Just held you there like the safest place in the world was right here,  not behind locks or under blankets, but wrapped up in arms that knew how to hold you exactly right. 

“Can I go change now?” After a long beat, you poked at his side gently. 

“Nope.” He smirked. “Come lie with me for a minute first. Clothes later.” You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm from the way he was looking at you.

“Just a minute?” You hummed knowing it was a bold face lie.

“Maybe two,” he purred, already tugging you toward the stairs, your fingers still looped with his. And you let him, let him lead you like that, up the steps and into the soft quiet of his bedroom, where the light spilled through sheer curtains and the sheets were still rumpled from the last time you’d tangled yourselves in them. He climbed onto the bed first, flopping dramatically, then held out his arms. “C’mere baby.” You crawled up and settled onto his chest, laughing as he pulled the blanket over you both even though it wasn’t cold, wrapping you into him like you were something precious that had to be kept close. You were. You’d barely been on the bed five minutes when he let out a long, dramatic sigh beneath you, fingers lightly trailing up and down the curve of your back through your dress.

“I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled into your hair, voice already thick with that lazy, post-brunch haze.

“Yeah?” you giggled, propping your chin on his chest. “Thought you said just a minute.”

“I lied,” he said without shame, eyes still closed but smiling. “Don’t go. I’ll make tea. Toast. Champagne donuts. Whatever you want.” You giggled, curling closer. 

“You want me to stay in bed with you… and you’re trying to bribe me with food?”

“Baby,” he cracked one eye open, gaze playful. “I’m desperate.” You grinned, shifting your leg to slide over both of his, properly straddling his hips now as you let your weight settle. 

“Well, if you’re desperate…” you hummed, letting the words trail off as your fingers slowly ran along the hem of your dress. His hands came to your thighs instantly, gripping, grounding, eyes now very much open as he watched the little smirk forming on your lips. “Maybe I should get more comfortable then?” you offered innocently, tilting your head. “You sure about not letting me change?” You taunted him. 

“Mm no, I think you can.” A dark spark flickered across his face, lashes heavy as he sat up just slightly, chest brushing yours. “Yeah…” he purred, one palm gliding up your spine, greedy now. “You want some help with that?” Your only answer was a quiet giggle and the slow, deliberate peel of your dress off of you. He hummed low in his throat, the sound barely audible but deeply felt, vibrating between your ribs as his hands came up to meet your bare skin like he already missed the barrier. “Fuck me, baby…you’re trouble,” he whispered, reverent, pulling you into a kiss that stayed smiling even as it deepened.

“You started it,” you teased, breath brushing over his lips as your arms looped around his neck.

“I plan to finish it too,” he murmured, and then, softer, almost like he didn’t want to break the spell, “Stay here with me.” You kissed him again, slower now. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned his forehead against yours with a grin. 

“Good. Because I’m absolutely not letting you out of this bed.” And the blanket fell back over both of you as the afternoon slipped away, warm light filtering across tangled limbs, your giggles buried in the quiet hush of skin and kisses, the whole world reduced to soft sheets and him. 

—

The blanket had slipped halfway down your back, your bare chest pressed to his as your bodies settled again in the quiet. Outside, the day was shifting golden, the afternoon sun casting lazy streaks of amber across the white walls of his bedroom. The air was thick with stillness, not silence, the gentle hum of life muted behind closed curtains and warm skin.

“C’mere. I love you, you know that?” He hummed against your lips. 

“Mmhmm.” you sighed contentedly against him, cheek resting on his collarbone, your leg slung between his. His fingers were tracing mindless, feather-light shapes across your lower back, dipping just beneath the waistband of your panties but never quite testing the line. Just resting there, like he needed to know where you were.

“Warm enough?” he murmured.

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin of his neck. “You’re like a radiator.”

“Built different.” He huffed a sleepy laugh, lips brushing your hair.

“Truly.” You giggled, lifting your hand to stroke through the tight curls at the nape of his neck. “Pouty lips, hair faded, doe eyes, and high heat.”

“You forgot dangerously in love,” he added, pulling you closer so your entire body melted into his with a dramatic squeeze. “And cuddly to the point of inconvenience.”

“Mmm, you’re very inconvenient,” you teasingly agreed through a smile, kissing just beneath his jaw. “Can’t do anything when you’re wrapped around me like this.”

“That’s the idea,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to bury his face in your shoulder, exhaling like you were the pillow he’d spent years trying to find. “No more moving. No more responsibilities. Just us. Naked. Napping. Eternally.”

“Tempting.” Your fingers danced along his spine. “But I think eventually we’ll need snacks.”

“I’ll door it in.” He peeked at you through lidded eyes. “Don’t test me. We’re making this bed a permanent residence.”

“Okay, but…” you giggled, slipping your hand down to squeeze his bum, “we might need to negotiate rent if I’m gonna live here.” His chest shook with laughter. 

“Nah, nah. I always take care of you. But if you want to chip in, can pay in back rubs and forehead kisses, and midnight tea, and slow showers.” He hummed. 

“I love slow showers.”  You paused, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I know,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I pay attention.” You smiled, cheeks flushed with the sincerity in his voice. A beat passed, quiet and comfortable. Then—

“Baby…” he said with sudden mischief, thumb stroking your hipbone now. “You just squeeze my ass?”

“Absolutely.” You smirked proudly.

“Mad.” He rolled onto his back, dragging you with him like a greedy magnet. You squealed through your laughter, limbs tangled and still bare, your knees bracketing his hips now.

“I’m just making sure I still like it,” you teased. 

 “And?” He grinned up at you, sleepy and stupidly gorgeous beneath you. You bent low, kissing the curve of his cheek, your nose brushing his.

“Still deciding.” You purred as the duvet fell somewhere behind Trent’s back as he rolled you back underneath him. Afternoon light filtered through the curtains in soft gold ribbons, casting the room in warmth, but none of it compared to the heat curled between you. He was half above you now, half beside you, your legs draped over his hips. Skin on skin, breath on breath, the space between you nonexistent. One of his hands traced gentle patterns along the inside of your thigh, slow, idle strokes, more affectionate than urgent, but the burn of them still left you exhaling softer. “Feels like we’ve been in bed for days,” you murmured, your fingers intertwining through the top of his curls. You scratched gently at his scalp, the way you knew he liked. His eyes fluttered closed.

“That’s cause we have,” he hummed, nosing along your collarbone, his voice still sleep-heavy and sweet. “And I’m not finished.” You giggled softly, but it fell into a sigh as his mouth found the hollow of your throat. He kissed you there, slow, reverent. Then again, lower.

“T…” you whispered, voice thinner now.

“Mm?” He looked up, lips brushing your skin

“You okay?” You asked earnestly.

“Yeah, baby.” He nudged your nose with his, kissed the corner of your mouth. “Just need you.” There was nothing cocky in the way he said it. No smugness or swagger. Just truth. Raw and aching and full of love. You lifted your hips into him slightly, arching into his warmth. 

“Okay. Then take me. Slowly.” That got him. He exhaled hard through his nose, something close to a whimper escaping under his breath. His hands slid up your body, one anchoring at your waist, the other curling gently around your jaw as he kissed you. Deep and unhurried. Like he could write sonnets with his mouth. His tongue traced yours with the softest ache, a rhythm that matched the lazy drag of his fingertips down your ribs. He pulled back only barely, foreheads pressed, both of you breathless.

“I love you,” he said, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “So much I feel sick with it.” You gasped a laugh and then wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Same. I feel like I’m full of you.” His eyes closed as he rested his weight over you again, pressing his hips just enough for both of you to feel the tension ignite again. The kind of touch that set you both trembling but neither of you rushed it. He kissed your chest, your shoulder, every inch of you he could reach, reverent like he was rediscovering the body he already adored. You scratched lightly down his back, hips slowly rolling up into his, matching him beat for beat in a rhythm that was more about closeness than climax, though that wouldn’t be far behind either.

“You feel like mine,” he whispered into your skin.

“I am,” you whispered back, already breathless again.

—

[Sin On Purpose - Isaiah Falls]

The room was dipped in that glow of an afternoon you let slip away, where time softened and stretched, and the world outside felt too far to touch you. The sheets were tangled somewhere at your feet, one of Trent’s legs slung over yours, his bare skin warm against your thigh. His hand grazed slow, deliberate strokes up the line of your waist, knuckles brushing your ribs like he could memorize you through touch alone.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, your voice low, nearly shy, though your body arched slightly into him. He smiled against your jaw, lazy, unhurried, his breath humid against your skin.

“’Cause I like what’s mine,” he murmured, kissing just below your ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” You rolled into him, dragging your fingers across the firm curve of his chest, feeling him twitch slightly beneath you. 

“Thought you said you were tired, Mr. Alexander-Arnold…”

“Mm,” he hummed, voice curling with mischief. “Must’ve gotten my second wind.” His lips found yours, soft but increasingly deep, hands sliding lower with more certainty now. You whimpered gently into the kiss, fingers splaying up the base of his neck. He shifted, nudging your leg open with his thigh, the weight of him grounding you. You could feel him now, warm and hard, pressing against your stomach, his need unconcealed. “You feel that?” he whispered, dragging his lips down your neck, along your collarbone, each word a low rumble vibrating against your chest. “That’s what you do to me, baby.” Your nails skimmed down his back, your breath catching as his mouth closed around the peak of your breast, sucking soft, then teasing it with the scrape of his teeth. 

“T…” A moan slipped from your lips, quiet but desperate.

“Tell me what you want.” He looked up, his eyes dark and earnest. 

“You,” you breathed, no hesitation. “Just—.” He kissed a line down your stomach, reverent, teasing, leaving your skin marked in warmth. You parted your legs a little wider, the slow, eager motion of invitation that made Trent’s breath hitch, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours from where he slid between your thighs. “Mmm,” you hummed, breath warm and shallow. “Can do anything you want, T.” The words landed like fuel to flame. Something behind his gaze shifted,hungrier, needier. Yours.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice low and reverent as he dragged your panties down the length of your leg, fingers slow and grazing. “You’re soaked for me.” He didn’t wait. His fingers slid through your slick folds, slow at first, like he wanted to memorize every texture of you. He groaned at the feel, like it was driving him mad in the best way. His thumb pressed gently to your clit, circling, coaxing, as he slid two fingers inside you, curling just right. Your walls fluttered greedily around him, your hips tilting toward his touch, mouth falling open. And then he dipped his head. His hands anchored your hips as he buried himself between your thighs, tongue slow, purposeful. You gasped, hands flying to his curls, thighs instinctively closing around his shoulders as your body began to tremble.

“T…oh fuck, right there—” You gasped when his lips met your center, plush and hot, the wet heat of his tongue immediately flicking at your clit. He groaned into you, like the taste of you ruined him. His fingers stayed buried, slow and deep, while his mouth worked you with purpose, sucking, kissing, worshipping. He repositioned himself, shoulders locked between your thighs, arms wrapping under them to pull you closer, tighter, like he couldn’t bear any space between you. His tongue parted your folds, teasing you with broad strokes, then sharper ones, fluttering at your swollen bud with soft, relentless focus. He moaned against you like he couldn’t get enough, like your taste was holy.  The sounds, your breathy moans, the slick heat of his mouth, the quiet praise tumbling from his lips, filled the room like music.

“That’s it,” he whispered against you, his smile barely audible but felt all the same. “I got you, baby.” You caught the curve of his lips right before your eyes rolled back. He was soaked in you, shining with you, smiling like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Baby,” you whined, over and over, your voice slipping higher, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, gentle, loving, his words vibrating against your clit. “Just relax, beautiful. Let go. I’ve got you.” Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave you didn’t see coming, white-hot and all-consuming. Your hips stuttered beneath him as he kept going, chasing every last tremble, every last moan. You keened, fingers tangling in his hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as he carried you through it. “Good girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your inner thigh like a kiss made of silk. “So good for me.” And when he looked up at you, face slick, eyes soft, chest rising with heavy, reverent breath, you felt more than claimed. You felt loved. Completely.

He moved slowly, mouth slick, eyes half-lidded coming back up to kiss you hard, messy and wanting. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

“Need more,” you panted, pulling him closer.

“C’mere, baby,” he said, guiding himself to you, his forehead against yours. “I’m gonna take my time.” And he did. He slid into you slow, filling you so deep you couldn’t breathe for a moment, your fingers clawing into his back as your body adjusted around him. He stayed there, fully inside you, not moving, just holding your gaze. “You okay?” he whispered, completely bare.

“I love you.” Your eyes stung as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. His heart faltered. And then, the rhythm started, lazy, loving, aching with everything you’d both held. His hips rolled into yours with slow strokes, deep and intentional, his lips all over you. Your name on his tongue sounded like worship. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” His voice was a promise, low and sure, as he kissed the crown of your head. Then, with one smooth, fluid motion, Trent hooked an arm beneath your thigh and flipped you, his grip strong but reverent, laying you flat on your stomach. You barely had time to gasp before he was kneeling behind you, hands warm and certain at your hips as he pulled you back into him, guiding you to rise to your knees, arching on all fours. “Be a good girl for me,” he purred, voice brushing your spine like silk. “Arch your back how I like.” And you did. Instinctive. Obedient. Yours was a body that had learned his language. “That’s it… fuck,” he groaned, taking you in from behind, eyes fixed on the slope of your back, the curve of your hips, the way you opened for him like it was the only thing you’d ever known. “You’re perfect like this.” You felt the first slow press of him sliding into your wetness, your body parting to welcome him. It was languid at first, his hips moving with restraint, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt around him again and again. But he didn’t stay patient for long. The rhythm built, steady to sharp, deep to deeper, until you were gasping, head dropped forward against the mattress, the sheets soft against your cheek. 

“Fuck, T..” you moaned, voice cracking into a whimper. “So fucking deep…” His thrusts grew harsher, rougher, each one stealing the breath from your lungs. His balls slapped wetly against your clit with each movement, and you cried out when he landed a sharp slap to your ass. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, arching deeper, your hips rolling back to meet his. You wanted more, always more.

“Yeah? You like that, huh?” he grunted, voice breaking on a growl. “You’re so dirty f’me. Taking it so well.” You could barely nod, the words caught in your throat replaced by ragged, high-pitched sounds of need. He knew. He always knew. The way your body trembled under his, the heat radiating off your skin, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in close, it all told him everything. You felt a warm string of spit land on the small of your back, slick and sinful, sliding between your ass cheeks.  You knew this feeling. You knew it well. You shivered. Bit down on your lip. Your body aching and eager. Then his finger pressed lightly against your tightest point.

“Baby…” you gasped, stiffening, nerves fraying. He stilled. Kissed the small of your back, his touch featherlight.

“Shhh… relax, baby,” he whispered, hand splayed across your spine, grounding you. “You’re my good girl. Let me take care of you. I know what you like.” His finger circled slowly, teasing, coaxing. You moaned, softer now, letting yourself melt into it. The pressure built, gentle but insistent, until he was sliding in, his finger easing past the tight ring of muscle as your hips twitched, involuntary. The stretch made you cry out, part bliss, part release. He didn’t stop. He stayed with you. His cock filled you, his finger curling inside you, the dual sensation making your vision blur. “Just like tha. Take it. Let go for me, baby,” he murmured. Your release snapped like a fever breaking.

“I’m gonna cum, T.” You whined as your body convulsed, cunt clenching greedily around him, waves of pleasure crashing as his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

“Fuck…fuck.” he growled behind you, burying himself deep as he came, his grip bruising, breath uneven. You felt him fill you, warm and thick, pulsing inside your walls before he collapsed forward, catching himself just barely, forehead resting between your shoulder blades. Silence settled soft and golden between you. Just the echo of your panting breaths. The heat of him draped across your spine. The ache of love in every muscle. He rolled beside you, pulling you into him instinctively, his arm locking around your middle, your back pressed to his chest.

“That was…” he tried, breathless. You reached back, finding his lips with your finger, quieting him.

“Baby,” you whispered. “Shh. Just hold me.” And he did. His arms encased you, your bodies tangled in the sheets, your pulse still fluttering from the weight of him, the weight of all of it. Because you knew, without needing to hear it. He loved you. Not just in the way he fucked you, but in the way he touched you after. The way he buried his face in your neck like it was home. The way he stroked your skin, like memorizing it would keep him safe. “Stay here,” he murmured. “Like this. Forever.”

“Deal.” You smiled, eyes fluttered closed, half asleep from orgasmic bliss. 

—

The room was warm with the lull of late afternoon light, the shadows long and syrupy across the wooden floors. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you heard a soft crack of thunder, like the sky itself had sighed. But inside the four walls of Trent’s bedroom, it was silent, thick with the kind of stillness that follows something sacred. You lay chest to chest, limbs tangled like ivy, skin damp and glowing. The duvet was half-kicked to the floor, the two of you cocooned in the heat of each other instead. His hand was tracing lazy, aimless shapes along your spine, fingers featherlight, like he was still drawing the memory of you onto his skin. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, ear catching the steady thrum of his heart, and for a moment you imagined it had changed rhythm just for you.

“You alright, beautiful?” he asked softly, his voice raspy and barely there, like it didn’t want to disturb the quiet.

“Mhm.” You nodded against him. “Perfect.” Trent smiled, lips brushing the crown of your head. 

“Didn’t think it was possible to feel this good and not be asleep.” He hummed. 

“You will be soon,” you teased gently, drawing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. “You always doze off after…”

“Don’t say it,” he groaned into a laugh, hand slipping down to squeeze your hip. “Let me enjoy being awake with you for five more minutes.”

“Fine,” you whispered, peering up at him with a sleepy smile. “Five.” The light flickered through the slats of the blinds, golden and slanted, catching on his lashes as he blinked down at you. You reached up and ran your hand over his curls, thumb brushing his temple.

“What?” he asked, a quiet grin forming.

“Nothing. Just…” you trailed off. “You’re really beautiful. And I’m… really happy.”

“Me too, baby. I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His eyes softened.

“Like what?” You asked. 

“Like peace.” His fingers curved gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Like home.” Your throat tightened, and you swallowed, blinking slowly before pressing your lips to his chest, right over his heart. For a while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed saying, really. His hands moved in soft patterns over your back, your fingers curling just above his waistband where the sheets tangled low on his hips.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you whispered again with a yawn.

“I won’t,” he murmured, but he was already fading, his arms still pulling you tighter. “Just… resting my eyes.” You smiled to yourself, kissed his shoulder, and let your own eyes drift closed, safe, sated, and folded perfectly into the quiet hush of love.

—

[Inside Out - Keshi]

You woke to the sound of rain, gentle, steady, a rhythmic hush against the windows that made the whole room feel wrapped in cotton. The golden light had dulled into a blue-gray glow, dusk settling in softly like a secret. Trent was still asleep beneath you, one arm heavy across your back, his hand tucked into the curve of your waist. His chest rose and fell slow and steady beneath your cheek, the cadence of his breath like a lullaby you could live inside. You shifted slightly, curling into him. Your thigh slid over his, the sheets warm between you. You tilted your face upward, chin resting on his sternum, studying him. His lashes fluttered, long and low, and his lips, God, those lips, were slightly parted in the softness of sleep. You smiled, so full it made your chest ache.

“I like being your girlfriend.” Your voice was a whisper against his skin. His brows pulled ever so slightly, lips twitching. He wasn’t fully awake yet, but he’d heard you. You waited.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, low and warm.

“Yeah.” You nodded against him, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “Like… a lot.” He groaned, pulling you tighter into him, burying his face into your hair. 

“Good,” he mumbled. “’Cause I’m obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed, huh?” You giggled. 

“Dangerously,” he said, voice still muffled. “Like might get it tattooed somewhere.” Your eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t see. 

“Where?” You pulled back just enough to look at him, nose brushing his. He cracked open one eye, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

“Somewhere scandalous.” He smirked. 

“I’d pay to see that.” You laughed, kissing his jaw.  He caught your waist, flipping you gently so you were on your back and he hovered above you, grinning now, curls mussed and eyes sleepy but bright. 

“Eh, least my girlfriend thinks I’m cute.” He teased.

“She thinks you’re adorable,” you corrected, brushing your fingers over his curls.

“She’s got great taste.” Trent dipped to kiss your collarbone.  You hummed in agreement, letting your fingers trace the line of his spine. 

“You’re really sweet, T.” He paused for a beat. His eyes softened as he looked down at you. 

“So are you. I’ve never had anything like this before.” He whispered. 

“Me neither.” You admitted.

“Still doesn’t feel real sometimes,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “Like I’m gonna wake up and be in some hotel in Spain still trying to figure out how to find you, how to kiss you properly.” 

“You figured it out just fine,” you teased, drawing him down for another kiss. Slow. Sweet. Deep. He smiled against your lips. 

“So… do we live here now? Is this our life? Just hiding from the world in bed?” He smirked. 

“Honestly? Could be worse.” You giggled. 

“But—” he groaned dramatically, collapsing beside you. “I’m starving.” You curled into his side, legs tangling again.

 “Me too.” You purred.

“Okay, hear me out: I carry you to the kitchen.”  He looked at you seriously. 

“I can walk,” you laughed.

“Nah, nah, nah. My girl’s delicate,” he teased, already starting to move.

“I swear to God if you drop me—” You yelped. 

“Then we order pizza and I feed it to you in bed as an apology.” He hummed.  You pressed your face into his shoulder, grinning. 

“Fine. But I’m picking the toppings.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I’m still carrying you.” You rolled your eyes, linking your arms around his neck. Trent had never dropped you. Not even for a moment. 

—

The kitchen was dimly lit, warm with the haze of evening and the quiet hum of rain still whispering against the windows. Trent stood shirtless in a pair of joggers curls slightly flattened from sleep, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand like a boy reluctantly pulled from a dream. You padded in behind him, his hoodie now nearly swallowing you, bare legs brushing his as you leaned into his back and wrapped your arms around his middle. He smiled lazily, placing his hands over yours, fingers lacing instinctively.

“Takeaway?” he mumbled, voice low and gravel-soft. You shook your head, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“No. I should cook.” He turned in your arms, brow raised dramatically. 

“Cook? You sure you’re not still half-asleep?” You giggled, pulling him closer by the drawstring of his sweats. 

“Don’t act shocked. I’ve cooked for you before.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to your hair, “but I can have food made for us.” You swayed with him lazily, smiling into his chest. 

“You’re spoiled. Too used to that chef of yours.” He gave an exaggerated gasp. 

“Aye baby…Excuse me. I do my part.” He smirked knowing very well… he did not. 

“You have no groceries, T.” You giggled. 

“It’s the off season!” he protested. “I have a chef during the year!” You just shook your head, grinning as your hands slipped up his bare chest.

“What would you do without me?” You purred. 

“Starve,” he replied instantly, then leaned down and kissed your jaw. “You tryna be my chef, baby?”

“Maybe.” You nodded slowly, cheekily. 

“Might take you up on that.” He hummed, eyes sparkling with that playful glint again.

“Yeah?” You raised a brow.

“Could use a live-in chef.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours, and your heart skipped a beat, soft and dangerous in its gentleness.

“That a proposition, T?” You swallowed.

“Just sayin’. You cook… You kiss me… You sleep in my bed… Might as well be on payroll.” He shrugged with a smirk. You smacked his chest, giggling.

“Ridiculous.” He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to it. 

“Nah. I’m in love.” You rolled your eyes, blushing. 

“Okay. Enough flirting. Let’s make something. Pasta? You have to have pasta.” You muttered looking around the bare kitchen. 

“Carbs? Sexy.” He winked. You shook your head. “You want help?” You turned, tugging open the fridge. 

“No offence, baby, but your idea of help is boiling water…” You began to tease him but he cut you off. 

“It is,” he grinned, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But I’ll also look very good doing it.”

“That’s true. I wasn’t gonna say no.” You peeked back at him cheekily.

“And I’ll clean.” He pointed a finger.

“No you won’t.” You laughed at him. Trent just shrugged.  And just like that, the two of you moved together with the ease of a rhythm you hadn’t known you’d memorized, him grabbing a pot, you chopping garlic, both of you barefoot and flushed with the kind of intimacy that wasn’t loud, just certain. You’d lost track of the outside world again, tucked away in this glowing kitchen, wrapped in laughter and the quiet sweetness of love that showed up in the smallest, most ordinary things.

—

The pasta bowls were warm in your laps, wine glasses resting on the coffee table, condensation trailing down the stems. The lights were low, just the golden glow of the kitchen spilling into the living room and the flicker of a candle on the windowsill, dancing against the glass. Rain tapped lazily outside, softer now, like even the sky had quieted to let you two exist a little longer in this pocket of peace. You curled your feet beneath you on the couch, Trent’s thigh pressed flush against yours as he used his fork to steal a bite off your plate, completely ignoring his own.

“Hello?.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Yours tastes better than mine,” he mumbled, mouth already full. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s the same!” You yelped, swatting your fork at his.

“Nah.” He shrugged with a grin. “Yours is always better. Swear.” He nudged your fork with his again, just to steal another piece.  You laughed, tucking your legs across his lap, stretching a little to reach your wine. He caught your foot absentmindedly, fingers rubbing gentle circles against your ankle. The TV was playing something neither of you were watching, background murmurs to the softness between bites, to the way his thumb moved absentmindedly against your skin, to the way you kept glancing over at him and catching him already looking at you. When your plates were empty, Trent reached to set them on the table, then tugged you fully into his lap with a low groan of satisfaction. “This is it. This is everything.”

“Wine and carbs?” He pressed his nose into your neck. 

“You. My hoodie. Your pasta. And the smell of it in my house. Heaven.” You giggled, lazily tracing the shape of his jaw with your fingertips. He caught your hand and kissed it softly, letting your fingers linger against his lips. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You excited to shoot me next week?”

“That’s a ridiculous sentence.” You blinked, smiling slowly. 

“Be honest. Can’t wait to boss me around in whatever nonsense they throw me in.” He smirked.

“You're not wrong.” You laughed, pushing his shoulder gently. 

“Gonna have me posing all moody in a £2,000 tracksuit like I don’t sleep in the same bed as the photographer.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, scratching at the fade of his hair. “You’re already moody anyways.” You teased. Trent’s lips parted in feigned offense.  “Maybe I’ll make them have you model shirtless. You okay with that?” 

“I’ll be fine. Think you could handle that though, baby?” His eyes lit up, grin teasing. 

“I’m professionally capable.” You leaned in close, your nose brushing his.

“You sure you won’t jump me on set?” He kissed you, just once, soft and smug. 

“Not if you behave.” You purred.

“Nah, I don’t think I want to.” You both dissolved into a soft laugh, your arms falling around his shoulders, wine forgotten, the room blurring out around you again like it always did when he held you like this, just you and him, the warmth of dinner lingering on your skin, and that slow, silly, beautiful love that made everything feel brand new.

—

The night had settled sweet and heavy around you, like honey pooled at the bottom of a mug. Upstairs, the low hum of the toothbrush filled Trent’s bathroom as you stood at the sink, your eyes soft in the mirror, your limbs loose with warmth and wine and the glow of him. He stood beside you, fresh from the shower, curls damp and low fade glistening at the edges, toothbrush tucked into his cheek as he spoke around it, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You were tugging one of his t-shirts, soft and worn, warm from the dryer, over your head, the hem falling to your thighs. His eyes flicked to you in the mirror, and he mumbled again, quieter.

“What?” you laughed gently, the cotton catching on damp skin. “Baby, can you please finish brushing and then tell me what you just said?” He grinned with a mouthful of toothpaste, spat, rinsed, then leaned in to press a kiss to your shoulder, warm and wet from the tap. 

“I said—” he kissed you again, voice teasing now— “a live-in chef wouldn’t have to borrow shirts. Could have her own drawer here. Whole wardrobe, even.” Your laugh was sleepy, thick with affection.

 “You tryna bribe me into domesticity?” You raised your brows.

“Just sayin’,” he shrugged, following you into the bedroom, only in his boxers now, toned and golden under the soft bedroom light, his chain catching against his chest. “Might be room for all your things too. Little shelf here, little shelf there. Designer robe. Slippers.”

“I’d take the slippers.” You crawled into bed, still giggling, folding into the pillows as he climbed in after you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He pulled you into his chest without a word, your cheek resting over his heart. One of his legs hooked around yours, his hand smoothing up your thigh and setting it snug across his hips. You draped your arm across his waist, nails dragging soft, absentminded patterns into his skin.

“So what are you saying?” you whispered against his skin, breath brushing his collarbone.  He was quiet for a second, like maybe he was considering keeping it to himself. Then he tilted his face toward yours, lips near your temple.

“I’m saying,” he repeated gently, “a live-in photographer sounds little better than a chef.” His fingers slipped into your hair, his voice so low and affectionate it melted into you. “Think about it, baby.” You lifted your head, your hand sliding up his chest until you could see his eyes. Your lips curved into a knowing smile. 

“I have,” you murmured. Then you kissed him, slow and deep, not out of urgency but comfort, that aching need to show him that you already were his. He smiled into it, fingers cradling your face.

“Love you so much,” he whispered against your mouth, then again softer against your hair. You exhaled through a smile, burying yourself in his chest again as he held you tighter, your legs tangled, your heart full, and the whole night settling over you like silk. The last thing you heard was the softest hum in his throat, his chest rising and falling under your ear, the quiet, unspoken promise of forever lingering in the warmth between you.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 29 Coming Soon!

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[cochineal-leviat]

VS Champion Kieran

I finally finished the render of the silhouette I did a while ago, and I am very proud of it! It took me a long time to paint it, but all the time and effort were worth it for this amazing result. This is my favourite painting style. (❁´◡`❁)

Funnily enough, I painted underneath the jacket and then remembered the jacket halfway through rendering the arms. I didn't have to paint them, but I lost myself in the process.

This takes time during Blueberry Academy's story post game, with Kieran reigning at the top. I wanted to capture how terrifying and intimidating Kieran was. We, as the players, never fear Kieran, but I wanted to portray how the students saw him. Looking down at them, with his Hydrapple leering over his shoulder. I knew the second I saw this in my head, I had to bring it to life. It certainly does the art I had imagined more than enough justice.

I will post Hydrapple's render in the near future since they got covered up by Kieran's body. I adore these two.

Happy Pokemon Day, everyone! ♪(^∇^*)

Kieran and Hydrapple without the background and text.

[kalloway]

got back into Fable 2 for the first time in over 10 years the other day and just started Fable 3 (also been 10 years) and uhhhhhhhhhhhh feeling a lotta things, fellas *sweats*

ANYWAY, wanted to try sketching Logan cuz I high-key love his look/vibe, even if a lot of the art/assets from the game itself for him leave smth to be desired imo...

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | comforting them

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : comforting your driver boyfriend after they had a bad race </3

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff (angsty if you SQUINT) ୨ৎ : tws : some are suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 3902

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a monday post cus.. why tf NOT

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

acts like everything is fine, but you can tell by how quiet he is.

you guide him past media without a word, shielding him physically and emotionally.

cuts everyone off with a clipped “it’s fine,” but lets you stay close.

doesn’t speak much until you’re alone—just sits beside you, jaw clenched.

eventually murmurs, “it was shit today,” without looking at you.

you just nod and take his hand, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

you order food, dim the lights, and make him lay down while you run your fingers through his hair.

he melts slowly, letting the tension fall out of his body.

“you’re like my therapist,” he mutters.

“you’re like my emotional tax return,” you shoot back, and he actually laughs.

yuki tsunoda

starts off convincing himself it’s fine. “it’s okay, just racing. it happens.”

tries to brush it off with humor, but his eyes are a little too glossy.

sits stiffly, arms crossed, forcing himself not to cry in front of anyone.

when you ask if he’s alright, he shakes his head and says, “i don’t wanna talk about it,” voice tight.

but as soon as you wrap your arms around him, he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for hours.

“i tried so hard today,” he mumbles into your shoulder, and that’s when the tears come.

buries his face in your chest, completely silent except for the way his arms tighten around your waist.

you stroke his back and whisper, “i know. i saw. you did everything you could.”

he doesn’t let go for a long time, just holds you like he needs you to hold the world together.

later, sniffling into your hoodie, he mutters, “don’t tell anyone i cried. but don’t go anywhere either.”

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

“well, that was a masterclass in how not to have a race,” he says, throwing his gloves on the table like he’s commentating his own downfall.

acts unbothered, sipping his water like it’s champagne. “at least i didn’t crash into a wall. small victories.”

makes a passive-aggressive joke about his strategy call, then follows it with “but it’s fine. i love character development.”

when you ask how he really feels, he smirks. “emotionally bankrupt, but thanks for checking.”

keeps pretending he’s over it, but you catch him zoning out mid-shower, forehead against the tile, just breathing.

when you hand him a towel and a soft “you don’t have to keep it together right now,” he just shrugs. “if i let go, i might not get back up.”

you sit with him on the couch, and he rests his head on your lap, finally letting you card your fingers through his hair.

“you make this day slightly less shit,” he mutters, then adds with a cheeky grin, “wanna really take my mind off it?”

you raise a brow. “that subtle, huh?”

he just smirks, pulling you down for a kiss. “come on. don’t make me beg. i’ve had a really bad day.”

kimi antonelli

throws his helmet a little too hard, then immediately panics like "oh shit did i just break it," while storming into the motorhome.

tries to act cool but ends up rage-snacking on chips mid-rant. "why the f—why do i even try?! i’m literally doing everything and the car’s like, ‘no ❤️’"

paces back and forth while voice-cracking through sentences like, "no, it’s fine. it’s cool. it’s just… my whole career. no big deal."

you sit there trying not to laugh because he’s got one sock halfway off and crumbs on his shirt but is fully spiraling like it’s the end of the world.

“am i washed at 18?! is that even possible?”

you calmly hand him a juice box and say, “you’re not washed. you’re dramatic.”

he glares, sucks on the straw aggressively, then slumps down next to you with a loud sigh.

“i hate being a prodigy. too much pressure. should’ve been mediocre and mysterious.”

you rub his back and say, “you’re allowed to have a bad day, baby genius.”

he blinks up at you, lip jutted out. “if i win next weekend can we get matching crocs?”

you nod. he grins. “sick. emotional support footwear incoming.”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

comes home way too quiet. keys in the bowl, shoes off, straight to the bathroom without a word.

you find him staring at the sink, toothbrush in hand, not even brushing—just zoning out.

“i don’t know what i’m doing wrong,” he says, voice low. “i keep trying and i still mess it up.”

you hug him from behind and rest your chin on his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch, just leans into it with a sigh.

“maybe i’m not good enough anymore,” he mumbles. “maybe they’re right.”

you turn him around gently. “you are good enough. more than enough. stop speaking to yourself like that.”

he blinks fast like he’s trying not to cry, then rests his forehead against yours.

“i just… hate letting you down. even if you say you’re not disappointed.”

you guide him to bed, tug off his hoodie, pull the sheets over both of you. he curls into you instantly like a kid.

“you’re the only part of the day that feels good,” he whispers against your skin.

then, quietly, a little mischievously, “maybe we can end it with something else that feels good?”

you laugh into his hair. “if you’re asking me to kiss it better, just say that.”

“i am. in a poetic way.”

lewis hamilton

he doesn’t storm in. he’s not loud. he just walks through the door a little slower, like the weight of the day is still sitting on his shoulders.

takes his time taking off his shoes, hangs up his coat carefully—like staying in control might keep the emotions at bay.

sits on the edge of the couch with his hands clasped between his knees, eyes distant. “you ever give everything and still feel like it’s not enough?”

you sit beside him without saying a word, letting him talk when he’s ready.

“i don’t mind the criticism. i’ve been through worse. but sometimes it’s like… no one lets you just be human anymore.”

he looks at you with tired eyes, soft but heavy. “i’m not asking to win all the time. i just want to feel like i did something right.”

you lace your fingers with his and lean your head against his shoulder. “you do so much right. more than most ever could.”

he hums low in his chest, squeezes your hand. “you always know what to say.”

eventually pulls you into his lap, buries his face in the crook of your neck like he’s finally letting himself rest.

“just stay close tonight,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. “you’re the one thing that still feels steady.”

“you’re the one thing that feels like peace.”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

kicks his shoes off a little too aggressively when he gets home. “don’t ask,” he mutters before you even say hi.

slumps on the couch, arms crossed, hoodie up, eyes on the ceiling. “today was great. crashed my hopes, ran over my self-esteem, 10/10.”

you offer to talk and he just grumbles, “nope. don’t wanna. gonna repress it. very healthy coping strategy.”

pretends he's fine, scrolls on his phone like he’s not one second away from crumbling. keeps sighing dramatically every five minutes for attention.

refuses to cuddle at first. “i’m mad at the world. leave me in my hoodie cave.” but then two seconds later: “okay but like… you can sit near me. just not touching. but like… close.”

eventually ends up curled into your side, face hidden in your neck. mumbles, “today sucked. i sucked. everything sucked.”

you stroke his hair and he softens immediately. “you don’t suck. you’re just tired. burnt out. you need rest, not punishment.”

“you’re being all soft and wise, it’s disgusting,” he grumbles—but his hand’s gripping your shirt like you might float away.

you kiss his temple. “still want me to leave you in your hoodie cave?”

he pulls the blanket over both of you and whispers, “shut up. you live here now.”

oscar piastri

walks into the room and doesn’t say much. just nods once, drops his bag, and disappears into the bathroom.

you hear the water running—ice cold. he always showers when he’s overwhelmed. said it helps him “reset.”

when he comes out, hair wet, hoodie half-zipped, eyes tired—he looks a little more like himself again. still quiet. still distant. but thawing.

sits next to you on the bed without saying anything, just slowly reaches for your hand and starts tracing circles on your palm.

“i didn’t know how to talk about it without getting angry,” he admits softly. “so i didn’t.”

you nod and lean your head on his shoulder. “you don’t need to explain everything right away. i’ll wait.”

he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “thanks for not pushing me. i just… hate not being enough.”

turns to you with red-tinted eyes. “it’s stupid. it’s just racing. but when it goes wrong, it feels like i’m failing you too.”

you hold his face and say, “you never have to earn being loved. not from me.”

he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “can i just stay here with you for a while?”

then, a small smile. “also i might’ve left my sanity in the ice bath, but at least you’re here.”

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

he comes home calm, like always. keys on the counter, jacket folded neatly. but there’s a tightness in his smile when he kisses your cheek.

“today was… different,” he says. not dramatic, not upset. just honest. “did everything right. still fell short.”

you know when it hits him—it’s in the way he lingers at the window, watching the sky like it has answers.

“some days you feel time catching up with you,” he says quietly. “not just in racing. in everything.”

he doesn’t need you to fix it. he doesn’t even need a pep talk. just presence.

you sit beside him on the couch, thigh to thigh, and rest your hand on his. he doesn’t speak for a while.

then, softly, “i think it just hurts more when you still want it this badly.”

you turn to face him. “it’s not weakness to want. it means you’re still alive in it.”

he smiles a little, shakes his head. “you’re too poetic for me.” but he leans in, rests his head against yours anyway.

“you help me breathe on days like this,” he murmurs. “even if i don’t say it.”

then after a pause, he smirks. “also… i might require some very specific stress relief later. for mental health reasons.”

you laugh. “is that what we’re calling it now?”

“doctor’s orders.”

lance stroll

walks in without a word, drops his stuff, and immediately faceplants onto the bed—fully dressed, shoes still on.

groans into the mattress. “everything sucks. i suck. the car sucks. media sucks. people suck.”

doesn’t want to talk at first, just grunts when you ask if he’s hungry. “no. actually, yes. but i don’t wanna move.”

you bring him snacks and he eats them off your plate like a sleepy gremlin, mumbling, “you’re the only good thing today.”

flops his head into your lap and finally breathes properly for the first time all day. “i hate how drained i get. everyone wants something. i just wanna be here.”

you run your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, murmuring, “i think i used my entire personality quota at the track.”

“can we just stay in here forever? like… disappear? change our names? move to a mountain town?”

you smile and nod. “sure. i’ll pack the stuff.”

he grins sleepily, then pulls your hand to his chest. “you make everything feel less loud.”

then, quietly: “you’re my safe place.”

five minutes later, fully under the blanket, eyes half-closed: “also. i’d like to make out now. for comfort purposes.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

walks in already scrolling tiktok, earbuds in, nodding like he’s totally unbothered.

plops onto the couch, legs across your lap, and shows you cat videos like he didn’t just get roasted by strategy and a five-place penalty.

laughs too loud at dumb memes. “this is healing. this is therapy.”

you let him vibe, let him chill, until you see that slight pause mid-scroll. his thumb hovers. brows knit. he doesn’t show you this one.

“people are brutal today,” he mutters, still staring at the screen. “like… i know i joke about it, but sometimes i wonder if they’re actually right.”

you take his phone gently, set it down, and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “hey. you know they’re not.”

he exhales slowly, voice quieter now. “i wish it didn’t get to me, but some days it does. just a little more than i’d like to admit.”

you press your forehead to his. “you don’t have to be funny about everything. you’re allowed to feel it too.”

he nods, lips pressed together. then, soft as ever: “can you just… hold me for a bit? like properly?”

“always,” you whisper. and he lets himself be still. no jokes. just you.

carlos sainz

he comes in with that tired-but-trying smile, tossing his bag down gently like even that feels heavy.

“it wasn’t… great. but i learned something. that’s always the takeaway, no?” he says, already slipping off his jacket.

he talks himself through it out loud, mostly to you but partly to himself. “maybe i pushed too hard. maybe the strategy wasn’t perfect. but i didn’t give up. that matters.”

you nod and hum and let him vent until he runs out of words and just stares at the wall in thoughtful silence.

“can i have a hug now?” he asks suddenly, already walking over like he knows the answer.

wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your shoulder. “you’re the only place i feel like i can breathe after a day like this.”

you guide him to the couch and he pulls you into his lap, burying his face into your neck like it recharges him.

“even if i’m okay… i still need this. i think everyone does, sometimes.”

he starts to drift off mid-cuddle, fingers tracing your spine lazily, voice getting slower.

“i should just speak spanish. english is too much work when i’m tired,” he mumbles against your skin.

then whispers, “gracias por amarme incluso cuando me siento roto.” (thank you for loving me even when i feel broken.)

you press a kiss to his forehead. “always.”

“te juro que voy a mejorar. para ti. para mí.” (i swear i’m going to get better. for you. for me.)

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

bursts into the room like he just won the race. “alright! that was a trainwreck. who wants to start the post-race roast?”

keeps making jokes like, “honestly, i think i invented new ways to mess up today. f1 history books: written by me.”

you raise an eyebrow and say nothing, just letting him go off while he rants about strategy, traffic, “and my stupid left foot that forgot how to brake.”

finally crashes onto the couch, staring at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh. “do you think i peaked at 17?”

you crawl into his lap and cup his face gently. “no. i think you haven’t even scratched the surface of what you’re capable of.”

he blinks up at you, smile faltering for just a second. “yeah? even after… whatever that was today?”

“especially after that,” you say, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “you care. you fight for it. that’s what makes you special.”

he exhales, the tension leaving his body all at once as he buries his face in your chest. “okay, now i’m gonna cry like a little baby, hope you’re ready.”

you kiss the top of his head. “already holding you. already proud.”

he peeks up with a grin. “can you say that again but like, with sparkles and dramatic background music?”

you laugh. “ollie bearman, you are a legend in the making.”

“that’s the energy. now kiss me before i start doing self-deprecating tiktoks.”

esteban ocon

comes home calm, too calm, like he’s holding everything in with white knuckles and discipline.

doesn’t speak until he’s showered, changed, and had a full 20 minutes of silence. then sits beside you and says softly, “he was better today. i saw it.”

you know he means another driver—someone younger, someone faster today—and you can hear the frustration in his restraint.

“maybe i’m not doing enough,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “maybe i’m the weak point.”

you try to stop him, but he just shakes his head. “i’m not fishing. i just… feel it. and i hate it.”

he’s not angry. he’s just disappointed in himself. his brows stay pinched even when you’re stroking his hand.

“i’m scared that if i don’t prove it now, no one will believe in me later.”

you climb into his lap and hold his face gently, forcing him to look you in the eye. “you don’t need to prove anything to be worthy of love. or respect.”

he leans into your touch, eyes closed. “i want to believe that. i do.”

you kiss his cheek. “then start here. start with me. i’ve always believed in you.”

he lets out a shaky breath and whispers, “merci…” then rests his forehead against yours like he’s anchoring himself back to solid ground.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

walks in tossing his hat onto the kitchen counter and mutters, “well that was a steaming pile of absolute crap.”

jokes about it in that dry way. “should’ve just driven a shopping trolley. might’ve gotten better results.”

he’s pacing while he talks, voice calm but clipped. “not even mad at anyone specifically. just… the whole bloody universe.”

you lean on the doorframe, arms crossed. “want me to fight the universe?”

he smirks, shaking his head. “nah. that’s my job. but i appreciate the backup.”

doesn’t take it out on you at all—in fact, he’s more affectionate. keeps reaching for your hand while he vents.

“i know it’s just one race. i do. but it builds up, y’know? starts to feel like you’re yelling into a void and it’s all echo.”

you guide him to the couch and let him rest his head in your lap. “you’re allowed to yell. i’ll hear it. even if the world doesn’t.”

he sighs and looks up at you with that soft, slightly crooked smile. “you’re dangerously good at this, you know that?” “at what?”

“loving me out of a bad mood.”

then he tilts his head and adds, completely casual, “might need a little… extra cheering up later though.”

you roll your eyes. “that what you’re calling it now?”

he grins. “what can i say? i’m a man of simple needs.”

isack hadjar

bursts through the door like a tornado. “I AM RETIRING. I’M QUITTING. I’M GOING TO OPEN A BAKERY. OR JOIN A CULT. SOMETHING PEACEFUL.”

flings his bag across the room, misses the couch, and nearly knocks over a lamp. doesn’t even blink.

“do you know how humiliating it is to be passed like that? i was driving my heart out and the car was like, ‘no...NOPE..NOOOO.’”

keeps fake-dramatizing it like a one-man soap opera. “isack hadjar: the fall from grace – coming soon to a streaming platform near you.”

you play along for a bit until he finally plops onto the floor at your feet and just… sits. quietly.

“i was actually trying today,” he mumbles, not looking at you. “like properly trying. and it still went to shit.”

you sit down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and he leans into you slowly like he’s deflating.

“sometimes i feel like people are just waiting for me to fail so they can say they knew it.”

you turn to him gently. “they’re not. and even if they were… you’ve already proven them wrong just by showing up the way you do.”

he rests his head on your shoulder with a sigh. “you’re annoyingly good at this whole ‘being nice to me’ thing.”

you grin. “want me to stop?”

“no,” he mutters, snuggling closer. “never. might need it tattooed on me actually. in comic sans.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

slams the door just a little too hard. doesn't say anything at first—just kicks off his shoes, throws his phone on the table, and heads straight to the kitchen for water like it personally wronged him.

“they don’t listen. doesn’t matter what i say. it’s like talking to a fucking wall,” he mutters, pacing like he’s ready to punch a pillow.

you try to say something gentle and he snaps a little too fast—“i’m fine, okay?” but it’s not sharp. it’s exhausted.

he keeps moving around the room, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. “maybe i should stop caring. maybe that’s the trick.”

you don’t respond—you just walk over and wrap your arms around him from behind. he tenses for half a second. then sighs.

“you always do that,” he mumbles, not pulling away. “just… hug me until i stop being mad.”

you press your cheek to his back. “because i know you’re not really mad. you’re tired. and hurt.”

he turns around and buries his face in your neck like it’s the only safe place he knows. “i hate that they make me feel like this. like i’m not enough.”

you kiss his hair. “you are. always have been.”

he holds you tighter, breath shaky. “i don’t say it enough, but… i need you. especially on days like this.”

then, muffled: “also if you kiss me again i’ll probably forget what i was mad about. just sayin’.”

jack doohan

in front of the team? stone-faced. cool. collected. “yeah, not the best day. we’ll move on. it’s fine.”

comes home? immediately sighs the second the door closes. rests his forehead against the wall for a solid ten seconds before moving.

tries to act chill around you too. “it’s just one of those days. happens. i’m fine.”

he is not fine. but he’s doing that thing where he says he’s okay while avoiding eye contact and changing the subject every 3.2 seconds.

“you hungry?” he asks, even though he’s barely eaten since breakfast. “we could order something. or not. i don’t care.”

you eventually pull him onto the couch, and he lets himself flop next to you, arms crossed like a sulky cat.

he won’t say it outright, but his knee is bouncing, his fingers are twitching, and he keeps glancing at you like he wants permission to crack.

“i just hate looking like i don’t belong here,” he finally mumbles, voice low. “like i’ve got something to prove every second.”

you crawl into his lap and cup his jaw, making him look at you. “you belong. you’re not failing. you’re learning. that’s what makes you good.”

his lips part like he wants to argue, but then he just exhales and wraps his arms around you like you’re the only thing holding him up.

“it’s stupid,” he whispers. “i didn’t want to need comfort today. but here i am.”

you smile. “i don’t mind. i like being the person you let your guard down with.”

he looks at you with soft eyes and the tiniest grin. “well… if i’m already emotionally vulnerable and pathetic… might as well make out about it?”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[truthscrapper]

Devlog #1 📚 The Very First Devlog

We announced Truth Scrapper with a beautiful trailer this month!!! The response has been absolutely incredible, thank you so much for following me on another funky memory adventure. Throughout the development of ISAT, I have written monthly devlogs on Steam, talking about the making of the game. People liked them a bunch, so…

That’s right. It’s time. For the Very First Truth Scrapper devlog!

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

Alright! Development talk time. Where’s the game at?!?!

So, right now, I have just finished writing the script for Day 4, so I "only" have the art, code, and implementation to do for that day. Truth Scrapper is divided in 7 days, with three different routes you can go through from Day 6 onwards. So really, I need to write and code 11 days. Which puts me at almost ⅓ through development! WOAHRGH!?? At this point, I know where the story is going, I know what each route will consist of, etc. I just don’t know the Details. The portraits are all done, backgrounds are done sequentially for every day, gameplay is all figured out… TLDR: It’s In Good Shape!!!

“That was a good short paragraph, but can I have the detailed timeline of the game. Please.” ok fine you asked for it.

The Big Timeline (and some images!) under the cut

📚 this image was made so early in development, it didn't even have Betz's shibari-like pink harness

TRUTH SCRAPPER TIMELINE

DEC 2022: I finish ISAT around NOV 2022. I get an idea. I write it down. It was going to be an RPG but nobody got time for that. Main themes and ending are here. I work on pre-production very slowly over the next couple months (because I am recovering from finishing ISAT and still gotta keep working on post-production stuff for ISAT)

JULY 2023: Ok fine let's make a renpy file and figure out if the most important gameplay thing can be done. AKA: can I make a book menu where the game remembers the choices you make, and how complicated is that gonna be for me to add to it down the line. It works and I am happy

📚 this image was made so early in development, it just looks very bad

AUGUST 2023: Character design. They look Not Great and character design takes me like nine months. Plot is getting somewhere though!

NOV 2023: In Stars and Time comes out. People like it I think.

MARCH 2024: I decide I need to work on something, and decide to work on that and apply for the Ontario Creates grant. This game is actually starting for realsies!!!!!!!

MAY 2024: I actually lock down character designs.

JUNE 2024: I hire Dora, who was the producer of In Stars and Time and who rules.

📚 dora and i signing our lives to one another on discord. the bond between a creator and their producer can never be broken

SEPT 2024: I work on da gaem

MAY 2025: Day 3 is implemented. We announce the game. Now we’re here!!!!

Alright, that’s it for today! This first devlog is more about telling you where the game is at, and every month you will have a whole new devlog where I can tell you about all the great things I did that month for the game. You can even comment with questions and I might answer them one day. Ok. Thank you. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

[luviestarz]

nishimura riki fic recs!

✷ jock!niki x tutor!gn!reader - @delcakoo (how is niki supposed to focus on biology when his shy tutor is so irresistible and fun to tease?)

✷ take (me) out - @jennaissantes (eating from each others plates)

✷ CUPID’S CORNER — nishimura riki - @amakumos (because he’s a little shit, nishimura riki sends a totally embarrassing confession about you to “cupid’s corner”, a twitter account that posts anonymous confessions from decelis academy students. but when that joke confession suddenly makes a bunch of people confess to you on cupid’s corner (for real this time!) riki finds that he’s jealous — and oh… he can’t believe it took him a fake confession to realise that he’s crazily in love with you.)

✷ NISHIMURA RIKI B☆YFRIEND HEADCANONS... - @tyunni

✷ NERVOUS : NISHIMURA RIKI - @str0l0gy (IN WHICH you make riki nervous.)

✷ THE ATTRACTIVE THINGS NISHIMURA RIKI DOES - @enhyqenn

✷ JOAH (I LIKE YOU) - NI-KI SMAU - @jayujus (in where fashion student and model, jo y/n, has been openly crushing on dance student, riki nishimura for god knows how long. that is until one day, she crushes on someone else and riki goes feral.)

✷ ( 尤も ) NATURAL — riki nishimura ᯽ - @latriii (It was natural to call you pretty, it was natural to approach you, it was natural to confess to you, and it was natural to like you. Sadly for Nishimura Riki, his liking for you was meant from afar. Riki had seen you at the volleyball court during the first day of hybe sport summer camp, since then— he developed a huge crush on you, word spread that a huge amount of people have.)

✷ [ NISHI RIKI AS YOUR HS TROUBLE MAKER BF — 🩹 !! ] - @invvuu

✷ ｡⋅✴︎｡⚬⋅ WHAT ARE WE? - @goldenhypen (the way you and riki act as best friends has everyone questioning what you two really are.)

✷ bad game (aim) - nishimura riki - @saursoob

✷ three strikes - nishimura riki x fem! reader - @boydepartment

✷ READ YOUR CONTACT— ni-ki - @mandukkul (riki gets a bit confused end ends up texting his talented gf)

✷ “kissing, I hope they caught us” ┈ ❊ ﹒ 🌪️ - @chlorinecake

✷ and you?  - @palajae (niki x tutor!reader)

✷ team captain - @jongseongsnudes (badboy!niki, bf!nishimura)

✷ ୨୧ KISS IT BETTER — n. riki - @bywons (badboy nishimura riki x f!reader)

✷ i’m just a teenage dirtbag baby ( like you. ) - @leaderwonim (nishimura riki was infamous for being handsome and also quite the character. he’d purposely throw papers everywhere, bump into people without a care, and ditch class like it was nothing. you were the complete opposite, but deep down, nishimura riki knew you were just like him)

✷ DUOLINGO DATE : NRK - @chaewandz (niki catches u practicing japanese on duolingo just for him while he’s asleep)

✷ plushies and pouts ☆ riki nishimura - @star-sim (that one time that riki punched your plushie and you got mad at him.)

✷ TEXT ME BACK! - @hoony2k (it's the middle of the night, the phone keeps buzzing, you've been trying to fall asleep, there's a knock on your window...wait what?)

[dollishmehrayan]

# TAKE EVERYTHING AS IT WAS WRITTEN FOR YOU ── .✦ ( batboys x writer!reader who writes ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

dollish note ౨ৎ: hey so I’m back from the dead apparently, anywaysss omgg I missed you guys Hii and I will posting more content from now on and taking this seriously and these past days I was super stressed out over moving but hey my lovess anyways I decided to base this writer s/o over like anyone, like whether you write fan fic like me or write actual books, it matters to this hcs !! Tags: (batboys x writer!s/o)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

# DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He loves that you're a writer ( listen he just LOVESSS creative women like hello !? God forbid a guy likes creative people 🫠) he's your #1 fan and biggest hype man.

Tries to read your work over your shoulder while you're typing, even if you hate it “Babe, I need to know what happens next!” Like constantly over your shoulder seeing what you’re drafting and etc.

Occasionally offers cheesy plot ideas like “what if the love interest also knows parkour?” (His ideas suck)

Will 100% brag to everyone: “Yeah, my partner’s a genius novelist. Ever heard of them? You will.” OOOOO

Falls asleep listening to you ramble about story arcs and character development. It's his favorite sound.

Writes you little encouraging notes like, “You got this, Hemingway 💪” and sticks them on your laptop / tablet or wtv you have bbg.

# JASON TODD ── .✦

Loves your dark, gritty writing especially if there's violence, angst, or moral grayness involved since a lot of people don’t write angst that casually.

Offers surprisingly insightful edits or plot ideas: “This villain's motivation is weak. Give them a tragic backstory and don’t make them redeemable.”

Low-key wants you to base a character on him but will pretend he doesn’t care.

Has a soft spot for reading your fluff pieces though and will be quietly emotional about them.

Will threaten anyone who leaves bad reviews on your work. "Just say the word. Username 'Booktoklover93'? I got 'em."

He buys you fancy notebooks and pens and acts like it's no big deal, but he's proud of himself.

# TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Absolute king of writing dates you'll both sit in a café typing furiously and sipping terrible coffee.

Helps you fact-check obscure things at 3am without complaint (okay, maybe some complaint).

If you write mystery or thrillers, he treats it like solving a real case. “Wait… that clue in chapter 5…”

He totally has a secret folder on his computer labeled “[Your Name]’s Writing – Favorite Stuff” with all your pieces saved.

You’ve accidentally inspired him to write fanfic once and he WILL take that secret to the grave.

Sends you prompts or memes like “this is so your OC.” (Sorry I just keep cringing at oc 🥲)

# DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

At first, he might not get why you write fictional stories… but then he reads them.

He's completely blown away and demands to know what happens next immediately.

Occasionally critiques your logic but ends up emotionally invested in your characters.

“Why did you kill him off?” Because it served the story—” “You’re a monster.”

Will sit next to you while you write, drawing or sketching your characters in his own style.

Has probably told Alfred he thinks you’re a genius at least once when he thought no one was listening.

# BONUS WHICH MR WAYNE! ── .✦

Loves that you're creative and has the patience of a saint when listening to you rant about plot holes.

He doesn’t read everything you write, but when he does, he’ll quote it back to you at random times like a proud husband.

“Chapter 7 really showed growth. I was impressed.”

Offers to fund your writing career or self-publishing venture without blinking. “You’ll need an editor and marketing team.” SIGN ME UP !!

He also gently reminds you to eat and sleep when you’re on a deadline: “You’ve been writing for 16 hours. Come to bed and go to sleep.”

[felassan]

EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'

Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".

Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""

"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."

"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""

"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""

[source]

[linnlarsnhansn]

SKAM 10 year anniversary podcast -

English translation

NRK is celebrating a decade of Skam (😭) with a nine episode podcast. You can listen here

I'm collaborating with @kosegruppie who will be posting my translations and make subtitled videos with them. Make sure to follow them here on insta for all the latest!

Below the cut you'll find the transcript of the first episode (I've skipped a few summaries, the radio hosts watching the show etc, but all cast and crew interviews are there!). Enjoy!

From 03:50 

Torkil Risan: It’s hard to measure that kind of thing, but Skam has to be Norway’s biggest tv show success. It was a small productio with low budget, had unknown actors and no traditional marketing. But the show would go on to break streaming records, set the agenda for public debate and take part in changing the language both in Norway and abroad. It would change the lives of many young people and entertain hordes of adults, and not only in Norway, no. There were people using their free time to translate the Norwegian episodes to a steadily growing international audience. Episodes were downloaded both illegally and, well only illegally really. But whatever. People all over the world were watching Skam. Skam has, up until this point, nine international adaptations, with Sram in Croatia as the latest one - it came out in October 2024. And all of this, that is the Norwegian original version, is created, written and directed by one person - Julie Andem. 

JA: It became very difficult after a while to film and keep the storylines secret, because we were recorded wherever we went. Especially the outdoor scenes. Like at Nissen there were suddenly hordes of fans from all over the world when we were supposed to film, so that made it a bit difficult.    

TR: And you can’t picture what it would become like when unknown 16 and 17 year olds get cast in a new show at NRK.

JA: Before these actors got their roles, at the last round of auditions, I had a talk with each one of them where I said: “I don’t know how big this show will become, it can become nothing, but it might become big. And if it becomes big and you become famous, you give away part of your freedom - the freedom to be anonymous to people. Today, when you’re on the bus, having a bad day, no one bothers you. But after you’ve become famous, people will walk up to you and want to talk to you and you can’t get away from that. When I call you next week and give you the role, if I do, I’ll ask if you’ve thought that over, and what you think of it - because you have to think that over now.” And I said that to each one of them before they got their parts. And then I think it was Josefine who said, we talked later about what I had said, that she thought “that lady is delusional. She’s making a small P3 show”. My talk went in one ear and out the other. 

JA: It’s hard to imagine things like this for people that haven’t experienced success like that, and what it demands of you afterwards. And the freedom you lose to be anonymous. It is a really difficult pressure and it can be challenging. We thought a lot about it throughout and one of the main reasons that we ended Skam when we did, was because of that pressure on the young actors.

TR: Is this an ongoing conversation with the cast? 

JA: I always think - there’s no one outside of it who understands what we experienced with Skam. So the best ones to talk to, always, about these things are the cast and the production team, who understand it and have the same feelings. 

TR: That Skam also changed the lives of those who created it, we’ve established. I am curious about how Julie Andem, who has no clue how big the show is going to become, created these characters?

JA: As I remember it, I did loads of research with the target group to understand what that group, girls in Norway aged 16, needed, what stories it needed. And I think my goal was to develop 10 characters who could fit into a universe about them. That’s where I started. And the plan was that all the characters would develop in a way that they could carry their own season. So all of them were developed as main characters. I created them before the seasons, before the storylines. 

TR: In September it’ll be ten years since Skam was released. It was released more like an event than a traditional tv show. Short clips could be dropped at any point during the week and people in the show posted on social media. It was Mari Magnus who was responsible for these digital updates. 

MM: All the characters, even if they don’t have open accounts on social media, have a bunch of email addresses. I have a box full of sim cards and burner phones. Everyone had a facebook account. They were private, but it was so that it would feel a little real if you searched “Isak Valtersen”.

TR: Someone else that became well known to the audience, was media professor Vilde Schanke Sundet. She saw the format as unique enough that she had to start doing research on Skam while it was still possible. 

VSS: I binged the entire first season one night. I remember laying in the cosy corner at home, watching on the ipad. I went to bed at 2:30 am and thought “now I understand what they are talking about”. I was interested in analysing it the same way researchers have been interested in analysing multimedia storytelling - how the story is built, how you make the different components, what it is NRK wants with this show, what it is trying to tell. And you become so drawn into the story that the ability to analyse goes a bit up and down through the different seasons. 

TR: What makes Skam different from other tv shows?

VSS: There’s both things that make it very different and things that are very similar. Because the dramatic curves are similar to other dramas we know of. It’s love triangles, good vs evil, the struggle to find yourself, all things similar to the high school/coming of age genre. And it’s well made, but that’s not what’s groundbreaking. The groundbreaking part is how the story is told. You're doing it real time, so if you’re following the blog it will appear very close. You never know when something is coming. It’s unpredictable, it drags people in. It’s based on the needs of the audience. They did loads of research when developing the show and it appears closer when the setting is a Norwegian high school than an American one. That makes it different and innovative. I think all the fans know they are fictional characters, but they feel much more real because we are not sitting down in front of the tv to watch, they are just there in your everyday life. It’s much more at the top of your mind than other things you watch and put behind you until the next episode is released. 

TR: The way Skam was created made it special. But that was not the most important part for Morten Hegseth. 

MH: The format has been given too much credit. It was a good format to post clips in that way, but the reason it was so good was that the content was amazing. It wasn’t the publishing strategy that made Skam an international phenomenon. 

(Skip to 13:26)

TR: Before they created Skam, the show creator Julie Andem and a few others made in depth interviews with young people in the target group. And the challenges Eva has in season 1, was pretty common with the group. 

JA: What is that life like? When you’re coming from secondary school, where you have a friend group and a familiar and safe environment and you’re thrown into a new universe. Everything is starting over and you have to find your place again. But she starts out as a girl who has become totally dependent on her boyfriend. She’s been thrown out of the friend group because of the choice she’s made to be together with her boyfriend, with Jonas, and that makes her dependent on him. 

TR: A successful way to independence is to become friends with a confident, stylish and cool new girl, like Noora. That, despite being good in Spanish, isn’t as crazy about russ as the other girls Eva start’s to hang out with - Jente-Chris, Vilde and Sana, who has concrete plans to fix a spot on a russebuss. And there you have our girl gang. Do you, the listener, think they are cool? Are they supposed to be cool?

JA: Socially, in school, they are not a cool group. That’s what the first storyline is about. The Pepsi Max gang are the cool, pretty girls and the other girls are not so cool. But I think they are very cool.

TR: What about the boys, aren’t they cooler?

JA: Yeah, they do at least have cooler references and masks. I’s more important to them to be cool. So they might be “cooler”.  

TR: To actress Lisa Teige, it was a bit like starting a new school - moving from Bergen and start working as an actor in Skam. How much of Eva is really in Lisa? 

LT: In the beginning I felt very different from Eva, because she went through very different things, I thought at that time. But things like finding friends in high school, I do identify with. I didn’t have that boyfriend drama, at least so early on. But looking back at it now, I would say I see myself in a lot of the things Skam talks about. I’ve also been in girl drama, had partner problems and the vulnerability in finding new friends. But back then, I felt the need to be like “No! I’m not going through the same things as Eva right now”. But really I did eventually go through those things. 

TR: And like Eva, Lisa did find some good friends on Nissens’s school yard. 

LT: I remember I noticed they were a few years older than me. I thought they were incredibly cool. That was my first thought “shit, these are cool people with experience”. It felt very cool to be part of that group. And I have so many good memories from the set with all the girls together. Especially because there’s a lot of humor surrounding the Vilde and Chris characters. They improvised many funny parts and we were laughing so hard on set. The dynamics of the group was really good. 

TR: But Bergen, where Lisa is from, and Oslo are two different cities and they have different accents. 

LT: Some things were difficult for me, as someone from Bergen. Like when I was supposed to say vors (pre-game) for the first time, which I had never said before and I don’t think I had ever been to one. And they said vors in the Oslo dialect and it was so difficult for me. I had to call mum and dad back home to ask how I was supposed to say the word. 

TR: Eva is also one of the characters who is making out the most in the show. And here both Lisa and actor Marlon Langeland, who plays Jonas, got thrown into the deep end from the start. 

LT: We had a workshop before filming, where we got to know each other and we played some games, as warm up. But to start kissing that person is something totally different. I remember dreading that quite a lot, because we were making out the first day of filming. 

LT: And that’s the kind of thing you dread a lot, but when you first get going it’s very mechanical in a way. You don’t think about what you’re really doing and it’s like “can you place your hand there”, “turn a bit that way” and “make the kiss a bit more intense, because it looks good on camera”. 

(skip to 27:19)

TR: Mari Magnus mentioned The penetrators, the coolest russebuss at Nissen. 

MM: Penetrators has a song, that’s on Spotify and I don’t know if it has been said before, it probably has, but *whispers* it’s Tarjei. 

TR: That’s rapping?

MM: Yes. 

TR: So the guy singing lines like “Penetrators cums on your face, the weather report says flooding, it’ll rain cum”, that Tarjei Sandvik Moe, who plays Isak. Tarjei went to Nissen himself during this time and managed to sneak in several references to actual things going on in the school. And to blur the lines between the fictional and reality was one of the show’s goals. To make the show as real as possible they had instagram accounts and could start chatting with each other on friday evenings. 

MM: It was a Friday evening and Julie was probably at work and we posted a photo on Jonas’ account, a Big Smalls reference, that he tagged Isak in. And we are logged into one account each, one on Isak’s, one on Jonas’. And we decided to have some fun in the comment section, hoping that maybe three people would see it, but that these three would have such a weird experience that they in school on Monday would say “You won’t believe what I say on instagram on Friday”. So Isak and Jonas drag Eva into it, but Eva is on a russebuss. And the audience is so cool, there are fans playing along and commenting things like “I saw you in the cafeteria today” “what did you get on your maths test?”. This is week two maybe, and those things we could do a bit more strategically at the start to get the engagement going.  

TR: It’s a bit slow in the beginning, but interest in Skam grows quite fast. So to chat as the characters on instagram becomes too difficult, there’s too many others taking part in the conversation. And some audience members were more engaged than others. One of them was Julian Dahl, who was very active in the comment section. Active enough to get mentioned in the show. 

TR: You’re living alongside these characters and sometimes that creates problems. Because Eva wants Jonas and Isak to go with her to the revy-party but they can’t. Why not?

Isak: We can’t

Jonas: Why not? 

Isak: The tickets to Kindred Fever. 

Jonas: I had totally forgotten that. 

TR: You’re excused if the name Kindred Fever doesn’t ring any bells. They had a mini hype right around the time when this was released and they happened to have a concert the same day as the revy-party. 

JA: The only reason we picked that concert was because it was Oslo that day. We just thought what band could they possibly be interested in that’s playing in Oslo that day?

TR: To make the right references is hard when you’re making a show. How do you know what 16 year old boys are saying, doing and would post? Sometimes Mari Magnus asked the actors to do it themselves. 

MM: In season one we sent Isak, Eva and Jonas out on the town with some phones and told them to make some content as if they were a friend group eating burgers in town. And they came home with loads of nice stuff we could post. 

(Skip to 33:40)

TR: I’m at your disposal - you can ask questions about the show and leave your thoughts and tips. There’s many easter eggs and symbolism in Skam that might be fun to dig deeper into if we come across it. There’s a messaging function on NRK radio. You could for example ask, like I asked Julie Andem, why is the show called Skam?

JA: We had loads of suggestions and we hung big sheets of paper at the auditions where they could write suggestions for the name of the show. And we got a lot of strange ones and Ingvild Marie Nyborg, who was on the team, came up with Skam and no one of us hated it, so that was the one. 

TR: Do you remember any of the ones you hated? 

JA: I remember “the 99:er gang”. 

TR: I’ve found some questions the fans are wondering by sneaking around in some of the many Skam online fan forums: Like, who in the Skam universe is Lisa Teige? 

LT: During the auditions I very much wanted to be Noora. Especially when I was 16 I thought Noora was super cool. But I do feel closest to Eva. I recognize myself in the insecurity and the fun parts and being someone with principles. It’s a boring answer, but it is Eva. That’s why I got to play her.  

[tsukii0002]

My demons' periods cycles. By Mc

Note: these are purely my headcanons at the moment, they are based on animal ethology and behaviours that I think would suit each character depending on their personality and Lore. I would love to read your headcanon in case you have them.

Warning: Long text. Possible grammatical errors. It's written as if Mc was writing for themself.

Hey, it me Mc, the best human. Here is a compilation of the behaviours of my demons during their periods, cycles, for practical day to day use. It wasn't easy but I sat them down and got to talk to them, with a little effort I now know what they need. So now I am ready to assist them during these complicated times and be prepared in case I find a dead goat on the porch as a tribute.

Lucifer, Mammon & Levi || Satan, Asmo, & Beel || Belphie, Barbatos & Diavolo || Simeon & Raphael

Belphie

It could be said that he is the one that best keeps his schedule.

During his period he still sleeps a lot, the only difference is that he has short periods of high activity.

He can stand the light well. In fact, he will often ask you for a spell that simulates sunlight to sleep under.

During his cycle, most of Belphie's body is covered with soft fur, although some parts of his body such as the end of his tail or chest is a denser fur (perfect for sleeping) where spotted patterns can be seen.

His horns and ‘claws” harden and his pupils become horizontal (Little cow boy).

He sheds a lot of hair and his claws grow, but he is too lazy to groom himself. So wherever he is there will be fur everywhere.

To get him to groom himself, you will have to tell him that you will help. Sometimes, he strokes you simulating the action of brushing the fur (so I think that if he wasn't the avatar of sloth he would groom his companion).

Belphie does not build a nest as such, but rather a kind of fort with all kinds of blankets, pillows or stuffed animals, he steals them from his siblings to feel safe, although he won't admit it.

He usually does it in the attic to be quiet, although your room is also one of his favourite options.

Belphie becomes possessive and somewhat capricious, he won't be shy about asking you to spoil and pamper him. Lucifer says he is always like this but it has gotten worse since you offered to help.

Before his period, Belphie will go a couple of days without sleep, which makes him very irritable. Is this the equivalent of hormones?

During his period Belphie's appetite neither increases nor decreases, but he needs to change his diet to high-energy items because of his periods of activity.

He will want you to feed him but he will not feed you.

Belphie can talk, although slower than normal. He will communicate most things to you with puppy calf eyes. He knows how to use his weapons, sly cow.

He produces pheromones and marks everything with them, without you noticing.

This pheromones are not very strong but have a unique scent. He is a bully and sometimes goes around the house spreading them to annoy his siblings.

Belphie likes you to always be rubbing him, in any moment, always looking after him. He gets very touchy.

One thing he will do a lot is lick and bite you gently. Sometimes he expects you to lick him back, my tongue is not ready for that Belphie.

Belphie's courtship consists of little taps to get your attention and release a special kind of pheromones, if you stay close to him he will consider the courtship a success and proceed to groom you insistently (so he can do it >:v)

You can be a bit naughty and get up, just to give it back to him, but come back quickly or he will cry.

The sense that develops the most during hir cycle is his smell, mostly to detect the presence of other people nearby.

His temperature rises a lot, but he won't give up blankets and other warm things. Prepare ice packs for you, not for him.

Belphie's purr is not very loud, it's more of a chest vibration, he's super cute when he purrs, but don't feed his ego.

He doesn't mind everyone knowing he's on his period and will make it everyone's problem.

Belphie: Mc… Mccccccc!

Mc: *worried* What's wrong?!

Belphie: *stretching his arms out* I'm on my periodooo, cuddle me.

Mc: *stifling laughter* Why should I?

Belphie: Eeeeh? *pouting* I'm on my period and you're not going to spoil me? How cruel.

Mc: *cuddling up next to him* You're such a spoiled brat.

Belphie: *cuddling up against them* Yeah, yeah, whatever you say *smiling*.

Belphie: *sleeping with hs shirt pulled up*

Mc: *observing the spots on his fur* Humm *drawing the shapes of the spots with their finger*

Belphie: *shrinking back*

Mc: Soft…

Belphie: *balling himself up into a ball* It tickles..

Mc: *smiling* A cute little cow with a cute little coat~

Belphie: *blushing still in his sleep* Stop…

Belphie: *courting Mc*

Mc: *getting up to go get something, without noticing it*

Belphie: …*his eyes fill up with tears*

Mc: Belphie??!!!

Belphie: Do you still love me?

Mc: Of course I love you,

Belphie: Then don't ever do that again… *biting their arm*

Mc: Ouch

Diavolo

Get ready to go underground. Diavolo nests in a cavern. There is a large underground cavern under the palace for this precise purpose.

Diavolo can go through his entire cycle without sleeping, but likes to do it, curled up in his nest just for the fun of it.

He can tolerate light, but only if strictly necessary.

You can find out a lot about Diavolos' period because the cycles of the royal are well documented.

Diavolo's scales harden and although black, they glow golden in the light and the golden scales double in size.

His pupils tear he's such a big lizar. And ornamental patterns are spread all over the skin.

Diavolo's grooming is complex and laborious, at first he didn't want to, but now he is the one asking for your help.

The scales on the wings, body and tail moult almost every day and it is advisable to keep his skin moisturised. If it gets too dry its can crack.

He needs to sharpen its claws and teeth, usually against rock walls.

Diavolo nests in its cavern, always high up, never close to the ground (you won't be able to get out of it without help).

This nest is surrounded by all kinds of treasures did you think the riches of the kings of Devildom were in the palace? No, most of it is in the cavern, accumulated generation after generation.

Very territorial, during his period almost all the employees of the palace must leave him. Also his sense of protection is increased, he will not leave you alone, he will not.

Diavolo's pre-heat consists of very constant feverish moments. But it is easy to detect that the cycle is approaching because of Barbatos.

During his period his appetite and voracity increase, he needs to hunt often, animals and beasts, but also souls trying to escape from the Devildom among other things (he takes the opportunity to go hunting when you sleep).

He will try to feed you, mouth to mouth, but seeing that it don't work, he will switch to giving you small pieces.

Diavolo in his demonic form can generate fire, not only with his magic. Because of your reluctance to eat raw food he started to ‘cook’ it with this fire.

Can speak on very specific occasions, the rest of the time he is non-verbal. His growls are literally demonic, sometimes it scares you and it is very sad to see his expression of guilt :(

As royalty, Diavolo has one of the strongest pheromones in Devildom, many demons are sickened by them (Ha, human insensitivity mode on), he consciously marks everything, especially his mate.

The only way to calm the dragon is direct physical contact, stroking its complex ornaments and wing membranes with your fingers It's like a game to be honest

Press on the muscles of its wings and neck and you will have it completely entranced. He has spent a lot of time alone during his periods and is in need of contact. Initiate physical contact and it will be pure happiness.

And most importantly, show reassurance, it makes him feel insecure to think that you are there against your will.

Diavolo's courtship is a ritual. First it will show off its grandeur by lighting up its scales and perform a nuptial flight where it will display its wings and ornaments.

After this he will look for the rarest prey to give them to you (the day he brought you a baby unicornia you almost fainted, thanks to Barbatos, you were able to get the baby out of there). Finally, he will try to dress you up with all kinds of treasures and jewels to ‘be a couple’.

All his senses are heightened, especially sight and smell.

There is a rumour that he sees everything that happens in Devildom. Which is a lie because you've seen him run into a wall when he's looking beyond it.

Diavolo's temperature increases a lot, despite the coldness of the cave (You slept on his chest because he's super warm? Yes, That from then on he always wanted you to sleep on top of him? Also).

Diavolo's purr is deep and loud. It will resonate throughout the cave, and will usually purr when you are paying attention to him.

Diavolo: *clearly worried*

Mc: *caressing his scales* What's wrong?

Diavolo: Mmmm *looking around*

Mc: *sighing* I'll tell you again, I'm here because I want to, because I want to take care of you, is that so hard to believe?

Diavolo: wrapping them in his wings Thank you…

Mc: *returning the hug* Anytime.

Diavolo: *placing a pearl necklace on their head*

Mc: *sitting on his lap* Dia...

Diavolo: *placing several precious stones on their chest *

Mc: Diavolo, dear.

Diavolo: *holding up a golden tiara to put on them*

Mc: *filled from head to toe with treasures* Diavolo, this is too heavy, it doesn't- stop, please.

Mc: *caressing a fairy that Diavolo has brought them as food*

Diavolo: *staring at the fairy*

Mc: Don't even think about it, if you burn the fairy, I'm out of here.

Diavolo: * indignant dragon sounds *

Mc: It's true... I can't leave here without you, but if you touch the fairy I'll get angry.

The fairy: *about to have a heart attack*

Barbatos

He doesn't sleep during his cycle, no matter how much you bowel, no matter how much you insist, he won't sleep. It is normal to wake up and find him watching you with his eyes wide open.

Light hurts him, during his period his skin becomes sensitive and burns very easily.

Barbatos' skin becomes very pale with a mucous covering. His tail elongates and ridges appear on his back, forearms and legs.

His horns also develop a membrane between their branches.

Its pupils lighten to the point of seeming to disappear, but then return to colour when it is alert. Sometimes you get the sensation that he stops blinking.

To groom himself, barbatos needs a lot of water. During his cycle he will create all kinds of water springs, (he is one of the few demons who can consciously use his powers).

 He's not a big fan of you helping him or watching him, he doesn't consider his appearance the most pleasant for a human.

He usually nests in his room, but sometimes opens portals to hidden parts of Devildom or even the human world, the latter more so since you started helping him. He creates a burrow, underground or among roots.

Although he occasionally goes out, he prefers to stay in his den.

Barbatos is dangerous, and possessive, he prefers loneliness with the sole exception of his mate, he is not territorial, I think because no one in their right mind would go near Barbatos during his period.

During his period Barbatos gets headaches, because he sometimes loses control of his powers and timelines overlap in his mind. The only thing you can do in these cases is stay by his side and comfort him :(.

Barbatos doesn't seem to need food. But for pleasure he sometimes devours curious prey (souls, blood of mystical creatures, cursed plants...).

He can talk without any problems, but he doesn't talk much. He prefers to attract attention with caresses or small bites. It is easy to interpret his silences.

During his period, Barbatos generates a lot of pheromones but does not mark. He has no sense of territory and prefers to stay close to his mate all day to avoid others approaching.

At the beginning of the period he will be reluctant to physical contact, he'll keep his distance, partly because of his appearance and partly because of fear of his behaviour. But little by little he will ask for more contact.

Don't touch him if he doesn't ask for it and make sure your hands are always wet or cold because even if he seeks your warmth, the normal temperature of a human could overwhelm him. Good thing we know magic, thanks Solomon.

Barbatos' courtship consists of a kind of lullaby, a humming, in which his skin glows slightly in a beautiful colour, quite frankly it is very mystical and magical. If it sees that you don't get disturbed it will hug you and swim with you for a long time (use magic, use it, or it will give you hypothermia).

Barbatos' senses are completely heightened, nothing escapes his awareness, but this is detrimental because very loud sounds, light or even physical contact can harm him. There are far more stimuli than millennia ago so this is yet another reason to isolate himself.

His temperature drops drastically, but he doesn't seem to have any problems with it.

Barbatos' purring is almost inaudible, you have to be very close to hear it. But it is quite easy for him to purr even though you won't notice it.

Barbatos is feeling quite vulnerable because he hasn't had his period for centuries so he is unfamiliar with his own reactions, and feels lost, although he will never admit it.

Give him confidence, by now, you are a master in demon periods.

Mc: Barbatos, my dear *peeling an apple*

Barbatos: *cuddling on Mc's lap* Hum?

Mc: Is there a reason why you chose one of the most remote places in the human world to spend your period?

Barbatos: … no

Mc: It's not so the brothers can't find me, is it?

Barbatos: … no…

Mc: *stifling laughter* Okay.

Mc: *gently stroking his back* How are you feeling?

Barbatos: *laying down next to them* It… hurts...

Mc: I'm sorry I can't help you *gently pouring water on his forehead.

Barbatos: You're here… that's more than well enough.

Mc: Give me some time and I'll find a way to calm those migraines.

Barbatos: *smiling* I'm sure you will….

Barbatos: I have to say I had forgotten what it was like to live ‘a period’.

Mc: I wonder why you've had them again after so long.

Barbatos: *smiling* It's because of you

Mc: Me?

Barbatos: *shrugging theur cheeks and rubbing their forehead against his * Yes, until you came there was no one who could be my potential mate, and my body knew it. Just like it knows you're here now.

Mc: *blushing* Those words count as courting? because they're working.

If you have made it this far, thank you very much 🩷

[itsbenedict]

so in an effort to be slightly less out-of-touch, i went and watched all of Skibidi Toilet the other day. (at present, the whole series is about the length of a feature film, so this wasn't too big a lift.)

what surprised me is just... how totally normal it was. like, it's not at all difficult to describe. people big it up as this incomprehensible thing that's emblematic of a generation gap, but it's. not.

the plot is: there's toilets with human heads in them that go "skibidi dom dom dom yes yes, skibidi dabbadul neef neef". they can move despite a lack of ambulatory appendages. this is wacky and unsettling, but the chief question is: Do They Win In A Fight Against Some Robots With Cameras For Heads?

it's an action movie about a war against an alien invasion. that's it. less than the first thirty seconds of it are anarchic GMod YTP insanity- it develops a plot almost immediately. the plot is paper-thin and conveyed almost entirely without dialogue, existing to set up giant robot fights and zombie apocalypse jumpscares.

who are these factions? why are they fighting? you aren't failing to get it because the kids these days are on some totally different psychic wavelength. the show simply does not give a shit about this question. here are some bad guys! here are some good guys! they're going to do explosions and punches at each other for roughly two minutes until the perspective camera is abruptly destroyed in the crossfire somehow.

it is a remarkably competently-shot action movie. the fight scenes are weighty and satisfying and have lots of exciting little twists and turns as the two sides pull increasingly bigger weapons and gadgets out of their asses. the production gets more elaborate over time, and it's a pretty stellar example of what machinima is capable of. genuinely good at the things it's trying to do.

it does kinda fall down a little later, as it attempts to develop Characters and Deepest Lore after kind of not caring about that for most of its runtime. the decision to have "dialogue" almost exclusively in the form of incomprehensible heavily-filtered backwards speech with no subtitles is probably rewarding for die-hard Skibidi-heads who have the time on their hands to mess with the audio and uncover all the hidden messages, but it means you are not going to understand anything anyone is saying on a normal watch.

the action suffers from this decision a little bit towards the end, as for reasons that completely fail to come across, the toilets appear to have broken into their own factions and start fighting each other and forming various alliances, which disrupts the simplicity of the setup and makes it hard to determine who's winning a fight at any given time. a giant scary toilet man just exploded! was that bad, or good? listen, don't worry about it. all you need to know is that these things are going to keep happening until DaFuqBoom gets bored.

it's like a... 7/10, shallow but enjoyable. easy to see why kids like it. not going to give you any deeper insights into the Kids These Days, but there's worse ways to spend a couple hours.

(the most confusing thing to me is how something this straightforward got a reputation for crossing some sort of rubicon of cultural alienation. did everyone born in the 20th century who talks about this show just watch eighteen seconds of it and give up???)

[ifyoucandaniel]

favorite fics of 2024/basically just batfam fic rec list

It's that time of year guys, here is my favorite fics of 2024 in no specific order (aka my master batman fic rec list bc that's all i read this year with some spider-man thrown in there lmao). most of these have been in my previous rec lists, but this is just like one big frankenstein’s monster of a fic rec with all of them in one place <3

starting off strong, anything @bluelotuswrites's hands have touched is pure gold. Red is the Color of Sinners placed post UTRH where after being hit by bruce's batarang and now mute, jason decides to leave gotham and go to hell’s kitchen for a fresh start, but he keeps running into daredevil both in and out of costume. this is possibly the best jason of all time i rotate him in my mind like a microwave all day

The Hellblazer's Apprentice is an all blades jason fic where instead of continuing his lost days world tour, he meets john constentine and decides to learn magic to piss of bruce. blue added some lore to jason’s character in this that to this day makes my brain vibrate with excitement and the dynamic between john and jason is just ?? so good. both of these fics haunt me, they follow me wherever i go, i love them. read everything she's written, trust me

going with the theme of my favorite authors i read this year, @cdelphiki wrote my favorite read of the year and possibly all time Life Happens a fic that hit me like a sucker punch where tim and damian are both sent to a different dimension where everyone they know are comic book characters. with no other choice, they have to start a new life in this world while they wait for rescue. words just dont do it justice, please please read this fic. it’s the most beautiful story on growing and life

their other fic Jason and the Three Terrors crosses my mind at least once a day if not three times. jason is still with the league when talia charges him with getting damian, his cousin mara, and his secret sister athanasia to bruce safely from ra's. the rest of the fic is jason going from "i cant wait to get rid of these kids" to "these are my kids, i need to provide for them and keep them safe and i would die for them" 100/10 jason's character development is some of my favorite in any fic.

The Time Before is another of my favorites where jason is sent back in time to when he was 9 and goes to bruce for help and realizes maybe his memories of bruce maybe aren't all accurate. just read everything cdelphiki has ever written, trust me <3

Split by @wolfsbanesparks i have never been hooked on a character i previously did not know much about faster than when i read this fic. Billy and shazam are forcefully separated into separate bodies by black adam and then they have to try to keep billy's identity secret somehow while working with the justice league to fix them. the end of this fic had me sending paragraphs and 5 minute voice notes to my friends, trying to explain why i was so absolutely distraught and obsessed.

also by wolfsbanesparks, From the Shadows is basically everything you could ever want from a billy batson joins the batfam fic. it's got plot, it's got identity shenanigans, it's got badass magical billy, what more could you possibly need! seriously idk what is up with everything wolfbanesparks writes, but the endings are always so fucking good, 100/10.

Something in the Static by @bonerot19 is one of my favorite jason series ever, i go back to it constantly and think about it all the time. this is a series where jason's mom doesn't die and his dad isn't in prison, instead he's 17 working nights at a convenience store when everything changes and suddenly batman won't leave him alone. this is my favorite jason & steph best friends fic ever and the way this fic is paced scratches an itch in my brain, the flow of the story is just perfect

Buy Back the Secrets by @vinelark is the only ship fic on here and it deserves a place of honor. every time i get an email that it's updated an angel gets it's wings and my friends all get texts in all caps. Timkon fic where kon still doesn’t know tim’s civilian identity, but tim keeps calling for superboy when he's in trouble which leads to kon meeting him as a civilian. the identity shenanigans are just so top tier, its a 5 + 1 fic so every chapter is just just a new world of fun tropes. the chapter with tim's fake uncle and jason is actually probably my favorite chapter of a fic ever its so dear to me. as far as i'm concerned, this fic is the only timkon ever <3

Honoring Promises by LananiA3O is the shortest fic on this list and is the most important jason & dick post UTRH fics i've ever read. this fic both scratched an itch and created an itch because i need 100 more chapters and for it to never end. set post UTRH when dick starts to rethink his opinion on a note jason left him and realizes it was jason reaching out and decides to find him and fix things. this goes up there with RITCOS in the post UTRH fics where jason decides to just fuck off and do his own thing, i love them

Adopting a New Plan by A_Silly_Gander is yet another fic where jason winds up with an adoption problem when he first comes back to gotham. however, my favorite part of this whole fic is how the author writes jason making mistakes and being flawed and how those mistakes affect him. absolutely 10/10 character development and jason rejoining the batfam + damian and jaosn meeting in the LOA tag is just a mixture of all my favorite things, i love this fic so much

A Collision of Masks by MOVAZ is my favorite dick grayson fic ever, its set in a young justice AU where batman never joined the JL and YJ never met dick, so when the YJ team is sent to investigate a new vigilante, nightwing, identity shenanigans ensue. this is seriously such a fun fic, i loved all the crossover between dick's many identities and the YJ team

Cards on the Table by @wesslan is just!!! so fun oh my god. the chapter titles are to this day my favorite things ever they enhance the experience. it’s about tim being a scam fortune teller who knows a lot more than he should about the upper class due to his nighttime stalking. he winds up meeting the batfam and giving some scarily accurate advice which leads to him being tied up in their business and lots of lying <3 it’s such a fun fic and i just love the vibes 100/10

Hand in Unloveable Hand (a chokehold) by @a-large-orange-cat is by far my favorite fucked up tim fic! while tim’s out taking pictures of batman and robin as a kid he gets kidnapped by black mask and raised to take over his crime empire. cue 50k of manipulation and angst, the ending is so satisfying and the sequel with jason always makes me :’) very good, this tim lives in my mind in a little house he and jason built

Dark Matter by @mysterycyclone because would it be a fic rec without the loml? i love this fic so much oh my god, it sent me back on my spiderman obsessed bullshit which in turn led me back down my marvel bs. post infinity war peter is dusted and wakes up in the DC universe with the ghosts of the dusted avengers following him. i love this fic so much, nothing compares to this peter in my mind. the dynamic between him and the batfam + the identity angst is just so well done

keeping up with the peter theme, The Teenage Vigilante's Guide to Saving New York (And Making Friends Along the Way) by candlesneedflame is such a good team red/mentor matt fic oh my god. where peter goes against tony’s wishes and starts hanging out with daredevil and his friends and maybe starts getting mentored by new york’s vigilantes. 10/10 i love peter interacting with the other vigilantes and also matt mentoring him

anyways, that’s all folks! 2024 was the year for the DC and marvel fics clearly and hopefully 2025 will be the year of me binding all of these finally and having them sitting pretty on my shelf <3

[blade-liger-4ever]

Why Cody Burns succeeded where Rafael Esquivel failed

Honestly, Raf is one of those characters I never thought much of, in part because he was so forgettable. More often than not in Prime, Raf was just the sweet baby who everybody thought the world of and wanted to keep out of harm's way, even though the most he ever did in the show was provide technical help with Earth machinery or play the part of innocent child. This was not helped by the fact that he was buddy-ed up with the mute Bumblebee, who's sole contributions up until his two part arc and the series finale was additional man power and adorable mimic. While this was good for background humor, it ultimately did nothing to the overall storyline in the series, both for Raf and for Bee, and for the series itself.

By contrast, Cody Burns - the resident team baby, beloved by all and unwaveringly helpful in rescue missions - stood out far more than Raf. And what's more, is that he never had "his own" Autobot/Cybertronian partner, when literally his whole family had one of their own.

Allow me to delve into this, hopefully, final observatory post regarding the TFP kids.

Of all the humans, we quite frankly get the least out of Raf. We know he's a prodigy, given that he's twelve (and a quarter) and jumped straight into the same classes as Miko and Jack, the former of whom is no slouch as I've already covered. We're shown that his family allows him free reign of Jasper, as he's playing by himself near the road, although he's alone. That tells us that his family is either extremely lax in their attention for their youngest child, or that Jasper is an actually safe location for a kid who's barely filling out his shoes to be on his own. Whether or not either option is true, that's dangerous and shows that Raf goes unnoticed by his family. I'm not saying they're abusive or willfully neglectful of him, but this points us to the conclusion that Raf has a very lonely home life, and we already know that he's got zero friends until he meets the Autobots.

This could have been a great plot-point for the series: by giving Team Prime a small child with no one for company, the writers could have more clearly given the Autobots hope for the future of the War/after the War, while Raf could have gained confidence and security from having people who actually cared and listened to him. It could have been fun, having him be the human cycling through the Autobots for various needs. Imagine Raf going to Optimus for comfort after another day of feeling ignored, talking to Arcee for ideas on how to stand up to Vince (being the sole child in class makes you a target, after all), or coming to Bulkhead for how to struggle through the physical aspects of his school regimen (i.e. the time he brought up the rope climbing to Ratchet.) The possibilities were endless.

But instead, he's specifically handed over to Bee. Bee, who is the disabled child that is also largely forgotten, and who, while he does bond with Raf and provide him with much needed company, offers nothing else in the way of development or storylines. We got something marginally better when Raf started spending time with the grumpy grandpa that is Ratchet, which was great to highlight Ratchet's soft side that nurtures his own character progression, but it's not enough for Raf's development. I greatly prefer the company of the Autobots to the human characters in virtually every series, but there needs to be a noticable human presence to ground the Autobots' protective instincts toward Earth and to push along the story. Raf ended up being a token character not even halfway through the first season, which is a shame given his potential, especially since he and Bee ended up being background décor.

Now, as a counterpoint, we come to Cody Burns.

Like Raf, Cody is the youngest child of the Burns clan - and I say clan because his family has been the one providing Griffin Rock's safety and protection for about...roughly three hundred years? (Correct me if I'm wrong, but his family were the ones in-universe to discover the island. Thus, there's a large claim and respect to his family's name.) His father Charlie is the chief of police; his oldest brother Kade is the chief firefighter; his older sister Dani is the helicopter pilot and primary search and rescue operator; and his brother Graham, who's about eight years older than ten year old Cody, is already a chief engineer and inventor himself. Clearly, Cody has an impressive family. Clearly, they're the best of the best, and he couldn't be prouder of them.

And clearly, Cody feels the need to earn his stripes given their talents and the family's reputation.

A recurring subplot in Rescue Bots is how Cody is insecure about his role on the team, and that often leads him to attempt to provide help and find his place in life in the family. Sometimes, this works; although he's often left monitoring the situations across the island at home through the cameras, Cody finds ways of giving advice or pointing out a hazard that the others are oblivious to that would have likely killed them. And this is a noble occupation his fills, with his aid saving many lives and much trouble.

However, sitting around and merely being an observer wears on him. It makes him restless, and he often seeks aid from the 'Bots to figure out his problems before typical shenanigans ensue that rectify the current episode's dilemma.

This is an important part of Cody's characterization because while he does occasionally feel left out/ignored by his family, he understands it is because of their duties. Charlie has to daily wrangle different criminals and legal offenses while Graham is eagerly going to town on his latest project. Kade and Dani each have their own lives that are beginning and that they're pursuing, but additionally maintain an intense sibling rivalry due to them being not even three years apart. Thus, while they're seeing they're respective girlfriend and boyfriend, they're also competing in various childish ways that, sometimes, result in massive fights. It's no small wonder Cody rarely goes to them for advice.

For this, he's left with the 'Bots, and because they view him as their darling little brother who inspires them every day to give the humans of Griffin Rock and Earth a chance, they listen and advise him. Heatwave is the oldest of the 'Bots, and thus more experienced; additionally, Heatwave more than once nearly threw in the towel in the early days, but only relented due to Cody's convictions and virtues. Therefore, while they have a special bond without it being the sole focus, Cody tends to run to Heatwave the most when emotionally unwell and Charlie is unavailable. Heatwave in turn gives him comfort and advice, and backs him up in most situations. Chase is one he less often seeks help from, mostly due to Chase's nature of being a rigid rulebook. Most times Cody helps Chase understand human expressions and terms when Charlie is busy or otherwise engaged, with both their efforts helping the police 'Bot to loosen up. There are times when he needs Chase's input, as strange as that aid might be, and Cody doesn't hesitate to seek it.

Boulder he goes to almost as regularly as Heatwave, and the two get along fantastically. Boulder provides him with loving company he's hungry for, and sound advice without being overbearing. Blades sometimes needs more encouragement than anything, and thus Cody plays the rare part of helping guide someone through their numerous fears. Because of that, the 'copter 'Bot is extremely loyal and protective of Cody, and when Cody does ask for his help or companionship, Blades readily gives it. Sometimes, Blades will even go above and beyond what is asked, and never asks for anything in return.

These are healthy, constantly growing relationships that Cody develops with the 'Bots, as well as magnificent characterizations that are always expanding. While the focus tends to be shown through Cody's eyes or centered around him, it never fixates on him more than is necessary. Rather, by setting him up as the show's heart, the writing team is able to stretch out towards arcs related to other characters, both the 'Bots and their specific partners, and the other human cast members who interact with the 'Bots on a less frequent basis.

This is how Cody takes the potential of Raf from Prime and not only runs with it, but builds up countless heartwarming moments and strong characterizations over the course of Rescue Bots' run. Cody is positively and rightly shown as the glue of the family element of the show, and is given the autonomy to maintain his own personality and growth without being forgotten like Raf consistently was. That's why Cody stands out, and poor Raf is left hanging.

Well, that's my thoughts on the matter. I felt I should tackle Raf, given I covered his two peers, and Cody is a cute, fun, and constantly evolving counterpart to Raf that explains much of why I feel the poor baby of Team Prime was ultimately misused and unnecessary. I hope you enjoyed this, and that it got some gears turning in your heads.

I'll be seeing you guys!

"Rescue Bots, roll to the rescue!"

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 3

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 9.6k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The hospital buzzed with its usual rhythm—a steady pulse of urgent footsteps, muffled voices over intercoms, and the hum of medical equipment. Gojo stood in the bustling trauma bay, scrubbing his hands meticulously under the scalding water, mentally preparing for another long shift. Just another day, he thought. Another set of lives to save. While Nanami and Ito haven’t even clocked in yet, he was stuck here. He sighs, trying not to dwell too much on it. He studied for this and dedicated hours, days, months, and years to this profession. Just suck it up, suck it up.

“Dr. Gojo!” A frantic voice broke through the air, slicing into his focus. He turned to see a nurse rushing towards him, eyes wide, panic etched across her face. “We’ve got an emergency intake—severe trauma. Possible bite wounds.”

Bite wounds? Gojo’s brows knitted together as he grabbed a pair of gloves. “Alright, let’s move,” he commanded, slipping into his role seamlessly.

The trauma bay doors swung open, revealing chaos in motion. Paramedics wheeled in a stretcher, the patient thrashing weakly against the restraints. Blood smeared across her limbs, and her skin was a sickly, ashen gray. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, darted around the room. “Late twenties, found unconscious and bleeding in an alley. Found by someone walking by,” one of the paramedics reported, struggling to keep the patient still. “Possible drug overdose, but… she’s been biting and scratching. Unprovoked.”

Gojo moved in quickly, assessing the situation and silently nodding along to the information being told to him. “Let’s get her stabilized,” he ordered, voice steady. “Push 5 milligrams of midazolam, and get a tox screen running. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

The nurses moved in sync, following his commands, but something felt off. The woman’s movements were erratic, too strong, almost inhuman. Her fingers clawed at the air, mouth snapping open and shut as if trying to bite through the very air itself. Gojo leaned in, shining a light into her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, unfocused. “Can you hear me?” he called out, keeping his voice firm but calm. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” The woman doesn’t respond, attempting to bite at his ear before he moves away in time. 

A collective gasp rippled through the room as the patient’s teeth clamped down on nothing but air, her jaw snapping shut with a sickening click. Gojo’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip on the stretcher’s railing tightened. The nurses took a cautious step back, glancing at each other for reassurance, but their unease spread like wildfire. “She almost bit you—” one of them started, but Gojo cut her off with a sharp nod.

“I noticed,” he said dryly, but his mind was already spinning. This wasn’t normal. Overdoses, withdrawals, even extreme psychosis—he’d seen it all before. But this? The sheer aggression, the unnatural strength, the way her body fought against sedation like a cornered animal—it didn’t add up. “Her vitals?” he asked, directing his attention to the monitor as one of the nurses fumbled with the blood pressure cuff.

“Heart rate is… Jesus,” the nurse muttered, eyes widening. “168 beats per minute. It’s skyrocketing.” Gojo frowned. That wasn’t just stress—it was something else. A body under that kind of strain should be shutting down, but she was still moving, still fighting as if sheer will alone kept her conscious. 

The nurse with the syringe hesitated before stepping forward again. “Administering midazolam now.” The second the needle pierced the woman’s skin, a guttural snarl ripped from her throat, raw and animalistic. She lunged upward, nearly toppling the stretcher as her body convulsed.

“Hold her down!” Gojo barked, moving to restrain her arms as another nurse grabbed her legs in order to place straps on her limbs.

But she was strong. Too strong.

A sickening crack echoed as the leather restraints dug into her wrists, her muscles tensing unnaturally. The veins beneath her skin bulged, an eerie blackness creeping up her forearms. “Doctor, I don’t think—”

Then she stopped.

The room fell silent except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Her body slackened. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The fight was gone as if something inside of her had finally given out. Gojo slowly loosened his grip, exhaling through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, glancing at the monitors again. “Get a full panel workup on her—blood tox, organ function, everything. And someone check her—”

A sharp gasp cut through the air. It was the nurse standing closest to the patient. Gojo turned just in time to see the woman’s eyes snap open—pupils blown so wide that her irises were nearly swallowed by darkness.

And then she lunged. The poor nurse didn’t have time to react. A wet crunch filled the room as the woman’s teeth sank deep into the nurse’s forearm. Screams erupted. Blood splattered onto the crisp white sheets, pooling onto the floor in sickening ribbons of red. The nurse staggered back, her face twisted in pain and disbelief.

Gojo acted before he could think.

He grabbed the nearest crash cart and shoved it between them, using it as a makeshift barrier. The patient—no, the thing—snapped its teeth wildly, blood dripping from its mouth as it fought against the stretcher’s restraints. The nurse clutched her arm, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Oh my god—oh my god, she bit me—”

Gojo’s stomach twisted. His mind screamed at him to do something, to take control of the situation, but a terrifying realization settled into his bones. The room had erupted into chaos. The other nurses scrambled back, knocking over trays and equipment in their haste to put distance between themselves and the thrashing patient. Someone was screaming for security. Someone else was already reaching for the emergency call button. Gojo barely registered any of it. His gaze locked onto the nurse clutching her arm, fingers trembling as blood seeped through them. The bite was deep, the wound ragged, and the sheer force behind it—

It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this seemed normal.

“Get pressure on that wound,” he ordered sharply, breaking from his momentary paralysis. “Now.”

The injured nurse—Yuki, his mind supplied—nodded weakly, her breaths shallow, ragged. One of her colleagues rushed forward, pressing a wad of gauze onto her arm, but Yuki didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out. Just stood there, swaying slightly, blinking as if she were trying to force herself to stay present. Shock. Maybe blood loss. Maybe— 

The patient jerked violently, snapping Gojo’s attention back. The crash cart he’d shoved between them rattled under the force of her struggle. Despite the restraints digging into her wrists, despite the blood smeared across her lips, she kept fighting, kept lunging, animalistic grunts spilling from her throat. The guttural sound sent a chill down his spine. “Doctor, what do we do?” someone asked, voice tight with barely contained fear.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. “We—” His words faltered as he looked at her again. The way her body contorted, the unnatural sharpness of her movements—it wasn’t human. It wasn’t just an overdose, or psychosis, or anything that made sense.

And Yuki—

He turned back toward her, but his frown deepened when he saw what had already begun to happen. She was trembling now, violently, like something inside her was coming undone. Her breathing had grown erratic, a wet, gurgling rasp behind each inhale. Her pupils—God, her pupils. They were dilating, swallowing up every trace of brown, leaving behind only an abyss of black. Gojo had seen overdoses. He’d seen trauma. He’d seen people die on his table. But he had never seen anything like this. The realization settled into his bones, cold and unshakable.

This wasn’t a patient. This was something else entirely.

The nurse who was helping Yuki with pressure on the wound was next to go, and so was the other nurse, then the security, the older woman at the desk who always offered him donuts from her daughter’s shop, and the other patients. Everything was a mess; people were running and screaming everywhere. Satoru was used to chaos and panic, but this—this wasn’t the same. Sharp eyes darted around as he tried to make sense of the bloodbath happening in front of him, fingers twitching by his sides. The sounds seemed to blend into one, his eyes closing momentarily—willing himself to take a deep breath and calm his body. 

“Dr. Gojo!”

A shout for his name has him moving instantly, head whipping over to one of the newer nurses.  She was backed against the supply cabinet, eyes wide with sheer terror, hands shaking as she gripped a pair of trauma shears like they were her last line of defense. “They’re—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head violently. “They’re attacking everyone!”

No shit.

Gojo didn’t waste time responding. He could see it, hear it, feel the horror crawling under his skin like an infection of its own. The nurse who had tried to help Yuki was on the floor now, her throat torn open, gurgling as her hands weakly clawed at nothing. Another had barely made it two steps before the security guard—no, the thing that had been the security guard—tackled her to the ground, teeth sinking into her shoulder. The older woman at the front desk. The patients waiting for help. The paramedics who had wheeled in that first patient.

One by one, they fell, and one by one, they rose again.

Screams shattered through the air, but Gojo forced himself to push forward. His mind raced, trying to grasp at some kind of explanation, some kind of rationalization, but there was none. His body was running on autopilot, instincts screaming for him to do something—anything—before he was next. He reached out, grabbing the younger nurse’s wrist, his grip firm but not cruel. “We need to move,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Now.” She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The moment she nodded, he pulled her with him, shoving past overturned chairs and blood-slick floors, trying to navigate the quickest way out. Every second counted. Every turn was a gamble.

And just as they rounded the corner toward the exit—

Another figure lurched toward them, half of its face missing, blood dripping down the remnants of its jaw. “Shit!” he manages to evade the attack, simultaneously pushing the nurse to the side. However, it proved to be useless when one of the paramedics grabbed at her ankle with ungodly strength and took a bite out of the flesh.

Her scream pierced through the chaos, raw and agonized. She thrashed, kicking at the paramedic-turned-monster, but its grip was relentless, teeth tearing into her calf with sickening force. Blood sprayed across the linoleum floor, pooling beneath her as her body twisted in desperation. “Fuck!” Gojo moved before he could think, his hand finding the nearest IV pole. With a forceful swing, he brought it down onto the thing’s skull. Once. Twice. The dull crack of bone giving way under steel echoed through the hall. The creature twitched before finally going still, its jaws slackening, releasing the nurse’s mangled leg. 

She was hyperventilating, trying to scramble backward, her fingers slipping in her own blood. “It hurts—oh god, it—”

“Get up no—”

He doesn’t finish that sentence when her body twitches, jerking in ways that look like they could break bones. Her eyes, wide with terror only a second ago, rolled back into her head. A violent convulsion wracked her body, limbs twitching unnaturally as if something inside her was seizing control. Foam bubbled at the corners of her lips, her chest heaving in frantic, uneven spasms. Gojo had seen people die before. He had seen bodies succumb to the limits of mortality, had fought against it with everything he had. But this was wrong. He didn’t know if he could save these people.  This was all getting out of hand way too fast.  “Sumi.” He crouched beside her, one hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. “Stay with me. Breathe.”

But she wasn’t breathing. Not properly. Her gasps came out in short, shallow bursts, her pupils dilating until nothing remained of their original color. Her fingers twitched, curling like claws against the floor. The convulsions stopped. And then…her body went completely still. Gojo swallowed, dread pooling in his stomach like lead. He knew what was coming before it even happened, but a small, desperate part of him still hesitated.

“Sumi?” he tried again, softer this time.

She moved. Not like a person. Not like someone regaining consciousness. Her head jerked to the side with a sickening pop, her gaze snapping up to meet his. A slow, eerie smile stretched across her face, lips splitting over teeth now stained red with her own blood. And then she lunged. Gojo barely had time to react. He threw himself backward, her teeth missing his throat by inches. She scrambled forward on hands and knees, faster than she should have been able to move. A guttural snarl tore from her throat—a sound that no human should be able to make.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the IV pole again and swung. It connected with a sickening crunch, but she kept coming. Even with her skull caving in, even with blood pouring from her shattered face—she kept coming. "Fuck," he hissed, bracing himself.

This wasn’t an illness or whatever it may have been. This wasn’t a psychotic episode. This was something else entirely. And if he didn’t get the hell out of here—

He was next.

He collides the pole into her head three more times before her body goes slack, a gaping hole that pours blood out onto the floor. Satoru doesn’t look back as he quickly scrambles to his feet and runs to the door leading to the stairwells. Doesn’t stop moving forward even after the snarls and growls of whatever those fucking things are chasing him up, but gets ultimately distracted when other nurses, doctors, patients, and family members open the doors leading to their floor—completely unaware of what kind of hell just took place below them. He’s running and running until there’s nowhere to run to anymore. The top floor of the hospital that’s been under renovation, almost close to finishing. It’s empty for the most part until the construction workers decide to grace the place with their presence. 

He opens the double doors with quickness, rushing inside and closing them right behind him. t’s a temporary refuge. The space is large and open, construction equipment scattered around like remnants of a dream left unfinished. The sterile white walls have been interrupted by half-constructed walls and loose cables, the sharp smell of fresh paint and cement mixing with the foul, metallic stench of blood that clings to him. Looking around, he grabs one of the longer cables and wraps it in and around the handles of the door, essentially ensuring the doors can’t be opened from the outside.  He steps back slowly, his chest heaving. His thoughts are a blur, too fast to catch up with, too fast to make sense of. How the fuck did this happen? He thought he was in control. He thought he understood everything.

But what just happened outside? He has not a damn clue. 

“I—w-what?” you gulp out, eyes wide and staring at the man who holds your fate in the palm of his hand. 

“You heard me,” he dryly scoffs, his smirk unnerving. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“A-Are you fucking insane?!” your face scrunches when he presses the axe closer, pressing a hand down onto the handle in an attempt to keep it at bay.

“Maybe, but I’m also not taking chances, even if you are pretty.”

Your heart races as his words hit you, and for a moment, you freeze. “Pretty?” You repeat, your mind struggling to focus through the adrenaline rush and fear.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he cuts you off, his voice low and dangerous, though there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “Pretty people don’t get a free pass. You’re either useful... or you're one of them." The tip of the axe shifts, hovering dangerously close to your throat. "So, what’s it gonna be?"

“Listen,” you stammer, trying to think fast, “I—I’m not part of whatever the hell’s going on out there. I’m just trying to survive, okay? I’m not a threat to you.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but his gaze never wavers from you. It's like he's waiting for you to say something more.

“And how do I know that? You could be lying to my face for all I know,” he quips back, head tilting in a scrutinizing way. His eyes scan down your body, lingering a bit too much on your legs—though not as much as your chest.

You huff, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your skin crawl. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m bleeding, exhausted, and just barely survived getting ripped apart out there?” You gesture wildly toward the door. “Does that scream ‘like one of them’ to you?”

Gojo hums, tapping his fingers against the handle of the axe. “Mmm… could just mean you’re a tough little thing.” His smirk deepens, and he finally meets your eyes again. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Mostly ‘cause you’re pretty.”

But he just said….  Your face twists in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed.” He finally lowers the axe, resting it against his shoulder. “I could’ve gone with my first instinct and chopped your head off. But lucky you—” his grin turns downright cocky— “I’m a sucker for a good underdog story.”

He steps back, grabs what looks to be a wire or chord of some sort, and loops it through the handles of the doors, tying it roughly. And only then do you allow yourself to look him over as well. He’s wearing green scrubs and a white coat layered overtop. The material is stained with what you can only assume is blood, his hair unkempt and white strands poking up in all different directions as he runs a hand through it. A thin pair of silver-framed, rectangle glasses sit on his chin, the lenses look scuffed up. He must have been through some shit too. Not like you’re going to ask. He watches you carefully, his stance still tense, as if he’s waiting for the slightest reason to raise that axe again. But then, as if some invisible weight lifts off his shoulders, he exhales and takes another step back. The distance he gives isn’t much, but it’s enough for you to stop feeling like you’re seconds away from death. You take a slow breath, your limbs still trembling from everything that just happened.

His sharp blue eyes meet yours again, and the smirk he wore earlier has faded into something unreadable. “So,” he says, voice casual despite the tension still thick in the air. “What’s your deal? You really come all the way up here just to bang on my door and scream for help?”

You frown, straightening your posture even though exhaustion still weighs you down. “I had nowhere else to go. Excuse me for believing there were other survivors. I ran here, I–I thought there’d be help. Doctors…something.” 

He scoffs. “Little late for that.”

“No shit.” 

He turns his back to you, striding over to the window and looking out. “So,” he begins. “This….stuff…it’s happening outside the hospital too, I assume.”

“Yeah,” you nod, letting out a big and tired huff of air. Grunting to yourself as you allow your body an ample amount of time to recover from the shock it just experienced. Sinking down to the floor and sighing in relief—the floor has never felt more comfortable than it does right now. Satoru hums in acknowledgment, but there’s an edge to it, like he already knew the answer before you even said it. He places a hand on the windowsill, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he stares down at the wreckage below. The city that was once bustling with life is now a graveyard, streets littered with abandoned cars, bodies—some moving, some not—and plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

His jaw tightens. “Figures.”  You watch him, taking in the way his shoulders are drawn tight, the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to grip something—maybe the axe still resting against his hip. He’s trying to stay collected, but you’ve seen enough people break today to recognize when someone is on the verge of it. Not that you care. You’re barely holding it together yourself. “Did you see anyone else on your way here?” he asks, still looking out the window.

You hesitate, thinking about your friends losing their lives right in front of you and the fact that Sayo is still lying out there in the middle of it all. You press a hand to the side of your head, eyes squeezing shut, stomach churning. “No one made it,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “Not in a way that mattered.”

At that, Gojo finally turns back around, studying you with an unreadable expression. He leans against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. “That so?” 

You nod, but you don’t elaborate. You don’t want to talk about it.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant sounds of chaos outside. You furrow your brows, just for a moment, allowing your body to sag against the cold floor. It feels like the only solid thing in your life right now.

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes snap open. Gojo is looking at your arm now, at the blood staining your sleeve. His brows furrow slightly. You blink down at it, almost having forgotten the wound entirely with everything else going on. “Oh. Yeah.” You move your fingers, testing how bad it really is. A sharp sting shoots up your arm, making you hiss. “It’s fine,” you lie.

Gojo clicks his tongue, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not get stuck in here with a liability. Get up.”

You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeats, walking over to where a few carts with wheels standby. You see him open one of the drawers, a basic first aid kit coming into sight. “You want to live, don’t you?”

You don’t answer right away, but eventually, with a groan, you force yourself to your feet. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Haven’t you seen any zombie movies? It’s a scratch but maybe you already have whatever the hell those things do. You’re lucky you’re not spazzing out on the floor right now, then I’d really have a reason to kill you.”

Your lip curls up, walking over to where he is. Opening the kit, and moving some of the supplies to the side to grab a few anti-bacterial wipes. “For a doctor, you talk about killing someone way too easily. Are you sure you’re certified?”

He lets out an amused huff, shaking his head as he leans against the cart. “Certified? Honey, I’m overqualified.” 

He watches as you take off your jacket with one hand, his lips twitching. You grab one of the wipes he opened, hesitating to apply it to your wound. You catch the barely concealed smirk, shooting him a glare. “Are you just gonna stand there and make jokes, or are you actually going to help?”

He sighs dramatically, pushing off the cart. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Before you can protest, he snatches the wipe from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. The way he moves is so effortless, so natural, that you almost don’t register what’s happening until he’s gripping your wrist with a firm but gentle touch. “Relax,” he drawls, dabbing at the wound. The sting burns deep, making you suck in a sharp breath, arm jerking involuntarily. His grip tightens for just a second before loosening again. “You’d think someone who just ran for their life wouldn’t be such a baby over a little antiseptic.”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to yank your arm away. “Says the guy who pulled an axe on me two seconds after saving my ass.”

Satoru shrugs. “You looked suspicious. Plus, it was funny.”

“Yeah? Almost getting your throat slit is funny to you?”

His grin widens, but there’s something sharp in the way he looks up at you, something unreadable behind those piercing blue eyes. “I like to keep things interesting.”

You swallow, refusing to let the unease creeping up your spine show. Instead, you roll your eyes, looking away. “Whatever.” The silence resumes between you again, but this time, it’s not as…weird. He works quickly, applying some of the ointment before pressing a bandage over the wound and giving your arm a light pat. “There. Good as new.”

You snatch your wrist back, flexing your fingers. “You could’ve just given me the supplies. I know how to take care of myself.”

Satoru rolls his eyes and steps back. “Yeah? You mean the way you ‘took care of yourself’ by running in here screaming for help?” Your jaw clenches, but before you can snap at him, a noise echoes from outside the door—a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps. Your heart rate spikes. Gojo, however, merely tilts his head, his expression unreadable. Then, with a teasing lilt, he murmurs, “Looks like we’ve got company.”

“We should—”

“Don’t worry, they’re not getting through it.” His footsteps carry him to the double doors, giving the wire another small knot. “This can hold ‘em back.”

“Really?” you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. Eyes wide and hurrying over to his side. “That? That can hold whatever the fuck those things are back? This is a hospital and you guys can’t afford to have regular locks on your doors?”

Gojo hums, seemingly unbothered by your concern as he gives the doors a light push, testing the strength of his handiwork. “Locks slow things down. Not exactly ideal in a place where every second counts.”

You let out a sharp breath, glancing between him and the doors. “Yeah, well, I think we’re a little past ‘every second counts’ now, don’t you?”

He turns to you with a charming smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “Relax. If they do get through, I’ve got an axe, and you…” His gaze flickers down to your empty hands before lifting back up to your face, his smirk deepening with an amused chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a strong set of lungs.”

Your eyes narrow, lips parting to throw some kind of retort at him, but another groan from the other side of the door makes your blood run cold. It’s closer this time, more urgent. The sound of nails scraping against the wood sends a violent shiver up your spine. He merely tilts his head, listening. “Sounds like they really want in.”

You stare at him incredulously. “And you’re still just standing there?”

“Would you rather I open the door and say hello?”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you grumble under your breath. The sound of something heavy slamming against the door makes you both freeze. Your breath catches in your throat as the doors rattle in their hinges, the knot in the wire straining under the pressure. 

Gojo clicks his tongue. “Huh.”

“Huh? What the hell is ‘huh’ supposed to mean?”

He turns to you, and for the first time, the teasing glint in his eyes dims slightly. “It means we should probably get moving.”

Your stomach drops. “I thought you said they weren’t getting through?”

He grins, reaching for his axe. “I also said I like to keep things interesting.”

You let out a string of curses under your breath as you back away from the door. “You are the worst person I could be stuck with right now.”

Gojo slings the axe over his shoulder, flashing you a wink. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Do not call me that,” you tell him firmly, lip curling in disgust. 

“Fine, whatever your name is.”

“My name is—”

“Look, enough talking and more trying to figure out a way out of here. One that doesn’t involve the stairs, if possible.”

You rub your face, panic setting in once more. “D-Don’t you work here? Shouldn’t you know?”

“I haven’t been up here. It’s been closed off for renovation.” He replies, looking up towards the ceiling and walking around. 

“Renovation… renovation,” you repeat lowly, huffing. “Well, that’s just great. We’re gonna fucking die, and it’s all your fault.” You sink down to your knees, fingers twitching on your thighs. You didn’t think it would be possible to feel closer to death multiple times in one day, but here you are now. Bangs and groans from outside the doors interrupt your goodbye monologue. 

Gojo pauses mid-step, glancing down at you with a raised brow. “My fault?” he repeats, amusement creeping back into his voice. “I don’t remember dragging you into this hospital and locking the doors behind you.”

You glare up at him, hands clenching into fists on your lap. “You could’ve at least had a damn plan!”

He sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did have a plan. Step one: don’t die. Step two: don’t let some random stranger get me killed. And, so far…” He gestures vaguely toward the barricaded doors. “We’re still on step one.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great plan, doctor. Real detailed.”

“Hey, I’m a trauma surgeon, not a survivalist. Cut me some slack.” He turns away, scanning the dimly lit hallway. “But since you’re so eager for a plan, let’s make one.” The doors creak again under another heavy slam. You flinch. Gojo merely rolls his shoulders, unfazed. “Alright,” he muses, tapping the handle of the axe against his palm. “No stairs, which means we need another way down.” His gaze flickers upward again, lingering on the ceiling. “If this place was under renovation, there should be scaffolding somewhere.”

You blink. “You want us to climb out of a hospital window?”

He shrugs. “Got a better idea?”

You press your lips together, stomach twisting. You really don’t.

Gojo grins, taking your silence as agreement. “Thought so. Now, get up. We’ve got some window shopping to do.”

Your lips purse, but the weight of the situation brings you to your feet. You let out another string of curses, glaring up at your unforeseen ally.“If we die, I’m haunting you.”

He nods. “Kinky.” Ignoring the comment, you tie your hair back. If you’re going to have a final day on Earth, firstly, you’re not dying at the hands of other…people. And two, you’re most certainly not dying next to an infuriating man like him. He’s rolling the sleeves of his white coat up, twisting his neck from side to side. “There’s an underground parking garage. Employees only. We can go there but that means going down and facing those things.” You feel your chest tighten at the thought, pressing down on your chest. Another life or death, sticky situation. It’s one thing to be running for your life; it’s another to know that the only escape route is through the very thing you’ve been desperately avoiding. Your heart races, the pulse of panic threatening to override your every thought. The way this guy speaks about it so nonchalantly, like it’s just another inconvenience, makes you sick. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation? Does he realize that going down there means walking straight into the heart of danger? You shake your head slightly, trying to push the rising dread aside. You can’t afford to be scared right now. You can’t.

But it doesn’t help. It’s still there, gnawing at your insides like a constant pressure. You glance over at Gojo, his posture relaxed, almost too confident. He’s already thinking about the next step, mentally preparing for the mess ahead while you’re still stuck back in the reality of what’s happening. The very idea of going through those things makes you want to vomit. You can almost hear their gnashing teeth, the wet, hungry sounds that have been haunting your every step since you stepped foot in this nightmare.

You can’t do this. You can’t—

But the thought dies as soon as it forms, buried beneath the heaviness of your survival instincts. There’s no other way. If you want to live, you’re going to have to face the very thing that terrifies you the most. You clench your fists, trying to keep your breathing steady, the sting of your arm a minor distraction compared to what’s coming. “Then we’re fucked either way,” you mutter, voice harsh, though the words do nothing to quiet the internal noise swirling in your mind. You push yourself to stand taller, to act like you have everything under control—even if you don’t. You won’t show weakness. Not now, not here.

Your eyes shift to Gojo, who’s still fiddling with the equipment, glancing at you as if expecting something. His words earlier, the ones about not getting stuck with a liability, echo in your head. Is that what he thinks of you? That you’re a liability? It stings more than it should, especially given the situation, but you can’t afford to linger on it. "Fine," you force out, standing up straighter, squaring your shoulders. “Let’s go. Just... just don’t slow me down.”

Gojo's expression flickers again, an unreadable glint in his eyes, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. You both know that the clock is ticking, and right now, all you have is each other—whether you like it or not. He finishes tight-knotting the end of another wire to one of the pipes on the wall, connecting it with another chord, and then two more. It creates a familiar representation of what should be a rope. “We’re fifteen floors up.”

“Fifteen?” you repeat back with incredulity, eyes wide. Damn, did you really run up that many flights? Must’ve been the adrenaline because you’re usually tired after just two. You shake your head and walk over to where he’s opening the window and throwing the loose end of the long conjoined wires out. 

“We’ll use this climb down.” He gives the wire a few tugs and after seeing the pipe holds it pretty well, he moves to climb out. 

Your hand shoots out to grip his arm. “Wait! W-What if it’s not long enough?”

“Then we hop into the nearest window and go down from there.”

“Well, what if it snaps and we fall to our death?”

“You said you ran here, right? You should be down at least a pound or two. That’ll help us.” He shrugs. 

This guy! “This isn’t a joke!” you exclaim, he turns to look down at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not falling to my death and I’m not trusting you either. If we’re doing this, we have to be sure it’ll work.”

Gojo's gaze sharpens, just for a second, before that smirk of his reappears, more teasing than reassuring. "Don't worry, I'm not letting you die on me just yet. That would be too anticlimactic."

You grit your teeth at his response, irritation bubbling up again. It’s the kind of flippant attitude that, in any other situation, might make you walk away from him. But here? With the sound of snarling creatures growing louder outside the door and the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you don't have the luxury of being picky about your companions. You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the sleeve of his jacket, as though holding on to something—anything—that might give you the tiniest shred of control over this madness. "I’m serious," you say, your voice softer now, but no less intense. "One wrong move, and we’re done. I’m not asking for a guarantee, but I need to know you’re not going to fuck this up."

For a moment, Gojo’s eyes change with something you can’t quite interpret. He looks at you like he’s about to crack some sardonic joke, but then the edges of his expression soften—just barely. It’s a fleeting glimpse of something deeper, something more human than the cocky façade he’s been wearing. “I’m not gonna fuck this up,” he says, quieter than before. “But we need to move. I’m not here to lose time arguing.”

Your breath hitches as his words hit, that tension returning, knifing through your chest. You glance out the window, your mind running through the worst-case scenarios: falling to the ground, your body snapping under the impact, the wire giving way to the weight of your desperation. But it’s not like you have a choice. There’s no other way out. You draw in a slow, deliberate breath, your hands shaking slightly as you release his arm and step toward the window. The world outside feels like another universe—chaotic, terrifying, but somehow still just beyond reach. You force yourself to meet Gojo's eyes, ignoring the flash of doubt that tries to creep in.

"After you," you mutter, voice almost drowned out by the cacophony of the chaos below. He flashes you a grin, far too confident for your liking, before stepping onto the ledge and disappearing over it. The faint thrum of your pulse fills your ears, your heart hammering with every passing second. You don’t have the luxury of hesitating. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. He’s first out the window, using the wire to grip onto. 

The wire stretches out below you, and you can hear Gojo’s voice calling up from beneath, the sound of his boots scraping against the side of the building. “Let’s go,” he shouts. “You’re not dying up there.”

You force yourself to swallow the fear choking your throat. There’s no turning back now. If you want to survive, you’ll have to trust him, even just this once. With one final glance at the locked door behind you—the thing keeping the chaos at bay—you grab hold of the wire. Your fingers slip a little, the metal feeling cold and foreign in your hands. The weight of everything makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t stop. Not now. One step at a time. Very slowly, you climb out the window, gripping your savior for dear life. The soles of your running shoes stamp down onto the side of the hospital building. Your breathing feels shaky and uneven, but you will your body to climb down. 

Every muscle in your body protests as you inch your way down the side of the building, the rough texture of the concrete beneath your feet scraping against your shoes. Your fingers ache, but you cling to the wire, each grip desperate and frantic as you descend into the unknown below. The air feels thicker and colder, the sounds of the hospital—the pounding, the growls, the chaos—fading to nothing but a distant memory.

Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, and your mind races, replaying every terrifying moment up until now. The face of Sayo flashes through your thoughts, the guilt already gnawing at you, even though your survival instinct tells you there's no time to dwell on what happened back there. Every inch lower feels like a countdown to a disaster, your stomach twisting, tight with nerves. "Take it slow," Gojo calls up to you from below, his voice loud enough to cut through the fear ringing in your ears. "You don’t want to make it worse by rushing."

You don't answer, too focused on the descent. Your foot slips for a brief moment, a sharp jolt running through your body, but you catch yourself just in time, heart racing. You curse under your breath, forcing yourself to calm down to breathe, but it’s hard when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control. As you both climb your descent, you pass by multiple windows of the hospital, barely having time to look in before one of those creatures gets too close to the glass, mangled faces pressed to the glass, and forcing you to hide off to the side. You keep your eyes away from the windows, focusing entirely on the wire beneath your hands. It’s your lifeline now. Your only hope. But the tension in your fingers only grows with each inch you descend, like the wire’s becoming slick with your own fear. Just keep going, you tell yourself. Just keep going.

Gojo’s voice breaks through the pounding in your head again. “You’re doing fine. Just don’t look down.”

It’s a futile piece of advice—too late for that—but you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the height. The wind blows harder as you continue downward, the hospital walls below fading into an indistinct blur. You try not to think about what happens if you fall, if the wire breaks, or if one of those monsters happens to look up at the wrong moment. But the thought of Sayo, Yui, and everyone else; the guilt that gnaws at your insides, pushes those fears aside. You can't let that weigh you down. Not now. Not when there’s still a chance to survive.

"Don't stop. Just keep going," Gojo’s voice calls up again, louder this time, but with a tone that’s almost… comforting. Even if his words are wrapped in layers of sarcasm, there’s something strangely steadying about his presence.

You’re not sure if it's the adrenaline, the tension, or just the fact that you’ve been hanging onto this wire for what feels like forever, but you feel a little more steady with each passing second. Your hands are raw now, the skin on your palms chafed, but you don’t let go. Not for a second. The wind picks up even more, swirling around you, carrying with it the smells of burning rubber and smoke. Your hands are starting to burn. The world outside feels vast, too vast, and your head spins as you force yourself to stay focused on the task at hand. The ground seems so far away. It feels like you’ll never make it. You finally manage to glance down, just for a split second, and the ground below makes your stomach lurch. The parking garage’s concrete floor looks miles away, the edges of your vision blurring with the pressure. Your heart slams in your chest as you look up quickly, trying to keep the vertigo from overwhelming you.

You can hear Gojo below you, his voice sounding closer now, his hands gripping the wire with practiced ease. “Almost there,” he calls, though his tone doesn’t seem too urgent, as if he’s been in worse situations than this.

You shake your head, teeth gritted, trying to shut out the panic creeping into your chest. There’s still a part of you that wonders if this was a mistake—if you’re not going to make it. You can’t help but wonder if Gojo’s not just as clueless as you are. But his presence, his confident tone, keeps you moving. Then, just as you're nearing the final stretch, your foot slips again, sending a jolt of panic through you. You catch yourself, but not without a sharp cry, a gasp of air leaving your chest as your stomach drops. For a moment, you just hang there, suspended in midair, body trembling. "Shit," you mutter under your breath, eyes squeezing shut, breathing out and focusing.

His voice cuts through the panic. “You alright?” There’s a hint of concern now, masked by his usual cool demeanor.

“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m fine.” But even to your own ears, your voice sounds shaky. You push yourself forward again, hands clutching at the wire like a lifeline. You’re close. So close. The ground is finally coming into view—barely more than a few feet away. Your body aches, and your head is spinning, but you can’t stop now. 

The wind picks up again, and your foot slips once more. Catching yourself is even harder this time, combined with your sweaty but burning palms. You can faintly make out him calling up to you once more, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your body jolting as you slide down in a momentary free-fall. “Shit!” 

The wire feels too slippery for you to catch, and you begin to have that epiphany of your life flashing before your eyes for what must be the hundredth time today. Until, a firm arm catches you by your waist, locked and secured around it. The sound of his hissed grunt hits your eyes, and the two of your bodies swing side to side, back and forth, until he steadies you both against the wall. Breathing heavily, he huffs as he adjusts his hold. Your eyes open after closing them after what you thought would be your death. His chest is pressed against your back. “Hold,” he gruffs out. 

You do so quickly. Your heart beats wildly, out of sync with everything, but the panic begins to fade, slowly—bit by bit. The world around you sharpens again, and you’re aware of how precariously close you were to falling. To dying. The thought makes your stomach flip. “Not today,” you murmur, your voice hoarse, raw from the strain of the climb and the near-death experience you’ve just had.

“Not today,” he repeats, a strange softness in his tone, a touch of something almost reassuring.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the thundering of your pulse loud in your ears, as the adrenaline from the near-fall surges through your body, shaking your hands and making your legs feel like jelly. Every breath feels like it’s ripping through your lungs, but it’s a strange sense of relief that comes with Gojo’s grip around your waist, anchoring you to the side of the building like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed. His chest pressed to your back serves as a grim reminder of how close you were to plummeting, but it also feels like an odd comfort—something solid in a world that's falling apart. Your thoughts are too scattered to make sense of much. The ground still feels so impossibly far away, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as though the earth itself is trying to pull you down. It’s dizzying, suffocating. But you manage to focus on his voice, low and steady, cutting through the panic that threatens to overtake you.

“Breathe, slow down. You’re alright,” he mutters into your ear, his breath warm against the cold air. It’s a strange thing to hear him say. A little gentler, less cocky than the usual bravado, but just as firm. And for a split second, you almost believe him. You almost start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it through this.

The steady pressure of his hold keeps you from losing control, even as your body trembles. His grip tightens around you, not with urgency, but with intent—like he’s waiting for the right moment to push you forward. It makes something stir inside you, a complicated knot of anger and gratitude that you can’t quite untangle. You don’t want to rely on him, not like this. You don’t want to admit how much you need him to get through this. Still, you force yourself to steady your breath, eyes flickering open for a moment to glance at the ground below. It’s even closer now—so close you can almost taste the concrete. The garage is just a few more feet down. But the thought of trying to make it the rest of the way on your own, after what just happened, is enough to make your stomach twist. What if I fall again? What if this was a mistake?

But then Gojo’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts again, this time with a touch more force. 

“Stop thinking so much,” he says, his grip shifting as he pulls you up slightly, adjusting his hold around your waist. “We’re almost there. Just focus. Just focus on getting your feet on the ground.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. Your hands are slick, your body worn from the climb, but you manage to find some semblance of focus, forcing your limbs to obey. Just a little longer. The ground is so close now, and though your head spins with vertigo, you push yourself forward, feet sliding along the building, each movement controlled, even though every muscle in your body screams in protest. You can feel the tension in Gojo’s grip as he pulls you closer to the final stretch, his voice barely a whisper against your ear now, “Almost there. Don’t stop now.” The air feels thick, every inch of movement dragging on, but you finally feel it—your feet graze against something solid, the rough concrete finally meeting the soles of your shoes. The relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’ve made it. You’ve actually made it. You stumble, catching yourself with a grunt, and then, finally, you collapse—your legs giving way beneath you as you hit the concrete. You're breathing heavily, but you’re alive. "That was a close one," you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Your limbs feel like lead, each movement sluggish and strained, but the fear, the tension, it slowly starts to lift, replaced with a faint but undeniable relief.

Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks down at you for a moment—his expression indecipherable, like he’s sizing you up in the aftermath of it all. But there’s something different in his gaze this time. Less amused, less cocky. Maybe even... appreciative? You can’t tell, but it’s there. “Yeah,” he finally replies, his voice steady as ever, but there's a flicker of something beneath it. "But we’re not out yet."

You nod, slowly rising to your feet, the muscles in your legs protesting, but you push through. You look up at him—his white coat now stained with the grime of the descent, his hair even more wild, but still carrying that aura of unshakable confidence. He adjusts his glasses and nods in the direction of the parking garage. “C’mon.”

You don’t hesitate in following him, heads swiveling around in wariness and anticipation—as if something will pop out of the shadows out of nowhere. The tension in the air is suffocating, every step feeling heavier than the last as you follow closely behind Gojo. Your breath is still uneven from the climb, your hands aching from gripping the wire so tightly, but you push the discomfort aside. There’s no time for weakness. Not now. Not when the world around you feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.

Gojo moves with a controlled urgency, his sharp gaze darting from shadow to shadow, scanning every inch of the dimly lit parking garage. The flickering overhead lights cast eerie, shifting shapes along the concrete walls, distorting reality into something far more menacing. Your grip tightens around the weapon in your hand—whatever little defense you have left. Your nerves are on edge, every sound amplified. The distant groan of metal, the faint echo of dripping water, the shuffling noise that could either be the wind or something far worse. You swallow hard, keeping close, your body tense, waiting—expecting—something to lunge at you from the darkness.

It’s quiet, luckily. The dim setting of the parking garage offers a surprising amount of comfort than it usually would. He stops, causing you to do so subsequently. Reaching his hand in his pocket, a momentary look of surprise flashing over his face. He pats his pants down. Your eyes widen. “I don’t think I have my keys.”

“What?!” you cry out, hands shooting out to feel for yourself. Your face falls when you feel something, looking up at him with a tight expression. 

He giggles, pulling his keys out and dangling them in front of you. “Juuust kidding, got you.”

“That’s not funny at all,” you grumble, following him. 

Gojo laughs lightly at your response, the tension of the situation momentarily dissipating as he continues toward the exit. His pace quickens, urgency returning as his eyes shift to scan the corners of the garage, still sharp, focused. The light flickers again, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete. You try to steady your breath, feeling a mix of irritation and relief. He seems like he’s always like this—trying to break the tension with his stupid jokes. But you can’t afford to let your guard down now, not when every shadow could hide danger. You move in close, staying right behind him, though part of you wants to keep your distance. He holds an arm out and you think it’s to alert you of something in the distance. But there’s a car beeping.

You look over and spot an eccentrically blue BMW. The BMW M4 sits in stark contrast to the grimy parking garage, its electric sapphire paint catching the dim light. Dirt and faint scratches mar its sleek surface, a testament to hurried getaways. The black carbon fiber hood and tinted windows add an air of mystery, while the low growl of the engine as it unlocks is a reminder of its power. It looks almost out of place here—too flashy, too pristine—but right now, it doesn’t matter. “Stranger, meet Baby. Baby, meet stranger.” Satoru grins, puffing his chest out like he’s won a race or something. 

Your lip downturns.

“So,” he looks at you. “What do you—”

“Pussies drive BMWs,” you cut him off, walking forward and over to the passenger side. “Mercedes is better.”

Gojo freezes mid-sentence, lips parting in mock offense before breaking into a loud, incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?" He places a hand over his chest, feigning deep betrayal. "Baby did nothing to deserve that slander."

You don’t spare him a glance, yanking open the passenger door and sliding in. The interior is just as sleek as you’d expect—black leather seats, ambient blue lighting humming softly along the edges, the faint scent of something expensive lingering in the air. Gojo slides into the driver’s seat, shaking his head with a smirk. "You wound me, truly. But you know what? I’ll let it slide since you clearly have bad taste."

You scoff, buckling your seatbelt. "Says the guy who just giggled at his own joke five minutes ago."

He gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. "Unbelievable. I offer you my protection, my car—my beautiful Baby—and this is the thanks I get?"

You roll your eyes. "Just drive, Dr…." You tilt your head to look at his nametag. “Gojo.”

At the sound of his title, he hmphs triumphantly and buckles up, you follow suit. “Maybe call me Satoru. You’re not a patient of mine nor do you work with me.”

“And I’m glad I’m not.”

“That’s your cue to say your name now, silly.” Putting the car in drive, he slowly peels out of the parking garage, eyes scanning outside from left to right in a constant motion. 

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to give him your real name. But then again, what does it matter now? “It’s Y/N,” you finally say, watching the streets as the car glides smoothly onto the road.

Gojo hums, testing the name on his tongue like he’s committing it to memory. “Hmm, suits you. I like it.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your focus to the eerily empty streets. The city feels wrong—too quiet, too still. Neon signs flicker in and out of life, casting the sidewalks in a dull, ghostly glow. Storefronts sit abandoned, some doors left wide open like their owners had no time to shut them. You sigh and rub your face. “Where are we going?”

“Dunno, maybe my place.”

“For what?”

“If an apocalypse is starting, I’m not forgetting my moisturizer.” 

You grit your teeth but decide to hold back on an insult. For now. “Fine. Then mine.”

Gojo raises a brow, amused. “Oh? You wanna grab your moisturizer too?”

You shoot him a glare. “No. I need my things. Clothes, supplies—” you pause, glancing out the window at the desolate cityscape. “Weapons.”

He whistles. “Damn, didn’t peg you for the paranoid type. You keep an arsenal under your bed or something?”

You exhale sharply, not in the mood for jokes. “Just drive.”

Gojo shrugs but obeys, making a turn onto the main road. His grip on the wheel tightens ever so slightly, his eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the darkened streets ahead. “Alright, boss. Just don’t be mad if I judge your taste in home decor.”

You lean back in the seat, watching the quietness of the city fly past you. Luckily you haven’t seen any of those things—zombies?—yet. That’s a good thing, it should be. But you’re starting to find out that the still eeriness of just nothing might be even scarier. The city feels more and more like a ghost town the further you drive. It’s unsettling—how quickly everything unraveled, how an entire population could just vanish, leaving behind only flickering lights and abandoned cars. You tighten your grip on your seatbelt. “How far is your place from here?”

“Fifteen minutes, give or take. Yours?”

“About the same.”

Gojo drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Good. Then we grab what we need and figure out the next step. And then…” He sends you a sideways glance, an excited lilt to his voice. “We’re stopping by a gas station.”

You furrow your brows. “For what?”

He grins. “Snacks.”

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

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