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[whoopsyeahokay]

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like an idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗•‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet when you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗•‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. You had hard rules to follow, but after sundown, you had freedom you didn't otherwise have. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you pleased so long as you were back before sunrise.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗•‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you; grazed the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezed you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching in triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of patrons. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened under his gaze. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"This was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. Your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of your house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for him thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗•‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of moonlight on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to a shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗•‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap. Light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own life to find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again if he wasn't responsible for it.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as his breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring upside-down at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you start to absorb the insane amount of teen angst." You snorted at something Wally assumed was supposed to be funny. "Makes you solid for awhile. You'll even be able leave the school at night which I'd consider something to look forward to, no?"

"I guess," Wally wheezed as his brain tried desperately to catch up to what was happening. He stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

"But...I walked you home. I saw your house."

"You saw a house." You corrected.

He couldn't believe it. You were dead. You were like Wally. You were with Wally.

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful if you were in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "However you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and cup your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

🏈___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Cuddle Bug.

fluff. smut lite. a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

[f1angelz]

filo girly request for oscar 🧍🏻‍♀️🫶🏼

im thinking of a scenario where reader is part of a love team and oscar gets jealous or she gets questions when shes on a show it interview about him and they love her and oscar together if a fc is needed i love atasha mulach's vibe

𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏 — oscar piastri x reader

summary: oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity and has an on-screen partner. when she gets asked about her and oscar’s relationship during an interview, what is she gonna say?

content warnings: none, just fluff. (not proofread sorry </3)

this fic contains tagalog phrases and words highlighted in italics. for non-filipino readers, translations are provided in small text. *(mahal = love)

── .✦

It’s 3 in the morning in Silverstone, and Oscar couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it’s because he arrived a few hours ago and can’t bring himself to rest, or maybe it’s because his girlfriend had an interview on the other side of the globe.

Oscar’s girlfriend is a celebrity in the Philippines, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s had multiple projects, endorsements, and films that have also gone global. Before getting into this relationship, Oscar knew the consequences that he would have to face— long distance, media, and other factors.

But he loved her. That’s what mattered the most, right?

Not until Y/N recently had a TV series that went viral, as she was paired with one of the most famous actors in Filipino TV. Their chemistry was undeniable— weeks after her TV series was released, she was all over the news along with her on-screen partner. There were fan accounts, edits, and even fanfiction about them.

Everytime a new post was written about them, Oscar’s jealousy grew. Although Y/N always reassured him that it was strictly on-screen, He really couldn’t help it.

Oscar’s thoughts stopped when he felt his phone vibrate on his chest.

my love 💞: hi, mahal! i know you’re still up. my interview is almost gonna start. watch me?

my love 💞 has sent a link.

my love 💞: there’ll be a monitor in front of us during the interview. i’ll be able to see it on screen once you’ve joined, okay? i love you!

Oscar smiled.

mahal 🩷: okay babe, i’ll be joining in a few. goodluck!

Oscar sat up and reached out for his laptop which was on the desk, opened it up and clicked on the link she sent.

The show was already starting, the hosts greeting the crowd both in the studio and livestream.

Y/N and her on-screen partner were introduced. Once they both entered, the crowd went wild, cheering for them with their ship name. Oscar looked at the livestream comments and sighed, everyone was crazy for them.

The show went on as usual, asking them about the TV series and how filming was going. Eventually, the hosts asked about their personal lives.

“So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. Kamusta naman kayo?”

(So Y/N, We’re aware that you’re dating F1 driver Oscar Piastri. How are you guys doing?)

Y/N smiled and let out a nod, “We’re doing really well. Actually, kakapanalo lang nya last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.”

(We’re doing really well. Actually, he recently won last week in the Austrian Grand Prix. I was there and I couldn’t have been more proud.)

The hosts smiled and fawned over their relationship, “I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, hindi ba siya nag seselos? For sure aware naman siya sa love team nyo.”

(I’m sure he’s proud of your career too. But we’re curious, does he get jealous? For sure he’s aware about your love team.)

The studio crowd cood and Oscar’s heart started beating.

Y/N let out a small laugh, it was a common question that people asked her since their relationship was public.

“Hindi naman siya nag seselos, I wish.”

(He doesn’t really get jealous, I wish.)

She humored, and the rest laughed. Oscar laughed too at her response, assuming that it was something funny since he couldn’t understand.

“All jokes aside, hindi naman siya nag seselos. He knows very well that strictly for work lang yung ginagawa ko. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.”

(All jokes aside, he doesn’t really get jealous. He knows very well that what I’m doing is strictly for work. He’s the best boyfriend I could ever ask for.)

One of the hosts asked, “Do you have any message for him?”

Y/N cleared her throat, “Hi, mahal! I know you’re watching right now kahit sobrang late na diyan. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!”

(Hi, love! I know you’re watching even if it’s super late over there. Thank you for always being very supportive, you know how much I love you. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!)

The crowd smiled and teased, clapping at her message.

Oscar was smiling from ear-to-ear, and somehow, he wasn’t as jealous anymore. He saw the livestream commenting on their relationship and how cute they were. Maybe he shouldn’t be jealous after all.

The show eventually ended and Oscar closed his laptop, returning it on his desk. He opened his phone and sent Y/N a message.

mahal 🩷: you know i’ll always be here for you, right? no matter what time it is where i’m in.

my love 💞: i know, mahal. and i know you’re jealous too 😆

Oscar laughed, maybe he was bad at hiding it.

mahal 🩷: maybe i was a bit jealous.

my love 💞: oscar jack piastri, you literally have my heart and you’ll always have it. okay?

He smiled. God, he loves her so much.

mahal 🩷: i know, and i’ll do everything in my power to keep it safe. i love you ❤️

my love 💞: go to sleep, i know you’re getting tired, mahal. i love you too! see you on sunday ❤️

Oscar gave her message a heart react before turning off his phone.

And off he drifted to sleep, knowing that he was the luckiest man on earth that night.

── .✦

a/n: i had so much fun writing this, it’s been 2 years since i wrote a fic !! also i’m so grateful for those who requested. much love 🤍

[becertainlust]

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is whispered about with the kind of reverence usually reserved for legends—think Galliano meets Alexander McQueen, but darker, smoother, and infinitely more elusive.

He didn’t go to fashion school. He didn’t intern under anyone. He emerged out of nowhere—an underground gem of a debut show held in an abandoned cathedral in Florence. Ten looks. Ten models. Candlelit. Every piece hand-stitched, laced with real silver thread and monograms only visible under moonlight. People thought it was a myth until Vogue Italia dropped an exclusive feature titled:

“The Lingerie Saint Has Arrived.”

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is more than a designer — he is an artist of intimacy, a storyteller through silk, lace, and silhouette. With every piece he creates, Suguru weaves emotion into fabric, tailoring not just to bodies, but to souls. He believes that beauty speaks many languages — and his mission is to make women feel beautiful in all of them.

From Tokyo to Paris, Lagos to São Paulo, his creations have turned runways into temples of self-love. Each design is a love letter to femininity — powerful, soft, wild, sacred. His talent quickly caught the attention of the world, landing him on magazine covers, international talk shows, and fashion panels. But despite his meteoric rise, it’s his humility and warmth that continue to captivate everyone he meets.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who is so deep in the art medium pulling ethereal designs that catches many off guard and cause him to rise above the rest and whose inbox is flooded with an offers to take the creative directors seat by various fashion brands. He has a right to become picky but in the end decides to establish his own name.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who attends events after event, never growing tired of meeting new faces and hearing fresh ideas and conversing with new people. Quite the extrovert in the midst of his interests. God forbid he's actually excited 'You're really a conversative person Mr. Suguru' the interviewer giggled and he would have the prettiest smile that the viewers would gush much about across the media #suguru'ssmile trending for an entire month.

Lingeremaker! Suguru who when he sees you—you, gliding effortlessly through the chaos of the room, framed by golden light—who stops dead in his sentence brows knitting in frustration, hushing up the white haired model, that never seems to learn the word silence at crucial times Gojo screws his face up as Suguru claims he can't see you properly as he yapped on. 'who is that'

With a raised brow he pushes his hand away from his line of vision, 'Marketing agent, one of the best in the fashion world' he would whip his head back to Gojo in disbelief 'not a model?' Gojo would scoff throwing his hand around the male 'what you like what you see, I can set you up"

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who rejected Gojo's help, downplaying his interest in you on the spot. But he should have known better than leave his personal sketches and scribbles around his studio unguarded mentally punching himself for not storing latest works higher and further from his lanky ass.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who later that night, long after the champagne glasses clinked and cameras dimmed, he’d find himself at his sketch table again, candles flickering, Gold thread unraveling beside him. Your silhouette haunts him. Not in a ghostly way—but in the kind of way muses do.

Pages fill. The collection changes. The theme shifts from “Divinity” to “She Who Walks Like Daybreak.”

When asked on a French morning show what inspired the shift, Suguru simply says: “I saw someone who reminded me that beauty doesn't beg to be seen—it just arrives, and the world rearranges around it.”

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who receives a message for Gojo late at night as he is sorting his pallet for the collection, 'i told you I got your back' which Suguru responds with a question mark before concluding that he was weird for the gazillion time shaking his head then turned his attention back to his computer screen, the soft light lit hitting his face.

Lingeriemaker! Suguru who the next morning would be woken up by his blaring door bell throughout the condo and when he switches on his camera and see's your face his eyes, done pops out of his head. 'what the fuck'

thinking of making this a fully fleshed fanfic series with smut on both ao3 and here.

[kimakento]

you’re here

synopsis: your boyfriend has always been clingy when jealous, and you were never one to be against it if being honest. ⌙ 1.8k

pairing: wang yixiang x interviewer!fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of a scandal/rude fans, jealousy

tags: established (but secret) relationship, flirty!nicholas, a couple just doing lovey dovey things, reader usually interviews many famous groups

a/n: oh how no one will ever know how much i giggled while writing this…. jokes aside, &team fluff fic debut on kimakento, we all cheered!!!!!

never in your life would you have thought that you’d be asked to interview &team by your boss. though, when analysing the task at hand, there were some serious ups and downs.

a pro would be that you would get to see and talk one of your favourite groups, but the con was that being in a secret relationship with a member of said group meant that you couldn’t necessarily be too friendly or overbearing.

after receiving the news, you quickly shot nicholas a few texts, to which he responded eagerly to before calling you. answering the phone, you put the device to your ear; just barely missing the low chuckle that emitted from your speaker.

“so, you’re finally interviewing us?” there was a knowing tone to his voice. “i was wondering when my interviewer girlfriend would finally do it.”

“baby, this isn’t good. what if people find out about us?” you huffed in clear frustration.

“some fans are ruthless, i’d be out of work before i know it! and you’d also be caught in a scandal.“

“it’d be fine. i make enough to provide for the both of us.” the man took a short pause, anticipating your reaction.

“wang yixiang.” you snapped, cupping the speaker and moving to a secluded corner of your workplace.

he cleared his throat. “i was kidding… sorry! no one will find out, i’m sure. don’t worry yourself over it, they’ll love you. they’ll love us.”

“thank you. i think i feel a bit better now,” you rested the back of your head on the wall behind you. “i gotta go, ba—“ loud footsteps boomed not far from you as you blurted out a parting. “bye, dad!”

“dad? huh, wha—“ you heard your boyfriend question before fumbling to hang up.

breathing out a sigh of relief, you jolted off the wall hearing your name being called. a team manager walked towards you before speaking curtly.

“you’re being called into the office. boss wants to brief you on the interview with that japanese group or whatever.” his voice sounded disinterested and rude. internally, you judged the man before nodding and making your way to the office.

when there you were ran through all the formalities; how you would address the members and such, and the questions to be asked. you were told that it would be in a week. and the stress of the expectations already started to catch up whilst in the meeting. your boss was adamant on everything being prim and perfect; stressing that there was absolutely no room for any mistakes. big or small. this only added to the pressure that you felt.

in the coming days before the interview, you had practiced the hell out of your script. your boss had given you the creative liberty of constructing your very own questions — as long as they were appropriate and relevant to the theme, of course — to ask the four eldest members attending.

but what made everything better was that nicholas had been coming over to watch you practice and also willingly became the victim of your endless questions. you’d sit there opposite him, hours on end, running through the paper in your hands.

with his help, you started to feel slightly more collected about the nearing event.

even though you had met the &team members before, you weren’t really acquainted with them as much as you would like which only added to your discomfort. you hoped that they would take nicely to you and enjoy the session to the fullest.

you were certain you’d evolved into a robot by the way the script had been in your face all day. and it only got worse. the night before, while doing your skin routine, you found yourself again repeating the words over and over. almost mantra-like. in your head, you imagined physically sitting there opposite the group and indulging in light conversation.

nicholas had even told you he believed you’d start asking those question even in your sleep, at this rate — to which you laughed at and then dismissed. you flopped onto your bed, tucking yourself in and the nerves seemed to fade the more you slipped deep into slumber.

in the morning, waking up felt as if a ton of bricks had hit you. still, you got up, showered after brushing your teeth and then scarfed down your breakfast. as you buttoned up your blouse, you stared into the mirror and began practicing your lines again.

your workplace was even worse. when you arrived, it was total chaos, your colleagues had been rushing all around, fixing the set, or briefing each other and setting roles. immediately, you were brought in for your makeup. the stylists all surrounded you, touching everything up; making sure you looked stunning.

whilst you watched yourself in the mirror, your phone buzzed.

a text from nicholas.

baby :D!

good luck, pretty!!!!! you’re going to be amazing, i know. make sure to pay extra attention to me too ;)

quickly after reading the message, a small smile adorned your face as you chuckled softly. he was always so thoughtful. in the midst of replying, the door flew open, revealing your boss. you turned over your phone before greeting him swiftly.

“you’re up in ten minutes,” he raised his hands, “give it your all!“

determination swelled in your chest as you nodded excitedly. the colour had returned to your cheeks, and you’d become much more relaxed.

the interview room was your forte, it was where you’d always excel. you were sat in front of the four eldest &team members with cue cards nestled comfortably on your lap. before the cameras started rolling, you exchanged light conversations with them, ensuring that you never interacted with nicholas too much.

once you were notified about the start of the interview, the room went silent as yudai, euijoo, fuma and nicholas went ahead to greet the cameras.

“one, two! we link! hello, we’re &team!“ they began in unison, bowing at the camera.

one by one, the four members had all finished their self introductions.

peering down at your first card, you spoke. “today, we are with some of the renowned members of &team! we will be asking them a few questions.” you continued on, oblivious to the fact that nicholas had been watching you lovingly.

your gaze scanned the room, accidentally landing on your boyfriend and locking eyes with him. frantically, you moved your attention to fuma.

you cleared your throat. “our first question is for fuma,” as he nodded, you smiled. “is it hard being a sub-leader? we know that you’re often dubbed as the ‘responsible one’, so how is it taking care of everyone, along with euijoo?”

“i do believe it is hard. most of us are very mischievous as you can tell, but we all make it work. though, sometimes i’m never given a break, especially by the younger members.” that part caused you to giggle before humming approvingly. “there are times where i just stop to think, ‘what have i gotten myself into?’ many times. for euijoo, it’s even more difficult.”

satisfied with his answer, you looked over to the leader as he nodded along.

the rest of the interview ran smoothly, with you asking each of them questions. though, you kept interactions with a certain red-haired man brief and short, focusing on the other members. no words could express how much you desired to feel the warmth of your boyfriend. you missed him so much despite being in the same room.

the fear of making a mistake made you unable to act on those feelings.

shortly after the interview, you shot a text to nicholas, informing him you were about to return to your apartment before leaving your work building and driving home. lazily turning the key in the lock, you rushed in and flopped face-first right onto the couch dramatically. fatigue washed over your whole body as lay there mindlessly.

moments later, you decided to wash up and change out of your work clothes. freshly out the shower and in your pyjamas, you padded your way softly to the kitchen. that was until you heard a light knock.

peering through the peephole, nicholas stood outside with glasses and a black cap on his head. he looked straight out of a cartoon, which made you fight the urge to guffaw at his choice of accessories. a while after letting him in, your boyfriend had made himself at home on the sofa while you stood at the kitchen counter.

“want some ramen?” you asked him.

“sure.”

humming softly, you got to work bringing two ramen packs from the drawer and opening them. but two arms snaking around your waist and a chin nestled right on your shoulder hindered you from finishing. and if that wasn’t enough to drive you crazy, your boyfriend even called your name softly.

“yeah?” by the tone of his voice, you could tell it was something serious.

“do you like fuma?”

“what on earth?”

the warmth of his figure slowly dissipated as his arms retracted from yours. “you can tell the truth, i won’t be mad.”

“baby...” turning around, his body caged you against the counter as you brought his hands to rest on your hips once again. “what makes you think that?” his touch on you just felt right. like you both were jigsaw puzzle pieces meant for each other.

“‘cause you were focusing on him during the whole interview. like i wasn’t there. like i wasn’t ever yours.” the adorable pout on his face only urged you to tuck a strand of hair out his eyes before your hands found their way to the base of his neck as you held your gaze on him.

nicholas’s face looked so... perfect.

just like him.

“that’s just my job, nicho. wanna know the real reason i actually didn’t pay attention to you that much?” you paused until he nodded eagerly in response. “it’s just that every single time i look at you, i get so nervous. my heart beats so fast and i was afraid that i would stutter or slip up,” the grin that slowly turned at his lips only grew at your every breath. “that’s why.“

“yeah? you’re nervous whenever you look at me?” there was a light and teasing side to his tone. of course that was what he would take from it, you mentally facepalmed.

“mhm.” you sighed at his relentless flirty remarks.

“okay, so if you had to choose. would you pick me or fuma?”

“if you keep this up, i might really end up choosing him, nicholas.” armed with slight irritation, you tilted your head to the side, breaking eye contact with the red haired, which prompted him to lean down and press a light kiss to your cheek.

“c’mon, baby,” it was almost as if you could hear the small pout that adorned his lips. “look at me. please.”

but when your name left his lips so sweetly, it felt like you could melt at that spot. fingers lightly gripped your jaw, making you face him once again, flustered at his previous actions.

“that’s my girl.” his hands moved up to cup your warm cheeks.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous.” you remarked in retaliation, even surprising your own self at the boldness of your words.

“come on, i wasn’t jealous.”

“you sure was. don’t try to lie out of this.”

the man sighed heavily, “fine. i was. happy?”

“definitely!” your cheery tone only prompted him to grumble in response to your teasing.

reblogs are appreciated!!

[azsazz]

Glitz, Glam & Grand Prix

Formula One!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Set at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you, as Ferrari's team Media Trainer, struggle with keeping both drivers in line.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,887

Notes: Back again with another F1 AU 💙 so obsessed with this trope tbh

Belongs to the Off Grid collection.

_________________________________________

“I am not wearing this,” Azriel says flatly, staring at the garment in his hand in horror. He’s holding the hanger hook between a pinched thumb and forefinger, like the newly designed sequined bomber jacket might jump off the holder and strangle him.

He might prefer that.

“Yes, you are,” you answer, distractedly. Your phone buzzes in your hand, another email coming through. Something about a calendar change with the scheduled interviews for the two drivers you’re in charge of for media training. “You’re going to put that jacket on, just like all of the other drivers are doing, and you’re going to march your ass over to the social media team and do what they ask without complaint.”

You cut your—secret—boyfriend a harsh look that matches your no-nonsense tone. He holds your look for all of four seconds before giving in, returning to his glower to the garment in his hand instead. It’s smart of him, choosing not to start with you while you’re in Media Training mode, not secret girlfriend mode where you shoot him teasing grins and cheeky glances behind everyone’s backs.

“Give it here, old man,” Dorian Havilliard says, swiping the coat from him. You cringe, offering Azriel an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace when his hazel gaze swings wildly to meet yours. As if you can do something about the driver tasing him. Azriel looks like he’s about two seconds from trying to lay Dorian—Ferrari’s newest recruit—out flat.

“I’m not even that old,” Azriel mutters, giving up before the arguing can even begin. The drivers haven’t started off on a good foot, Azriel upset about the realization that he’s getting older in this sport, and the looming fear that the rookie is going to replace him for his Driver 1 spot. For Dorian, he’s too naive yet to understand that he can learn a thing or two from the veteran driver. “Can I fake a stomach bug to get out of this one, ba—(Y/N)?” Azriel stutters, quickly catching his mistake.

Your eyes widen, but thankfully, Dorian doesn’t seem to notice, too enraptured with the design on the back of the bomber. Three dice line the back in white sequins, and instead of regular pips, the black of the dice spells out the acronym F1LVGP: Formula 1 Las Vegas Grand Prix.

It is pretty ugly, but you cannot wait to see your boyfriend in it.

Both drivers are set to shoot media in the very jackets that fans received with their purchase of tickets months ago. It’s going to be as gimmicky and cheesy as Azriel thinks it’s going to be, which is why you refrained from mentioning this specific part of the media tour to him this weekend.

“The fans are going to want to see you both in that jacket,” you explain, biting your lip at Dorian, who has zipped it up to his collarbones. It does look horrid, and there’s a part of you that wishes you could warn the social team about Azriel’s reluctant attitude. Hopefully, they don’t give him any props that might make him look even sillier. “It’s good for the team and the race. Plus, interaction gets us all paid, boys.”

Your phone pings with another important message, a call-in meeting with the Ferrari Public Relations team managers to develop key messages that align with the brand values, sponsor commitments, and team ethos.

With the two stubborn-minded drivers on your team, that part might prove to be difficult.

After that it’s crisis meetings with said drivers, training both Dorian and Azriel on how to efficiently deflect the potential damaging and sensitive questions about what happened in Brazil two weeks ago. Azriel is used to it, and as much as he hates the interview portion of his job, is trained well in answering these types of questions with tact and confidence.

Dorian, on the other hand, is still young and new to the team. The interviewers will no doubt single him out, sniffing out his fresh blood because he’s more likely to make a mistake. You already know that he’s a touch hot-headed when it comes to the obvious rift between the two Ferrari drivers, and if the interviewers pose a question that gives him room to get a word in about Azriel, you have no doubt that he’ll take it, even without realizing exactly how it could impact the team image.

You’re going to make sure that that doesn’t happen.

The rest of the weekend is planned out down to the minute. You’re not even sure you have a single free second to spend with Azriel.

Las Vegas is always exhausting.

“Hey, boss? When do we have some down time this weekend?” Dorian asks, as if he’s somehow reading your mind. You’re dreading this, having to tell a freshly turned twenty-one-year-old in Las Vegas for the first time that he’s not going to be able to go buck-wild. He’ll have to save that for a bye-week or a break. You’re here for business and racing this weekend, not strip-shows and high-hollers tables.

And while he may have an appearance at Omnia night club post-race on Sunday, you’ve tasked yourself with keeping an eye on the rookie, this weekend more so than during the rest of the races this season.

“Unlikely, Havilliard,” you answer, finally looking up from the calendar on your phone. He should really know by now how this all works—it’s race 22 for Mother’s sake—that everything is all work and no play until after the race, but as it’s Dorian’s first year in the big leagues, you have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

It’s been years since you worked with a rookie. You’ve been on Ferrari’s team for a while now, working with Azriel and veteran driver Rowan Whitethorn who accepted an offer from McLaren at the end of last season. It had been bliss, the both of them the most unproblematic drivers on the grid, letting their racing do the talking for them.

But it had been more difficult to get them to talk than you thought. The pair hadn’t been as personable to the world because of their stoic behavior, but when you were hired on, you whipped them into tip-top shape, both drivers the perfect media trained racers within all of Formula 1.

“We’re here for work. You’ll have some time after practice and the race, but Saturday night you’re not to be spotted in any clubs or casinos too late,” you explain, shoving your phone into your back pocket to give him your full attention when you say this. You watch your words settle within Dorian, his shoulders falling more and more as you continue. “You’re not to go overboard. That means no drinking, no gambling, no—”

“Fun?”

You sigh at his disheartened look. Maybe it would be alright if he spent some time with some of the veteran drivers, maneuvering Las Vegas along with them. He’ll find that he can still find fun in moderation. Too bad you know Azriel will cut that idea off at the neck.

“I know it sounds boring, Dorian,” you try easily, giving the young driver a sympathetic look. “It’s your first time in Las Vegas and that’s very exciting, but you really need to think hard about what you’re doing here because there are temptations, but there are so many cameras and eyes on you. If you can handle how things might be construed, you don’t have my blessing, but I can’t force you to sit in your hotel all weekend.”

Something sparks in those deep blue eyes at your hidden message. You’ve warned him and you’re not flat-out telling him that you’ll look the other way, that you’ll clean up a mess for him if he makes it, but he should get to live a little, at least.

You know that he’s unlikely to listen to you anyway, friends with a lot of the other young drivers who are just as excited to be in Las Vegas as Dorian is; Ruhn Danaan, Ithan Holstrom, and Tharion Ketos to name a few, with veteran driver Cassian Bailey taking them all under their wing.

That tiny detail means that you’re going to have your work cut out for you this season.

“You got it, boss,” Dorian salutes, shooting you the most innocent look he can muster.

Behind him, Azriel rolls his eyes, and you’re pretty sure you hear him mutter, “Kiss ass,” under his breath, which both you and Dorian effectively ignore.

You’re proud, he’s already learning.

“Alright, Dorian. You’re up first for bomber jacket media, I have something to talk about with Azriel, but we’ll be down soon. You know where you’re going?” You ask, even though his security detail is awaiting him in the hall outside of the suite.

“Of course,” Dorian nods, passing you with his phone already out in his hand. You give him all of three seconds before he begins posting Instagram stories about the hotel. “Thank you for everything, (Y/N).”

“My pleasure,” you answer, waiting until the door shuts behind him before spinning towards your boyfriend and pinning him with a stern look. “You need to stop being so negative, Az. Dorian is on your team and he’s here to stay, at least for the next two seasons until your contract ends. If you want Ferrari to keep you, the both of you will have to start getting along sooner rather than later, and Dorian is a sweetheart.”

“Not you too,” Azriel groans. “Come on, babe, no one can be that charming.”

You hum, stepping into your boyfriend’s warm body. If this is all the time you’re allowed this weekend, you’re going to take advantage of it. Azriel’s hands find your hips easily, a firm, comforting weight against your skin. “I seem to remember someone else that was quite charming when we met,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss that makes your heart race faster than the speed of his car.

“I was pretty charming, wasn’t I?” Azriel grins, waggling his eyebrows, and you love looking at him like this, happy, when his eyes crinkle in the corners with his smile, the slight dimple in his cheek deepening. He’s so handsome. “Want to go down to the Little White Chapel later and make this official?” Azriel teases and your heart fucking soars, even if he is only poking fun.

Someday the man in your arms won’t be a secret anymore. You’ll be able to flaunt him all over the world, build a life with him, love him not just in the shadows.

“Without a ring?” You joke right back, pinching his side. “I don’t think so, Az.”

“Baby, I’ll get you the biggest ring I can find,” Azriel’s words are husky, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he dips his chin. “I’ll give you the whole damn world, (Y/N). I love you.”

“I love you too,” you respond breathlessly, and begin rethinking your refusal to marry him on the strip in Las Vegas without a ring. You’ll take him now, hell, you’ll even marry him in the sequined bomber jacket, you don’t care.

You just want to be his, not in secret anymore.

_________________________________________

Tagging people from the last F1 fic. If you don't want to be tagged just lmk 🥰

@iambored24601 @secretlyhers @kylaisra @daily-dose-of-sass @moosemahboi @devilsfoodcake22 @blackthorngirl @brieflyclassymortal @starsdoulikedem @cami26cami @justasillylittlegoofyguy @milswrites @navyblue-eternity @kennedy-brooke @mimsie95 @shadowsingersmate24 @piceous21 @skyjasper @soulessjourney @despoinasstuff @weasleyreidstyles @marrass @favfantasyreads @fairywriter-oracle @georgiastars13 @blueblondi @namelesssav @tothestarsandwhateverend @brekkershadowsinger

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

slightly different from the book rec asks but you mentioned Jamie loftus so… any non-fiction podcast recs?

wow the great news is that I am pretty much constantly listening to a nonfiction podcast of one kind or another so this is huge for me. here are some of my faves!

Betwixt the Sheets: The History of Sex, Scandal, and Society - joined by a rotating cast of guest experts, sex historian Kate Lister goes on a romp through history to learn all about the sexual norms and revolutions of yesteryear.

Black People Love Paramore - in episodes that follow the formate of "Black People Love X," host Sequoia Holmes interviews her guests about their passions for pop cultural niches where Black people are often underrepresented, overlooked, or excluded altogether. heavy focus on music, as the title suggests, but topics also include Tony Hawk, pet ownership, and a memorable episode about being a slut featuring Ify Nwadiwe.

Maintenance Phase - truly like the #1 pod I get hype for when new episodes go up. hosted by fat activist Aubrey Gordon and methodology queen Michael Hobbes, focused on investigating and debunking various health and wellness fads as well as fatphobic misconceptions.

Oh No, Ross and Carrie - ONRAC just ended after thirteen and a half years of investigating all kinds of claims about wellness, spirituality, and the paranormal, ranging from self-proclaimed faith healers to exorcists to alien sightings to pet psychics to the creationist Ark-themed theme park in Kentucky. they have a HUGE backlog, great for browsing.

The Sporkful - a short and sweet podcast hosted by pasta enthusiast Dan Pashman, with each episode focusing on a different question, trend, or event from the world of food. despite being a pretty lighthearted show Pashman is admirably unafraid to tackle the less savory side of food culture; I first became aware of the podcast when he scored a searing interview with Sohla El-Wahlly after the revelation of massive workplace discrimination at YouTube's former darling, BA Test Kitchen.

The Stacks - the only book podcast I can currently tolerate. host Traci Thomas chats with authors about their new fiction and nonfiction releases and hosts a monthly book club. very chill listening, but dangerous for your to-read list.

There Are No Girls on the Internet - host Bridget Todd dives deep into tech trends, online outrages, and misinformation moments across the web. for my money, TANGOTI's coverage of the fatalities at Travis Scott's 2021 Astroworld event and the ensuing satanic panic conspiracy theories were some of the absolute best reporting around the event. currently on hiatus, so you have plenty of time to raid the archives!

Vibe Check - poet Saeed Jones and journalists Zach Stafford and Sam Sanders discuss pop culture and politics, answer listener requests for advice, and generally queen out together. you want nuance? the girlies have Nuance. genuinely one of the warmest and kindest podcasts in my rotation.

[writingslob]

LIN LING INTERVIEW: EPISODE 1

Author’s note: Lin Ling won! So this is in celebration of that! Thank you to the server for helping me out with the ask and comment section! Send in your asks and I’ll include them in part 2! I hope you enjoy! 

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“Hello! Welcome, everybody! My name is—” The sound cuts off, but the streamer doesn’t notice, smiling wildly at the camera. It comes back a second later. “-And this is the first episode of THE COMMON Q&A!” Their eyes twitch as they notice the lack of viewers, the zero counter mocks them in the corner. However, after a few minutes of waiting, a few people finally started to trickle in. (Good, they didn’t have to resort to bots then.)

Malice: wat  ShoreBound: Lin Ling is zo schattig; als iemand hem problemen geeft, zal ik ze bijten. Astra_foster: Gusto ka ba yan bata doon? Aintaresz: What is this?

The streamer raises an amused eyebrow. “Well, since you are all so curious, I’ll tell you.” They place the tripod on the stand, adjusting it slightly to make it eye level. Stepping back into frame, they begin to pace. “You all know the Commoner, right?” Hook. The smile takes on a sinister grin as they continue. “He has been blowing up, to say the least, and I know you all have burning questions for him.” Line “So! Tada! Welcome to The Common Q&A! Where you ask the questions and I track down Lin Ling so he can answer!” Sinker. The chat immediately exploded, and messages started pouring in rapidly. 

WinterMoon12: Huh!? Erismor-iok: What? Do you know where he is rn?

The grin turns into a smirk. Holding up a finger to their mouth, they winked as they turned the camera around. Taking a second to focus, the camera zooms in on a brunette man eating a hot dog. “Fun fact,” They start, “This is his favorite lunch spot. I’ve seen him eat here at least 3 times a week. So if you ever want to meet him yourself…” Three people walk past and wave at the man; he waves back before continuing his food. The camera turns back around to the streamer. “Let’s go say hi, yeah?”

The camera bounces as they jog over to Lin Ling. Lin Ling looks up in surprise before his eyes zero in on the camera in their hands. “Hi…?” Before he can continue, the camera is shoved into his face. “Hello! My name is—” The audio skips “—and I’m the host of The Common Q&A! Can you introduce yourself, Lin Ling?” The hero blinks in rapid succession, his mouth slightly agape, before it settles on a slightly awkward smile.

“Um, okay,” He agrees, placing his half-eaten hot dog back down on the tray. “Hi! My name is Lin Ling, or I guess you can call me The Commoner. I—” “So,” the streamer once again cuts him off. “Like the name suggests, this is a Q&A, and my—sorry, your fans have some burning questions they must ask you. Is that okay?” 

“Uh-” 

The streamer claps their hands, “Great!” Just as they say that, a ping pops up, notifying them of the message on the screen. 

“Malice donated ¥2171.19. Where do you sleep?? Do you pay rent too?”

Lin Ling blinks at the question before tilting his head. “Well, technically speaking, I’m supposed to be staying at Hero’s Tower, but” he waved his hand as he grimaced. “Treeman and I are in a bit of a… dispute of sorts, so I’m currently staying somewhere else.”

“Sci/Luna donated ¥1773.14. What was it like being Nice?”

At that, Lin Ling’s lips pressed tight into a line. He sighs, “I…I mean. It was nice at first. I always dreamed of being a hero, and being Nice gave me the chance to be that. But…” He hesitated, as if lost for words. “It wasn’t me. I’m not Nice, I’m me.” He finishes lamely. Hearts start rolling into the chat at his words, but the streamer had to hold back a groan at the cheesy, lame answer. Whatever. The streamer's eyes light up, though, at the next question. 

“Birb donated ¥1671.82. There is no way this twink-doe-eyed beauty is entirely straight. 🏳 🌈”

He was chewing the last half of his hot dog when the streamer read the question to him. They laugh as he chokes. Turning his face around, the viewers can see that his ears are bright red. Hitting his chest, he struggled to clear his throat of his remaining lunch. Finally, after a few thumps, his throat cleared, and he was left coughing, shaking, and red-faced. Whether from the question or the choking, no one could say for sure. Both, probably, the streamer muses.

“That’s um—I. I don’t know.” He flushes again, his face going an even deeper red. “I haven’t really explored that—you know, work and heroing and all—but I think I’m gay? Or at least in the LGBTQ…thing.”

“Eat Paper donated ¥1671.82. What are your hobbies? Got any other talents besides being cute?”

The blush that was just about to go away came back with a raging vengeance. It was amusing to see his whole body blush a bright tomato red. “Thank you?” He weakly mutters, his head ducked down to try to hide his blush. It wasn’t working. 

GrandmaEaster: Anyone notice TC kinda looks like a snowshoe hare slowly turning white? He fights like a hare, too, all boxing and kicks. Just Kiana: OMG, I see the vision. Sun_www_eee: Petition to make a new hashtag #Commonhare #bunnyling “AIN donated ¥1671.82. Previous job?”

The streamer quietly groaned at the boring question, but Lin Ling relaxed, obviously relieved. “I used to work at a small company as their creative director for commercials and the like. It was a good job—well, no, it wasn’t. The pay was abysmal, my boss sucked, and it wasn’t my dream to sit in front of a desk for hours on end, but I did like the creativity of it all—the challenge of making something into something bigger was nice.” His face was scratched up at the last word before rolling his eyes. 

“LinLing's Cephalic Vein donated ¥7000.  WAIT, WAIT. SO DURING TRUE LOVE RECIPE, YOU FOUGHT YOUR BOSS?? WHAT'S THE OFFICE GOSSIP ABOUT THE GUY? IS HE LIKE 👎👎 OR NAH?”

Lin Ling's eyes lit up. “Oh god, the gossip around the man was insane. No one liked him, and we used to complain about him all the time during our breaks. He was a grade A asshole who would force us to work overtime if he didn’t like the video, and he was also cheap too. I remember hearing from a few of my coworkers that he refused to pay them for overtime. It was a huge scandal. Didn’t go to court though for whatever reason.”

Fishing out his wallet, he turns to the streamer. “Anyways, it was good to meet you, but I need to go now—” Before he could even finish, the streamer immediately yelled. “Rapid-fire questions!”

“What-?”

“Shorebound donated ¥890.19 Have you ever considered sleeping in a hammock instead of a bed every day? What did you major in? Do you have any family? Did you like ballet? Are you a fan of Lucky Cyan?”

Lin Ling narrowed his eyes. “Okay, look, I’ll answer these another day, alright? I need to go back to patrol.”

“But your fans are just dying to know! Plus, they’re paying money to ask these! Are you really going to leave them hanging? You’re a hero to them, you know?” The streamer retorts, their voice just on the verge of whining. At that, his face pinched. The two of them lock into a staring contest before Lin Ling sighs, relenting. 

“Fine, what were the questions again? Slower this time.” The streamer repeated them. “Alright, so, no, I haven’t thought of using a hammock instead of my bed, though I did use to have one when I was a child. I majored in fine arts. Unfortunately, my parents passed away when I was younger. Yes, it surprised me, but I did enjoy ballet for the short time I did it. I listen to some of her stuff, but I’m not that big of a fan, sorry.” The hero rattled off. He had his arms crossed over his chest, hip jutting out as he listed each answer off one finger.

Turning around, Lin Ling was about to leave when the streamer reached out, grabbing his arm. “Wait! Just one more! Please!” He let out a deep sigh but waved his hand at him, urging him to continue. (So he could leave.)

“Maul donated ¥3000.00. What size do you have down there, pretty boy?”

“...”

“...So are you going to answer that?”

Lin Ling runs away. 

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“Well, I guess that’s the end of the stream.” The streamer muses, the dust cloud finally settling after Lin Ling’s run. Turning around, they grin at the camera, “But not the end of The Common Q&A! That’s right! Send in your questions now, people reading this on Tumblr! And I’ll make sure Lin Ling answers them in the next episode! This is—” The audio skips “—and I hope you enjoyed this episode! Peace out!” 

[vonbabbitt]

Dear VonBabbit/Tetro Team,

I remember when I first found Isono’s interview. I was still a fresh little newbie to Danganronpa; a series of laughably awful writing that gained a cult following. By the time I discovered V3’s ending, all I’ve ever wanted was a Good Danganronpa Game. A story that has the same amount of effort put into it as the characters (with some exceptions *cough cough* Miu *cough*). While looking through this new thing called “Fangans”, I found you. You and the Class of Session 1.

Tetro Danganronpa wasn’t my first Fangan, that award goes to Danganronpa 69, but that doesn’t discredit how phenomenal this all turned out to be. It started with simply listening to it like your usual audio drama. I didn’t think anything special of it at first. It wasn’t until the bells of Sasaki’s demise rang did I find myself growing invested proper. The choice of not having a “Main Character” was definitely a good call. Without being stuck to someone’s head the whole time, we’re able to get a feel for everyone and see interactions Danganronpa Fans would usually have to make themselves to see. You also gain this feeling of unpredictability. With no one set in stone to survive (Protag, Antag, Support, etc) you really have no idea who’s gonna make it out.

It’s only made more insane by how excellent the cast was. Wanna know why? THEY ARE ACTUAL PEOPLE! Not caricatures or overly extreme personalities. Just real, honest to god, flawed, but still likable people with their own developments. I’ve been gassing up Sasaki and Watari for a while, but Hiroaki might actually be my favorite. He’s not the next Byakuya where he’s an asshole who doesn’t even change. We see him actually better himself and question what he’s done with his developments with Wada and ESPECIALLY Ojima. It goes to show that even if you may not favor other students in the beginning, it’s guaranteed you’ll fall in love with the cast the moment it’s their time to go. (Also the Voice Actors/Actresses were phenomenal. Here’s hoping this kickstarts their careers outside of Tetro!)

Another amazing improvement are the murders and their trials. The OG Danganronpa’s trials were usually only able to be solved by strokes of convenience and unnatural amounts of luck. That and they tend to drag while ignoring facts that can end the trial within minutes. But here? Every trial had honest to god logic by their side. The clues and evidence all coming together with understandable reasoning, all wrapping up with some kind of ingenious twist to keep the viewers on their toes. These cases feel like they can be put into Ace Attorney and they’ll feel right at home they’re that good!

I think I can full heartedly say that this is one of the Danganronpa Community’s best Fangans. I’ll even go as far as to say it’s the Gold Standard for what a Fangan should be. An innovative spin on the original Danganronpa Formula while maintaining the same feel of the actual Danganronpa. It’s been an honor to be part of this roller coaster of a first chapter and to graduate along side these poor unfortunate souls (Context: I’m in my Senior Year with like, two months left till I’m free). As someone who’s mostly been joking around in this community, it’s nice to finally have my true thoughts out there about this masterpiece. Much applause to you VonBabbit, and the rest of the Tetro Team. I look forward to seeing the next psyche boggling entry in Tetro Blue (Da ba dee da ba di). Thank you again…

Sincerely, .nfhd (the guy who’s been using Spongebob Gifs on Tetrocord)

thank you very very much! im really glad you found so much to enjoy with tetro! im incredibly flattered by how much love youve shown my series

[jam3sacaster]

“I pray you, do not fall in love with me.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / A popular theatre actress residing in Rutshire, your world is turned upside down upon meeting RCB…

18+ FANFIC / Slight smut! Short ish? Reader character aged at 21 🩷

“Excellent work today, darling. Theatre bores the arse off me, but it helps tremendously when Rosalind is played by such an effortlessly sexy woman.” Basil Baddingham winked as you glide through the door of Bar Sinister, placing an immensely large glass of white wine at your usual table. Mounds of espresso-coloured curls were tied in a lazy knot at the top of your head, and your cheeks retained a flustered, rouge tint. Basil never failed to flirt with you, even if you felt particularly frumpy, adorned in an oversized plum woollen jumper, a pleated, emerald green skirt and a tattered black pair of Dr. Martens. “Thanks, Bas. Seeing you in the audience spurred me on.” You chime in response, and take a large gulp of wine. Your usual table was the best spot in the bar — looking out at Cotchester High Street. In the distance, you can observe the twisting spire of Cotchester Cathedral, the bewitching beauty of peony petals littering their flower beds and tan leaves effortlessly dancing from the oak tree onto the sodden pavement.

Once you appeared sufficiently settled, a chattering swarm of people crowded your table, hounding you with questions — Will you be doing more Shakespeare? Oh darling, please tell me you’ll open my charity gala next week? Will you let me take you to dinner? Shooting Bas a look that simply begged for another wine, the olive-skinned man parted the crowd and asked them to give you a moment to yourself. “Another goblet of wine, m’lady.” He quipped, and found himself gravitating to a rather gorgeous woman at table six. “Hello darling, take a seat, I’ll be over in a minute with a ginormous whiskey.” Bas yelled as the door welcomed another customer to the already heaving bar.

The seat afore you scraped against the hardwood floor, coaxing you to look up from your stemmed glass and instantaneously prepare your questions for the next gruelling interview. “Oh, hello.” You peep, straightening your plum jumper. “Hello, sweetheart. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? Bas usually saves me a seat but he appears to be preoccupied.” The breathtaking man spoke, gesturing towards Basil, who was currently stabbing his tongue into somebody’s mouth. “N-no, that’s fine.” You respond, watching as a barmaid supplied the man with a glass, and his own bottle of whiskey, nervously mumbling ‘On the house.’

“On the house, hmm? You must be important.” You question, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow towards him. “Not particularly. It just means Bas is planning to take some tart home so he can’t be arsed to talk to me,” He chuckled to himself, “Rupert.” He informed you, pouring himself a glass of amber whiskey and lighting a cigar. You told Rupert your name with a timid smile, and lit a cigarette of your own. “So, darling, how do you waste your days?” Rupert interrogated, giving you the pleasure of his intoxicating cerulean eyes. “I’m an actress. Theatre mainly. Today, I was Rosalind in As You Like It.” You blab, hoping you were making a good first impression of yourself to the ravishing man.

“Ahh, Rosalind. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. For I am falser than vows made in wine.” Rupert recites. His statement sent a preternatural shiver across the length of your spine — perhaps an awful sense of foreboding from the mystifying man. “Very impressive. I like a man that knows his stuff.” You acknowledge, taking a sultry puff of your cigarette and keeping your gaze locked onto his. Rupert ran his tongue across his teeth, nodding his head slightly and taking a gulp of whiskey. Hook, line and sinker, he thought to himself.

-

The night escaped you both — a darkened autumn gloom overcasting Cotchester High Street but the overcrowded bustle of Bar Sinister and the innumerable bottles of alcohol kept you merry. “If you could be any Shakespeare character, Mr Campbell-Black, who would you be?” You slur drunkenly, reaching over the table and rubbing your hand across Rupert’s muscle-bound arm. “I will be any character that plays the love interest of yours. Or any character that you like enough to get you into bed.” The charming man purred, advancing towards you with a darkened, lustful gleam in his eye. “Trying to get me into bed? I don’t think you’ll have to try hard.” You reply, relocating your hand to his thigh, allowing it to glide dangerously close to his cock. The fuzzy, thick feeling of too much Chardonnay in your head made you devilishly aroused, and Rupert was more than happy to be the recipient of your advances. “I don’t think I’ll have to try hard either. Talking of hard…” He rasped, taking a hold of your hand and placing it over his growing bulge. “Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower where pleasant fountains lie.” You whisper, squeezing your hand around the girth of his cock.

“Bas, we’re off. See you tomorrow.” Rupert shouts towards his otherwise preoccupied friend, before taking your hand and leading you out of the door.

[piftamere]

satoru ending (wc : 1.6k ; cw : hospital room, brief description of the crash, mentions of death)

in your hospital bed, you feel small, you look small too. you're paler than usual, dark circles surround your tired eyes. you broke your left arm and now a cast envelops it.

“never scare me like that again” and a couple “i love you”s can be read on the white bandages, written by yuuji and kugisaki. flowers, ballons and a teddy bear decorate your room.

the doctor came by earlier, you're going to be okay. you should be out of the hospital in a few days. the police came too but megumi told them to come back tomorrow. you’re thankful he did.

megumi, yuuji and kugi look exhausted but they're smiling, you don’t have the heart to ask them to leave so you can rest. their presence is comforting, you’ll sleep later.

your ribs hurt when you breathe and even worse when you laugh, but you still reward yuuji’s poor attempts at lightening the mood with a chuckle. you can tell he needs it, you all need it.

when you recognized the driver as satoru’s former assistant, your heart missed a beat. you asked her to stop the car, but she started ranting to you, accusing you of ruining her life, of using people then discarding them.

you were so scared, you really thought you were going to die in that car. she kept speeding while not focusing on the road. going on and on about how you were a terrible person. and when she swerved off the road to avoid another car, you saw your life flash before your eyes. you saw the faces of everyone you would never get to see again. satoru’s face.

you’ll never forget the fear you felt when the car flipped over.

your thoughts are interrupted by frantic knocks on the bedroom door, megumi invites them in.

satoru walks in, he looks like a shell of himself, his hair is messy, his eyes are red.

“we’ll leave you two alone.” megumi says to you, his hand on your shoulder, before gesturing for everyone else to leave the room.

he sits down in the chair next to your bed, panic still evident in his eyes. “how are you feeling?”

“better now that you’re here.” you give him a soft smile, taking his hand in yours. you see him visibly relax.

“are you in pain?”

“a little, but i’m okay don’t worry.”

“i’ll always worry about you.”

“i know.” you say with a small smile.

“i was so scared.” the words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. he’s staring down at your joined hands. “it’s my fault it happened. i never thought she’d take it this far, i’m so sorry.”

even if it hurts to speak, you need to say this. for him.

“how could you have guessed that your ex-assistant was insane to the point of stalking me for months and pretend to be my uber to confront me, or kill me i don’t really know what was her plan… that she would lose control of the car and that we’d have an accident. even a psychic couldn’t predict that satoru.”

hearing it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. satoru chuckles halfheartedly, wiping off a stray tear, but he stays silent.

“do you know why i was in that car?” you say barely above a whisper, squeezing his fingers to get his attention. he turns his head to look at you, you can clearly see the tears in his eyes now. he shakes his head.

“because you had an interview?”

“it’s funny because i was doing the interview, answering the same old questions and i started talking about my love for music, how it’s my passion and the only thing i want to do in life, how i feel like it’s what i was born to do you know?” he nods along, “but while i was rambling on and on, something felt wrong, it was different from all the other times i’d given that same speech. because all i could think about was you. that’s how i feel about you too. i love you, and i’m tired of pretending i don’t.”

his eyes widen, bottom lip quivering as he starts full on crying, tears streaming down his face and you panic, trying to wipe them away.

“i didn’t want to make you cry! i’m sorry satoru! i take it ba-” before you can finish your sentence, he places his hand on your mouth.

“don’t even think about taking it back.” he sniffles, melting into your touch, your hand still on his cheek. “i’m just a little emotional today, i’m fine. i love you too, more than you can even imagine.” he takes his hand off your mouth.

you exhale deeply, relieved to see he stopped crying. “okay, good…”

he takes both of your hands in his, looking into your eyes as he speaks. “i know it’s probably not what you want, given how much you love what you do and how hard you worked for all of this, but i need to say it. if this was the one thing that makes you want to quit, i get it. because a part of me wants to convince you to quit too. i don’t think i could stand losing you, these past few hours have felt like a living hell, and i would give up on everything if it meant keeping you safe, next to me. so just say the word, now or in 5 months, and i’ll leave it all behind, for you. If you’ll let me, of couse.” he looks down where your hands are joined, his voice trembling slightly. “but if you choose to keep going, i swear to protect you, i won’t let anything like this happen ever again.”

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. “i’ll think about it,” you say softly. “i’m probably going to take a break but i don’t want to quit. i’m not saying i’ll never change my mind, but i love what i do too much.” you give him a reassuring smile. “and how likely is it that i’d get stalked twice, right?” you chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood.

he shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips but worry still clear on his face.

“i’ve never seen you so serious ‘toru. come on, smile.” you say with a pout, poking his cheek where his dimple usually is. his smile grows a bit but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. still, it’s good enough for now. your voice hoarse, you say warmly, “oh there it is.”

you scoot over to the side of the bed, tapping on the covers to invite him to join you.

“come. you can’t say no, i almost died today.”

“i wouldn't dream of saying no.”

he climbs on, careful not to touch your cast, he wraps his arms around you, gently, like he’s afraid of breaking you.

in his embrace, the tension that has been gripping your body since the accident begins to ease. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calms you down. you finally feel safe, for the first time since the crash. the hospital room and the pain fade away, and all that remains is the warmth of his body against yours.

you close yours eyes, his fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm.

“can i tell you a story?” his voice is soft, gentle.

you nod, “sure.”

“do you remember when we met?”

“yeah,” you say, a chuckle escaping despite the pain. “i thought you were an asshole.”

he coughs, clearing his throat awkwardly. “well, i was… but…”

“but?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“but,” he continues, “the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to be someone important to me. you had this fire in your eyes, this determination. even though you were giving me the cold shoulder, i couldn’t help but be drawn to you.”

you tilt your head, gazing up at him. “really? i always thought you just enjoyed getting under my skin.”

he laughs warmly, the sound a comforting wave against your back. “maybe a little. but that was just my way of trying to get close to you. i remember watching you from across the room that first night, thinking, ‘i have to get to know her.’ there was something about you, something that called me.”

the memory of that night comes back to you. “you were so cocky, acting like you owned the place.”

he chuckles a bit sheepishly, a whine escaping his lips, “i’m sorryyyy, i was trying to impress you and it backfired. i really didn’t want to make a fool of myself…”

“and yet you did.” you tease lightly.

“and look where that got me.” he grins, tightening his hold on you.

there’s a moment of silence before he speaks up again, “so… am i your boyfriend now?”

you hum, “hm if you’d do me the honor yes.”

“and you’re my girlfriend?” he whispers into your neck, you can feel him smile against your skin.

“that’s usually how it works yes.” you mumble as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

fun facts :

satoru's the one who changed his contact name to "my pest"

they moved in together a few months after the accident

satoru's already thinking about proposing after one year together and yn has to keep reminding him that they don't have to rush it

megumi and yn still see each other often despite not living together anymore, and they keep working together too

author's note

ignore if some things dont make sense :3

satoru got his happy ending, megumi and maki are next dw !! 😗😗

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ tugging on heartstrings ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

as an aspiring solo artist, you dream of making it big in the music industry. With your talent and unwavering determination, you find yourself entangled in a web of romantic pursuits amidst rumors and betrayal. Will you emerge unscathed and manage to navigate your love life in the chaos of fame?

Part thirty-eight - the end

rbs and interactions are highly appreciated <3

taglist : closed :) to be added leave a comment on the masterlist of the smau

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if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[jesslovesboats]

I’m so fascinated by how different polar historians engage with sources. The difference between books like Lansing’s Endurance (which imo drew pretty uncritically from the crew’s narrative, and didn’t distinguish between contemporaneous diaries and later interviews) and Sancton’s Madhouse, which often makes a point of pointing out contradictions and unlikelihoods (although comparing Amundsen with our favorite little miss unreliable narrator does a lot of the work for him), is so intriguing. They’re obviously different projects with different purposes - Endurance is, literally, a Branagh movie, while Madhouse is closer to Iannucci (said lovingly) - but I imagine these differences contribute a lot to the historiography of polar exploration in general. Not to mention which men did and didn’t write diaries, and who did and didn’t survive.

I’m also listening to these on audiobook, and Madhouse was great in that they included some footnotes while other narrators don’t, so sourcing might exist that I don’t know about . But I’m curious for your thoughts on these dynamics, and what accounts you think are the most critical and balanced.

Hello! This is an absolutely fascinating question and one I have so much to say about that I'm not quite sure where to begin, if that makes sense? But, I will try my best to gather a bunch of disjointed thoughts into a coherent response. Full disclaimer, I do have a BA in history but I'm not a practicing historian by any means, and I haven't "done history" in the academic sense since I was an undergrad many years ago. All of my post-grad work has been in library science, so I'm much more familiar with that as an academic framework.

I think that the vast differences you see in how polar historians engage with the source material *usually* come down to 2 factors: what is their purpose, and when are they writing?

There are as many different reasons to write as there are people writing. Most of us are probably familiar with the difference between academic history (which is published by professional historians, usually affiliated with a university and usually as a requirement of their position, with an audience of students and other professional historians) and popular history (which is written by people who are most likely skilled researchers but may or may not have academic credentials, with an audience of the general public), but even within those categories there are huge divisions that have to do with the author's motives and what they hope to accomplish with their work. Is the author telling this story because they want to convey specific new information? Are they hoping to share a compelling story with a wider audience? Do they want to correct the record about misinformation they've seen shared by others? Do they want to rehabilitate the reputation of a person/group/institution? Do they want to write a hit piece about a person/group/institution? Did a story change their life in a meaningful way and they need to express that somehow? I've read polar books that, if I had to guess, were written for all these reasons and more.

There are also trends in historiography, and the time in which someone is writing can have a significant impact on how they tell their story. This is obviously a huge generalization, but the more recently something has been written, the more likely it is that the author engaged critically with the source material. That's not to say that more recent history is better than history written decades ago, just that researchers today are probably approaching it more holistically than they did 100, 50, or even 10 years ago, and their research is more likely to be informed by perspectives other than just the straight white cis wealthy male ones. Another factor to consider when looking specifically at late 19th and early 20th century stories is access to survivors. This is a double-edged sword because on one hand, survivors and their immediate families were incredible sources of information. On the other hand, they were usually very protective of their legacies and those of their comrades, so it could be difficult to write critically about them knowing that they would likely read it. Some also refused to share their diaries and papers with authors, or would only share with certain authors, which further muddied the waters. Most Heroic Age figures had passed on by the 1970s, and I don't think it's a coincidence that you start to get more honest assessments of these stories around this time. That's not the only reason, of course, but I think it's an important factor to consider.

No one can ever truly know someone else's motives, but some authors leave significant trails of breadcrumbs. In the case of Endurance, Lansing was a journalist who came across the story of the ITAE, found it compelling, and was pretty clearly inspired by the figure of Shackleton. It's hard to imagine now, but when Lansing was writing in the 50s, Shackleton wasn't a household name, and the story of the Endurance wasn't especially well known in the US. He found a great story that most people hadn't already heard about a man he admired, and he had access to diaries and survivors, especially Macklin, to help craft his story. Endurance is one of the most engaging polar books I've ever read, but I also think it's a product of its time. Lansing was writing in the 1950s, and several Endurance survivors were still around, not to mention Shackleton's adult children. I can't say if he intentionally excluded more critical information because of the survivors, or because he wanted to lionize Shackleton, or if he left all that out so he could tell a faster paced story. The end result is a book that's compulsively readable and that I recommend as a great introduction to all things Endurance, but it definitely does not tell the whole story- and that's OK! Lansing told the story he wanted to tell, and there are many other books about Endurance and about Shackleton that are better researched and more objective. I'm speaking as a librarian and not a historian here, but I personally don't think it's fair to expect a short work of popular history that's over 60 years old to give a complete unbiased account of the Endurance and all of Shackleton's failings- although I do wish the book mentioned the Ross Sea Party (I will bang this drum until the day I die).

Madhouse is a very different kind of book, as you pointed out in your question! Sancton is also a journalist, and I listened to a podcast where he talked about what inspired him to write Madhouse. If I remember correctly, he came across the story while researching a different topic and discovered that there wasn't much of anything about the Belgica out there, at least not in English. So, this was an opportunity to tell a fascinating story about an expedition that virtually no one had heard of outside of polar circles. I think his main goal was to tell a great story, not necessarily to inspire the reader or boost anyone's reputation posthumously. Sancton also published this book in 2021, so the historical environment was very different. He engaged critically with the source material, pointed out several things in primary sources that seemed off, and offered a variety of possible motives for things that happen in the story. He also looked at the story from more of a social history perspective and talked about what was happening in Belgium at the time and how nationalism played a significant role in the expedition. Overall, I think it's a much stronger book than Endurance, and almost as compulsively readable.

So what to make of all this? I think that, just like it matters when the author was writing and why, it matters when you are reading and why. I have more to say about this (shocking, I know), but there is no perfect polar book- there are lots of excellent polar books appropriate for a variety of different situations. Looking for a great story and don't want to think too much about what's being left out? Endurance. Want something that was meticulously researched and has every detail imaginable? You definitely want journal articles or something written by an academic. Something in the middle? Madhouse. Up to the challenge of reading historic documents with fresh, modern eyes? Look for published diaries and journals (or hit up the archives)! Hagiography? Edward Wilson of the Antarctic by George Seaver. Hit piece? Scott and Amundsen by Roland Huntford. Passion project? The Worst Journey graphic novel by Sarah Airriess or The Expedition by Bea Uusma.

I have been yakking for entirely too long and have no idea if I actually answered your question, but I hope I did on some level, at least! Bottom line, I think your most well rounded source for information about an expedition is usually going to be a book written in the last 10ish years by an author, academic or popular, who is writing to inform as opposed to trying to prove something. I also think that, generally speaking, secondary sources that give an overview of an entire expedition are better entry points than primary sources.

Thank you for another great ask, and I'm sorry it took so long to respond, but as you can see from gestures wildly, I am not well 😅

[prying-pandora666]

The Real Reason Azula Smirked When Zuko Was Burned is…

A lot of ink has been spilled over why Azula smirked when Ozai burned and scarred Zuko.

Some argue whether Iroh’s flashback was reliable. Let’s assume for the sake of argument—as uncertain as it is in canon—that it happened exactly as Iroh remembers and describes it.

How could an 11 year old child smirk while her brother is burned and brutalized in front of everyone?

There are many conflicting arguments.

Argument 1 - She’s a monster.

Some say she is a sadist or a psychopath and it’s as simple as that. She just enjoys watching her brother suffer.

But this doesn’t track with what we come to learn about her later, and is outright contradicted by materials that actually give us insight into her POV such as the comics and novelizations, as well as writer interviews.

The novelizations which were written contemporaneously (and thus aren’t a retcon) show us an Azula who cares about Zuko, even though she’s competitive with him and jealous that mom favored him. She thinks Zuko is weak and brings misery upon himself and she is willing to turn on him to protect herself. Yet she still wants to help him get stronger and take his place as Prince. She still wants his love. She takes the risk to lie on his behalf at Ba Sing Se for him. She didn’t suspect Aang had survived until later.

The comics take this further, showing that in Azula’s ideal world, Zuko was never banished or burned at all. He is happy and loves her and isn’t abused or scarred.

Even the head writer who designed both Zuko and Azula’s arcs claimed she loved Zuko more than anyone except their father.

So then what is it?

Argument 2 - It’s A Coping Mechanism

Some point to “Identification with the Aggressor”, a well documented psychological coping mechanism in which victims of trauma—especially children who are especially malleable and vulnerable—will mirror their abuser and conform to their ideals in an attempt to stay in their good graces and be spared. This isn’t always a conscious decision either, it’s often done subconsciously, which only confounds this further.

I’ve written more about this and how it pertains to Azula here.

However, outside the the knowledge that this is common in abused children and Azula’s behaviors meet the criteria, we don’t have any direct confirmation that this is the case.

Argument 3 - She Is Brainwashed

Others point out that every adult in the room is complicit in this act if not outright enjoying it in the cases of Ozai and Zhao.

Azula is a small child that’s been brainwashed from birth to believe this is right. After all, Ozai is their unquestionable despotic leader as well as her only remaining parental figure. Why would she question? How would she even know this is wrong if she’s been taught this is right by everyone surrounding her?

Does she even understand the full impact of what is happening here or does she think this is Zuko getting his comeuppance for being “weak and lazy”, with no concept that he’s actually being scarred for life and is soon to be banished? After all, not even jolly Uncle Iroh is objecting or moving a finger to stop this. He only looks away.

This is supported by the fact that Iroh laughed about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground even as he was killing them. Zuko and Azula both laugh at this joke and Ursa doesn’t chastise them. She only smiles. Clearly this kind of violence is normalized in the Fire Nation.

We also know Azula attended the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, which in the Kyoshi novels we are told is quite violent and that it wasn’t uncommon for adults to encourage students to duel on Agni Kais. Students sometimes died. So there is reason to suspect this is a product of her culture.

Argument 4 - She is Faking It

“Azula always lies” they say. She is shown to be an excellent liar, but more importantly that she represses her vulnerabilities and feelings.

This is shown when Toph tries to sense Azula’s lies only for Azula to completely repress any reactions and prove Toph can’t determine when Azula is being truthful.

The Beach gives us a more sympathetic example, showing us an Azula who empathizes with her brother and tries to cheer him up when he’s sitting by their old family beach house in depression. She calls him to join them at the shore, and then proceeds to walk all her friends and Zuko through their traumas with surprising gentility.

When it’s her turn however? She dismisses her own trauma with a flippant joke. Masking the moment she starts to feel emotional about it.

It’s even shown when Zuko makes Ty Lee cry by calling her a circus freak. Initially Azula laughs, but when she realizes it’s upset Ty Lee, Azula’s face changes to one of remorse and sadness. However, the moment Ty Lee turns to look at Azula, Azula quickly hides this expression and masks it with a look of indignant petulance.

Azula does indeed seem to fake negative reactions to hide her vulnerabilities.

Argument 5 - It’s a combination of 2-4

Perhaps there is some truth to all of what we have seen in arguments 2-4. Azula is clearly brainwashed and does identify with her abuser to the point of being inappropriately enmeshed with him and suffering total ego fragmentation when he discards her. She does repress her emotions until she finally unravels. She was also quite young when this show happened and it’s possible she didn’t know just how serious it was all going to be.

But consider this…

Still that isn’t enough for detractors, who claim that even given her environment and the circumstances, it’s still too sadistic and cruel for her to grin here. That she should’ve shown some outward sign of disruption.

If you are or ever were one of these detractors, let me ask you this.

Did you feel any sympathy when Azula fell apart, uncomforted by her newly granted power, arguing against her own conscience in the form of her estranged mother, telling her that her methods are wrong? When Azula replied “what choice do I have?” did you feel any remorse for this child who had been exploited for her skill and groomed into living weapon by her power-hungry father, with no regard for her psychosocial development or emotional wellbeing to the point she cannot even relate to kids her own age normally? Did her desperation to use fear and control to keep others close because she knows no other reliable way, because such skills are taught and she’s only ever learned manipulation and coercing and fear, showing us exactly what Ozai uses to control her just as used violence and estrangement against Zuko, move you?

When she laid broken and sobbing and screaming at the end after Zuko and Katara “put her in her place” as Zuko put it, did you feel any pain in your gut?

Or did you cheer?

Were you glad to for her to get her comeuppance?

Did you feel justice was served and Zuko triumphed that day?

That he was right, he could “take her” by exploiting how “off” she was aka her mental illness and spiral into psychosis?

Because if you did, then you know exactly why a person would smirk while watching someone who needs help get brutalized.

If narrative framing can persuade you to believe that an unloved, mentally ill, abused and exploited child soldier being brought to sobbing, screaming, chained up, broken tears… is the RIGHTEOUS result! Imagine what a lifetime of propaganda from birth and programming from your own father with no one to show you another way would do to you.

Why did Azula smirk while Ozai burned Zuko?

You already know the answer.

[astralflower-writes]

you've got mail!!

☾ miya atsumu x female! reader

☾ genre: fluff

☾ warnings: none

☾ check out the haikyuu masterlist here

it's already 2am, and atsumu being him, he’s just lounging by the living room when he heard a ping from his phone.

it’s an e-mail from you.

my dearest volleyball champ,

today marks our 10th year together!! who would have thought that we'll be together this long huh?

i'm kidding!!

hey, do you remember the time when you used to purposely hit the volleyball to me during gym class? and how my best friend would scream at you?

and remember the time when we went on a school trip and we had to row the makeshift boat? yeah, you made us jump into the water because you said we should became one with the boat.

we've made a lot of memories together. i hope you still want to make more with me.

i also hope by this time we've already built our own home and talking about our future together.

i love you, tsumu. i really do. words aren't enough to tell you how much i love you.

now, watch the video attached just because you love me that much. ;)

he clicked on the video. your face was shown on the screen.

it was taken few years ago, both of you just graduated from high school.

you were self-recording. the graduation ceremony just ended.

you were running. running towards him. then in a second atsumu came into the frame, looking at you with the warmest smile spread across his face.

he then greeted you with a kiss on your forehead.

“congratulations to us, baby.” he said as he held you closer. “tsumu wait!” then you let out a giggle. you held out the camera so the both of you were seen better.

“before you say anything, this is for future projects.” you said as you faced the camera again. astumu just laughed at your antics.

“first of all, congratulations! we survived high school!” you said cheering and atsumu joining you. 

“okay, okay” you said leading him near the bleachers by the field. setting the camera down making it look like you two were being interviewed. holding out your to his face making it your ‘microphone’.

“now, mister miya atsumu. what are you’re plans after high school?” you said. him acting like he was deeply thinking. “you look like a dork, tsumu.”

“your handsome dork.” he replied. “to answer your question, i plan to pursue volleyball.”

“oh that’s nice, ba- WHAT!? YOU GOT ACCEPTED!?!!” he then went to give you the warmest hug and swung you around the field. the camera forgotten.

“and i’ll be your number one fan.” you said brightly. 

“what about you?” he said as he pulled you closer, both of you forgetting about the recording camera. “i actually got accepted to med school.” you said casually.

—

“hurry!! let’s open the door!” you said excitedly behind the camera. “you’re excited huh.” atsumu said with a smirk plastered on his face. the both of you were walking now on your shared apartment.

“it’s practically empty now, but we'll fill up this home in no time. right, baby?” atsumu looked at you after circling in the very spacious living room. “it’s perfect, love. we’re going to build this home together.” he then walked towards you taking the camera away from you and setting it by the box beside the both of you. he enveloped you in a warm hug. the camera forgotten again.

—

it was the day of your first day as a resident at the local hospital.

atsumu took you out since he said you've taken a hug step towards your dream. the video showed both of you eating and strolling the streets. you had perfectly captured atsumu walking infront of you looking for his brother's restaurant.

"god. i really love you tsumu."

—

now it looks like it's the last clip.

your face was shown in the frame. you were sitting on your shared bed back home. you were looking at something with a big smile on your face.

"hey remember the time you said we'd have a whole team of babies?" you asked while chuckling.

"well, it's going to happen soon." after you said, you showed your ultrasound.

"i get to see this little one today!" you said tears forming in your eyes. you then showed a video you filmed of the heart beart.

atsumu cannot describe his feeling of joy and contentment. he hurriedly made his way from the living room to the bedroom.

he made himself comfortable and hugged your belly.

“hey there” you said still half asleep.

burying his face on your shoulders “can i see our baby, y/n?”

turning to face him, you reached for the drawer of the bedside table and handed him a copy of the sonogram.

“i’m going to be a dad”

“I’M GOING TO BE DAD!” he happily shouted then proceeded to pamper you with kisses.

[stephreviews]

Like a lot of older BL Fans, SOTUS was one of my first BLs and a lot of the reason I got dragged into the world of BL. I specifically remember my first 4 BLs being Waterboyy (absolutely unhinged answer, thanks YouTube for that), Love By Chance, SOTUS, and 2Moons.

(More under the cut because I'm feeling ✨ nostalgia ✨)

Anyone who was around at the time knows that Love By Chance, SOTUS, and 2Moons gained INSANE followings internationally, their books getting fan translations on Wattpad, and the stars catapulted to international fame despite being new actors with no experience and basically no protection. We all found out that some of the early BL actors were actually homophobic (you know who I'm talking about), and the actors had to field questions from reporters that were super homophobic and "defend" their own sexualities. A lot of BL actors literally could not work outside of BL work because they were discriminated against in the acting field.

Watching now as Saint is airing in My Sweetheart Jom, Perth just did Perfect10Liners, Krist and Singto are back together again in The Ex-Morning, Bas has a new partner in the Fourever You series, Earth is getting lots of work despite being independent and out, and the Love By Chance cast just had a 7 year reunion - it's amazing to see how far the industry has come.

Yes, there are many critiques to the industry, as there always will be. But the questions they receive in interviews are not always "please explain why you're not gay". "Did you cause the breakup between the other actor and their significant other?" (Real questions asked of Krist and Singto y'all.) Many actors and actresses are openly out and dating each other. We have a GL industry now (fuck yeah!), and the success of BL content in Thailand has led to more such content out of other countries as well. Thailand and Taiwan have both legalized gay marriage!

It's awesome to see how far everything has come since Love Sick in 2014.

[the-vast-corner-of-the-galaxy]

KW 2024- Day 2: Protectiveness

Day 2 of Kataang Week hosted by @kataang-week

Prompt: Protectiveness/Bodyguard - Tuesday, July 30th

I basically remembered this picture by @ sheepnishly on insta and thought it would be cool using it for this particular prompt.

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3K

Modern AU where Katara is a singer and starts to fall in love with her bodyguard, Aang. 

It was a lovely morning in Ba Sing Se, and Aang, who was a martial arts teacher at one of Ba Sing Se’s biggest martial arts centers, was looking for jobs on the newspaper. Aang loved loved teaching, but he was already getting a little bored of his job. It paid a salary that was enough to get by in the big city’s middle ring, but he wanted to do something different from being a simply martial arts teacher. He got through various ads, but none of them had a position that he was interested in, until he got to a particularly small ad at the bottom left corner of the page:

WE ARE LOOKING FOR BODYGUARDS 

MUST BE FROM AGES 20-29

REQUIREMENTS:

Military officers

Martial arts masters

Daofei

MEET US AT THE JAZMINE DRAGON TEA SHOP ANY WEEK DAY IN THE AFTERNOONS

“This is such a weird ad,” said Aang out loud. However, curiosity got the best of the master and he decided to go to the Jazmine Dragon Tea Shop in the afternoon. Luckily, today he did not have to go to the academy to teach, so he took the train to the upper ring and headed to the tea shop. 

When he got to the busy tea shop, he was not exactly sure of what to do. He walked up to the counter where an older man with a long beard was preparing tea with a few other workers. 

“Hello! Welcome to the Jazmine Dragon!,” greeted the man. “My name is Iroh, what can I help you with?”

“Hello! I saw this ad on the newspaper and they told me to come here,” said Aang, pointing at the ad in the page. 

Iroh looked at it and gave him a warm smile and said: “They are over there in the back, at the largest table with the blue flowerpot.” Aang thanked him and headed to the back of the shop to the table where Iroh pointed. In that table, four men with dark blue suits sat while drinking tea. They all wore black sunglasses and had stern and serious expressions. 

“Uh… hello?” Aang greeted awkwardly. “I was told to come here for the ad-”

“Yeah, yeah, come here,” said one of the men. He was a tall and lean man with a short, brown ponytail, an undercut, a goatee, and brownish skin. He let Aang sit down in front of him and tilted his dark glasses down, revealing his dark blue eyes. 

“Are you by any chance a military officer, a martial arts master, or part of the Daofei?” he asked sternly. 

“Well, yes, I am martial arts master,” replied Aang, humbly. 

“Right,” said the man, writing notes on a piece of paper, “I am going to ask a few questions and later we will test your abilities in the martial arts. Prepare yourself.” 

Aang did not know what he meant by that last phrase, but he answered every question that was asked with full honesty. This was probably the most interesting interview he has received by far, but he was not exactly liking where it was going. 

When the inteview was finished, the man with the ponytail led Aang outside and thanked him for coming. Aang was walking away from the tea shop, when he suddenly felt a pair of eyes observing him. He then heard footsteps coming from multiple directions. Who could’ve been following him? 

Aang turned around and saw two dark figures in front of him. They were wearing all black suits and carried weapons. Aang stopped and positioned himself to defend himself. Aang did not like street fights or attacking people with no reason, but sometimes, he had to defend himself in life or dead situations. 

Four more figures came from the other sides, and had him surrounded. They were looking at him attentively, seeing if he would make a move. Aang stood still and kept calm, waiting for the other cloaked figures to move. 

One of them sprinted towards Aang and tried attacking him with a knife. Aang removed the knife with a swift of his hand and stunned him. Another one tried jumping on him, but Aang quickly threw him on the ground. The third one tried kicking him from the sides, but Aang quickly reacted and in just a few kicks, had stunned him. 

Before Aang could catch his breath, another figured began choking him with a rope, but thanks to his skills, Aang broke away from the grip and stunned the figure. More figures came running to him and attacked him from all sides. “This is so weird,” Aang thought to himself. He was easily defending and stunning the cloaked figures, but was growing a bit tired and gasped for air. Luckily, the figures ran away from him in a few minutes and left Aang alone in the streets of the Upper Ring. 

When Aang finished catching his breath, a familiar figure came from behind him and clapped his hands. It was the man who interviewed him in the tea shop.

“Impressive,” he said, “You’re hired. Now come with us.”

“Wait I-” Aang tried to speak, but a black limosine stopped where they were and they all huddled Aang to get inside the vehicle. Aang was seated between two of the men with suits, and the man who interviewed him sat in front of him and took out a can of the famous Cactus Juice.

“Are you guys the mafia?” Aang asked, feeling worried.

“Oh no, you got it all wrong,” the man laughed, “We are actually the security team of the famous singer songwriter Katara. You obviously know her, right?”

“I only heard a few songs by her,” Aang replied. “Why didn’t you guys mention that early?”

“If we were to reveal the reason why we are looking for extra security, the tea shop would’ve been a chaotic place,” said the man, “So we wanted to make the hiring as weird and mysterious as possible.”

Aang simply nodded, still feeling uneasy. “So… Where are we going mister…”

“Sokka,” replied the man. “You can call me Sokka. I am Katara’s older and awesome brother, and I am her manager. You said your name was Aang, right?”

“Yes, my name is Aang,” the young master replied. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are we going?”

“Oh! We are going to the recording studio, where Ms. Katara wishes to meet you,” said Sokka, “Do you want some Cactus Juice? It’s the quenchiest!” 

Aang politely declined the drink and stayed silent through the ride to the studio. When they got to the place, Aang was shocked to see the humongous building in front of him. It was about 40 stories and had a white, round, shape. They went into the building and took the elevator to the 34th floor. A white door in front of them had the words written on a sign that said “Do not disturb”, but Sokka simply knocked the door and was answered by a smaller lady with black hair tied up in a bun, dark glasses, and a black suit. 

“Toph, is Katara in there?” Sokka asked.

“What do you think, dumbass?” she asked sarcastically. “Of course she is in here! She says you’re late!”

Aang entered the room awkwardly and tried not making any noise. When they walked into the studio, a lean woman was standing looking at a large window that showed almost all of Ba Sing Se. She had wavy, dark brown, hair, and wore a short blue dress covered with a denim jacket and tall, white platforms. 

“You’re late, Sokka,” said the woman. “Did you find the new recruit?”

“Yes, Kat” said Sokka. “We found you another bodyguard. He is a martial arts master, a skilled fighter, and really nice!”

The woman turned around and revealed herself, and when Aang saw her, he felt like he was struck by lightning again. The singer was probably the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen. Her long, wavy hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, her eyes were the color of the ocean, and you could even see the water reflected on them. Her lips were painted a light shade of red, but completed her face perfectly. Katara was absolutely stunning, and Aang could feel his heart skip multiple beats at the sight of her. 

“Hello,” she greeted nicely. “What is your name?”

“Uh… my name is Aang,” replied Aang, still bewildered by the artist’s beauty. “Nice to meet you, Katara.” 

Katara extended her hand and shook it. “It is also nice to meet you, Aang. Come here, let us talk.” Katara welcomed Aang into the room with the large window and offered him a seat. He couldn’t take his eyes off Katara, not just because of her beauty, but because there was something about her that he felt drawn to, an unspoken energy. 

“So, Aang,” Katara began. “Are you from Ba Sing Se?”

“Well… no,” replied Aang. “I am from the Air Islands, but moved here a few years ago.”

“Oh! That’s intriguing,” replied Katara, taking a sip of water, “I haven’t been to the Air Islands in a while. It’s such a lovely place to visit. The mountains are gorgeous to look at, and the temples are some of the most impressive architecture I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice place,” replied Aang, trying not to sound awkward. “So… how is this job going to work?”

“Oh! It’s fairly simple!” said Katara, grabbing a folder from the other side of the table. “Aang, you are going to be my personal bodyguard. You are going to be part of my personal team, which includes Toph, who is in charge of security, the three guards, Sokka, my manager, as well as many other people you will eventually meet. You are not just going to be working at the concerts, but also as a companion, a member of Team Katara.”

Aang nodded with too much enthusiasm and seized the folder from Katara’s hands before she could fully give it to him. He read all of the terms and conditions to his contrat, his salary, which would be very generous and three times his salary he got from the academy, and his schedules. He was technically going to be with Katara almost 24/7, but he did not mind, except for the fact that he would probably be very exhausted by the end of each day and each tour. 

Once Aang finished reading the terms and conditions, he signed the contrat and handed it to Katara, who gave it to Sokka. Katara stood up and shook Aang’s hand, welcoming him officially into the team. 

A few hours after getting to know the rest of Katara’s crew, he left the studio and was escorted by Toph through the elevator. 

“Tomorrow, you must be in this address by 9 AM,” she said, taking out a card. It had the address of a house in the Upper Ring, which he figured was Katara’s residency. “Also, Katara can be quite temperamental, so be careful about what you say.” Toph took out her glasses and handed the card to Aang. The master realized that the woman’s eyes were covered with a thick, grey, film. She was blind, which made Aang wonder how she was in charge of a whole security team, but of course, he didn’t mind.

“We will see you tomorrow, Aang,” she said as the elevator door shut behind her. Aang headed outside the studio and took the last train to the Middle Ring, filled with determination about his new job. 

***

The next morning, Aang headed to the address he was given last night. He got there at 8:55 AM, five minutes exactly before the time. The house he was sent to was a large, and impressive Earth Kingdom mansion. When he knocked the door, he was received by Toph, who welcomed him into the residence. 

“This is Katara’s residence,” said Toph. “You might be wondering why it is so large. The crew actually lives with here. She likes the company of people and loves interacting with the rest of the staff.”

Aang was impressed by the entire house and gawkwed at its design. The outside of the house had the style of many Ba Sing Se mansions, but the inside was decorated with objects from the Water Tribe. 

“Aang!” Katara exclaimed from the stairs. “You’re here! And just in time!”

Aang smiled at Katara’s warm welcome, and then Sokka came and began to explain the details of the day’s events. “Today, there is going to be a press conference about the upcoming album. It’s going to be up in the North of the Middle Ring. We are expecting a large amount of expectators and interviewers, so we will need to increase the security. Aang, you will be near the exit of the press room ready to escort Katara at any moment, and Toph will secure the perimeter with the guards and extra staff given to us. Is everything clear?”

Everyone nodded and then got in the vehicles from Katara’s garage to head to the press conference.When they got there, there were already many interviewers and reporters in the room. Aang got to his position and saw Toph with the rest of the guards securing the area. The conference began with questions about Katara’s upcoming album and about the upcoming tour. As the hours passed, the questions started getting more personal and Aang noticed Katara was feeling uneasy. 

A particular interviewer from the Earth Kingdom was pressing Katara on questions about a relationship she had with a famous activist named Jet in the past. Katara was visibly uncomfortable and tried everything to evade answering any details about their rupture, but the interviewer was still pressuring Katara. Sokka yelled at the man for being too invasive and did his best to go to the next question. The singer glanced at Aang with a call for help in her eyes. Aang understood the signal in a glimpse and escorted Katara out of the conference room. Sokka kept arguing with the reporters while Aang escorted Katara cradling her in his arms and covering her from the cameras of the paparazzi. When the door got shut behind them, Aang took her to the nearest empty room so she could calm down and shut the door. 

“Are you okay?” Aang asked with a tone of concern. “Would you like some water? Something to calm down?”

Before Katara could answer, she broke down in tears. Aang was not exactly sure what to do in that moment. He wanted to calm her down, but did not want to be too invasive since it was his first day working and barely knew Katara. 

Aang crouched and got closer to Katara, handing her a bottle of water so that she could drink it. She took the bottle and sipped on some of the water. There were heavy tears streaming down her eyes, which was making her makeup cascade on her cheeks. Aang decided to give her some tissues he had in his pocket so she could wipe her tears. 

“Thank you, Aang,” Katara whispered, calming down. “I always hate when they begin pressing so much on my personal life. Why do they need to take personal information from my relationships and make entertainment out of it? I cannot stand it!”

Aang stayed silent for a few moments, but then said: “Because they have nothing better to do. They just want to make profit out of the life of someone, and you have all the right to not answer any questions willingly.”

“I know, but it still annoys me,” said Katara. “You wouldn’t like it if the papers began publishing details about your last romantic relationship, right?”

Aang shook his head and stayed silent for a few moments, not sure of what to say to Katara. 

“Would you like me to tell Sokka to get the car so we can leave?” Aang asked, heading to the door.

“Wait!” Katara exclaimed, pulling Aang’s hand. “Can you please stay for a bit?” Aang’s heart skipped a few beats, but he turned back to the woman in front of him. When Aang faced the singer in front of him, he did not just see a music star, but a simple woman, who was showing emotion and needed comfort. 

Aang sat next to Katara and stayed close to her. Katara then turned around and wrapped her arms around Aang’s shoulders and cried some more. The young bodyguard did not know what to do and froze for a few moments, but decided to return the hug lightly and wrapped his long arms around her. Katara tightened her grip on his shoulders, searching for more security in Aang. A few minutes passed, and Katara’s cries seemed to ease, and her breathing came back to normal. 

“Thank you, Aang,” she cooed, looking at his silver grey eyes while holding his arms. Katara noticed the color in her bodyguard’s eyes and saw how pretty they were. The dark silver flakes made his eyes look like diamond jewelry and gave her a sense of security and comfort, a security she has been looking for years. 

A faint knock was heard from the door, and Katara turned around hoping it was not the paparazzi. 

“Kat?” Sokka called from the door. “Are you in there? The press left. We can go now.”

“You can come in, Sokka,” replied Katara. Sokka entered the room with caution approached the bodyguard and his sister with caution. 

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes,” said Katara, following Sokka to the door. Then, she turned to Aang, stared sweetly into his eyes, and said: “Everything is better now.”

Aang felt his cheeks turn pink, and really hoped Katara or Sokka did not notice. He was starting to like his job a lot more, even if it had its stressful situations. Aang felt like he was going to enjoy his job, not because he worked for a famous singer, but because he cared for Katara.