#been playing create above and beyond again

[wordsandrobots]

I think, OP, you are probably broadly correct about Machu and Nyaan's plot. This would be adding absolutely nothing new in the Gundam canon, since what you are describing is pretty much Standard UC Gundam Operating Mode, but at this point, assessing everything G-Quacks has done up to this point, I think you are accurately describing the themes being played with.

However - and I apologise for breaking my internal rule of not doing full critical work until something is complete but I suspect this point won't change with the final episode - those themes don't alter the fact that in terms of the artistic decisions being made to convey the story, this show is hopelessly devoted to Tomino's Gundam as a source of innate importance.

It drops its plot momentum - twice! - to indulge in extended flashbacks that could have been much shorter given what they actually contribute to Machu and Nyaan's story. It constantly throws in named UC characters who, likewise, don't add anything but are given prominence well in excess of their actual role (the asides with the Titans are especially glaring). And above all, it hinges multiple dramatic moments on the audience's ability to recognise key parts of UC Gundam iconography.

Now, that's a kind of obvious statement. There is no way this was designed to be watched by people unfamiliar with Gundam's greatest hits. But it's an inbuilt limitation: simply put, in the contention between the old and new generations, it automatically concedes the issue. The Gundam, Lalah, Char, Kycilia, Zeon, the Black Tri-Stars - if the story is deferring to this past iconography as worth spending time on, how sincerely can it argue that we need to move into a wide-open future?

As a franchise, Gundam already has a perfectly serviceable means of moving past the Universal Century. Its standard operating procedure for over thirty years has been to take its visual iconography and remix it to produce totally different kinds of story. G Gundam, Gundam Wing, SEED:Destiny, Iron-Blooded Orphans, The Witch From Mercury - these are not retreads of Tomino's Gundam, even when they go to the extent of borrowing entire plot concepts (the world-ending doohicky in the final act is nigh-irresistible, it seems). They deal with different themes, different dramatic structures, and different moral questions. Tomino himself has come back twice to take his own stab at moving beyond the basic premises and iconography of the UC, and I'd argue it resulted in some of the best pieces of Gundam fiction out there (well, Turn A is; G-Reco is at least extremely pretty).

So what therefore is gained by creating a show, in 2025, that drapes itself in the Universal Century to the point of being borderline incomprehensible without a grounding in the original Gundam (your mileage may vary but my non-fan partner was definitely getting lost/bored even in the first few episodes) to convey the message 'we need to move beyond the past'?

If it's aimed at the fans who prefer the eternal continuation of the original, which has proceeded alongside the attempts to diversify Gundam as a franchise . . . then I'm sorry, the message of 'escape the past' is not going to land. It simply won't. It never does.

And if that *isn't* where this is being directed, if it is just using the UC as placeholders for an older generation that the younger must escape out from under, without being a commentary on Gundam as a whole? Then it is fatally beholden to the past anyway. Because, again, it hinges importance on people recognising and appreciating that past, often to a higher degree than the present.

G-Quuuuuux is not slop. It is a tightly constructed, well written narrative that clearly has a goal in mind and an artistic vision for how to 'do Gundam'. At the same time, it is riven through with an abiding love of the UC Gundam and a gleeful delight at being able to play in that toy-box. I guess we'll find out next week exactly how well those two aspects can be meshed together in the final outcome.

But I personally remain extremely dubious that telling this story in this way adequately conveys the message that you believe they are going for. And that's as much a technical criticism as it is my knee-jerk reaction to being bombarded with iconography taken out of the context where it actually meant something.

Also as a more serious post I keep seeing claims that Gquuuuuux is telling a story about Gundam or is doing “uc slop” or sudden rebuild bullshit in the last five eps but no it’s not. It’s telling a story about two possibly three teenagers proving that they have the right to decide their own destinies and not be bound by what the older generations have decided for them. It’s just that it’s achieving that by using the most iconic parts of Gundam to represent the older generations.

The UC “bullshit” is the culmination of the shows thesis about how the newer generations need to be left free to chart their own paths. Nyaan and Machu represent two ways in which younger people live with this. Nyaan aimlessly floats through life without convictions or passion for what she’s doing, her only wants restricted to her needs while she pines for what she truly wants but is unwilling to grab it until her hand is forced, and Machu is raging against the bonds holding her with no regards to what happens if she breaks free, she just knows she needs to be free becuase that’s worth whatever she’ll lose in the process. And then if I’m right about Shuji (and even if I’m not the earlier stuff with the red Gundam still fits) he’s the total loss of identity outside of the older generations wants and needs he no longer has his own id or ego he’s subsumed by the older generation and mirrors them (like those kids whose parents never made it in sports or whatever but they “totally could’ve” so the kids are forced to push themselves to the brink no matter what they actually want to enable their parents need to vicariously live through them.)

The fight against RX-78 isn’t just them fighting to prove their universe’s inherent right to exist but also the younger generations right to chart their own paths. This is why Challia and Kycilia’s treatment of Nyaan and Machu are so contrasting, Kycilia impose her own values and beliefs on Nyaan and Nyaan fights against them, she used the gun she was given to protect her self to protect someone else finally choosing what she wants rather than floating along. While Challia gave Machu the freedom to do what she felt was necessary and her gun was used to free herself and the Gquuuuuux to not only achieve what they wanted but to reach their full potential with the omega psycommu. It’s the same reason Challia doesn’t want to kill Xavier. he let Xavier go the way he wanted to and do what he felt was necessary and even though they’ve ended up on opposite sides he doesn’t want to take that freedom away from him in death. Whereas Kycilia was fully willing to kill Nyaan as soon as she didn’t align with her beliefs. And I think this is partly why Challia was chosen and written the way he is. He’s not an icon of Gundam like Char, Lalah, Kycilia, Amuro or even the titans. He’s of the og series but isn’t bound by it, it’s why he can straddle the line of being of the older generation but not trying to bind the newer generation to what they decide and be the only one willing to let them have the freedom they deserve.

The RX-78’s appearance is the manifestation and climax of this, the gquuuuuux timeline isn’t doing what it’s supposed to so it must be destroyed. This isn’t a show about Gundam, its not a meta story about Gundam needing to move past the UC timeline, it’s a show using the most iconic example of the old generation that Gundam will ever have to be the final boss in Nyaan and Machu’s journey to prove that they have a right to decide their own destinies. It’s why Beyond the Time works so well at the end of ep 11, it’s not only a callback but a call to arms for Nyaan and Machu to change their destiny and futures and share the happiness that’ll come from being finally, truly free.

[lunatic-harness]

protip for playing minecraft tech modpacks: you don't have to automate everything in order. you can half-ass everything up to a certain point to make it easier to go back and full-ass everything

[heritageposts]

twitter link to the video (in it, you can hear these fascists loudly screaming "are they white?" and "they're white, they're white! they're english!" before letting the cars pass).

remember how the american and british press stirred up an absolute panic about the non-violent, pro-palestine campus protests? how they endlessly slandered the students as antisemitic extremists, creating justification for the violent police crackdown that would soon follow?

compare that now to how they're covering (or not covering) the fascist pogroms in the UK, where, for the past few days, violent white supremacists mobs have been terrorizing muslims, migrants and other non-white communities, forming mobs to intimidate and violently attack anyone they perceive as non-white and non-British.

the hotel shown in the video above is now the second hotel housing asylum seekers that these fascist mobs have attempted to set fire to, and yet, the harshest words the majority of the UK press is willing to use to describe them, are "far-right rioters, "anti-immigration protesters" or, if you're the BBC, just "protesters."

here's from skynews (UK), with the almost comical framing of "anti-fascists (left)" vs. "people protesting"

again, if you compare that to the headlines they were running during the campus protests...

this goes beyond some racist "bias" in their reporting: you can draw a direct link here between the UK media's coverage of palestine, and the fascist mobs willing to burn asylum seekers alive.

obviously there are other factors at play, but the genocide denial, the portrayal of arabs and muslims as terrorists and antisemites (which again, gets projected onto britain's migrant population and asylum seekers as a whole), the overall dehumanization and othering of the palestinian people — all of this has been feeding into, and stoking up, the racism and islamophobia that's now boiling over, and erupting into nakedly fascist violence.

[dalekofchaos]

Doctor Doom gets ruined AND WHITEWASHED AGAIN!

4 attempts to get Doctor Doom right

4

And we STILL can’t get this right

A master of magic and science. A man who rivals Doctor Strange and Reed Richards as the most powerful sorcerer and the smartest man alive. He rules an entire country with an army of Doombots. Considered to be one of the greatest Marvel villains. And they still can't get him right. They have to make him a fucking Tony Stark variant. Tony Stark is not Victor Von Doom and Doom is above Tony Stark.

Victor wearing the mask always is integral to his appeal and aura like Vader's mask. It not only hides his vain scars he caused due to his failures, but it closes him off from humanity and makes him believe he’s beyond it.

As far as I'm concerned Marvel Ultimate Alliance and EMH are the only good adaptations of Doom

Doctor Doom being a romani man with a background CENTERING his family's racial persecution. with his ethnicity at the forefront of his motivations and his tragedy. and they really just brought back Robert Downey Jr.

Being romani is INTEGRAL to doom’s character and without that he’s not doom. he NEEDS to be romani and played by a romani character. full stop, don't believe me? Read Book Of Dooms.

Since 1964 Victor von Doom has been established as a Romani character. His childhood was filled with antiziganism and his parents deaths were caused by it. This later led him to become Doctor Doom and overthrow the Latverian government to protect his people

I am so fucking sick and tired of this whitewashing bullshit and the ethnoerasure of Marvel characters.

The Maximoff Twins, The Ancient One, Moon Knight and now fucking Doom.

God fucking forbid an actual Romani actor PLAYS A ROMANI CHARACTER.

But no they pulled another fucking multiverse shit all so RDJ could return and it all feels like blackface from Tropic Thunder

I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT ANTHONY STARK FROM EARTH-11029 OR INFAMOUS IRON MAN

If you wanted evil Iron Man so fucking bad, why didn't you just do Superior Iron Man?

The LAZIEST, DUMBEST, most CONTRIVED BULLSHIT casting ever, Marvel continues to not beat the whitewashing allegations. Doctor Doom deserved better.

Romani actor Charlie Clapman was right fucking there AND HE ENDORSED IT!

I'd even suggest Romani actor Óscar Jaenada as Doom. Again another Roma actor who's actively interested in playing Doom

And you know what? As bad as the 1994 movie was, Joseph Culp the first actor to play Doom in the Fantastic Four (1994) movie by Oley Sassone & Richard Corman. Culp was also white but he very clearly cared for the comics background of Victor von Doom

and you also know damn well they're going to erase everything about Magneto too that makes him who he is… which is his entire fucking background. how horrible of a person do you have to be to repeatedly disrespect the minorities who created these stories?

Doctor Doom is Roma Romani. He is not white. The MCU loves to whitewash its Roma and Jewish characters and it’s time we called them out for it. Dr Doom is not a white man, he is Roma!

They will never nail down the complexity of Victor Von Doom

Every year Doom goes to hell to fight Mephisto to rescue the soul of his mother. He finally won her soul with the help of Doctor Strange only for her to reject him.

No evil Stark replicant will ever fucking match the complexity of Victor Von Doom.

I don't care if this is a one time thing for RDJ. They specifically chose to do this when the fans were begging for a fucking Romani actor. It also doesn't fucking help that Marvel has erased nearly EVERY fucking ethnic character has been whitewashed.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver: Erased Romani heritage and whitewashed. Moon Knight & Wiccan: Casted non-Jewish actors. Sabra: Featured in anything at all, and actress is an IDF soldier to make matters worse.

The MCU is full of ethnic erasure, military propaganda & racism. it’s disgusting this is continuing with Dr Doom’s casting. remember to continue to boycott marvel, because of the genocide they support by casting an iof solider to play a character from the zionist terrorist occupation

Dr Doom is one of those villains that it should be IMPOSSIBLE to fuck up but wasting him on a cheap Iron Man nostalgia casting pop might be the way

[kiraley]

Warmth | Yandere!EraserMic x Reader

Description: It’s the dead of night and you find yourself unable to sleep due to the cold. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, your captors have just the idea to help you out.

- Trigger Warnings - Mentions of kidnapping, restraints, and obsessive tendencies. (Y/n)’s willingness is ambiguous at first, gradually accepting. Nothing too serious is shown, since this is meant to be fluff. Age of Characters - Shouta and Hizashi are in their 30s. (Y/n) is 20+. Gender Identity of (Y/n) - Unspecified. Gender-neutral pronouns are used.

*** 

It was freezing cold.

Your body wavered as unrelenting shivers rippled through your skin. With curled knuckles, you clutched the duvet tightly as you clung for any semblance of warmth underneath the fabric. It's so cold that the warmth from your breath created small, fleeting clouds before your face. Or maybe you were just delirious due to sleep deprivation. The coldness nipped sharply at your exhausted state, forcing you to remain conscious despite your longing to sleep. It was uncomfortable and unbearable. It had never been this cold in the house before. At this rate, you aren't going to get any ounce of sleep.

As dusk ascended, the late hours swathed the sky in a vantablack canopy, illuminated by the bespeckled constellations and the pale glow of the moonlight. Your eyelids narrowed in focus as you squinted, looking at the window. Maybe one of your "partners" unlocked it without your knowledge. Maybe to let some of the winter air inside, you thought to yourself, but the thought was squandered immediately. Considering their tendency to be... overprotective, that was wishful thinking at best. The latches fastened to the frame attested to this. You were a captive for a reason- despite being a coddled one, at that. If the windows were locked, then the source of your problem was somewhere else. You rolled onto your side as you cradled yourself into a fetal position. Your ears seemed to ring as you noted the lack of audible ambience in your bedroom, signifying the absence of an active furnace.

You groaned loudly, grumbling as you thought about the two men. How could they expect anyone to sleep through a freezing night such as this, without so much as a furnace on? Were they not cold as well? You knew damn well Shouta would've bitched about the cold, considering that man is a walking furnace. Your cuddle sessions with him proved that time and time again. Well, maybe Shouta could handle the cold, if he's bundled up in his sleeping bag and all, but Hizashi being as finicky as he is would've pulled one of his tantrums, and would likely force his husband to deal with it. You could practically hear Hizashi's babyish complaints as you imagined the scenario; the thought of a shivering Mic clinging to the ever-stoic Eraserhead brought a soft grin to your lips. Then again, Mic was likely responsible for this, he could be so irresponsible at times... Was it beyond the hyperactive man to forget about basic tasks like turning on the furnace? No. No, it was not. He probably got distracted playing with one of the cats... Speaking of, where the hell are the cats? You sure would love to nestle with one of them right now... Mochi, preferably, the chonky bastard that he is.

“Ugh.” Your forearm rested on your temple and your half-lidded eyes drilled into the ceiling above- your gaze heavy with lethargy. You didn’t feel like tossing and turning for the remainder of the night, but you also didn’t feel like getting up knowing you'd have to address this to your "husbands."

Another involuntary yawn passes from your system, and you smacked your fist against the headboard in frustration. Tossing, turning, and huddling for warmth proved as futile efforts to ease you into slumber. At this point, your somnolence and desire to sleep overwhelmed your reluctance, and with a heaved sigh, you decided to seek assistance from your oh-so beloved captors. With sluggish movements, you arose from the bed and slipped a thin blanket over your form along the way, clinging to it like a baby. A short while ago, the duo removed your restraints, granting you the privilege of being able to wander about the home freely. You could try to escape, but you aren't certain if you should. You aren't confident if you'd even make it that far to begin with.

Ever since your . . . "arrival" to their home- ahem, YOUR new home- you’ve displayed to them your obedience to them, your ability to do as they say without much complaint, and thus, they were able to trust you enough to wander the house of your own accord. So long as you never attempted to leave. That would be a problem. A very big problem. After all, they never intended of confining you indefinitely. That would be cruel, wouldn't it? Keeping you locked away forever? Their precious darling? In the very least... they wouldn't keep you locked away your bedroom.

What, did you really think you would be able to leave the house? Much less alone? Unshackled? Don't be ridiculous. They would allow you to wander the house. But that was the limit of their generosity.

They could trust you. They wanted to trust you. You’d be sure to not waver that trust, lest you desired to face an unpleasant consequence.

As your feet grazed the smoothness of the cold wooden floor, it sent another shiver down your spine. You slowly made your venture to the room of your devotees. Your knuckles reached out to knock on the slightly ajar door. Hesitation ensued as you noticed the dull golden glow of a lamp streaming from the gaps in the door frame. They were still awake? Then why the hell is it still so damn cold-

“I know you’re there.”

A stifled noise of surprise escaped your throat as a voice unexpectedly called out. Aizawa’s velvetly voice reached you from inside the room, sending a jolt down your body, bringing you back to the present. You weren’t expecting to have been caught so quickly. Should you be surprised? Not really. They were pro-hero's, after all; with advanced senses and capabilities, they remained the best of the best in their respective hero careers, Aizawa especially.

You stood there awkwardly, unaware of what your next move should be, when you finally noticed the difference in temperature. The wood below your feet absorbed the coldness, and you felt the warm air in their bedroom seep out, wafting against your cold skin like an inviting caress.

“Don’t just stand there. Come inside.”

His stoic beckoning urged you to move, pulling you from your thoughts. With the warmth emanating the room, you could hardly refuse. You cleared your throat and pardoned your entry as you sidled inside. As you entered the room, the warmth slowly enveloped you. As inviting as it was, you were visibly nervousness. You weren't used to being in their room yet. Hell, you were still adjusting to being their captive lover.

“Sorry to intrude.”

“No need to apologize. You're free to enter our bedroom anytime. You know this.”

“R-right.”

The atmosphere was quaint and content. Shouta was propped against the bedframe with a book in his hands, using the light from the bedside lamp to illuminate the words. Mochi was sleeping peacefully on his lap, purring like a motorboat. At the end of the bed, resting in cute little loaf positions, were Sakura and Koko, the other two cats. Shouta finally turned his gaze away from his book to acknowledge you. Obsidian eyes, framed by a curious brow, peaked at you from behind partial strands of raven hair. He could tell you were nervous, but didn't make a point to mention it. His pajamas consisted only of a pair of sweatpants, and his shirtless frame ignited a blush across your cheeks. To his left was a slumbering Hizashi, splayed out across the kind-sized bed with his back turned to the both of you. His long, golden blonde hair was in a similar state of disarray, spilling out across the fabric, yet retained a luminous shine under the gentle glow of the light. The blanket covering his form rose and lowered in synchronization to his breathing.

They seemed rather cozy, didn't they?

Mild irritation crept along your disposition in the form of an analytical gaze. Why was it freezing in your bedroom, but not in here? The sight of their coziness made you a bit annoyed. The Erasure hero, as observational as he was, appeared to notice your agitation. An almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as he interjected your thoughts.

“Is something the matter? It’s late, you know. You should be asleep by now.”

His words carried an air of innocent deception- a hint of condescension tinctured the way he phrased his otherwise apathetic statement. His worry seemed sugarcoated, almost. As if he actually was expecting your presence.

“Well?”

You blinked, realizing your silence.

“Yeah, um,” you nervously spoke, trying to find your words as you gestured to the hallway, “do you not find it cold? Maybe not in here, but out there?”

“No. Why do you ask?” he questioned with a half-hearted tone as he closed the book and placed it on the bedside table.

Is he taunting you? Why else would you ask? You couldn't help but ponder as a quirk of suspicion caused your eyebrow to arch. The two men always kept such a close eye on you, ensuring your basic needs were met. There’s no way he wasn’t aware of the temperature. It wouldn't be very "loving" of them, as they say, had they not been aware.

“It's freezing in my room. I can't exactly sleep because of it.” you explained as you cradled the blanket closer to your body.

Aizawa closed his eyes and hummed in acknowledgement, “Is that so?”

"Yeah..."

“I wonder what can be done about that.”

. . .

Turn on the furnace, maybe? You thought to yourself sardonically. His tone got on your nerve but you didn't have much time to mull over it as your attention was redirected to Present Mic, who began to stir in his slumbering state. Aizawa moved a hand to rest on his husband’s back. With a placid voice and a gentle shudder, he eased the blonde male into a wakefulness. Hizashi shifted to face your direction, his upper bodyweight supported by one of his palms as he awakened. He rubbed his eye with his one hand and glanced between you and his husband.

Groggily, he asked aloud, “Ah? What are my two lovebirds doing up so late?”

“(Y/n) can’t sleep.” Shouta responded, his tone matching the stoicism displayed on his expression.

The tiredness seemed to fade almost immediately as a shit-eating grin brightened across Hizashi’s face. He exchanged a knowing glance with Shouta, who raised an amused eyebrow. Your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Ah, really? That’s such a bummer.”

“It’s apparently "too cold".” Shouta's monotonous tone faltered as he added to the conversation with a sickeningly sweet inflection, accentuated by the vague contortion of a smile creeping up on the corner of his lip.

“It's too cold? Oh, my- who could have seen this comin'?!”

“Indeed. What to do, what to do.”

. . .

Oh, those sneaky motherfuckers.

They definitely messed with the temperature.

You were tempted to smack their grins away. This was preplanned, wasn't it? A ploy of sorts to lure you into their love nest? Another way for them to smother you in their endless, loving affectations? You wouldn't entertain their games. You're far too tired for that. Instead, you feigned ignorance, and cleared your throat as you spoke up.

“Maybe you can turn the furnac-–?”

“PSSSH!” the blonde fiercely interjected as he admonished the suggestion, “C’mon, now, that’s so boringgggg-uh. Why don’t we make this interesting, eh?”

“"Interesting?"” you repeated in confusion.

“Put two and two together, my little Songbird~ You've got two personal heaters right here! In the form of your most beloved husbands.”

“I agree. After all, the most efficient way to warm yourself up is through body heat.” Aizawa added.

“--with the added bonus of our furbabies, of course!!” Hizashi exclaimed as he held up a helpless Mochi, his small cat legs dangling in the air as he meowed softly in protest.

“Put the cat down, Mic,”

“Aww, but he loves it!”

He gave the blonde man a cold, deadpanned stare, but it wasn't unkind. A flicker of amusement was evident in his gaze as he watched Hizashi pout like a child, putting down Mochi, who eagerly snuggled into his side, despite having been ragdolled just a moment ago. The two men then focused their attention back to you, waiting for your response expectantly.

“Uh, well, um,”

A series of embarrassed stammers slipped from your lips as you stumbled over your words, unable to formulate a proper response. Needless to say, you were rather flustered by their words. Sure, you've cuddled with them before, but... never in their bedroom, and never overnight. The idea wasn't met with outright rejection from your end but the atmosphere added a rather intimate element to the suggestion that you simply couldn't ignore, leaving you feeling a sense of abashment despite the innocent nature of their affection. You were still adjusting to this new life of yours, after all, being a partner to two men who were insanely captivated by you. Both of them, as if sensing your hesitancy, softened their patronizing expressions, and were quick to part you some words of encouragement.

“There's no need to be so shy. We aren't going to bite, you know.”

“Yeah, baby. We're all friends here, yeah? Of course, we're more than that, but ya get it.”

Shouta departed from the bed and approached you with a relaxed gait. His tall, slender form seemed to overshadow you as he hovered behind you and draped his hands onto your shoulders. Calloused fingertips worked around the blanket to stroke against the bare skin of your arms. Under his delicate touch, an amorous tingle ignited in your skin. Your breath hitched and your visage radiated with warmth; you’re sure Mic will tease you for your display of mortification, but his expression was sweet and tender as he gazed at the two of you. Shouta's head lowered to the nape of your neck, lips brushing against your flesh as he paused in a momentary stage of contemplation. He moved to your shoulder blade and hummed in contemplation, instigating a shudder from your body, and you could feel a small frown form on his lips against your skin. 

“You’re freezing, kitten. Come lay with us.” the black-haired male cooed gently.

“I-I don’t know,”

“We’re not asking.” he affirmed with an assertive toe as he brushed strands of hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your skin, “You’ll get better sleep if you stay with us for the night. Don’t you think, Hizashi?”

The blonde man chuckled as he nodded in agreement, “I do indeed, Sho! Get over here, Songbird. Stay with us overnight for once, yeah? We insist~!”

“You need to know that you're safe with us, (Y/n). And we'd never do anything to harm you. We'll make sure you get the rest you need. Just trust us.”

“...”

Silence was your response as Shouta decided for you. You posed no resistance to their command. Despite this, you didn't oppose the idea. Cuddling with the two men, along with the three cats, was an irresistible offer, and you couldn't help the surge of affection that coursed through your being as you allowed yourself to get comfortable in the love and care they possess for you.

He ushered you to the bed, with his hands interwoven with your own. From there on, you complied to their ministrations. Hizashi crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket away from you. He inched closer and ducked his hands over your waist and planted his face in the curvature of your neck. Your head tilted to the side slightly as he did so, and Shouta took this opening to kiss you so tenderly. Your mouth locked with his in a slow, sensual embrace of lips. Hizashi manipulated his hands in a continuous rhythm on your arms for friction- the action worked as you slowly felt yourself start to warm up, the heat beginning to weigh you down with exhaustion.

“You really are cold, huh? Don’t worry, Songbird. We’ll get you nice and toasty warm in no time.” Hizashi gently purred into your ear as you and Shouta relinquished the kiss.

In the immediate absence, Hizashi claimed your lips, letting out a low giggle into the kiss that vibrated through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Shouta gazed on with a fond glint in his dark gaze, the gentle purring of the cats in the background adding to the safe and comforting atmosphere.

The two men then guided you to lay down on the bed. Not a moment was taken for granted as they cuddled up against you, their legs intertwining with your own. Shouta embraced you from behind while Hizashi snuggled into your chest. Shouta’s hands gently maneuvered your waist and his fingers grabbed ahold of your sides, his strong arms secured around your soft body. Hizashi pressed himself into your collarbone as his hands slid over your shoulders- his fingers interlocking behind your neck. The cats were quick to snuggle with you, too, as Mochi hopped on top of your entangled bodies, with Koko and Sakura following suit. The three of you were amused by the clinginess of the cats, eagerly accepting them into the cocoon of love shared between you all. Shouta peppered the side of your face with delicate kisses as Hizashi moved his lips against yours once again in a slow, but passionate pace to your own. You were wholeheartedly enveloped by the two men, with no chance of escaping. But maybe you didn't want to.

In your eyes, you didn't have much to complain about. At least they cared for you, tended to your needs. With tender care, they ensured you were well-pampered, though you never demanded much, and maintained a relatively reserved demeanor, confined within your boundaries. You still valued your independence, after all. Even after they ripped it away from you by whisking you away into their lives forever.

Even after all this time, you remained uncertain if it was romantic love or twisted obsession, in regards to what they felt for you. But their actions spoke volumes; their devotion to you remained a boundless certainty as they shower you in blinding adoration; so much so, it subconsciously detached you from the concepts of normalcy. Maybe you’ve already grown used to their loving insanity. And as you saw it, you could’ve been kidnapped by people with less than pure intentions and treated much more differently, so you had no right to complain.

Hizashi parted from the kiss, but your lips were quickly captured by Shouta as he pecked you once more, the taste of strong dark coffee lingering as he pulled away.

“Bet that warmed you up real good, didn't it? Cuddles, kisses, and kitties, who wouldn't want that every night?” Hizashi chuckled, causing you to let out an abashed giggle in response.

Aizawa quirked a brow, peering down at you, silently amused by your shyness despite the affectionate situation. Despite this, his tone took on a bit of a firmer inflection as he spoke.

“There's no reason to be so quiet.”

“I think their silence speaks volumes. I can tell they love us just as much as we love them!” Hizashi hummed as his grip on you tightened, not painfully, but it served as a constant reminder of his presence. A slightly possessive sign, an all-too familiar one, but an accepted one, nonetheless.

“You wouldn't have had to ensure the coldness if you simply moved into the bedroom with us.”

“Fo' sho, Sho'!” Hizashi drawled with poor pronunciation, earning himself a collective eyeroll from you and Shouta.

Hizashi chuckled awkwardly at his corny joke before rephrasing, “Aha, I just mean, what's the point in living together if we're gonna be in separate rooms? Helloooo~?! We're a throuple! And that's not what normal relationships do, ya dig? We gotta be tighter than bark on a tree!”

Well, this wasn't a normal relationship to begin with.

You pursued your lips as you shook away the thought. You decided to break the ice, almost literally, by confronting them with your suspicions.

“Did you guys mess with the temperature on purpose?” you muttered in a deadpanned tone.

Hizashi's lip protruded in mock-dumbfoundedness as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. What’s it to ‘ya if we did?” 

His playful dismissiveness did nothing more than prove your point. You couldn’t express much disdain other than a repressed scoff as you remained huddled between the two men, maximizing warmth. Again, you weren't going to complain about the conditions. It was much cozier sleeping between them than alone in your bed, you had to admit...

“Don't worry about that, (Y/n),” Shouta gruffly stated, brushing his ear to your lip, “Do you feel any better?”

“I do,” you murmured, “thank you.”

“Anything for you, kitten.” he assured you tenderly, “But, back to what Yamada said... There’s no reason for us to be separated. We aren't strangers to you anymore and we refuse to be.”

“It’s exactly as Sho-chan says. You don’t need to be cooped up in that room all alone anymore. We can share this bed together, as the lovers we are and will always be.”

Aizawa huffed at the nickname, but didn't say anything against it, choosing to agree with the sentiment spoken. He clung to you, muttering softly into your ear, “Isn’t that a fine idea, kitten?”

A soft smile graced your lips as you nodded in agreement. The slight tension in their bodies eased at your acquiescence. A comfortable silence persisted, broken only by your breathing and the soft purring of the cats as you gently reached out to pet them. Exchanging body heat with the two men, the warmth coursed through your entire being, stimulating a surge of pleasant weariness as your body continued to relaxed. It was unbelievable, how utterly boneless you were, cocooned protectively in the arms of your captors. As the coldness gradually receded from your body, you allowed yourself to melt like a puddle into their sweet embrace. The two men noticed the tension leave your body, exchanging a satisfied glance between each other, before they cradled you closer to their bodies. Their plan had worked, and now the three of you are closer than ever before. Nothing wrong with a little bit of harmless manipulation, eh? As the three of you lay there, they caressed and cradled and stroked you in a successful attempt to ease you into a comfortable rest. The warmth of their bodies, pressed closely against yours, combined with their gentle efforts to soothe you, provided you with the most restful sleep of your life. But before the welcoming embrace of slumber could take you whole, you heard them part loving words to you.

“We love you, (Y/n).”

And you couldn't help but reciprocate their love with the genuine love you now felt for them, too.

“I love you both, too.”

Maybe this wasn't so bad, afterall.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Summer Serendipity

AMEN TO THAT!!! HALLELUJAH FOR THE EMPTY TOMB AND A FULL PODIUM 🕊️🏁🙌

Jesus conquered death, and Oscar conquered the grid 😤🕊️👑 From the stone rolled away to the tires rolling fast — resurrection and redemption all in one weekend! 🦅⛪🚗💨

HOW ARE WE FEELING TODAY? BLESSED? ANOINTED? PIASTRIFIED?? 😭🔥

Summary: It was the summer break between the races, and Oscar suddenly came across a travel magazine about a quiet town in Northern Ireland on the work desk of someone who had left it open when he was visiting McLaren’s HQ in Woking. Next thing, he was on his way to Belfast, with nothing much on his mind, no worries about the championship standings, the braking mode, the corners or chicanes,... Nothing, just him and his summer getaway in Belfast.

Meanwhile, Edith Ezra, a devoted single mother working at a quaint cafe in Belfast, cherishes her two children, Ivy and Eddie, above all else. Having faced the heartbreak of their father's abandonment, Edith has built a life centred around providing for her family and creating a sense of stability for her children.

When Oscar's path crosses with Edith's in Belfast, their worlds collide in unexpected ways. As Oscar finds himself drawn to the warmth and genuine kindness of Edith and her children, he begins to see a different side of life beyond the fast-paced world of racing.

Author's note: here it is!!! The second chapter. Hope you guys will like it, and please send me any message whether you like it or not, and if you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know too! Happy reading. Oh, btw, do you guys prefer longer chapters or shorter?

The next morning came with Belfast rain,  light but persistent, the kind that soaked into your sleeves before you even realized it had started. Oscar didn’t mind. He’d left his cap behind, opting instead for a hooded jacket and the same worn trainers he’d worn the day before. His pace was slow, deliberate, the kind of wandering that wasn’t quite aimless. He told himself he was just exploring the neighbourhood. He wasn’t planning to end up at the same café.

But his feet had other ideas.

The Bean & Blossom appeared again like it had been waiting for him,  tucked into its quiet corner, warm light glowing from inside, condensation gently fogging the windows. Someone had chalked a new message on the board outside: Rainy days mean extra whipped cream. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped inside, letting the bell above the door announce him again. The warmth hit immediately, followed by the same sweet scent of cinnamon and espresso. A few familiar faces sat scattered across the room,  one older man reading the paper with a scone, two students hunched over notebooks in the back.

And Edith.

She was behind the counter, bent over the pastry case, rearranging a fresh tray of almond croissants. Her hair was tied up messily, but there was no missing it, red like autumn leaves and tucked behind her ears, a few strands falling loose as she concentrated. She glanced up at the sound of the bell, and for a split second, her eyes lit up in recognition.

“Back again?” she asked, brushing flour from her hands.

Oscar shrugged lightly, stepping forward. “Cinnamon swirl kind of haunted me last night.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it does that. You’re not the first poor soul we’ve ensnared.”

He leaned slightly on the counter, eyes scanning the chalkboard. “What’s the damage today?”

“Well,” Edith said, tapping a pen to her chin in mock seriousness, “the swirl’s still on the menu. Barely. You got lucky. Coffee’s still hot. And I might throw in a bit of gossip about the flower stall guy if you play your cards right.”

Oscar cracked a smile. “Dangerous offer.”

“I like to live on the edge.”

He ordered the same thing, flat white, cinnamon swirl, and retreated to the same table as yesterday. The café looked different in the rain. Quieter, slower. The kind of place where time softened at the edges. People lingered longer. Conversations drifted like steam from coffee cups.

Edith brought over his order a few minutes later, this time with a small vase on the tray,  just a single, raindrop-speckled daisy sticking out.

“For the table,” she said, with a little shrug. “Rainy days deserve flowers too.”

He nodded his thanks, and for a while, they didn’t say much. She returned to the counter, chatting with a pair of customers in line. Oscar took a bite of the cinnamon swirl, still warm, still perfect, and stared out the window, watching umbrellas bob past.

It wasn’t until he was halfway through his coffee that he realized he hadn’t checked his phone once.

No emails. No team messages. No schedule reminders. No missed calls from Mark. It was still there, of course, in his pocket. But it didn’t feel as heavy today.

The rain began to let up. A beam of pale sunlight pushed through the clouds, catching in the streaks of water on the windowpane. Across the room, Edith was laughing at something, her head thrown back slightly, that bright, real kind of laugh that didn’t belong to a world full of media scrums and sponsor obligations.

Oscar watched her, and for a fleeting second, it felt like everything, racing pressure, expectations, was a thousand miles away. 

The rain stopped sometime after he came back from the coffee shop, but the streets still shimmered with puddles, and the air smelled faintly of wet stone and chimney smoke. Oscar sat in the window seat of the rental flat, legs stretched out on the wooden bench, a half-read book resting on his lap. It wasn’t particularly gripping, something about a lost sailor and a lighthouse, but he hadn’t come here to be entertained. He’d come to slow down. Or stop altogether.

Outside, Belfast moved at its own quiet rhythm. A cyclist splashed through the narrow lane below. A woman walked her dog, tugging it gently away from a lamppost. Somewhere across the street, someone was playing a piano. Just a few notes at a time. Like they were figuring it out as they went.

He liked that.

He hadn’t opened his phone all day. Not even to check the news or scroll mindlessly. It was still on airplane mode, resting in the bowl by the door where he’d dropped it the moment he arrived.

There was something unnerving about the silence that came with disconnection. But there was also something… honest. And Oscar wasn’t sure he remembered what that kind of quiet felt like before now.

He eventually left the flat sometime in the afternoon, jacket zipped up, beanie pulled low this time instead of the usual cap. He didn’t look like an F1 driver. He barely even looked like himself. And that was the point.

He walked without a destination, past the old cathedral, through side streets where murals towered on the walls, bold with paint and pride. Past schoolkids in uniforms and old men sitting outside the corner shop, nursing takeaway tea and half-smoked cigarettes.

Until he found himself walking along the edge of a small public park.

It wasn’t grand, just a stretch of grass, a few benches, and a tired-looking playground tucked into one corner. Swings creaked in the breeze. A roundabout spun lazily, nudged on by a small foot.

And then he saw her.

Not in the apron or behind the counter, not with flour on her cheek or a steaming coffee in hand, but on the grass, red hair loose around her shoulders. Edith. She was laughing, really laughing, as she tried to coax a reluctant little boy down the slide.

The boy, who could only be about four or five, clung to the top like it was Everest. A girl, a little older, Oscar guessed seven, was already halfway across the monkey bars, calling, “Come on, Eddie! I did it and I’m smaller than you!”

That made the boy grumble and squirm. “You’re not smaller,” he shouted, then looked down nervously at his mum.

Edith stepped back and held out her arms. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

Oscar stopped on the path without meaning to, caught in the warmth of the scene. It wasn’t just the kids, or the laughter, or even Edith. It was all of it. The way her eyes sparkled when Eddie finally let go and slid down into her arms. The way Ivy cheered for her brother was like he’d just won a race. The way Edith hugged them both tightly for no reason except that they were hers.

He felt like an intruder, but he couldn’t move. Not yet.

Edith noticed him then.

She didn’t startle. Didn’t tense up. Her gaze met his, questioning for only a second before it softened into recognition. She gave a nod, almost casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world that he’d be standing there watching her kids play.

He hesitated, then stepped off the path and into the grass.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Hey,” she replied, brushing hair from her face. “Didn’t take you for the playground type.”

“Me neither,” Oscar said, smiling faintly. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Eddie peered up at him from behind his mum’s leg. Ivy, bold and curious, stepped forward. “Are you Mum’s friend?”

Oscar blinked. “Um…”

Edith grinned and knelt beside her daughter. “Maybe. What do you think, Ivy? Can someone be a friend if you’ve only talked once?”

“Sure,” Ivy said immediately, then extended her hand like she’d done it a hundred times before. “I’m Ivy. That’s Eddie. He’s a bit scared of slides, but we still love him.”

Oscar crouched to shake her hand. “I’m Oscar.”

Eddie peeked out again, then disappeared back behind Edith.

“Don’t worry,” Edith said with a small laugh. “He will warm up to you soon.”

Oscar chuckled, and it felt real.

For the first time in what felt like years, Oscar let himself linger. Ivy’s handshake, firm and full of childish certainty, had surprised him. She regarded him with open curiosity, her blue eyes wide and fearless, a mirror of her mother’s. Eddie, on the other hand, watched him from behind Edith’s knees, his blonde head peeking out, quick to retreat whenever Oscar’s gaze met his. The playground was alive with the shrieks and laughter of other children, but in this little bubble of grass and rain-damp air, Oscar felt oddly safe.

Edith sat on the grass, her shoes kicked off, and motioned for Oscar to join her. He hesitated only a moment before lowering himself beside her. The ground was damp, but he didn’t care. He was used to discomfort, it was the price of racing, of travel, of fame. But this? This was a different kind of vulnerability.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, watching Ivy climb back onto the monkey bars.

“Pretty much every afternoon,” Edith replied, stretching her legs out. “The kids need to burn off energy, and I need the air. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, Angie covers the last café shift and I get to play mum for a while.”

Oscar smiled, feeling the tension leach from his shoulders. “Your café is great, by the way.”

Edith grinned. “You’re not just saying that because of the cinnamon swirl?”

He shook his head. “That, and the welcome. I haven’t had either in a while.”

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, broken only by the children’s shouts. Ivy had convinced Eddie to try the slide again, and this time, he let go with only a little coaxing, shooting down into his mother’s waiting arms. Edith’s laughter, clear and bright, filled the air. Oscar felt it in his chest, a warmth that surprised him.

“Are you here on holiday?” Edith asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Oscar hesitated. The question was innocent enough, but the truth was complicated. “Sort of. Needed a change of scenery.”

She nodded, and to his relief, didn’t press. “Well, Belfast’s good for that. Not too many crowds if you know where to look. And the rain keeps most of the tourists away.”

He chuckled. “I noticed.”

Ivy came running over, her face flushed. “Can we get ice cream, Mum? Please? Eddie says he wants chocolate.”

Edith looked at Oscar, her expression playful. “What do you think? Ice cream on a rainy day?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Rain never stopped me.”

The little group set off down the street, the kids skipping ahead while Edith and Oscar followed at a slower pace. The ice cream shop was only a few blocks away, a family-owned place with faded pastel tiles and a bell that jingled when they entered. Edith ordered for the kids, one chocolate, one strawberry, and Oscar, caught up in the spirit of the moment, ordered a scoop of vanilla with sprinkles.

They sat at a window table, the kids already sticky with melted ice cream. Conversation came easily. Edith told him about the café, about the regulars who came rain or shine, about the small triumphs and challenges of single parenthood. Oscar listened, asking questions, genuinely interested. It was the first time in ages he’d talked to someone without the filter of fame or the pressure to perform.

He told Edith a little about himself, just the basics. Australian, loves cars, needed a break from his works, which is something that related to motorsports. She didn’t push for more, and he was grateful. They talked about places in Belfast he should see, about the best spots for coffee, about the surprising warmth of the city even when the weather was grey. The children, sensing the ease between the adults, grew bolder. Ivy asked if he’d ever been to a real racetrack. Eddie wanted to know if Oscar could beat his toy cars in a race.

Oscar laughed and promised to show them a few tricks sometime. For the first time since arriving in Belfast, he forgot to be guarded. He was just Oscar, a stranger making friends in a new place.

As the afternoon wore on, Edith glanced at her watch. “We should head home. Homework and bath time wait for no one.”

Oscar stood, helping gather the empty cups. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Ivy beamed. “Will you come to the park again?”

He looked at Edith, who smiled. “You’re welcome any time.”

“Then I’ll be there,” he said.

Walking back, Edith’s hand rested gently on Eddie’s head, guiding him along the wet pavement. The children ran ahead, splashing in puddles, their laughter echoing through the quiet street. Oscar felt something shift inside him, a sense of belonging he hadn’t known he craved.

When they reached the café, Edith paused. “We live just upstairs from the shop. You can stop by any time, Oscar. Really. Even if you just need more cinnamon swirls.”

He smiled, earnest. “I will. Thanks, Edith.”

She nodded, then shepherded the kids inside, waving as she closed the door.

Oscar lingered on the street, watching the glow from the flat above the café, the silhouettes of the children dancing behind the curtains. The rain had started again, gentler this time, but he didn’t mind. He turned up his collar and walked slowly back to his flat, feeling lighter than he had in months.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, he was content. In a city that wasn’t his, among people who didn’t know his story, Oscar Piastri had found a quiet refuge.

Liked by @/Angiethebougie, @/Luckyluke and 118 people.

@/Edithlovesedit: Playdate must come with an ice-cream date! And that's me trying a new recipe. Sadly, it's rather dull, so no more new menu

view all comments

@/Angiethebougie: send them my kisses

-> @/Edithlovesedit: will do

-> @/Angiethebougie: quick question, who is E looking at? Definitely not me 🤔

-> @/Edithlovesedit: no one. must be ur imagination

-> @/Angiethebougie: interesting

-> @/Luckyluke: any hot dads at the park?

-> @/Edithlovesedit: only dogs, ducks and old ppl

@/Luckyluke: Oh they are growing too fast 😭

-> @/Edithlovesedit: yes, one day they wont need their momma anymore. brb im streaming never grow up by tay-tay rn

Taglist: @teamnovalak @angelluv16 @frankiejo04 @manuztb @httpsxnox

[lostintransist]

Soul Mate Tattoo AU Thoughts

Taking a quick break from school work. I actually used each guy as a reward. I can go write if I get to question this. Here are my thoughts about how each of the guys would deal with having a soul mate tattoo somewhere on their bodies when they started to pile up enemies like corded wood.

CW: mentions of self mutilation

Simon: This idiot man didn't want any ties to life beyond the miltary, and when he became a Ghost™ he wanted to be sure that no one could ever be tied to him in a way that left them with Tommy's fate. Simon burned the name from his ribs with a heated piece of metal one night on a job. The weight of the name near his heart stayed, even as the smell of charred flesh woke his teammates. John looked at him as Gaz and Soap fluttered about, taking the metal and patching up the wound. John knew. Had done something similar. The curves and lines of the name never left his mind though.

Expanded thought for Simon: HERE

Kyle: He loved his name. Emblazened across his forearm in a shimmer of gold across his dark skin he often could be found playing with the light of the sun and his name. To protect the name on his arm Kyle could always been seen wearing long, tight workout shirts or an arm guard on missions over his uniform. An extra layer of protection for the future gift of love, if he could live long enough to find it. If he wasn't wearing sleeves Kyle had gotten extremly skilled at covering the name in layers of make the look of his arm smooth and seamless.

Expanded through for Kyle: HERE

John: His name sat above his heart, the perfect place to stab between the ribs and reach the tender organ. John paid a pretty penny to his tattoo artist to cover up the name with the name of his first wife, and then his second. All that sat there now was the faded bits of ink the laser treatments hadn't blasted away. The name peaked through, dark and piercing. He would cover it again. Even if he found the person the name belonged to he wouldn't be able to keep them. John couldn't keep anything good in his life beyond his men.

Expanded through for John: HERE

Johnny: This artist would create a tattoo that gently hid the letters of the name on his thigh without covering them. He wanted to be able to trace the letters in the dark of missions and think about who the name might belong to, how they would love him. Sometimes random lovers would stare at his tattoo and know that buried among the lines somewhere had to be a name, but Johnny never shared it. He couldn't until he saw a matching name; birth name since his mother gave him an ascestors name though she recorded John in the family bible.

Expanded through for Johnny: HERE

Masterlist

[siderealcity]

More Dawntrail narrative thoughts, this time about the Golden City. Spoilers below.

There are several layers to the Golden City as a plot device in Dawntrail, and I think they're interesting enough to just unpack them all and look at them.

The first time we hear the term, it's from Hades in Endwalker:

"Tell me, have you been to the ruins beneath the waters of the Bounty? Or the treasure islands beyond the frozen waters of Blindfrost, in Othard's north? The fabled golden cities of the New World? The sacred sites of the forgotten people of the south sea isles?"

It's telling that he groups that with the sacred sites of the south sea isles. The plot later tells us that they are explicitly connected to one another, but why does it call them "citiies," plural? Where's the other one, Hades?

(Also, we haven't yet been to the treasure islands in the north, but every one of those locations in the quote above has to do with cross-rift travel. Every. One. So, that may be something we see again later.)

But apart from their lore and plot significance (and potential foreshadowing), the Golden City is, from the first time we hear of it, a lure. Bait, dangled before an explorer, enticing them to go onward. It is, for lack of a better word, a promise of things to come. In the specific case in Endwalker, it's a promise that your story isn't over yet, there's still more to come. Even though you are, at that moment, standing in front of the amassed dead of countless worlds. Death is not the end, it's the beginning of new life.

The second time we hear the term, it's from Wuk Lamat. Who is, again, using it to entice us to join her. We don't know at that point that her actual title is, in fact, Promise. And that is significant.

It is, likewise, the bait for Krile's involvement in the story. The thing she knew her grandfather had been asked to study, the secret he'd kept out of the records of the Students, the promise of a connection. To the past, to someone she loved who is now gone.

But then there's the Rite of Succession. And it changes the meaning of the plot device entirely.

The Rite is structured to follow the Tulliyolal saga--the journey Gulool Ja Ja undertook, over the course of who knows how many years, to unify the peoples of Tural into a single nation. A journey which notably has nothing to do with the Golden City. To the Turali, it's a fairy tale. It is so detached from the story of Gulool Ja Ja that Koana immediately has to ask if the city being the final goal means his father actually has some proof it exists.

The Rite itself, as Gulool Ja Ja later admits to us, is meant to be instructional for his children. They are not meant to simply find and cross the finish line, they're supposed to be learning how to be the rulers of Tural.

As we complete feats in the rite, we are awarded stories of the Golden City by each of the races in Yok Tural. And they all follow a significant pattern: The Golden City was the literal dream of the Yok Huy. The conquerers of every single people in southern Tural. The stories we are given are the stories shared by colonized people of their oppressors.

The conquest of Yok Tural is mentioned repeatedly. Every group we meet was displaced and enslaved by the giants during their empire, and the ultimate goal of that empire was to find the Golden City--a paradise of eternal life without pain or suffering. It is at this point that the Golden City becomes a warning. It is the promise of self-destruction. Searching for it ultimately toppled the Yok Huy empire and changed the giants forever. It displaced and disrupted numerous cultures and started centuries of war.

It is, ultimately, the reason why Gulool Ja Ja ever had to play the role of peacemaker and unifier in the first place. The divide-and-conquer tactics employed by the Yok Huy created every problem he set out to solve.

Why did he choose to make it the final goal of the Rite of Succession? A place he famously did not find before becoming Dawnservant? Was it, perhaps, as a lesson to his children, his Promises? Especially his son Zoraal Ja who had dreams of empire?

But interestingly, the Golden City was also set forth as the specific goal for Erenville to find by his mother. Cahciua wasn't present in the flashbacks to Galuf and Gulool Ja Ja and Kettenram viewing the gate, but we know that she met them afterward, and had Erenville with her. Was she with them the first time they'd found the gate? I have to think she was. The only people who seem to have known for sure about it, among Gulool Ja Ja's circle of friends and allies, were the explorers. The ones who would have been interested in searching for it purely for the joy of discovery.

I think it's safe to say that for Cahciua, at least at the time that she gives her son his quest, the Golden City is the Almost Impossible Dream. One that can, in fact, be found, but crucially, not alone. The Yok Huy, who searched for it for generations, and crushed everyone around them trying to get inside, had it in their possession all along. But they never even saw the gate. It took Gulool Ja Ja, who had friends to help him, who actually discovered the way in. It is the promise of discovery through love and fellowship, for her only son who was withdrawn and antisocial.

And then we actually find it.

It is not an accident that the way to reach the Golden City is through a cenotaph of lost hope. We literally pass through waters littered with the bodies of children who were never born--promises never fulfilled--to get to its gate.

And it's eating the Yok Huy ruin. The electrope spreads out from the gate like an infection, over-writing the Yok Huy stonework, erasing their culture.

And it's still... oddly beautiful? But in the way a poisonous mushroom is beautiful.

And it's closed. We don't go through it at this point, though we walk right up to the seal on the doorway. Because we're alive.

We're told by Erenville that many people have sought the Golden City, never to return. And of course they didn't.

Because this is the gateway to death.

Zoraal Ja is the first person we actually see go through it. The False Promise. Just to reinforce that this is, in fact, Zoraal Ja's role, Sareel Ja leads him to the gate and hands him the key with a speech that is wholly constructed of the same false platitudes about Zoraal Ja's magical birthright that have driven Zoraal Ja to be this self-destructive and miserable in the first place. And we can see how much the speech upsets Zoraal Ja, who just lost the contest to both his siblings. He knows every word of his inherent greatness and destiny is a lie. Sareel Ja hands him the key, and he grips it like it might be a bludgeon without even looking at it. And the second time Sareel Ja makes a "Resilient Son" speech, Zoraal Ja literally stabs him in the back.

Having skipped all the lessons and warnings about the danger of pursuing death and destruction, Zoraal Ja walks through its front door.

And I don't think it's accidental that the dome appears in Xak Tural, even though the gate itself is located in Yak T'el, far to the south. Xak Tural is the land that defeated the Yok Huy advance without a single battle. The unconquerable land. This is the part of Tulliyolal that Gulool Ja Ja didn't have to fix because it was never broken in the first place. They very notably do not live in the segregated societies the people of the south do, because nobody imposed that on them. The towns we see are a mix of races living together, and probably served as the inspiration for Gulool Ja Ja to build Tulliyolal in the first place, differing people pursuing communal and sometimes conflicting interests together. These are the people Zoraal Ja has been rambling about nonsensically, "teaching the value of peace by the misery of war." The ones who don't need Tulliyolal, but merely want to be part of it.

He can make his mark here because his father never did.

When the dome appears over Yyasulani, we, the players, know it's Zoraal Ja's passage through the gate that caused it, but the characters don't learn this until after he's brutally slaughtered people. We players see the sequence of events as: Zoraal Ja, the Promise of Death, walks into the land of death and carries it out with him. But the characters are instead following the trail of death back to the land of the dead. We don't enter Alexandria through the Golden City. Not at first. We enter it through a swathe of destruction and desolation and a storm that never ends. That's our first view of it. The promise of ruin. We do not see the paradise that led the Yok Huy to their doom until after we know that Sphene, like the Yok Huy, is willing to lay waste to the lives around her to have her Golden City.

And then we have the vision.

I don't think it's an accident that the only people who have ever seen anything come out of the gate to the Golden City are the Warrior of Light, Gulool Ja Ja, Kettenram, Galuf, and indirectly Cahciua. All characters who inherently understand that life comes from death and the balance between them is vital. And it's symbolically significant that it's a child who is delivered from the land of the dead. Her parents don't come with her. The dead don't get to return, we get new life instead.

And then we go there. And it looks like Amaurot.

We call it Living Memory, but the resemblance to Amaurot, and the knowledge of what's actually here means that we immediately understand the lie. The Golden City, the cloud, the twelfth level of Everkeep, all of it has always been a false promise. Zoraal Ja, the False Promise, walked into the land of False Promises and became its king.

And Sphene, the Queen of False Promises, has always had the impossible task of keeping the dead alive.

As we make our way through Living Memory, it's notable that what we actually do is remove the beautiful, golden veneer from the land of the dead. The city is still there when we're done with it. We walk back outside through its gate. We do not have the power to remove death any more than we could destroy despair. But we take the lie out of it, we free the stolen life force to become life again. It's now just dead. No more promises of paradise or ruin to fulfill.

[karvokr]

unscripted

it was all for show– until it wasn’t. now the lines are blurred, the feelings are real, and no one remembers who’s cast in what role.

pairings: actor!gojo x actress!reader x actor!geto content warnings: mdni, smut and angst, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), infidelity/cheating themes, love triangle, fake dating/pr relationship, secret relationship, they did NOT rehearse their lines << episode three • series masterlist • episode five >>

S1, E4: first take

The premiere is two weeks away, but you’re already exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that clings behind your eyes– too many hotels, too many flashes, too many versions of yourself left behind in cities you barely remember.

But somehow, Suguru is still gentle with you.

He never announces it. Doesn’t offer pity or fuss. He just is. Constant. Present in the smallest, most devastating ways.

He carries your coat without thinking. Adjusts your collar before cameras flash. Takes your phone when you start to get overwhelmed– dealing with PR reps and stylists and the endless stream of calendar invites that make your head spin.

He lets you sleep on his shoulder during layovers. Orders your drinks without asking, always right– never too sweet, never too bitter. In the car, when the ride stretches quiet and long, he taps your knee twice before resting his hand there. A question without a word. A check-in without an expectation. You never answer out loud, but somehow, he always knows when to squeeze once and let go.

And at night, sometimes, he touches you again like he means it. Like it’s not just convenience or release or a shared hotel room and proximity. You never talk about it after. There’s no pillow talk, no long morning afters. Just the warm press of his body, the way he holds you when it’s over, and the ache in your chest that comes from not knowing where any of it leads.

He’s good at that– letting things live without demanding a label. Letting you breathe. Not like you’re fragile, but like he knows what happens when people start labeling things too early. How it makes everything feel smaller. Easier to ruin.

And you need it like that. Loose. Open. Undefined.

Because the second you try to say what it is, it’ll collapse under the weight of the word.

You tell yourself it’s part of the job– that he’s just that good at playing the role. You both are, after all. Paid to create longing, tension, and friction. To hold a look for just a second too long. To touch each other like the scene forgot to yell cut. To smile like it means more than it should.

So maybe this is just method. Maybe the lines are supposed to blur.

But late at night, when you're in some too-soft hotel bed, staring at a ceiling you can’t name in a city you can’t remember, you start picking it apart.

Would it feel like this if it was just for show? Would he remember the exact way you like your soup when you're sick if it wasn’t real? Would he cover for you during interviews without needing to be asked? Would he slip his hand into yours under the table, hidden from cameras, just to keep you from shaking?

No one told him to do that. There was no rehearsal. No script. No payoff. Just the two of you. And something that feels like safety.

It doesn’t make sense– that’s the worst part. Because you’ve built your life on sense, on structure. You know how to fake it, how to smile pretty and play your part. You know what chemistry looks like when it’s been lit for the lens.

But this thing with Suguru?

It doesn’t feel directed. It doesn’t feel planned. It feels like the quiet before something breaks. Like the breath you hold before saying something you’ll never be able to take back.

“You’re still up,” you say, voice low– just above a whisper.

He’s seated in an armchair pulled close to the open window, the curtain drawn back, the city humming quietly beyond the glass. A breeze drifts in, cool against your bare arms. He has a cigarette between two fingers, untouched, the ash long since gone cold. His other hand grips the armrest, knuckles tight and white like he doesn’t even realize it.

He doesn’t startle. Just glances over his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, eyes unreadable.

You nod. You get it. You don’t ask why he can’t sleep, and he doesn’t ask you why you’re still up too. Just gestures to the second chair pulled slightly out beside him– angled toward the window like it’s been waiting there, like he knew you’d come.

You don’t hesitate. You sit, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. The breeze kisses your skin, but it’s not the cold that makes you shiver. It’s the way he’s still holding that cigarette like he meant to smoke it and just didn’t.

You glance at it. “You’re going to burn a hole in your fingers.”

He doesn’t look at you. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s not the answer that gets you. It’s the way he says it. Flat. Distant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely. You settle in quieter beside him. Let the silence fill up the space between you. It’s not uncomfortable. It never is, not with him.

Still, you can’t help but speak. “You seemed off today.”

He hums like he might pretend he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Then, after a pause, he says, “did I?”

“Yeah,” you say. “More quiet than usual.”

He finally turns his head to look at you fully. His eyes catch the city light– tired, a little sharp. The kind of sharp that comes from trying too hard to soften something that hurts. “Just a lot in my head.”

You nod like that’s enough. You’re not sure if it is. But you also know better than to press him. You’re not much better at the whole sharing thing yourself.

He shifts in the chair, resting the back of his head against the frame, his gaze drifting upward. The muscles in his jaw flex once, twice– like he’s working through something, quietly.

“You ever feel like you’re… too aware of yourself?” he asks eventually, flicking ash onto the windowsill. “Like you’re watching the performance even while you’re in it?”

The question lands like a pebble tossed into still water– barely a ripple at first, but it spreads. “All the time,” you answer. “It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah.”

You both lapse into quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding something between two hands.

You want to say I know when you’re not okay. You want to say you don’t have to hold all of it alone.

But you don’t. Because you’ve never figured out how to offer something without worrying it’ll get misunderstood, or worse– refused.

Instead, you offer what you can. “If it’s ever too much… you don’t have to be anything with me.”

He blinks, slowly. His shoulders shift, but he doesn’t look at you.

“That goes both ways,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

It settles between you. A small, honest thing.

Not enough to build a future on. But maybe enough to keep from breaking what’s already there.

You sit like that for a long time. Both facing the window, barely touching, hearts worn thin and open in different ways.

You wonder if this is what love looks like for people like you– quiet, cautious, too afraid to ask for more, so you just stay. Not because it’s easy, but because it isn’t. Because somehow, the difficulty makes it feel more real.

Eventually, he reaches across the space between your chairs– just enough to brush the back of your hand with his. You turn your palm up, and he lets his rest there. No interlocking fingers. No tightening grip. Just presence. Just enough.

The next morning, neither of you mentions what happened. No one ever does.

You and Suguru move through the day like usual– flights, fittings, final press prep. There’s a rhythm to it now, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve been living in this orbit for years, not months.

But something has shifted. You can feel it in the small silences. The way he looks at you a second too long when you’re not paying attention, like he’s trying to memorize the edges of something that’s already starting to blur. The way his touch lingers. The way you feel the gravity of him reaching for you to pull you closer– like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to, but does it anyway.

By the time you’re seated for the interview, you’ve tucked whatever it is back into your chest and pressed it down hard.

There are three chairs lined up against a backdrop printed with your movie’s logo– Suguru on your left, Satoru on your right, and a faux coffee table between you and the cameras.

The interviewer is bright-eyed and grinning– too caffeinated. “You three absolutely crackle on screen,” she says. “The tension, the longing– god, the way the scenes just hang in the air. It’s electric. How’d you build that kind of chemistry?”

You start to answer, but Satoru cuts in.

“We suffered,” he says, with mock-serious gravity. “Really gave our lives to the roles.”

The room laughs. He leans toward you as he speaks, his shoulder bumping yours like it’s nothing. But it isn’t nothing. Not with him. Not now.

“Some of us more than others,” he adds, glancing down at your lips for half a second too long. “But hey, art hurts.”

You force a laugh. It sounds almost natural. Suguru doesn’t laugh.

The interviewer, delighted, jumps in. “So, no real-life method acting bleeding into personal lives? No secret love triangles happening behind the scenes?”

You open your mouth, but again, Satoru beats you to it.

“I think people see what they want to see,” he says smoothly. “Tension reads a certain way. Doesn’t mean we weren’t just… exploring.”

He turns to you as he says it. Smiles. A slow, private thing. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You keep your posture steady. You don’t return the smile. But you don’t stop him either. Suguru shifts slightly in his chair. His hand drops from the armrest to his thigh, fingers curling against the fabric of his slacks.

The interviewer, oblivious, turns to him. “And you, Suguru? Did the on-screen triangle ever feel too close to real life?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “We’re actors,” he says. Voice smooth, but clipped at the edges. “We’re good at creating illusions.”

The interviewer raises an eyebrow. “So none of it was real?”

He glances toward you. “Depends what you mean by real.”

The mood falters for a second. Just long enough for the air to go still.

Satoru breaks the tension with a laugh. “What he means is– he’s the grounded one. I’m the chaos. She’s the…” He tilts his head, mock-considering. “Mystery?”

You look over at him, expression flat. “Is that your professional opinion?”

He grins. “It’s my personal one.”

This time, you don’t reply. Suguru shifts again. Just barely. But when he speaks next, his tone is a degree cooler. “I think what you’re seeing on-screen is the result of commitment. We were all doing our jobs. Some of us just blur the line more than others.”

He doesn’t look at Satoru when he says it. But he doesn’t need to.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur– soft questions, stock answers, a few more barbed glances you pretend not to notice. By the time the cameras cut, your jaw aches from smiling.

Satoru stretches in his chair beside you. “That wasn’t so bad,” he says, nudging your foot under the table. “Think we sold it?”

You don’t answer. But from your other side, you hear Suguru’s voice– quiet, precise.

“We’re not here to sell anything,” he says, standing. “We’re here to promote the movie.”

And then he’s gone. Satoru watches Suguru walk off, one brow raised. Then he turns to you, smile lingering– but a little too sharp at the edges now.

“What’s his problem?” he mutters, half-laughing like he wants you to laugh too.

You don’t. You stand, brushing invisible lint from your dress. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” He’s up beside you in a second, tone still casual, but there's something needling under it now. “I’m just saying– he’s been weird all week. And moody. You’d think he was the one getting asked if we’re secretly screwing behind the scenes.”

You shoot him a warning look. “Keep your voice down.”

Satoru follows you as you weave through the crew, past the lights, the cables, the intern with the clipboard who looks very interested in pretending not to hear anything.

You duck into a hallway. Private enough. Quiet enough. He closes the door behind you with a soft click.

“You gonna tell me what that was?” he asks, folding his arms, voice dropping. “Or do I get to guess?”

You turn to face him. “You were pushing it.”

“It’s press. It’s banter. It’s what they want.”

“And what about what I want?”

That catches him off guard. Just for a second. You see it in his face– the flicker of something uncertain.

“I didn’t cross a line,” he says, slower now. “Unless you’re gonna pretend we didn’t already do that weeks ago.”

Your jaw tightens. “That was a mistake.”

He steps closer. “Didn’t feel like one.”

You shake your head. “It was a moment. It shouldn’t have happened. And it won’t happen again.”

There’s a pause. And then, Satoru’s gaze dips to your mouth. It’s subtle. But not that subtle.

He steps forward again, close enough that you feel the warmth of him, the static in the air like before a storm. “You sure about that?” he murmurs.

You don’t let yourself hesitate. When he leans in, you turn your head just enough that his lips brush your cheek, not your mouth. His breath stutters.

You step back. “Don’t.”

He’s quiet. For once. The silence between you is full of everything you won’t say. That it was easier before. That it was harmless. That it doesn’t feel harmless anymore.

Satoru exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You always let me get close, you know that?” he says finally, eyes searching yours. “But you never let me stay.”

You open the door without answering. “Let it go, Satoru.”

And then you’re gone, the sound of your heels clicking down the hall swallowing the question he never quite got the chance to ask.

You don’t go far. Just the elevator, then the hotel hallway, then your room– door locked behind you before your back even hits the wall. Suguru’s not here. You close your eyes. Breathe in, slow and shallow.

Your skin still buzzes, not from the near-miss of his mouth but from everything underneath it. The look in his eyes. The want. The assumption.

It’s not that you didn’t feel it. That tension’s been building for weeks– months, if you’re being honest. But the moment stretched too long tonight. Shifted from flirtation into something unsteady.

And the worst part?

He was right. You let him get close. You always have. Because it was safe to flirt when there was nothing behind it. It was easy to toe the line when you could pretend it didn’t mean anything.

But now you’re with Suguru– whatever that means. And you can’t keep pretending that there isn’t something to protect.

You don’t tell Suguru what happened. Of course you don’t. But he knows something shifted.

Maybe it’s in the way you move around Satoru now– too careful, too quiet. Maybe it’s in the way you stop laughing at his jokes, or how your gaze flicks down instead of holding his. Or maybe it’s just Suguru’s intuition. He’s always been better at reading you than you are at hiding.

He doesn’t ask, but he starts behaving differently.

The change isn’t dramatic– no explosions, no confrontations. Just small things. Easy to miss if you aren’t looking closely.

He stops giving Satoru space to riff during interviews. Cuts in more. Redirects questions. When Satoru tries to nudge the tone toward playful innuendo, Suguru answers flatly, pivoting back to technical language– camera angles, character arcs, scene construction.

He starts sitting farther away in press lineups. Doesn’t reach for shared drinks on the table like he used to. His praise in interviews becomes cooler, more formal. “He’s dynamic,” he says once, when asked about Satoru’s performance. “Unpredictable. That can be... compelling.”

And fans notice. Not all of them. Not right away. But the ones who pay attention.

Clips get stitched together– Suguru glancing away when Satoru speaks, Satoru trying to catch your eye and you refusing to meet it. Headlines soften it with words like tension and creative friction, but the tone online is different.

@/delulugirlie: they used to joke around all the time and now Suguru looks like he wants to strangle him lmao @/dramacoreangel: the vibes are so OFF i’m physically uncomfortable. like… you could cut the tension with a blunt knife ↳ @/delulugirlie: blunt knife?? babe you could cut it with a piece of stale bread. they HATE each other @/softforsato: satoru trying to make eye contact like he’s a rejected golden retriever ↳ @/bratenergy: HE LOOKED AT HER FOUR TIMES IN 30 SECONDS ↳ @/girlmathcertified: it’s not a love triangle it’s a war zone @/chaoticneutralfem: y’all remember when suguru used to finish satoru’s sentences in interviews?? @/parasociallyunwell: this isn’t creative friction this is custody battle energy @/detectivemitsu: the way PR tried to spin it as “creative tension fuels their onscreen chemistry” and meanwhile suguru’s body language is literally saying “i will kill him with my bare hands” @/canonicallydelulu: okay but the way none of this was happening before they got to vienna. like something happened and we were too busy to NOTICE ↳ @/emotionaldamage98: “the fall of rome” but it’s three hot people and one press tour

You watch the theories spiral late one night on your phone, curled beneath too many hotel sheets with Suguru asleep beside you. He shifts in his sleep, reaching for you without opening his eyes. You let him pull you closer. You press your face into the crook of his neck and breathe in his warmth.

And still– still– you don’t tell him.

Because saying it out loud would make it real. And if it’s real, you have to explain why you didn’t stop it sooner.  Why you let Satoru kiss you at the screening. Why you didn’t pull away when his fingers brushed yours. Why you let him touch you at six a.m. on a Thursday, before Suguru had even walked through the hotel doors. Why it felt like the first time in weeks that someone looked at you like they saw you. Why you let yourself feel wanted– finally wanted– in a way that cracked you wide open.

You blink at the screen until the words blur.

There’s a photo of the three of you– Satoru’s hand curled a little too tight around your waist, Suguru angled just far enough away that it looks unintentional. The comments are eating it up. Messy love triangle, they’re calling it. Tension you can’t fake. One comment just says, she looks like she’s being loved by one man and owned by another.

You shut your phone off. And Suguru stirs again, this time more awake than not. “You okay?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, hand sliding up your spine.

You hum. Nod against the pillow. “Just cold.”

He wraps his arms tighter around you. “I can fix that.”

It’s said with a lazy sort of confidence. Familiar. Easy. But when his hand dips beneath the hem of your shirt, there’s something a little more to it tonight– like he’s holding on to you a little tighter. Like maybe he saw the same headlines. Like maybe he knows.

He urges you onto your back with nothing but a touch– fingers trailing your side, lips brushing your shoulder. And you go, easy, turning beneath him. He kisses you before you can say anything. Slow, but not soft. There’s too much in it– too much heat, too much want. His mouth drags down your jaw, over your throat, teeth catching just enough to make your breath stutter.

“I hate when you’re quiet like this,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse. “Makes me think too hard.”

Your heart jumps. “Think about what?”

He doesn’t answer– not with words.

Instead, he settles between your legs, his thigh pressing right where you’re aching. He kisses you harder now, tongue sliding past your lips like he’s chasing something. Chasing a truth he won’t ask you for out loud.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, lips brushing yours. “Tell me you want me.”

“I do,” you say. And it’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth either.

Because your hands are in Suguru’s hair, but your mind flickers back to sunglasses and a too-sharp grin. Because Suguru’s cock is hard and heavy against your thigh, but it’s Satoru’s voice echoing in your memory– “Why do you keep pretending you don’t, then?” Because Suguru loves you, and you love him back, but not the way he deserves.

He pushes your shirt up, fingers trailing down your sides. “So beautiful,” he says like a secret. “You know that, right? You’re mine.”

You nod. Bite your lip. Buck your hips against his like you need him to remind you who you belong to. He does.

Suguru shifts lower, dragging the sheets with him, kissing a path down your stomach. He pauses at the waistband of your underwear, looks up at you like he’s asking– not for permission, but for your attention. For all of it.

“Eyes on me,” he says, voice low and certain. “If I’m the one making you feel this good, then I’m the only thing you look at.”

He hooks his fingers under the fabric and pulls, slow enough to make you whimper. He kisses the inside of your thigh first, then again higher, until you're trembling under the weight of his patience.

And then he licks you– one long, deliberate stripe that makes your back arch off the bed.

“Suguru–” you gasp, hands tangling into his hair.

He groans softly, like the sound of you saying his name punches the air from his lungs. Like it does something to him– pulls him deeper, makes him hungrier. His mouth moves with purpose, but there’s nothing rushed about it. Every stroke of his tongue is deliberate, drawn-out, like he’s savoring you. Like he’s relearning every inch of you with his mouth– committing it to memory, carving it into instinct.

He circles your clit slowly, teasing just to the edge of too much, then backs off to press kisses lower, tasting you with a reverence that borders on obsession. And then he does it again. And again. Until your hands are tangled in his hair and your legs are trembling around his shoulders.

His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you open, holding you there– until you stop trying to squirm, stop trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, and just let go. Moans spilling out raw and unfiltered, hips stuttering every time his tongue finds that perfect spot again.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against you, voice wrecked with heat. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

And he doesn’t stop. Not even when your legs start to shake. Not even when you cry out his name again, louder this time– like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

And when you finally cum, thighs clamped around his head, voice breaking– he keeps holding you, licking you through it like he needs it, like he’s starving for you, like this is the only way he knows how to say stay.

Your whole body trembles. Overwhelmed. Raw. And when he finally pulls back, lips slick, eyes dark and heavy with want, he kisses the inside of your knee. Then he shifts upward– slow, steady, letting you catch your breath only to steal it again. His mouth finds yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue as he presses his weight into you, cock sliding against your entrance with the kind of patience that feels like punishment.

“Suguru–” you breathe, already aching for him again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “Always do.”

And then he’s inside you– slow, deep, like he’s carving out a space just for himself. One hand tangled with yours, the other gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath stuttering every time you moan his name.

“You feel that?” he pants, thrusts picking up pace, harder now, sharper. “No one else gets this. No one else has you.”

Your eyes flutter shut. But behind your lids, it’s not Suguru you see. It’s Satoru– watching. Knowing. Smiling that cruel little smile like he already knew.

“I love you,” Suguru says against your lips. “God, I love you.”

You try to answer, but it’s all breath and sound, the kind of broken moan that barely makes it out. You’re so close again it hurts, and Suguru knows it– he can feel it in the way you tighten around him, the way your fingers curl into the sheets like you’re about to fall apart. And then, just when you think he’s going to push you over the edge again, he pulls out.

You whine, shaky and wrecked. “Sugu–”

“Turn over,” he says, low and calm, but his voice is wrecked with want. “On your knees, baby. Want you like that.”

You don’t think– you can’t think. You just move, limbs trembling as you flip onto your stomach. He drags you back by the hips, tilts your ass up with both hands, and groans like the sight alone might undo him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Look at that. Look at you.”

His hand smooths down the arch of your spine, his palm settling just above your ass as he lines himself up again. He thrusts in with a slow, punishing roll of his hips, and you choke on a gasp, forehead dropping to the sheets.

“Yeah,” he grits, pace already building, “you take it so well like this. Like you need me.”

The sound of skin on skin fills the room– his hips slapping into yours, your breath catching on every thrust, your thighs shaking with every rough, deep drag of him inside you.

One hand stays firm on your hip. The other slides around to rub slow circles against your clit, just enough to make you sob.

“Suguru– please– oh my God–” You’re close again, too close, too fast. “Feels so good– you feel so– fuck–”

He leans in, chest pressed against your back. “You gonna cum for me?” he rasps. “Gonna let me feel you cum all over my cock?”

You nod frantically, but it’s not enough. He wants to hear it.

“Say it,” he demands, thrusts never slowing. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, voice wrecked, ruined. “I’m yours, I’m–”

You don’t even finish before it hits you– sharp and blinding and deep, your body tightening, pulsing around him as you scream his name into the pillow.

Suguru groans like he’s dying, fucking you through it, then slamming into you once, twice, before he spills inside you with a low, desperate curse.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of both your breaths, heavy and ragged. His body draped over yours. His hand still wrapped around your waist like he doesn’t want to let go. And maybe he doesn’t.

Because when he finally eases out, he kisses the back of your shoulder. Stays close. Pulls you back into him like you’re something fragile.

“I love you, baby,” he whispers again, softer now. “Doesn’t matter who’s watching– you’ll always be mine.”

“I love you, Sugu,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his. “Of course I’m yours.”

You mean it. But you wish that were enough. You wish he was the only one you meant it for.

anyway here’s ep 4 bc i’m bored and you guys deserve it

comment to be added to the taglist: @twilightsumu @aizzon @jabulile @jadeisthirsting @1satoruu @nombakugoswife1 @feelya @goonforgeto @bandomonia @aftersnrise @wvnkoi @von-studios

[pearlcatcher-problems]

maferzin ᛜ amphithere ᛜ queen of the roost

she ! the bean ! the long noodle ! I keep referring to her as the spaghetti project, so thankful to have it done after all the chaos this month q wq

Lore rambles about the amphitheres / roost under the cut to keep things tidy

Amphitheres. Noisy, multi-winged beasts that flocked in the remains of a Harpy outpost after the lich's fall due to a surplus of energy there, choosing to leech directly from the corrupted magics to fuel their flock rather than worry of possible risks as the benefits far outweigh any possible negatives. They have a drive for survival and know that they do so better in numbers, which requires above all protection, sustenance, and a strong sense of community between the flock. They're smart, but they're... not smart. While they can understand difficult concepts and engage in philosophy, a lot of the time they'd just rather.... not. In general, Roost Amphitheres tend to find more joy in the more 'stupid' aspects in life: unironically engaging in the equivalent to 'meme culture' in their little community.

Unironically, these little pea-brained idiots name themselves after whatever little thing makes them giggle the most so that they get to hear it time and time again and share that experience with friends. As amphitheres depends on identifying each other via scent patterns, the name is as much an accessory to them as the garb they wrap themselves in. There are some Amphitheres who may change their name once a week, others that simply end up finding something that feels right to them and staying with it their whole lives.

( Fun fact: most of the Roost Amphitheres are named after parts of the dubbed nanalan show because it tickles my brain so much! Maferzin, Peepo, and Nasa are all ones that have survived the name cycle over the years to keep to this homage! )

They are quick to react and slow to forgive, making them risky allies for many reasons. It's not uncommon for them to end up scrapping with dragonkin over veiled insults towards their nonsense habits or their more beast-like mannerisms when feeding / playing / existing in general, which has made creating long-lasting allies a hardship. In recent years, researchers from the main allied outpost have tried to gain access to Roost grounds to survey the lich's remains and form diplomatic bonds with the Amphitheres under Spire's guidance, which has been... mostly successful. There's been a glut of magic from the lich this season as his corpse will take aeons to properly decay, leaving the Amphitheres full to glut on his magic, jolly, and generally more amicable.

Physiologically, amphitheres are serpentine creatures that have bodies covered with scale and fur, and have no proper 'limbs' beyond wings. Six tends to be the norm, but some have been recorded with more or less depending on their heritage and how heavily the corruption has settled through their bloodline. 'Maneuvering' wing limbs usually have a singular or pair of clawed digits to allow them to grip or climb, whereas their main 'flying' wings are relatively normal. Some breeds may even fold up maneuvering wings for ease of flying depending on how poorly laid out they are. Two horns is the norm, but four have been recorded. Some may grind off their horns entirely if they get in the way of flying or entangled too much, it's also not uncommon for some to be broken from brawling.

Maferzin is the head of the roost, Queen of the Amphithere flock and considers herself to be quite the catch. She's large for an amphithere, but still dwarfed in comparison to Spire- something that goes to his favour as she's not used to feeling small and dainty around other dragons. As matriarch, her bloodline has cemented itself through the Roost's lineage, having multiple offspring thriving within their flock now, some expecting clutches of their own. She is a good leader in making the right call for her people, but not always the most empathetic to the struggles of others. She is a deep romantic at heart though and has found peace with the plentiful season in being able to simply thrive and enjoy the finer things in life: good company, a plentiful den, the newest in allied clan garb from the neighbouring silk trader....

She's never been one for frivolities, but with the new trade agreements and allies have come gifts. This has been a new pleasure she's very much enjoyed: thoroughly dressing both herself and her kin up in whichever finery the neighbouring seamstress sends their way ( she's honestly just thrilled to have a new body shape / flight pattern to clothe!! ) She has learned to keep whichever poorly-shaped pearls around her midsection, as they're the ones most likely to be pulled as she scales and winds herself around things.

While the species is jovial now, when starved... things change. They will attack anything that moves and wipe out entire ecosystems if left to their own unchecked. They are nasty buggers to fight as many of them tend to be venomous and they are always in large numbers. When alerted, many of them will create noise to pass on the alarm to neighbouring Amphitheres, usually in the form of hissing or rattling of tails ( for those who have rattles. ) Having them be peaceful long-term is a beneficial goal for everyone, as their existence allows plentiful research on lichfall from the main outpost, and having them be calm allows safe trade routes through their domain for other outposts. As such, the main outpost has devised a back up plan for if things do fall into a bad season via a storage system of liquid ley via the elementals at the oasis.

It's a delicate balance keeping it all afloat, but they're all somehow bound by the lich's fall and need to support themselves somehow.

Also, the base sketch of this was from literal years ago but I've been crying for the energy to actually tackle it. Feeling very good about being able to do so now!

[httpvomitello]

Hey hi can you do TMNT headcanons for when they find out you hate pizza?? But you’ve been pushing through because you’re down bad for them 🥲

Oh nooo! The taste of betrayal 😭 poor babies... Anyways, I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Leo is surprisingly oblivious to your pizza disdain at first, especially since you’re always a good sport about it

You’ve been eating it with him during every hangout, and he’s convinced you’re totally on board with the pizza life.

One day, while watching a movie, you casually mention that you’re not the biggest fan of pizza, and Leo’s brain short-circuits. He pauses mid-bite, staring at you in disbelief. “Wait… you hate pizza? And you’ve been eating it just for me?”

After learning you’ve been enduring pizza for him, Leo teases you relentlessly, but in that smug, charming way

"So, how many more slices were you gonna choke down before telling me, huh?” He’ll flash that confident grin, knowing he has the upper hand.

Leo would absolutely make it a point to surprise you with food from your favorite restaurant one day, playing it off cool, like it was no big deal

“Thought we’d switch it up tonight. No pizza. Just you, me, and your favorite dish.”

When the team inevitably orders pizza again, Leo will dramatically shield you from the sight, covering your eyes with his hands

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to suffer anymore. You’re safe now.” You’ll both end up laughing, but it becomes a running joke.

Donnie’s the type to notice something is off long before you confess

When he finally finds out, probably through an offhand comment from you, he looks at you with wide eyes, then immediately questions his observational skills

“Wait. You’ve been eating pizza this entire time… and dislike it? That’s borderline masochism.”

He’ll probably do some deep dive research on food preferences and intolerance, just in case you weren’t telling him the whole truth

To make up for it, Donnie starts coding a highly sophisticated "Perfect Pizza Finder" algorithm. It takes your tastes into account and suggests custom pizza recipes that are more suited to you

“With this, you’ll never hate pizza again!”

When the two of you eat together from then on, Donnie will insist on creating the menu himself

"This time, it’ll be something your taste buds actually enjoy." And he’ll use all his high-tech gadgets to make sure it’s perfect every time.

He’ll go above and beyond to make sure you’re not suffering anymore, all while teasing you for your initial sacrifice.

Mikey is devastated when he finds out you don’t like pizza

You’ve been his pizza buddy for so long that it’s practically a core part of your relationship in his eyes

So when you finally break the news, he’s dramatically heartbroken: “You’ve been living a lie?!”

At first, he thinks you’re joking, but when you assure him that you really don’t like pizza, he looks at you with genuine confusion

“But… why didn’t you say something?!”

You confess that you’ve been eating it for him because you like him, and he melts on the spot

Mikey is beyond flattered and immediately starts brainstorming pizza alternatives just for you

“What about pizza rolls? Pizza with, like, no sauce? Dessert pizza? There’s gotta be some pizza variation that’ll win you over!”

Even though pizza is still his #1 love, Mikey’s happy to switch it up for your sake. He’ll start planning more food adventures that cater to your taste, often suggesting new foods to try together and making sure you never have to force down a slice again.

When Raph finds out, he’s shocked you didn’t say anything earlier, but he also feels kinda guilty

“Why didn’t you tell me, dumbass? You didn’t have to force yourself to eat that greasy stuff for me.”

After that, he becomes super protective of your food choices

He’s not about to let you suffer through pizza again if he can help it

“From now on, we eat what you like, got it?”

Raph’s way of making it up to you is offering to cook up something himself

He might not be the best cook, but he tries hard, and it’s kind of adorable watching him fumble with a spatula in the kitchen

Whenever his brothers tease you about it, Raph is quick to shut them down. “They did it for me, so back off.”

He’s secretly proud that you were willing to push through for him, and he might even feel in love even more.

[itsgirlcraft]

@dracl-dragon

The uncanny alien au, as per request, ehehe!

It's based on this writing prompt:

(Damn it's crazy to think it's been 3 years since I wrote this-)

Anyyyywho- For most Steves, they're in the adorable category for humans (exceptions being certain villains, ie Faceless). This is a vague TSS/SSO au, where Sabre gets left behind on a new planet by his fellow space-researchers. Mogi and Spency took the emergency pod back to the ship after a few encounters with the Steves, leaving Sabre to fend for himself.

The story is written from Rainbow's perspective, who is currently defending the first village that took him in. He's not struggling nearly as much as he was in SSO, but isn't as powerful as he was in TSS. He was on a scouting mission when he found Sabre.

The Steves follow Minecraft logic, while Sabre follows real-life logic (mostly), which is where the uncanny valley comes into play. Like in early TSS, Steves speak backwards English, but since this is Rainbow's POV, Sabre's words are reversed instead.

The creature beyond the trees looked like me. It had a similar build.

Yet the skin..the face...its details were all wrong.

The way its body contorted itself in ways nothing like me should. Its limbs could twist backwards and sideways.

I took off into the forest when I saw its mouth twist into what I now understand is known as a smile. Its teeth were many, skin pale as birch wood..

It had strange stick-like protrusions at the tips of its hands. They each moved not unlike a tentacle.

All I could think about the creature was that it was like me.

But it so very clearly wasn't. The way its slender, oddly shaped limbs moved across the terrain sent shivers down my back. Never again would I dare come face-to-face with it.

I have been hidden in the trees for days now. The stranger hasn't left the open terrain of the plains.

I see how it hunts. What powers it lacks in, it more than makes up for in survivalist skills.

It ran its makeshift tools into the nearest peaceful fauna, an unelegant and gory mess in mere minutes. Yet without any powers, it was left with ten times the meat.

It made tools and weapons and shelter in a short period of time, and without any of my kind's abilities. One shouldn't be able to form a whole array of tools from nothing. Even the strongest of my kind had a very small range of objects or materials we could summon.

I have stayed here to observe this creature, I dare not imagine what it could do if I leave it alone.

But I dare not meet face-to-face. It may run from the fire and tides, but I have seen it has power over these very elements.

It scratched a piece of metal with a sharp black object, sparks lighting pieces of wood organized in a cone shape.

Did it just create fire?

I knew I should've returned to the elders at that moment. But what if it set the forest ablaze? I needed to be here. It was too unpredictable to leave alone.

I saw its talent in controlling the elements despite a lack of powers over the days following.

One evening there was a storm, and I decided to fly within its winds in hopes of frightening the stranger to leave this land.

I saw it building a tall tower near its shelter. What was it doing now?

I flew back down into the treeline, watching. It erected a strange metal structure at the top, red lines of...something connecting it to the bottom.

As I grew nervous, thunder boomed above. With that, the stranger jumped off, using a leash-like material to safely return to the ground.

That was possible?

My kind never needed climbing gear. We all could fly.

But that..that could make supplies easier to transfer to mountainous regions.

I was forced out of my thoughts when lightning striked. I immediately flew up as it flashed, blinding me. But what I saw was the red lines of the structure lighting up.

Did this creature just build a machine? What was it for?

The rest of the night was uneventful. The stranger stayed huddled up in its shelter. I almost considered checking out what it had made, but fear grew and I didn't want to get vaporized by whatever lightning-absorber machine this was.

The night after, I got up the courage to get close.

I refused to go anywhere near the shelter, but wanted desperately to figure out what it was that the stranger built.

"Curiosity killed the kaet," I had thought to myself as I slunk across treetops.

But that didn't stop me.

Until I heard a noise.

Not from in front of me.

Behind.

I turned, and there it stood. Barely two trees away.

Had it been following me?! Watching?? What did it want??

As thoughts raced, I took off into the sky.

It didn't follow.

Thank whatever up there who didn't let the stranger figure out flight yet.

My heart raced as I hovered in the air, turning back towards them.

Both of us stared at one another.

At least I think, its eyes were covered with fabric. How it could see, or if it could, still plagues me.

It held a long metal object defensively in its odd hands. A sword.

Great. This thing's a swordsman. And may or may not be blind.

Not a word was said.

But as I stayed floating there in the cool night air, it felt like the first time we saw each other.

I could see its torn clothing and tired stance. It didn't seem quite as horrid.

It still terrified me, don't think for a moment it didn't.

But maybe, just maybe it wasn't the destructive beast I thought it was.

We continued to just stay there, in the cool night air. Staring.

The longer I looked the more I wanted to look away. Its smaller size didn't make it cuter. It felt like it could climb into my body and kill me from the inside. Its long hands held the metal sword like a squeed latching onto a meal. Fear started creeping up my back.

I wanted to run.

The wind started picking up, the thing suddenly jumping out of the treetop.

I took that as my chance to fly out of there.

I looked up at the moon and stars, trying to calm myself. That thing saw me. It knows.

What do I do? It didn't attack. But maybe if I got closer it'd slice me to bits like an animal and devour me.

I shuddered at the mere thought.

It knew I knew it was there. Maybe it saw me before this. Maybe it didn't.

I couldn't return home until I was certain of its intentions. I needed to wait. Watch. Who knows what that machine does.

I missed home. I missed Belu. I missed a comfortable bed and house.

But it was my duty. I had to protect my kind from this..thing. If I left it unsupervised for even the rest of the night, it could do horrible things.

I wasn't just protecting my people, but the land too. This thing showed me that it can kill. It could burn the whole forest if it wanted, I bet.

I wasn't willing to take the chance.

I flew back down, checking the forest just in case it decided to ambush. Nothing.

I returned to the makeshift bed I made a ways away from the stranger. I packed it up every morning, so it was unlikely it'd see it.

Despite the discomfort that came with sleeping directly on a tree branch, I fell asleep instantly. I have no idea how the Gren do it. Then again, they're most connected with nature.

Perhaps one day I'd be able to tap into that side of me more. It'd be nice to just sleep wherever, whenever. Like a kaet.

I woke to the morning sun once again. I gathered my wool "bed" before looking for more food.

I knew the forest like the back of my hand so it was easy. A wolvvf pup ran past me, chasing another. The tiny pups were growing fast. They were so cute!

I had a quick breakfast of mishrumms and roots with some berraies for sweetness.

Back to watching. I needed to make sure the stranger didn't do anything major while I was resting.

I flew a bit closer, but stuck to the treetops as I got near. I spotted a..sign? There was definitely a wooden sign down there. I looked around, questioning if it was a trap.

I climbed out of the tree, making sure to check every nook and cranny before I even got near the sign.

Again, nothing.

Besides, it can't hide that well. It's literally wearing all white. Honestly, it looked almost like a chikeen in those weird clothes.

I crouched behind a tree, carefully peeking out. No sign of the creature. I crept out, getting closer to the wood sign before me.

I was surprised to find it was in my language. How would it know my language?!

I was terrified of what it could mean. But I read the sign.

It read:

"I mean no harm. Not evil. Can not find home. Just surviving."

Was that a...flower it drew below the message? Yes, that was definitely a flower.

Why was it in my language? How did it know it? Why did it leave a sign for me?

Was it wanting peace? Or to trick me?

I had so many questions yet none would be answered if I didn't respond somehow.

I noticed an empty sign leaning against a tree, grabbing it. I wrote, "What do you want? Peace? Supplies?"

It was as I finished writing that I heard a noise. Oh no, it was back! I dropped the sign and flew into the trees.

It didn't go after me. It went to the sign first. It moved towards my previous location with its skinny, oddly shaped legs. It held a pickaxe in its hands and was covered in dust.

It put the pickaxe onto a belt of some sort, grabbing the sign with its tentacle-tipped hands.

It stood there for a bit. It suddenly looked up, almost right at me.

It put the sign down and picked up the one it wrote on, clearing the ink away and writing something else.

I waited tensely, wondering if I should run or try to hide more or directly engage with it..

I just stayed right there. Frozen. My heart raced.

It stopped writing. It looked up again.

Did it see me?! I tried to hide myself more, using the green colors in my form to try to hide the rest of me.

It walked to the base of a tree. Directly below me. I shut my eyes, hoping it wasn't about to climb up and get me or burn the tree or worse.

I heard dirt being dug into, followed by footsteps getting quieter and quieter.

I opened my eyes. The stranger has returned to its shelter. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.

I glanced to the shelter. Wondering if I should just go. I know its intentions now.

But what if it had written something important? What if it says it wants...I don't know, meat or blood?! What could happen if I left it alone then?!

Fighting nerves, I slid down the tree trunk. I crouched to read the sign.

"Yes. Peace. I can not leave until I have supplies to return home."

I stared at the sign. I still couldn't tell if it was trying to trick me or not.

I realized I couldn't keep this up. I was sleepy still and this thing hasn't actually hurt anyone besides a couple animals, and that was for food. Doesn't mean it wasn't savage and bloody and mildly traumatizing.

It didn't seem evil, that's it. I had dealt with actual evils, though they were like me. So that doesn't quite work.

But I was tired and over watching this thing.

I turned, realizing it spotted me.

I froze again.

It stared.

At least I think. That cloth around its face made it hard to tell.

It suddenly had a...flower? A flower in its hand. It slowly moved out of its shelter. Those gangly limbs still freaked me out.

It was closer than last time now.

Seeing it closer made me panic. I wanted to run but I was frozen. Everything told me to not trust it.

Then it laid the flower down before me and backed away.

My limbs unfroze. I almost considered running. But instead I picked up the flower and put it in my hair.

The two of us shared a moment of understanding. Both wary of the other yet no longer afraid.

It really wasn't evil. Just absolutely terrifying.

I finally spoke.

"What is your name?" I spoke slowly, trying to hide the fear creeping in just by looking at them.

They cocked their head to the side. Could they not understand me?

I cocked my head to the side too.

They suddenly pulled out a device. Some sort of translator perhaps?

I spoke again.

"What is your name?"

I heard the click of a button before and after.

They hit another button and the same thing I just said suddenly repeated again! It was confusing at first, heh. Then they clicked another button and it was being said in..reverse??

I couldn't tell what they just did. But it seemed that they held a tiny machine that helped them understand me.

They nodded and clicked a button and spoke.

"Uoy? erbaS si eman ym," they said.

They clicked another button. This time their voice spoke but I understood!

"My name is Sabre. You?"

"I am Raynboew."

They repeated my voice again, but changed so they understood.

They "smiled," but without showing their many teeth and bowed.

I bowed too.

Finally, I could return home!

[starscelly]

beyond my own personal biases like. truly how are you gonna say the stars shouldnt have “caved” to what the players wanted re:pdb. how are you gonna say you would have just gotten rid of otter and anyone on his side. yeah so i fear thats the whole team because theyre a TEAM and they play and look out for each other. jamie said it years ago when they were once again being shit on by management. they dont play for the guys in suits - and that includes their coach - theyre playing for the guys in that room and the fans and themselves. if an environment has been created in which those people are being fucked over and embarrassed by those guys in suits its not only their right to talk about it from their perspective to their gm who genuinely wants to hear from them and respects his players opinions, but their responsibility to do so as well.

and nobody is really arguing jake shouldnt have been pulled at all. he didnt have the best series, sure. but the guy who dragged the corpse of your team through multiple rounds over the years does NOT deserve to be humiliated and disrespected repeatedly the way he was. i dont know when we’ll all get the fucking memo that yeah, sometimes toughness and a firmer hand needs to be used in coaching, but reverting to a culture where the coaches are fucking assholes to their players is not beneficial to morale or play. theres been so many studies on this When Will We Learn. also relevant re: playing for other guys and themselves, of course.

but above all. truly do YOU think those guys went into a meeting with jim and said “hey, i want peter deboer fired because he was mean to jake”? no. they voiced they didnt like that choice. and that opens up a conversation about other things they have issues with as a coach. not as a person but in how he operates. im sure they didnt rock up demanding the end of his career in dallas, they used the meeting theyre being asked to speak freely in to speak freely. plain and simple.

[crow-raven-crow]

Hey it's me again 👋 the one who asked for Donna Beneviento.

I know she's a shy babe and mostly in the fics I see her like sub?But I can't get enough to see her other side.We want it! We need it!

Can you do something like reader's been teasing her extremely (clothes,talks, actions,etc..) knowing she will only turn red but r seem to pushes her a little too far and ended up facing dominant Donna? Like punish sex and maybe aftercare.

Thanks for reading

-BB 🤍

𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥..

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~2.8k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, established relationship, NSFW, dom!Donnna, sub!Reader, teasing, pinning, marking, scratching, begging kink, slight degradation, slighting biting, oral sex, vaginal fingering, edging paired with slight orgasm denial, alludes to future sex

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You pulled the key from the door as you stepped inside, a soft creak emitting from the hinges as the heavy door swung open, revealing the foyer. You guided your hand out slowly, gesturing the doll maker inside as you held the door open for her. Your shared laughter echoed through the halls, absorbing themselves within your shared home.

The golden glow emanating from the candles that hung on the chandelier casted an enchanting light within the home, bringing out the deep mahogany of the polished wood that made up most of the home. The age of the home brought a comfort out within it, the wood absorbing the flickering flames and creating a warmth that served as a refuge from the snow that sat beyond the walls.

Once the door shut behind you, your gaze met Lady Beneviento's, the spark found swirling within them making a smile creep onto your lips. Her veil was already discarded to the side and her hands were held out in front of her expectantly. You stood for a moment, blinking in confusion as you took in the sight of her before you. Her soft laugh broke the silence before she stepped behind you and smoother her hands up your sides and to your shoulders, filling your body with a newfound heat. "Your coat, amore mio.."

Her fingers worked themselves underneath the layer of fabric, gently pulling the coat from your shoulders and handing it on the rack behind her. You grabbed one of her hands as she turned around, pulling her slowly over to you before meeting her lips in a sweet kiss. You felt her relax under your touch, the dinner you both had just been at fading away from her mind as she relished in the safety that you brought to her.

Pulling her from her trance, you guided her into the living room. As you backed away, you watched how she took in each of your movements - the sway of your hips, the effortless grace of your arms, the never ending smile that sat upon your face. To her, each aspect was a manifestation of beauty, causing her heart to swell with admiration for you.

Shifting the pin of the record player made a small gasp leave her lips, the familiar sound of her favorite song starting to play filling the manor. The notes shifted through the air as you came back to her, the satisfaction in her figure mirroring the joy found within her eyes.

"I figured it would be nice to end off a nice dinner with a dance, if you'll have me?" Your hands traced a gentle path up her dress, massaging her shoulders before wrapping your arms around her, successfully pulling her in and starting off the small sways.

"Such a doll for me, hmm?"

"I try."

Soft laughter bubbled from your chests, the love found within you two creating a lightness in the room. Her arms circled around your waist, drawing you closer. Her fingers scaled a tantalizing path down your body, completely away for the garments you showed her beneath the thin fabric only house earlier. The room, though charged with affection, carried the increasing weight of desire as the two of you continued to dance.

~~

You had called her into the bathroom, the black dress you wanted to wear hanging just behind you as you finished off your makeup. As you put away the various products, you rose from the vanity seat, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you heard the click of her heels get closer and closer. It added a sense of anticipation to the air, each step echoing a promise of a tease for her, a promise of the sweet surprise you had for her.

"You called, am-" Her steps came to an abrupt halt, seemingly frozen in the doorway as her eyes raked in your exposed figure. The choice of dark green lace was a deliberate one, allowing one of her favorite colors to swirl around your skin. The lace, starting from secure straps, gradually faded out, growing thinner yet framing your breasts and hips perfectly. Your paired it with matching garters, deciding that stockings would add a nice touch given the dress's slit, which teasingly exposed your legs. You saw the desire starting to burn behind her eyes, and you knew you had gone with the right choice.

"Cat got your tongue, my lady?" Your tone was laced in a tease, being sure to add a sway to your hips as you slowly made your way over to her. Your hands found their place on her hips, your eyes drinking in the slight of her as she was already ready for the dinner ahead of you. Tracing a hand up her figure, you made a slow path between her breasts, along one of her collarbones, and delicately along the column of her throat, easily pulling a shiver from her. You rested a finger underneath her chin, tilting her head slight to meet your gaze. "Or am I just as much of a distraction as I planned to be?"

"Wh-Whats-" She cleared her throat, focusing all the energy within her to not break your gaze, "What's the occasion, doll?"

"Oh, nothing.." You brought your lips to her ear, whispering before littering kisses down her neck. "Just wanted you to know exactly what was underneath my dress while we sit for hours at dinner.."

You quickly pulled away, bringing any and all traces of yourself against her with you, before grabbing your dress and presenting it to her. "Could you help me put it on?"

She took it from your fingers while giving you a nod, undoing the zipper along the back as you turned around. She pulled it over your head, being sure that your arms could easily go through the thick straps of the dress before pulling the rest of it down your body. Her fingers lingered against your hips underneath the fabric, the cool touch against your skin making a small shiver shoot through you. You felt as she took hold of the zipper, slowly pulling it up and covering the skin that only she was allowed sight of, before resting her hands back against your hips.

"Thank you, my love.. Are you ready to leave?" You turned around in her hold, a smile coming to your lips before you kissed her own.

~~

Small chatter turned into a comfortable silence, though there was still an undercurrent of excitement coursing between you two. She lifted her arm up above you, your hand in hers, and prompted you to spin. You did, or attempted to do so, but your heel got caught on a bump in the carpet beneath you. Within the moment, the misstep led to a tumble, and you found yourselves on the floor, laughter filling the room as a blush rose to both of your faces.

You landed on top of her, her arms wrapped securely around you to prevent you from getting hurt. After the laughing had died down, you pulled yourself up a bit, kissing up her neck before planting a soft one against her lips. The blush against her cheeks deepened at your actions, a wave of heat running through both of your bodies as the desire in the room only grew.

You watched as her eyes moved against your form, moving from your dark painted lips, to your dress straps falling off your shoulders, to the sight of your breasts pushing beyond the fabric of your dress - the fall pulling your dress down and uncovering more of your skin. You brought your lips down to her ear, the warmth of your breath traveling against her skin as you spoke, "Like what you see, my lady?"

Maybe it was the suggestive tone of your voice, the pull of your dress, the teasing actions that had been building for hours, but it all caused something within her to snap. The grip she had on your hips tightened as you finished your sentence, causing your breath to hitch, but it didn't prepare you for the other side of the doll maker that you were about to face.

Within an instant, your back was against the floor, hands pinned above you by your wrists as one of her knees settled between your legs. You looked up at her in shock, though it easily morphed into an expression of desire as her lips trailed up your neck, leaving lingering kisses and mirroring the action you had done just moments before. The heat of her breath coursed around your neck while her other hand traveled along your body, pulling fabric out of the way, squeezing and scratching your skin in the claim to be hers.

"You're right.. I do love what I see.." Her voice was low, thick with the lust and desire that had been swirling within her for hours. It didn't falter, didn't stutter as she spoke, a newfound dominance running through her veins and driving her actions. It made a delicious heat begin to pool between your legs. "I think it's just about time you've been taught a lesson.. Isn't that right, doll?"

Your breath hitched, her words making your thighs shut in an attempt to gain some sort of friction, only to make you let out a loud whimper when her knee prevented such. You watched as she pulled away, her lips turning into a smirk as she watch you wreath beneath her. She brought her lips to yours but didn't indulge you in a kiss just yet. They ghosted above yours, mere centimeters apart as she spoke against your lips, "I could get used to a view like this.."

You could only image what you looked like beneath her - shocked, flushed, filled with desire, desperate.. Desperate for her, her touch, her lips, her tongue.. A part of you loved that she enjoyed it, causing a raging flame to ignite inside of you.

You tried pushing yourself up to meet her lips, only for her to pull away at the last second. Amusement filled her features, a wonderful darkness filtering over her eyes that made your core throb. She slowly made her way back to your lips, resting just above them. The close proximity always seemed to make your heart race, the organ hammering in your chest hard enough that you were sure she could feel it against her own. Her perfume made you dizzy with lust, only adding to your arousal as she took over all of your senses. Your voice was breathy, lost in your throat, just above a whisper as you spoke, as you begged for her. "Please, Donna… please-"

She crashed her lips into yours, finally giving you the beginnings of what your craved, stealing all the breath from your lungs and devouring the moans and whimpers that escaped your throat. You felt her tongue brush against your bottom lip only for her to take your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it as she backed away slightly.

The look of pure desire she was throwing at you only mirrored your own - dark eyes fluttered against each others features behind half lidded eyes, cheeks and chests flushed a pink hue, chests heaving to catch breaths that were willingly stolen away..

Her lips met yours again, but only for a few moments. They trailed down your jawline, plump lips meeting your neck and leaving deep marks against it. You threw your head back as a moan tore through your throat, your back arching as you felt her fingers rubbing against your clit above the fabric of your undergarments.

She continued to kiss down your body, her hands letting go of your wrists and allowing your hands to immediately meet her shoulders. A growl left her throat as she met the fabric of your dress, annoyed with the barrier between her and the rest of the body. She moved quickly, picking you up and bringing you up the stairs to your shared bedroom as one of her hands worked on the zipper of your dress.

The door slammed shut behind her, your body quickly landing on the bed as she pulled the dress off of you. You backed up until your hands met the pillows behind you, watching as the goddess pulled her own dress of her body.

Her pale skin was illuminated by the moon, her body shining in beauty before you. She took her place back above you, hands running along the edges of your lace bra before her lips met your collar bones again.

You were getting drunk on her as she hands smoothed over any and all of your skin. She teeth nipped at your skin, tongue soothing over the marks after pulling away. One of her hands made their way to your back, unclasping your bra and tossing it somewhere within the room.

Her tongue traced over your right bud, making your back arch, only for her to take it in her mouth moments later. Her other hand toyed with the other, smoothing over the bug until both were in stiff peaks. She littered marks across your chest, making sure to give the other bud the same amount of attention before moving kissing down your stomach.

You felt her hand back at your core, her touch light enough against the fabric that it was purely a tease. You bucked your hips slightly, only for her to bite your thigh in response, trailing her tongue over it right after. She did this again and again until she thought you were going to behave, her lips planting a kiss against your mound before she slowly started pulling the fabric down your legs.

She worked at an agonizingly slow pace, lips kissing down one leg and up the other before you felt her tongue lick through your folds. The action made you take in a sharp breath, only for it to get lost in the moan that tore through you. She worked her tongue in and out of you, collecting your juices and moaning at the taste, the vibrations shooting through your body and making a familiar knot form in your lower abdomen.

Your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you as she took hold of your thighs, locking your hips in place as her tongue licked up your slit, only to start circling your clit immediately after. You felt one of her hands shift along your leg, the touch moving underneath your thigh before nimble fingers circled your entrance.

They dipped into your core, the stretch quickly turning into a dangerous pleasure as they pumped in and out of you. They curled in a way that made you see stars, brushing against the spongey spot within you and making moans spill from your lips with ease. Your body burned for her touch, your walls clenching around her fingers and making her groan at the feeling of you.

Her fingers picked up speed, her lips wrapping themselves around your sensitive bud and sucking at the same time. You felt your thighs begin to shake with your impending orgasm, the coil within you tightening a dangerous amount only for you to be left on a high.

She stilled her actions, kissing down your thighs while she looked up at you. Your breathing was heavy, your breasts rising and falling with each intake as you tried to ground yourself from a peak that was taken from you. Just as you were about to speak, her tongue circled your clit again, her fingers moving at a brutal pace as she aimed to give you what you oh so craved..

With every thrust of her fingers you were pushed harder and harder against towards the edge. You felt your mind grow hazy with desire, the amount of lust coursing through you making you putty in ecstasy's hold.

Your knuckled turned white at your hard grip on the sheets, your throat growing sore as she pulled loud moans and whimpers from your chest, her pace never slowing.

Your thighs shook on either side of her head, your climax slamming into you and making you moan out her name. Your body shuddered with the wave of pleasure that consumed you as she helped you rise out for first orgasm of the night.

She gently pulled her fingers from your core, your half lidded eyes watching her taker her fingers into her mouth and lick them clean. Her lips trailed up your body, the gentle touch of her lips making your heart soar before she met your own.

When she pulled away, her eyes met your own, desire still prominent within them. "Don't think for a second that I am done with you tonight, amore mio.."

~~

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𝐚/𝐧: OKAYYY?? OKAAYYYY AHHAHAH this served as a reawakening of my RE8 brainrot and i dont know what to do this was so fun holy fuck but also holy fuck? 😏

first donna fic done teehee. i might write for her more because she is such a beautiful character, but like all the lords of RE8 i wish they did so much more with them. there is so much backstory and lore missing and i just NEED a whole game or something released just for them. you cant make these characters interesting as hell and only give us crumbs when it comes to their lore

i loved playing around with this side of donna. she is so quiet and shy within the game that it's always interesting for me to see how she can be portrayed

i hope you all liked it! I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to get here, lovely anon;; but i really enjoyed writing this one

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

ask to be added if you'd like

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Summer Serendipity

Summary: It was the summer break between the races, and Oscar suddenly came across a travel magazine about a quiet town in Northern Ireland on the work desk of someone who had left it open when he was visiting McLaren’s HQ in Woking. Next thing, he was on his way to Belfast, with nothing much on his mind, no worries about the championship standings, the braking mode, the corners or chicanes,... Nothing, just him and his summer getaway in Belfast.

Meanwhile, Edith Ezra, a devoted single mother working at a quaint cafe in Belfast, cherishes her two children, Ivy and Eddie, above all else. Having faced the heartbreak of their father's abandonment, Edith has built a life centred around providing for her family and creating a sense of stability for her children.

When Oscar's path crosses with Edith's in Belfast, their worlds collide in unexpected ways. As Oscar finds himself drawn to the warmth and genuine kindness of Edith and her children, he begins to see a different side of life beyond the fast-paced world of racing.

A/N: I'm so so so so sorry I forgot to add the taglist in the last post!

The date had gone by in a warm, candlelit blur.

Oscar had chosen a little bistro tucked beside the river, lowlights, old music playing from speakers that occasionally crackled like they had stories of their own, and a menu handwritten in looping cursive. They’d shared a plate of something neither of them could pronounce, laughed until her cheeks hurt, and talked about everything from school lunches to the smell of racetracks.

Well. Not quite everything.

He hadn’t brought it up again, the whole being-famous thing. And she hadn’t pressed. Not over the clink of wine glasses or the way he’d leaned in every time she spoke like she was saying something precious. The moment had been too gentle, too full of something new, to fill it with questions.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

Now, back at the flat, the night hummed with quiet. Ivy and Eddie had waited up, of course, and were now pretending to be asleep on the couch, faces squished into pillows, limbs arranged far too neatly to be natural.

“They were out cold at nine,” Angie whispered as she tiptoed toward the door. “But five minutes ago Ivy told me about an episode from Bluey so I don’t trust them.”

Luke was already halfway down the stairs, muttering something about updating his fantasy league predictions now that “McLaren Piastri” had officially entered the group chat of his life.

Edith just stood in the hallway for a moment, still clutching the little brown paper wrap from Oscar’s flowers, not ready to let the evening go yet.

She turned and found him still standing by the door, hands in his pockets, that familiar quiet smile on his face, like he was content to just exist in the air around her.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” she asked, soft.

He nodded once. “I’d like that.”

She led him into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. It was instinct at this point, no matter the hour, tea followed her home like a shadow. She glanced at him as she reached for the mugs.

“Ivy and Eddie are absolutely going to fake-sleep until they think you’ve left.”

Oscar laughed under his breath. “Should I wave goodnight to them and pretend I’m leaving, Mission: Impossible style?”

She smirked. “You’d win them for life.”

They stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to hiss. The soft amber light above the sink made everything feel smaller, cozier. Quieter. Like this moment was wrapped in a bubble.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly serious. “Can I tell you something?”

Edith looked up. “Of course.”

He took a breath, and for a second, she saw the same nerves that had danced behind his eyes on their walk over.

“I should’ve told you earlier. About what I do. Who I am.” He paused. “It’s not that I was trying to lie or pretend to be someone I’m not. I just… didn’t want that to be the first thing you knew about me.”

She nodded slowly, waiting.

“I drive in Formula 1,” he said quietly. “For McLaren.”

There it was. Said out loud this time. Not whispered at her doorstep or hinted at in the space between jokes.

“I figured that much out after Luke nearly fainted,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Oscar chuckled, but his expression stayed gentle. “I like you, Edith. And I didn’t want… that part of my life to get in the way. Or change how you saw me.”

Edith looked at him for a long moment. He wasn’t just talking about being famous. He was talking about being seen, the parts of him that lived between travel and pressure and headlines. The parts that came alive not behind a wheel, but across a café table from someone who asked about his favourite book, not his last lap time.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said, stepping closer. “And for the record, I saw you first. The one who listens when Ivy talks about mermaid kingdoms. The one who helps Eddie put syrup on pancakes without making a mess. That’s who I said yes to.”

Oscar swallowed, just once. “That’s the part I wanted you to like.”

“I do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Very much.”

The kettle clicked off.

Before she could move, a sleepy voice called from the hallway, “Muuum?”

They both turned.

Ivy stood there, hair sticking up wildly, clutching her blanket like a weary queen.

“Did he kiss you?” she mumbled.

Oscar turned absolutely scarlet.

Edith blinked, wide-eyed. “Ivy!”

“I just wanna know if it’s real,” Ivy said, completely serious. “Angie says she thinks it was.”

Oscar gave her a tiny wave, barely managing not to choke on his laugh.

“Yes,” Edith said with a sigh, cheeks warm. “He did.”

Ivy gave a satisfied nod. “Cool,” she said, then turned and padded back toward the couch.

There was a long beat of silence before Oscar said, “So... that’s your approval committee.”

“That’s not all the members from the committee but I don’t make the rules,” Edith whispered, shaking her head.

He looked at her then, eyes full of something she wasn’t ready to name yet, but wanted to keep reaching for.

“I should go,” he said, but it wasn’t a goodbye. Not really.

She walked him to the door, and just before he stepped out into the quiet street, he turned.

“I’m not great at all this,” he said. “The talking part. The vulnerable part.”

“You’re doing fine,” she said. “Really.”

He hesitated, then leaned in and kissed her, slow, sure, and a little longer than before. Not rushed. Not a question.

When they pulled apart, she whispered, “Walk safe, McLaren Boy.”

Oscar grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving behind only the softest echo of laughter and the faint scent of lilies on her kitchen counter.

---------------------------------------------------

Oscar stood in the dim glow of his rented bathroom, brushing his teeth like a man who had just survived something emotionally significant. The lilies he’d picked up,  slightly lopsided and vaguely crushed from being clutched too tightly on the walk, were still etched in his memory like a photograph. So was the way Edith had smiled at him. The kiss. The kids. All of it.

He spat, rinsed, stared at himself in the mirror.

“Okay,” he told his reflection. “You didn’t screw it up.”

Mostly.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A little after midnight. He dried his hands and picked it up, expecting nothing. But it was a text from her

[TEXT FROM EDITH]Safe back to your place?Also: I think the committee approved you. Just a heads up.

He laughed aloud, thumb already moving before his brain caught up.

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]Made it. And thank them for me. I was worried no one had started drafting the seating chart.Tonight was… really good.

A minute passed. Then her reply:

[TEXT FROM EDITH]Yeah. It really was.

He smiled at the screen like an idiot. Then dropped the phone onto the bed, paused, and immediately picked it back up.

Time to text the other person who had way too much investment in this entire situation.

[OSCAR → LANDO]So, she found out.

Three dots appeared immediately.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]About what? That you like crab sandwiches more than most humans?Or that you’re a literal international athlete pretending to be a mysterious bloke from the café around the corner?

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]The second one.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]OH MY GOD FINALLY What’d she say? Did she throw something at you?

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]No. She said she saw me first. Not the driver. That she liked me anyway.

There was a brief pause. Then:

[TEXT FROM LANDO]Okay That’s… actually really nice Ugh. Gross. Feelings.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]Did she kiss you?

Oscar hesitated, then sent:

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]Yes.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]More than once?

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]I’m not answering that.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]That’s a yes You soft little pancake

Oscar laughed, leaning back against the pillows.

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]It’s different with her. I don’t feel like I’m being watched. Or judged. I feel... still.

[TEXT FROM LANDO]Wow. Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my teammate?

[TEXT FROM LANDO]Seriously, though. That sounds good. I’m happy for you, mate.

Oscar stared at the message for a long time. The flat was quiet around him. The lights outside the window blinked across the skyline. And for once, he wasn’t counting laps or corners. He was just... sitting with it.

[TEXT FROM OSCAR]Yeah. Me too.

He silenced the phone and placed it face-down on the nightstand. Then he let out a quiet breath, ran a hand through his hair, and turned out the light.

In the dark, his mind flicked through the night like a slideshow, Edith in that blue dress, laughing with her eyes crinkling at the corners. The kids. The committee. Her saying she liked him anyway.

---------------------------------------------------

Sunday mornings in the flat usually smelled like maple syrup and felt like slightly controlled chaos.

Edith had barely tied her hair up when Ivy came bounding into the kitchen wearing mismatched socks and a pair of sunglasses that had definitely been pilfered from the lost-and-found basket at the café.

“Mum,” she said with the seriousness of a detective mid-investigation. “We have questions.”

Eddie followed behind her, dragging his stuffed polar bear, his mouth already stained faintly with jam. “Very important questions.”

Edith raised an eyebrow as she flipped the pancake on the skillet. “If this is about how many syrup bottles we can use at once, the answer is one.”

“Nope,” Ivy said, plopping into a chair. “It’s about Oscar.”

Edith blinked. “Oscar?”

“He’s on the internet,” Ivy announced, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper with what looked like printed screenshots. “Like, a lot. There’s videos. Of him driving. Really fast.”

Eddie nodded gravely. “Faster than that scary taxi we took last winter.”

“You Googled him?”

“Auntie Angie did it because we wanted to know if he was famous-famous like uncle Luke said” Ivy said. “Turns out? Super famous.”

Eddie held up one finger. “There’s a picture of him on a podium holding a trophy. And another one with a fireproof suit. Like a superhero!”

Before Edith could respond, the buzzer rang.

She froze, spatula in hand, and tried to hide the immediate smile that rose to her lips. “That’s probably him.”

Ivy and Eddie squealed like puppies and bolted down the hall before she could stop them. She heard Ivy shout, “WE HAVE QUESTIONS!” through the intercom.

By the time Edith opened the door, Oscar was standing there with a bakery bag in one hand and an expression that said he’d been greeted more gently by the Monaco press.

“Good morning,” he said cautiously. “I bought croissants and also fear.”

Edith bit back a laugh. “They found Google, didn’t they?”

“Oh, they found Google,” Oscar said, stepping inside. “I think I’ve been fact-checked.”

Ivy immediately grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the couch. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a race car driver?!”

“I didn’t want to make it weird,” Oscar said, letting himself be pulled.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a fireproof suit?”

“Technically I have five,” Oscar said, sitting down.

The twins gasped.

“Can we wear them?”

“No.”

“Can you drive us in a race car?”

“No.”

“Can you name a race car after us?”

Oscar smiled. “I’ll consider it.”

Edith stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching the scene unfold. There was something so strange, and lovely, about watching someone like Oscar, someone who spent his life in roaring engines and press rooms, sit here calmly answering questions about whether Formula 1 cars had cup holders.

He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t showing off. He was just in it, open, real, and somehow still a little shy, even as Ivy tried to convince him to autograph a cereal box.

When she finally stepped in with a plate of pancakes, Oscar looked up at her with quiet gratitude, like he wasn’t just grateful for breakfast, but for the whole morning.

“Coffee?” she asked, setting the plate down beside him.

“Always,” he said.

Ivy leaned into him dramatically. “You’re famous-famous and you drink coffee. You’re basically a grown-up.”

Oscar grinned. “Don’t tell anyone.”

As the kettle whistled and the twins argued about whether “Team Oscar” sounded better than “Team Pancake,” Edith felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nerves.

It was ease.

And watching Oscar laugh, head tilted back, cheeks slightly flushed, as Eddie tried to feed him a bite of syrup-drenched waffle, she realized something:

Maybe he didn’t just fit into this little life of theirs.

Maybe, just maybe, he belonged.

The sun was dipping low, the kind of late-summer evening that made everything feel softer. The flat smelled like shampoo and the lingering sweetness of strawberry ice cream. The twins had collapsed into a post-playdate heap on the couch after watching two full episodes of Bluey, giggling until they were sleepy-eyed and tangled in the same blanket.

Oscar helped Edith gather up the toys and stuffed animals scattered across the living room floor. Eddie's polar bear had ended up half under the kitchen table again. Oscar retrieved it without question, like it had become part of his unofficial duties.

“Do they ever stop moving?” he asked with a laugh, tossing the bear back onto the couch.

“No,” Edith replied, smiling as she flicked off the TV. “They just recharge for twenty minutes, then start again.”

She moved toward the kitchen, rinsing two tiny bowls in the sink, her motions automatic, practiced. Oscar stood nearby, leaning against the counter, watching her with quiet admiration.

“They like you,” she said over the running water. “A lot.”

“I like them too,” he said. “I mean, they’re chaos. But they’re... really good chaos.”

There was a brief silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just waiting for one of them to push through it.

Edith dried her hands on a towel and glanced his way. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you doing all this?” Her voice was soft. Not accusing, just... uncertain. “The pancakes, the park trips, watching Bluey three times in a row?”

Oscar shifted his weight, unsure how to say it out loud. “Because I want to. Because I want to be around you.”

She looked down, then up again. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not,” he said, more firmly this time. “I just... I like this. I like you. I like them. I like how it all feels when I’m here.”

Edith studied him for a second, and then stepped back, leaning against the other side of the counter. She crossed her arms lightly, more for warmth than defense.

“Their dad left before they were born,” she said quietly. “Found out I was pregnant and decided he wasn’t ready. Or didn’t want to be ready. I haven’t seen him since.”

Oscar didn’t say anything right away. He knew not to rush the silence.

“They’re turning five in November,” she added. “And not once have they asked why he’s not around. I don’t know if that’s good or sad.”

“It’s not sad,” he said. “They have you. And... maybe they’ll have someone else too. If you let me keep being part of this.”

She looked at him, a mix of something careful and something hopeful in her expression. “You’re younger than me, you know.”

“Only barely.”

“Still, it’s 3 years apart.”

“Still doesn’t bother me.”

Another pause. Softer now.

Oscar scratched the back of his neck, suddenly nervous in a way that surprised even him. “I’ve been trying to say something, actually. But it feels kind of... too big? And also not enough? And also maybe I’m going to totally mess it up.”

Edith tilted her head slightly. “What is it?”

“I think I’m…” he started, then stopped.

She waited, patient.

“I think I’m on my way to being really... I mean, I already did…” He sighed. “I really, really like you. And it’s kind of past the like part. But I don’t want to make it weird or scare you or,”

Edith stepped closer, reached out, and touched his hand gently.

“Say it,” she whispered. “If you want to.”

Oscar looked down at their hands, then up into her eyes.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said. “Actually, I think I already have.”

She didn’t speak right away. Just smiled, soft and full of something deep and steady. Then she leaned up and kissed him, slow, deliberate, full of promise.

“I’m glad,” she said against his lips. “Because I think I’m falling too.”

From the couch, a sleepy voice broke the silence.

“Are you kissing again?” Eddie mumbled.

Oscar laughed, forehead resting gently against Edith’s. “Definitely part of the chaos.”

That evening the flat smelled like garlic, roasted vegetables, and something vaguely burnt that Oscar insisted was “intentionally crispy.” Edith was fairly certain it wasn’t, but she let him have it. He was too proud of his tray of “race-day roast potatoes” to argue with.

Luke had already poured himself a glass of wine before sitting down. Angie brought a stack of homemade brownies she swore she “barely burnt this time,” and the twins were already deep in a heated debate about what is the best episode of Bluey. 

Oscar helped Edith set the table, brushing her arm gently as he passed her the forks. It was the kind of domestic rhythm that felt natural, like something they’d done a hundred times. And maybe, Edith thought, they would do it a hundred more.

Luke took a bite of potato, paused, and gave Oscar a skeptical nod. “Alright, McLaren. Not bad.”

“I’ve been trained by the best,” Oscar said, glancing at Edith.

“You cooked with me once and used three full cloves of garlic,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“And they were delicious cloves.”

Angie smirked into her wine glass. “Honestly, it’s a miracle none of this has gone viral yet. Race car driver makes Sunday dinner and survives.”

Luke leaned in, elbows on the table. “So, has anyone stopped you on the street yet, Oscar? Any selfie requests outside the café?”

Oscar shook his head, sheepish. “I’ve had a pretty good disguise so far: not wearing the fireproof suit.”

Ivy perked up from her seat. “Can I wear the fireproof suit?”

“Not yet, maybe when you are older,” Oscar said gently, “but I can get you a hat.”

Eddie gasped. “A racing hat?”

“Even better,” Oscar said. “An official one.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, intrigued. “Alright, Piastri. Since the kids are getting merch, I’m going to ask: when will you leave for the next race?”

Oscar wiped his hands on a napkin. “Actually... that’s kind of what I wanted to bring up.”

Everyone turned to look at him, Edith, Luke, Angie, and the two suddenly-wide-awake twins.

“I was thinking,” he said slowly, “if you’re all up for it... maybe you could come to the next Grand Prix. As my guests.”

Silence.

Then a collective explosion.

“Wait! seriously?” Angie nearly dropped her wine glass.

“You mean actual paddock passes?” Luke asked, eyes gleaming like he’d just been gifted a rare Pokémon card.

“Pit lane? Garage tour? Hospitality?”

Oscar shrugged like it was nothing, but he was already grinning. “I mean, yeah. If you want. I can get you passes, flights, everything.”

Ivy clapped her hands. “Do we get to wear matching outfits?!”

Eddie looked equally thrilled. “Do we get snacks?”

“Absolutely to both,” Oscar said. “I can promise you’ll love the track food.”

“Can we meet other drivers too, please say yes Oscar!” Luke said with heart-eyes literally. 

“I’ll see if I can pull some strings but yes.”

Edith was staring at him now, not with surprise, not exactly, but with something warmer. Something quieter.

“You’d really do all that?” she asked softly.

Oscar glanced at her, a little nervous now. “Yeah. I mean... It's a big part of my life. And you’re all a big part of my life now too. So it feels right.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s one way to say I love you in group form.”

Oscar flushed. “I already said that, actually.”

Edith reached for his hand under the table. “You did. And now you’re trying to prove it with hats and hospitality.”

Angie raised her glass. “To love, racing, and possibly matching team uniforms.”

“To chaos!” Ivy added.

“To yummy snacks!” Eddie shouted.

They all laughed, the kind of laughter that spills over into the night and sticks to the walls, the kind that makes a place feel like home.

Oscar glanced around the table, cheeks still slightly pink, heart full.

Instagram Posts: @/Edithlovesedit

Liked by @/Angiethebougie, @/Luckyluke and 268 people.

@/Edithlovesedit: How I love being a woman at night and on mom's duties in the morning.

view all comments

@/Luckyluke: I saw a MILF

-> @/Angiethebougie: how i want to be that MILF

-> @/Edithlovesedit: u wanna try?

-> @/oscarpiastri: a very hot MILF, indeed (this comment has been deleted)

-> @/Luckyluke: man got rizz?

-> @/Edithlovesedit: what is rizz??

-> @/Angiethebougie: Charisma, babe

-> @/Edithlovesedit: oh that he's got plenty of it 😚

@/lando: hi comittee 🙌🏻

-> @oscarpiastri: go away lando

-> @/lando: ouch

-> @/lando: guess u will have to ask ur sisters for the advice mr.piastri

@/user404: guys what is lando and oscar doing here?

@/user233: maybe old fr?

@/user2021: idk about u but this momma is so pretty and she is a baker too

@/user44: wait i think that's oscar in the pic?

-> @/user16: let get u back to bed grandma

-> @/user27: ur delulu hits hard, gurl

@/user372: are they twins?

-> @/Edithlovesedit: yes they are twins, the girl is a tad bit older

@/user198: oh I know her, she is the coffee shop's owner in my town... her cinnamon swirl is chefs kiss

-> @/user22: yes is it the bean & blossom, they are quite aesthetic

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[whyse7vn]

MIN YOONGI

FAVOURITE:

Yoongi prides himself in being your favourite.

Relishes in knowing he’s your favourite. Yoongi has always carried this certain smugness to him because of it. Yoongi imagines you hold him on a pedestal in your mind. Above Namjoon above Jungkook above them all because Yoongi is your favourite always has been always will be.

Your first.

Your favourite.

Yoongi was 25 when he first realised he was your favourite. You had kissed him the night before you were set to move in with Jungkook on the rooftop of your shared dorm building the sun set and the air cool.

“Yoongi i’m sorry i—”

“Don’t apologise” He tucks a piece of loose hair behind your ear your cheeks dust a pretty shade of pink.

Cute.

Yoongi moves his hand away from your face and turns to lean over the balcony eyes now taking in the view of Gangnam after hours.

“How come you’re here? didnt Namjoon want to speak to you or something?”

“Oh uh yeah!”

You’re flustered by the sudden question.

Cute.

“-he did but uh Namjoon can wait… right?”

You play with your hands as you speak your tone of voice anything but confident.

“Right” Yoongi confirms.

Namjoon can wait.

Namjoon will wait.

Sure Yoongi feels a little guilty on keeping Joon waiting but his ego is way too high right now pride practically overflowing.

“You picked me over Namjoon”

He’s giddy body warm with emotion.

“What?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not that he heard you anyways, too many thoughts consume him in this moment. He wishes he could stop time. Wishes he could take a photo of this moment wishes he could replay this scene over and over again wishes he could write down the exact words the exact touches you had just exchanged on a piece of paper and hang it in a museum for all to see. Call him psychotic call him insane he’s way beyond caring at this point because this moment right here means everything to him. So long of silently fighting to be at the forefront of your mind and finally an opening.

An opening you had gone out of your way to create for him.

You had picked him.

Yoongi.

Right now over Namjoon.

But Yoongi knows this is just the start. If he plays his cards right, which he will, and successfully roots himself as your first and your favourite.

In his peripheral watches the way you slightly bounce on the balls of your feet.

He knows you’re nervous and he knows he has to take advantage of that. He knows he has to get you hooked to solidify his place as your favourite. He knows he has to-

“Listen Yoongi, if i made you uncomfortable or…”

He turns to face you again.

“Let me kiss you for real this time”

—

6 Months after your shared kiss and one or two (definitely more) ‘casual hookups’ Yoongi is aware you’ve slept with Jungkook that you actively sleep with Jungkook.

Yoongi actually found out you were fucking messing with Jungkook from you yourself. The guilt of sleeping with another man behind Yoongi’s back eating you up so bad that you just had to blurt it out over your shared chinese at 3 AM. Yoongi had assured you that it was fine. I mean it was Jungkook…. Jeon Jungkook like loser Jeon Jungkook who had been telling you he loved you since he was 16 yet the relationship between you unchanging.

Oh, right…

he guesses it has changed now you know, you mess around and stuff. But it’s not like Jungkook is your boyfriend or- …okay so maybe it’s not completely ‘fine’ in Yoongi’s mind that you’re messing around with Jungkook he might be a little jealous but admittedly Yoongi sleeps with other people here and there too he can’t be a hypocrite now!

And it was inevitable, well that’s what he tells himself. You’re both the same age, live in the same house and Jungkook is clearly into you and you—

it doesn’t matter because it was inevitable.

Inevitable yet unchanging of Yoongi’s position as your favourite. That he wants to be is sure of. Because from 9 to 5 to 10 3 or 12 Yoongi is the one you call, work hours he’s the one you bother and after work hours he’s the one occupying your time. Not Jungkook not anyone else just Yoongi, your favourite.

—

When you became close with the members of seventeen Yoongi still stood confident in his position as your favourite. When you went on that date with Mingyu, when those pictures of you and Sungcheol got leaked when you wouldn’t stop talking about that Woozi guy, Yoongi was certain he was still your favourite. Sure he did get into a couple of fights broken a few bones but it was all within reason and definitely not because his position as your favourite felt as if it was being threatened.

Yoongi has always been your favourite

from the moment you gave him the opportunity to be

from the moment you kissed him

from the moments you’ve chosen him over someone else

from Minho to the Seventeen guys to Jungkook you’ve always come back to Yoongi.

Always.

So those 4 1/2 months,not that he was counting, you were with Jaehyun Yoongi for the first time was admittedly worried.

Worried.

So fucking worried.

You suddenly like sand in his hands 4 1/2 months of torture.

Slipping through his fingers.

4 1/2 months of waiting.

Right in front of his eyes.

4 1/2 months of wondering.

Unsure on what to do.

4 1/2 months of doubt.

4 1/2 months of regret.

4 1/2 months of cheap alcohol.

4 1/2 months of unsent messages.

4 1/2 months you sand slipping through his fingers. Yoongi unsure on what to do.

The day you a Jaehyun broke up Yoongi was already one foot out the door but Namjoon told him not go and then Hobi sent a text saying you were with him and then 30 minutes later another saying you were on your way to see… Tae?

You still sand slipping through his fingers but it shouldn’t be like that no not now because Yoongi is your favourite. Your first your favourite and you’re not in a relationship so things should be back to normal but you, still sand slipping through his fingers no- Days pass he thinks about you going to Tae he thinks about you Taehyung and Namjoon, he remembers Hoseok punching Jaehyun sand NO he thinks about valentine’s day you, Seokjin Taehyung slipping through his fingers. Jungkook and you but he is your first so why are you still—

Sand.

Slipping through his fingers.

Why?

It’s not a question of why anymore, is it?

Yes Min Yoongi your first.

But your favourite?

False.

Min Yoongi was never your favourite

but you,

definitely his.

—

some overall context this is from yoongi’s pov so if like points contradict and shit if just representation of how his mind is atm and all that like yeah idk if it translated well lmk :3

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