#everything has its time and everything dies

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Fourteen

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.

Notes — Oscar Piastri the man that you are...

Feed the writer with your reactions/thoughts/feelings!<3

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The silence in the room was thick—real and heavy, like fog that clung to the skin.

Ana sat on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn up, hands fisted in the sleeves of her hoodie. The soft ticking of the clock marked the seconds between breaths. Toto stood by the fireplace, unmoving. Susie sat across from her, a mug of tea cooling in her lap.

No one said anything for a while.

She’d expected immediate yelling. A lecture. Maybe a slammed door. But instead, there was only this quiet—suffocating in its stillness.

Toto finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate, like he was weighing every syllable. “I would like to know what has been going on, Ana. All of it.”

Ana swallowed. Her throat was dry, and her palms were damp, but her bones felt cold.

She’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times. In bathrooms. In rehab. On long walks where she spoke the truth to no one. She’d cried through it. Laughed once. But none of those versions felt anything like this.

“I need you to promise,” she said, voice thin, “that you won’t hate me.”

Toto looked at her for a long time. “You are my daughter. I could never hate you.”

Her stomach twisted.

She looked down at her sleeve and picked at a loose thread. “I lied,” she said.

Neither of them moved. She almost wished they would—flinch, blink, something.

“I’m not a year sober,” she said quietly. “It’s… only been eight months. Nine on Wednesday.”

Susie exhaled softly, but still said nothing.

“There were relapses,” Ana went on. “Two of them. One was at two months. I thought I could manage a glass of champagne at a dinner party. But it turned into three shots of vodka in the bathroom before dessert. And then I found a gram in an old coat.”

Her chest ached—not from the shame, but from how easy it had been.

Toto sat down slowly across from her, elbows on his knees. His expression was unreadable.

“The second time was worse,” Ana said, voice wobbling. “Four months in. I was alone. You were both in England. I had a panic attack, and I didn’t call anyone. I called my old dealer instead. He brought me everything I needed.” She paused, then lowered her voice further. “That’s when I needed stitches. I told you I fell down the stairs.”

Susie’s hands tightened around her mug, but she didn’t speak.

“I blacked out,” Ana whispered. “Smashed a glass. Woke up on the bathroom floor. There was blood everywhere. I’d cut my head somehow—I don’t even remember how. I called Lewis because I knew he was in Monaco; he’d posted something on Instagram.”

Toto leaned back slowly. Still silent. Still listening.

“I was so scared you’d give up on me,” she whispered. “That you’d be ashamed of me. That maybe you wouldn’t let me see Jack anymore because I was a liability again. And I don’t think I could’ve survived that.”

The silence stretched, unbearably long.

When Toto finally spoke, it was quiet. “I would never be ashamed of you. But I will always be disappointed when you lie.”

She nodded, throat thick. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You could have died, Ana,” Susie said softly.

“I know.”

“You almost did,” she added, voice trembling. “So many times, honey.”

“I know.” She sniffled.

Susie placed her mug carefully on the table, then reached across to take Ana’s hand. Her palm was warm. Steady.

Toto watched them, his eyes searching her face. “Who is this… Lucian?”

Ana blinked. “He’s… Jules’ brother.”

“And what does he do?”

She hesitated.

She could lie. Say nightclub. Say private venue. Say anything but the truth. But hadn’t that been the problem?

“He owns a club,” she said. “A private one. Here in Monaco.”

Toto’s brow lifted. “A nightclub?”

“Not exactly.” Her stomach turned. Her cheeks flushed. The room felt warmer. “It’s… um. It’s an adult club.”

Silence.

Heavy. Unblinking.

Ana could feel her father’s stare.

Susie tilted her head slightly, face unreadable—but not unkind.

“I know how that sounds,” Ana said quickly. “But it’s not seedy or dangerous. It’s… incredibly safe. There are rules. No drugs. Everyone’s vetted. Lucian’s scary strict about safety.”

“And that’s where you’ve been spending your time?” Toto asked, slowly.

She nodded. “Sometimes. It’s called Valhalla.”

Toto closed his eyes. “Of course it is.”

Ana groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“I’m trying not to,” he said tightly. “But it’s proving difficult.”

“I don’t drink there,” she said. “Ever. And Lucian keeps an eye on me. Jules too. He doesn’t let anyone near us if they’re a problem. It’s one of the only places where I feel like I can actually breathe.”

Susie’s lips tightened into a line.

Toto looked at her again. “And… Piastri?”

Her heart fluttered. Ana looked down. “We met there. At Valhalla.”

“I see.”

“He wasn’t—Lucian knew him. Thought we might get along, so he introduced us. And I recognised him, obviously, but—he didn’t recognise me. Didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know how damaged I was. How terrible I’d been…” She trailed off, throat closing. “I hated lying to him,” she said. “But I thought—I didn’t think I deserved the way I felt around him. That happiness.”

Susie’s eyes were glassy now.

Ana’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s so… kind.”

Toto let out a breath. “You care for him.”

“I do.”

“And he knows everything?”

“Yes. Now he does. I told him last night.”

Toto raised an eyebrow. “And he was kind to you? He acted like a man?”

Ana nodded. “Yes, papa.”

He didn’t speak. Not for a long time.

When she finally looked up, she braced for anger. Or disappointment. Or distance.

But Toto only looked tired. A little sad.

“You are still learning how to live in your own skin,” he said at last. “And that’s hard. Harder than most people understand.”

Ana’s throat tightened.

“But I will always want you safe,” he added. “Even when you push me away. Even when you lie.”

“I don’t want to lie anymore,” she said, voice breaking.

“Then don’t,” he said firmly. “Start here. Start now.”

She nodded. Swallowed hard.

“I’ll try,” she said. “I am trying.”

Susie squeezed her hand. “No more lies. No more secrets.”

“I promise.” Ana breathed. And meant it.

—

Ana sat on the windowsill in her bedroom, knees hugged to her chest, forehead resting against the cool pane of glass.

The house was quiet. Still. The kind of silence that pressed in around her temples and made her skin itch.

She could still hear Nate’s voice—loud, broken, shaking with rage. The way he’d looked at her like she’d sicced Lucian on him like a dog. Like she’d wanted him to be beaten up. Orchestrated it.

She hadn’t.

But she understood why it happened.

Lucian didn’t lose control. Not like that. He wasn’t impulsive. He wasn’t theatrical. He calculated. Measured. Watched from behind those tall, icy walls and made his decisions cold and clean.

And the only time he ever let those walls crack open was when someone crossed a line they couldn’t come back from.

Nate hadn’t just crossed a line.

He’d lit a match in a room soaked with gasoline.

He’d humiliated her. Publicly. Turned her sobriety into a punchline. Reduced years of struggle, of pain, of clawing her way back from the brink—to content. A comedy skit with commentary. Something strangers could laugh about in their group chats.

Lucian had seen it. That meant Jules had too. Probably everyone at Valhalla by now.

And Lucian had done what no one else had.

He’d done what he thought might make it end.

So no—Ana wasn’t angry at him.

She wasn’t surprised, either.

But she was sitting in the aftershock of it, her chest hollow, her throat raw, because Nate was still her brother. And even if he hated her—even if some part of him always had—she didn’t want to be the reason someone hurt him like that.

She hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

Her phone was warm in her hand. She kept unlocking it, then locking it again.

Nate’s name stared back at her. Like a cliff’s edge. Like a dare. Like a door she could walk through if she wanted to get sucker-punched with more hurt than what she already wore like a second skin.

She could send a text. Say something simple.

“I’m sorry.”

Or—

“I didn’t ask Lucian to do that.”

But even in her head, it rang false. Not because it wasn’t technically true—but because it didn’t change anything. Didn’t undo what was already done.

What she really wanted to say was messier.

“I didn’t ask him to hurt you. But I’m not sorry he did.”

She closed the messaging app.

Whatever Nate needed to feel better, it wasn’t going to come from her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And anyway—she needed to see Lucian.

She needed to look him in the eye, in that low-lit, pulsing office of his, and tell him she understood. That she knew what it meant for him to act like that. That she got it—what it cost him, what it meant. That she wasn’t mad.

That maybe—God help her—part of her had felt safe for the first time in years when she found out what he’d done.

But she didn’t want to walk into Valhalla alone.

Not tonight. Not like this.

Too raw. Too fragile.

She scrolled to Oscar’s name. Hovered.

He might be busy. Might have plans. But he’d told her—anytime. And even the thought of sitting next to him in the car, quiet, maybe holding his hand, made something in her chest settle.

She pressed call.

It rang twice.

“Hey, pretty girl,” came his voice—soft, warm. Familiar in a way that made her ribs ache.

“Hi,” she said, voice quiet. “Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for you.” A pause. “You okay?”

She hesitated. Picked at a fraying thread on her sleeve. “Do you think… that you could maybe take me to Valhalla tonight?”

There was a pause. Not long, but she could feel the weight of it. “Baby—”

“I don’t want to scene,” she cut in, her cheeks flaming. “Or anything like that. I’m not in the right place for anything like that. I just… I need to talk to Lucian.”

“To Lucian?” he echoed. There was a question buried under the words.

“Yeah.” Her throat tightened. “In person.”

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know.” She dragged a breath into her lungs. “I mean—yeah. My brother… he was at the house this morning when I woke up. He’s got a black eye and a split lip. Lucian did it.”

Oscar exhaled slowly. “Well. That’s one thing off my mind.”

Ana blinked. “What—you wanted to hit him?”

“Not me, exactly,” Oscar said dryly. “But Lando’s been making some… let’s say concerning comments. Something about knowing where Nate hangs out. Mentioned brass knuckles.”

Ana laughed, shocked. “No. No way. Little Lando Norris really said that?”

Oscar chuckled. “Little?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling despite herself. “I met him a few times. Back when… everything.”

“I know,” Oscar said gently. “He mentioned it. Go on—tell me.”

Ana curled a little tighter against the window, her smile softening into something sadder. “He was short. Still is, I guess. A little shorter than me. But so kind, you know? Back then, when I was at my worst... the other drivers were polite, mostly. But you could see it in their eyes—they thought I was radioactive. Lando never did.”

Oscar stayed quiet on the line.

“He used to let me tag along at parties. Ask him stupid questions. Follow him and his mates around like some stray. He was never embarrassed to be seen with me. And he always—always—fell asleep in the weirdest places. Like curled up on a beanbag in someone’s kitchen, snoring.” She paused, swallowing. “He didn’t realise how dark it got. How bad the people around us really were. He was soft. Too soft. I used to pay people off to leave him alone. He didn’t even know. He was an easy target.” Her voice caught. “We were almost the same age, but he felt younger. I don’t know why.”

Oscar was quiet for a beat longer. “He still is. Kind, I mean. He’s changed, grown up, but he’s still a good guy.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see. “I’m glad.”

A moment passed.

“I’ll be there at seven,” Oscar said. “You want me to drive up or just text when I’m out front?”

“Text,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

“Alright. You remember your safe-word?”

She made a face at the shift in tone, but hummed. “Yeah—Scuderia.”

“Good.” His voice softened further. “I know this is still new, but when we’re at the club, I’ll be that way with you. Even if we’re not scening. We can talk more in the car, yeah?”

It wasn’t really a question. She nodded anyway. “Okay,” she said quietly, cheeks flushed.

“Wear something orange. A bracelet, a belt, whatever. Just something orange, alright?”

Ana bit her lip. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, pretty girl.”

They hung up.

She stayed at the window a minute longer, forehead pressed to the glass, watching dusk spill across the skyline.

Somewhere across town, her big brother probably still hated her.

Maybe more than ever.

And—miraculously—she couldn’t bring herself to care.

—

From the window of his study, Toto watched Ana step outside, cardigan sleeves tugged over her hands, shoulders slightly hunched. She paused at the curb, glancing once over her shoulder, as if to check whether anyone was watching.

He stayed still.

A black car pulled in through the gates and onto the gravel second later—sleek, understated. The boy stepped out to open the passenger door for her.

At least he has manners, Toto thought.

Ana gave a small smile, said something too quiet to hear. Oscar replied. She climbed in.

The door shut.

Toto exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

Oscar Piastri.

Of all the people she could have let in. Of all the men in the world, it had to be a driver.

Not Lewis. Not George. Men he knew, men whose faults he could name and measure. Men who had been through enough fire to know when to keep their hands steady. Men who wouldn’t flinch from a woman like Ana—not because they didn’t care, but because they understood what caring actually cost.

But no. It had to be this mystery—Oscar.

Quiet. Young. Careful on track in a way that Toto respected, but knew he would outgrow in a matter of time. 

It wasn’t that he doubted the boy’s intentions—he didn’t.

He doubted his experience.

Ana was porcelain, yes. But she was also flame. And flame didn’t care how carefully you held it—it burned anyway.

He watched the car pull away, watched it turn the corner and disappear.

His reflection ghosted back at him in the glass, older than he remembered being.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe this was what it meant to let her live her life.

Still, for a fleeting, irrational moment, he couldn’t help but think: ‘Why couldn’t it have been George? Or Lewis? Someone I already trust with the weight of the world.’

He closed the curtain.

And let her go anyway.

—

The car was warm, quiet save for the soft hum of tires on tarmac. Monaco blurred past the window in flashes of dusky gold and streetlamp silver, the world shrinking to just the interior of Oscar’s car and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her.

Ana sat curled in the passenger seat, fingers twisting lightly at the orange bangle on her wrist—Hermès, enamel, a gift from a version of herself that still wanted pretty things. She didn’t know why she wore it tonight. Except… she did.

Oscar glanced over, one hand loose on the wheel. “That the orange thing you picked?”

She nodded, holding it out. The bangle caught a glint of passing light.

His gaze flicked to it, then to her. “Looks good on you,” he murmured.

Her cheeks warmed, but she only said, “You said to wear something orange.”

“I know.” He smiled faintly. “Didn’t think you’d go full luxury catalogue on me.”

She made a face. “You want me to take it off?”

“No,” he said, low. “Leave it on. I told you to were it, didn’t I?” He reached over then—just slow enough to give her time to move, to say no—but she didn’t. She sat still as his hand found her thigh, fingers warm against the soft denim just above her knee. His thumb moved in a slow arc. Comforting. Possessive in a way that didn’t frighten her.

Ana swallowed. Her body reacted like it always did—tension, breath catching—but it was different, now. Different with him. It wasn’t fear. It was awareness.

“You’re quiet,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

She traced her thumb along the edge of her bangle. “I keep thinking I’m going to mess this up. Somehow.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“Am I?” she asked, glancing at him.

Oscar’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh. “Yeah, pretty girl. You are.”

Silence stretched for a minute, soft and tentative.

Then he spoke again, voice low. Measured. “When we’re at Valhalla tonight, I want to look after you. In a more… structured way.”

Ana tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll order your drinks for you—non-alcoholic, obviously. I’ll walk half a step in front of you. I’ll tell you where to sit, and I’ll keep an eye on everything going on around us. I’ll touch you when you need grounding, and I’ll expect you to tell me if something doesn’t feel right. You can safe-word at any time, even if it’s just because you want to go home.”

Her breath hitched, but not from panic.

He glanced at her. “Does that sound like something you’d like?”

She hesitated. “I think… I think it sounds like something I need.”

He nodded once. “Good. Because I think it’ll help. You’ve spent so long carrying yourself, making a thousand decisions every second to stay upright. I want to take some of that off your shoulders tonight.”

“And if I safe-word?” she asked quietly.

Oscar’s voice softened. “Then we take a breather. Or I take you home. Or we go for a drive. Or to a quiet rooftop to eat chips and cuddle. Whatever you need. Safe-wording doesn’t change how I feel about you. Doesn’t make you weak. Doesn’t make you any less of a good submissive.”

Ana looked down at his hand, still resting firm and gentle on her leg. “What if I’m… too much?”

“You’re not.”

“What if I am?”

“Then I’ll just have more of you to hold onto, won’t I?”

Her chest burned. She turned her hand over in her lap, palm facing him. An invitation.

Oscar didn’t hesitate. He laced their fingers together, his touch steady and sure.

“You still good with ‘Scuderia’?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Alright,” he said, giving her hand the slightest squeeze. “Tonight we’ll talk to Lucian. After that, you stay close. I’ll take care of everything.”

Ana leaned her head against the window, the glass cool against her temple. For the first time all day, her lungs filled properly. Not shallow, not sharp. Just air—steady and clean.

She didn’t know what would happen with Lucian. She didn’t know what would happen with Nate. But right now, right here, she didn’t have to figure it all out.

Oscar would hold the line for her.

And for a little while, she could just be.

—

A YEAR AGO

Sobriety was fickle.

It came in quiet, like a tide—gentle, almost apologetic. And then it receded just as fast, without warning, leaving her gasping and raw on the shore.

Ana sat on the edge of the exam table, legs swinging slightly, the crinkling paper beneath her sounding too loud in the sterile quiet. The air smelled of antiseptic and money—overcleaned, overprepared. She couldn’t tell if it was the doctor speaking now or the nurse. Their voices blurred together, overlapping and meaningless, like waves folding over each other.

Her father stood in the corner, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. A leather folder rested in his hands—monogrammed, expensive, unnecessary. He flipped it open now and then, not to read but to gesture. “We need clarity on her liver enzymes,” he said, like he’d ever known what that meant before a handful of months ago.

A nurse pressed her fingers against the inside of Ana’s elbow, brushing over the raised scabbing. “You’re going to have some pretty gnarly scarring,” she muttered, snapping on gloves.

Ana didn’t flinch. She just watched the way her skin puckered around the touch, how her body still remembered everything even if she didn’t want to.

Her father again: “And the tox screen? She’s been clean, yes? For how long now—sixty-eight days?”

Sixty-nine, Ana thought. But she didn’t bother correcting him. It didn’t matter. Sixty-nine days wasn’t anything. It wasn’t even a full season. It was barely a breath in the life she’d lived.

She stared up at the ceiling instead, counting light panels like she used to count doses. One, two, three, four. Sometimes they were constellations. Sometimes just cracks.

“Ms. Wolff?” the doctor prompted. 

Ana blinked. “What?”

“I asked how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine.”

“Any cravings? Nightmares? Mood swings?”

“I’m fine,” she said again, sharper now.

From the corner, her father shifted. The leather creaked faintly in his hands. He hated when she lied—not because she lied, but because she did it so well.

“She’s disassociating,” the doctor murmured, like she wasn’t sitting right there. “We may want to consider grounding techniques. Equine therapy, perhaps.”

“I’m not riding a fucking horse,” Ana said flatly, without looking up.

The doctor gave a placid, professional smile. Her father did not.

Silence followed—dense and heavy. The kind of silence that filled places like this: clinical rooms, courtrooms, confessionals. Ana waited for it to pass.

Eventually came the rustle of paper, the dull snap of the folder closing, the whisper of expensive shoes against linoleum. The appointment was ending. Or restarting. They never truly ended—not when the doctor was on retainer, and her father’s desperation was supported by a black card.

Ana slid off the table. The paper clung to the backs of her thighs, peeling away with a sound like Velcro. She caught her reflection in the metal of the supply cabinet—sharp collarbones, hollow cheeks, wrists thin as twigs. She looked half-there. Less like a girl and more like a memory.

“I’m starving,” she said suddenly, the words coming out cracked and unsure. Like her voice wasn’t used to naming needs anymore. “Can we get burgers?”

Her father’s head snapped up. His face didn’t soften, exactly, but there was something just shy of hope flickering behind his eyes. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He was already reaching for his phone. “Anywhere you want. We can have them brought in. Or—no, we’ll go. Let’s go. There’s that place you used to like—Stillman’s?”

“I don’t like Stillman’s.”

“Oh.” He hesitated. “Well… wherever. You pick. McDonald’s?”

It was absurd, really. The man in the ten-thousand-euro suit offering her a Happy Meal. But he meant it. He meant it in that frayed, frantic way he always did now. Like every bite she took was a battle he couldn’t afford to lose.

She used to sneer at burgers. Once, when she was ten, she’d cried because her sandwich didn’t have arugula. Now she could barely keep toast down. And here she was, asking for meat and grease and sugar like it was oxygen.

“I want a milkshake,” she said, softer. “Chocolate. Like, the shitty kind. With whipped cream and sprinkles.”

Something in his face broke open—relief maybe, or fear, or both. “Good,” he said. “We’ll get milkshakes. Right now.”

He held the door open like he was afraid she’d disappear again if he didn’t keep her in sight. She walked past him—still too thin, still fragile—but upright. And that was something.

Behind her, a nurse muttered just loud enough to hear: “At least she’s trying this time.”

Ana stopped. Turned. Her smile was razor-sharp.

“Go fuck yourself,” she said, sweet as the milkshake she was about to treasure.

—

Now, in the car, she watched Oscar out of the corner of her eye. He looked good behind the wheel—comfortable, confident, completely present in a way that made her feel steady just watching him.

She bit her lip.

“After the club,” she said hesitantly, “can we—” she cut herself off.

Oscar turned to her briefly, his hand still warm on her thigh. “Anything, baby. Just name it.”

She hesitated. “Can we—Maybe can we go and get milkshakes?”

His smile bloomed slow and soft, something golden in the dimness of the car. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “We can get milkshakes.”

[ailaafterdark]

OKAY so I finally watched Kpop Demon Hunters and oh my god—I immediately got obsessed. I've watched it over and over and honestly haven't stopped talking about it (I'm 80% sure I annoyed my friends and my brother a few times, oops)

‎I just love the characters so much. Our gorgeous and beloved Huntrix?? That hot-shot demon boy band?? The drama?? THE SONGS 😭😭 Sure, the movie has its flaws, but honestly it did such a good job showing off Korean culture with the whole K-pop angle!

‎Anyway. I've got like a thousand fanfic ideas running wild in my head right now, but I really want to try something more like a series instead of my usual one-shots. These three story ideas are the ones that won't leave me alone:

‎"Songbird in Chains" 🖤🪽

‎Pairings: Dark! Yandere! Saja Boys x Fem! Singer! Reader x Soft! Yandere! Huntrix

‎This one's about YOU (the reader) being the secret voice behind every Huntrix performance—the hidden power that strengthens the honmoon barrier by weaving in a second, more delicate layer known as the silver honmoon. You've been personally trained by Celine, kept hidden away from the world, and are known only among the Huntrix as their final, secret weapon. Your voice is sacred—so powerful that it can purify cursed grounds and push back demonic forces.

‎Because of this, the girls treasure you as something rare and powerful, but also as someone heartbreakingly fragile. They know what it cost you to be this strong, that's why they want to keep you safe—wrapped in their arms, protected from everything—even from themselves sometimes. Their love is possessive, soft, and terrifyingly all-consuming.

‎But of course, something that rare and powerful doesn't go unnoticed for long. As your very existence catches the attention of Gwi-ma, the Demon King himself—the lord of the underworld and the Saja Boys, his five dangerously alluring demons who want you in their own twisted way.

‎second is titled...

‎"Inferna" 📸💋

‎Pairings: Yandere! Saja Boys x Fem! Demon! Idol! Reader x Slightly—Yanderish! MALE! Huntrix (TR/X)

‎In this one, you used to be Korea's top solo K-pop idol—adored by millions, always in the spotlight, with every award, endorsement, and stage at your feet. Your face was everywhere, with your voice unmatched. But at the absolute peak of your fame, you died under mysterious circumstances that no one ever really explains.

‎Instead of finding peace, you wake up in the underworld—reborn as Gwi-ma's newest (and final) soul to be turned into a demon. At first you're just another of his cursed creations, one more toy in his vast collection of damned souls. But when our fine shit Jinu suggests forming a demon boy band to directly challenge the Huntrix *ahem* sorry—the TR/X.

‎They need idols who can rival TR/X's power and popularity. Someone who knows the industry's secrets. Someone who understands what fans want, how to spin a narrative, and how to build an unshakable brand. Gwi-ma sees you for what you are: the perfect weapon. A former idol who can turn his demons into K-pop royalty.

‎So you're drafted into their twisted plan—made their manager, their trainer, and maybe something even darker. Your face is still instantly recognizable in the human world that once worshiped you. So just imagine the scandal—the sheer chaos—when Korea realizes its beloved fallen star is back from the dead… dressed in temptation and selling them every filthy dream they never admitted wanting.

‎

‎and lastly...

"The Devil's Twin" 🎧😈

‎Pairings: Saja Boys x Rumi's Twin Demon Brother! Reader

As you all know, you're Rumi's twin brother—technically younger by three minutes—but you've always lived in her shadow. You inherited the face of your demon father, which made people fear you from the moment you were born. While Rumi was embraced and celebrated, you were treated like an omen. You weren't allowed to socialize, weren’t even allowed to be seen.

‎Celine, terrified of what you might become, locked you away—isolated from the outside world, hidden even from the other Huntrix. You grew up surrounded by silence, cold stone walls, and the quiet knowledge that your existence was something to be kept secret. You learned to sing in the dark, with your voice your only companion—that is haunting, powerful, and raw.

‎Currently, you've re-emerged into the world. You're now a famous, faceless singer, known only by your stage name. Your music? Addictive. Dark, unsettling, but laced with hyped-up beats and powerful vocals that leave listeners obsessed. No one knows your identity. No one knows your face. You're a mystery Korea can't stop talking about.

‎So when the Saja Boys—Korea's hottest new idols with dangerously perfect smiles and eyes that seem to look through you—suddenly come knocking at your door, asking for your help... is just unsettling.

‎Because they seem to know more than they should. About your voice. Your past. Your connection to Rumi. And worst of all… about the demon blood burning quietly in your veins.

‎I'm so so sorry 😭 I honestly didn't plan on posting this right now, but the movie got me so HOOKED I couldn't help myself! It's literally the first time I've ever been this into K-pop stuff, because I'm usually not even a fan at all.

‎I promise, I'm still working on your Invincible requests—I just need to rewatch the series to get back in the right headspace and get inspired again 💋

‎BTW, Songbird in Chains already has it's first chapter that’s almost finished, just chilling in my drafts waiting to be published. Soooo yeah, that’s what I wanted to say.

‎Love you all, thanks for reading my rambling ✨✨ ALSO THANK YOU FOR 190+ FOLLOWERS!! WE'RE ALMOST AT 200 GUYS 😭 while I was completely absent since my first semester has begun, you guys are adding up and waiting patiently *kiss* *kiss* *kiss* you guys are so lovely 🐈‍⬛ 🩷

[alwaysless]

Just a few more words about Duke's behavior

This man definitely has trouble reading social cues and the emotional atmosphere in the room. Duke often gets carried away and he himself does not understand when its time to knock it off. It would never occur to him that he was going too far unless his friends told him so. At the same time he usually doesn't even have really bad intentions. The most striking example of this behavior is that one scene in the maze, when he literally threatens to break Lenore's arm, hoping to provoke her manifesting. It sounds like a big red flag now that I think about it. However Lenore very quickly explains to him where he crossed the line – the girl has no problems standing for herself. Duke immediately backs off and says he wouldn't really hurt her. Tbh I believe him here, he no longer plays with fire when it comes to Lenore.

But Pluto is a different case. Where Lenore dot all the "I" at the first opportunity and gives a well-deserved kick in the ass, Pluto tolerates all teasing and taunts. Meanwhile again in the maze Duke is literally trying to push him into the abyss. As a joke, of course. That's a great joke, Duke, bravo. I can't even imagine why Pluto isn't laughing. And yet Pluto does not stop him. He patiently endures ridicule over his numerous fears, and grumbling that he did not share his knowledge of etymology in time, and indignation that he got his spectre too late, and teasing for having a crush on Eulalie. Sure, Duke and Pluto barely knew each other in the maze but that's exactly why this behavior is Pluto's first impression of Duke. Of course he thinks that the guy who teased him about anything is going to tease him about his scar as well!

Yes, Pluto expresses both embarrassment and displeasure but he never clearly tells Duke to stop. This is a delicate moment: on the one hand Pluto doesn't have to voice everything that makes him uncomfortable – Duke is an adult boy, he must understand when he crosses the border. But on the other hand, we already found out at the beginning that he doesn't understand. He needs to be told, literally thrown in his face what he is wrong about. Even Morella does this once when Duke tries to distract her from uneasy conversation with Lenore. But Pluto didn't. Pluto endures.

Until he snapped back after almost drowning.

He's hurt, scared, he almost died, he has no idea if the rest of the group is okay. And Duke, with his cheeky jokes and cocky fearlessness, doesn't help the situation at all. Therefore Pluto throws out everything that has accumulated because there is no more room in his cup of patience. Sure Pluto has every reason to be angry. We understand that. But does Duke understand that? It came out of the blue for him: he saved Pluto, he apologized, he tried to cheer him and Eulalie up all the way so that they wouldn't lose heart in a difficult situation. What is Pluto unhappy about?

Here I would like to draw a parallel with a rather unexpected duet in this context: Ada and Prospero.

We all know how much Ada annoyed Prospero with her flirt. We all know how she shamelessly imposed herself on him and ignored his boundaries that he tried in vain to defend. For us readers Prospero's discomfort and disgust were obvious. But not for Ada. She read all the hints he gave her as embarrassment and timidity because that's what Annabel told her. Let's be honest: Prospero never directly rejected Ada. On the contrary in a sense Prospero encouraged her feelings: I remind you that the scene in which he gallantly gives her his hand and calls Ada "my lady" still exists. It still doesn't make sense. Literally A FRAME LATER Prospero says her don't touch him. Dude?? You give her your hand yourself???

When Prospero snaps at her after the mansion for us his breakdown is understandable and justified – but it seems cruel and unfair for Ada. After all Annabel had said he liked her. After all he himself was so gallant and courteous to her. After all he had been tolerating her flirting all this time – what had gone wrong?

Both Ada and Duke behaved in a certain way and nothing in their behavior changed – but for some reason Prospero and Pluto`s reaction changed. Why are they suddenly angry? After all everything was fine.

Absolutely nothing was fine. It's just that both Pluto and Prospero are emotionally closed introverts who couldn't express their discomfort in time as bluntly as possible. And Duke and Ada are too self-absorbed to notice someone else's discontent until it explodes in their face. As a result EVERYONE is unhappy and offended.

[faramirsonofgondor]

Okay, so I'm just going to throw this at you because I have way too many WIPs on my plate, a document of more than 130K words of ideas, and I just love the way you think on the prompts you've been given. So here we go:

There are so many fics and AUs where someone goes back in time, or just their consciousness, or what not, and they always end up changing things for the better. Sometimes for the worse. Except its always been one of the "good guys". What about one of the "bad guys". Say... Ra's Al Ghul? He goes into the Lazarus pit like he is know to do, but when he comes out it's years earlier. Like everything he's seen and done the past X number of years was a vision given to him by the Pit. His daughter is much, much younger. Damian has not been born. The Detective has not been returned to his city for more than a few years. In his research on his chosen heir he see the headline pertaining to the Wayne Foundation Benefit Circus, realizes it is the day the first child/protege of the Detective comes into the man's life.

Would he allow it? Would he permit Richard Grayson to change the man? To alter what he has always felt Bruce's destiny was? Or would he stop the boy? Save the parents maybe so there's no reason for Bruce to take him in? Would he eliminate the boy along with his parents? Or, would he remember the potential and accomplishments of Richard/Robin/Nightwing and wish to harness that for himself?

Thoughts, if you have any?

OOOOH Ok but how about this: He knows that Dick is the first kid to come into Bruce’s life, but he’s not the only one. Ra’s sees it as Bruce having an adoption problem, and though Dick might’ve been the catalyst there’s no saying how he would react even if he never had Dick. Bruce would be easier to control using variables that Ra’s is already familiar with. So he lets Bruce take in Dick, but he also remembers how Bruce was after Jason died and decides that he should move up the timeline.

Except, Ra’s doesn’t exactly remember everything that went on during Dick’s time as Robin, so most of the things that happen are still the same, except Dick got a lot more scars along the way. He nudges Deathstroke in their direction, remembering the man’s rivalry with Dock and hoping that the man will try to eliminate him. Only, Slade becomes obsessed and decides to train the kid instead (which happened in the last life but Ra’s doesn’t remember it). Once the kid goes back to Bruce, he’s all moody and traumatized, which Ra’s hopes is enough to spur Bruce into killing. It isn’t.

So Ra’s sends Talia like he did last time, not wanting to mess up and lose his heir, but unlike last time, he doesn’t instruct Talia to drive a wedge between Bruce and Dick. Instead, he tells her to make sure that their relationship is better than ever, hoping that if Bruce becomes even more attached to Dick, then losing Dick will hurt more. She does so, but as time goes on, Ra’s starts to realize that Talia has grown attached to Dick. Once she’s pregnant with Damian, he orders her to come back immediately, but he’s surprised to find that she protests vehemently. Eventually, he gets her to come back under the threat that he would kill Dick, her, and her child.

However, once Talia leaves, Dick and Bruce’s relationship starts to take a turn for the worse. Bruce is more controlling in the loss of his lover, not wanting to be left again. Dick is desperate for freedom and independence, fighting against Bruce’s controlling nature. Ra’s tries one last time, having his assassins break Joker out of Arkham so that Dick could get attacked by him and push Bruce into killing him. It doesn’t work, Dick gets shot and leaves and now Bruce is alone.

So Ra’s is just like “fine, guess I’ll just stick to what happened last time” and decides to make sure Bruce adopts Jason and gets him into vigilantism. Except he may have also overshot it slightly because he witnessed the fallout of Bruce and Dick’s relationship, and was like “obviously this man cannot be trusted to handle these kids alone, he needs someone to mediate” and so he lures Dick back into their lives the night after Bruce takes in Jason by leaving some creepy note and photos of Jason and Batman. Dick understandably is like “wtf Bruce” but he warms up to Jason a lot quicker and does eventually end up mediating some conflicts between Jason and Bruce, despite the fact that his relationship with Bruce is still less than stellar.

Of course, Ra’s still wants to push Bruce into breaking his code and into reaching “his full potential” and decides to go with the tried and true method of Jason’s death. He waits til Dick is in space then orchestrates a fight between Jason and Bruce while leaving a trail that will lead Jason to his mother, all while nudging Joker in their direction. Jason dies again, except Joker got to spend much more time with him because of how Ra’s had pushed things along. Bruce can barely recognize his son by the time he gets there.

Ra’s waits in anticipation for Bruce to kill Joker. He watches as Bruce gets more and more violent, more and more reckless, and as he gets closer and closer to crossing the line. Bruce tries to kill Joker, once, but is stopped by Superman. Ra’s still has hope that Bruce will kill Joker (or someone else), especially considering that Bruce and Dick are back to fighting with each other again. Then Tim shows up, and Bruce starts losing his momentum, his temper cools gradually, though not completely. Ra’s wants to scream in frustration, but he’s distracted by Jason’s revival and sudden arrival at Nanda Parbat. He had almost forgotten about that, but decides to use this all to his advantage.

He breaks the Joker again (he really should realize that this method isn’t working for him) and sets up a scenario so that Bruce thinks that Joker killed Tim, then places cameras around the room to show Jason how Bruce reacts. He’s hoping that when Jason sees Bruce’s failure, he’ll be persuaded to lure Bruce towards the “right” path. Except Batman doesn’t get there first. Nightwing does. Ra’s, Talia, and Jason all watched in muted horror/fascination as Dick beats the Joker to death, and then beats him a little more. Maybe Ra’s shouldn’t have underestimated the kid so much.

Batman shows up eventually, and ends up reviving Joker, but Ra’s was already starting to reevaluate his plans. Maybe Batman would never break his rule, but clearly Nightwing could be persuaded. Ra’s spends time reassessing and redoing his plans, and by the time he’s ready to bring Nightwing to Nanda Parbat, the Blockbuster debacle has already happened and the Gang Wars are coming to an end. The girl-Robin dies which gives Ra’s the perfect opportunity to snatch Dick and integrate him into the LoA.

Obviously, Ra’s doesn’t actually snatch him. But he does send some assassins to persuade him to come with them, and fortunately Dick doesn’t need much persuading. Apparently, all his fights with Batman had led to him chucking his morals out the window, which was great for Ra’s plans. Once Dick was in the League, he adapted surprisingly well. It was almost unnerving how well. It rankled Ra’s, how perfect Dick seemed to be. Ra’s could hardly find any mistakes in his fighting ability or intelligence. It was beginning to frustrate him to no end. He even got Deathstroke to train the boy more, and Lady Shiva as well, but Dick quickly surpassed their skill. It seemed as though he was even inventing his own moves and style of fighting? Ra’s wasn’t sure how he could have overlooked such an obvious threat, though for now he did nothing about it considering the boy seemed perfectly happy living under Ra’s thumb. Ra’s was just glad Dick was unaware of Jason’s presence, otherwise shit would get messy real quick.

Unbeknownst to Ra’s, Dick was very much aware of Jason’s presence. See, in another timeline, the first timeline, Ra’s would order his daughter to sew tension between Bruce and his first child, and in doing so, created a decades-long animosity between Talia and Dick. But in this timeline? Ra’s has Talia mediate the relationship between Bruce and his ward, and in doing so, creates an unbreakable bond between Talia and Dick. Talia may have pretended at first, but Dick had wormed his way into her heart, and now she saw him as her first child in a way. He made her want to change, to do better. He was the bright spot in the darkest times of her life. It broke her heart to have to leave him and Bruce, and since that day her hatred for her father grew and grew.

She realized early on that Ra’s was involved in plans to hurt Dick, and she tried her best to intervene when she could. To her horror, Dick was hurt anyways and ended up leaving Bruce. It hurt her heart to see two people she loved more than anything fight the way they did, but she knew Ra’s was mostly to blame, so she settled for revenge. She would wait until Damian grew, then they would end Ra’s together and return to their family (if they were still alive by that point - and Talia desperately hoped they would be).

Jason threw a wrench in those plans, seeing as his presence seemed to help bridge the gap in Bruce and Dick’s relationship. But then he died, and Talia knew, she knew, her father had been behind this. She debated going to Bruce with this information, but she didn’t have enough evidence yet and she wasn’t sure how her beloved would respond. Plus, she needed to know why Ra’s was doing this, what his end goal was, and she wouldn’t be able to figure that out if Bruce decided to act on his anger. She decided to get into contact with Dick instead, seeing as Ra’s wasn’t monitoring him as much as he was Bruce. When she found about Jason’s revival, she told Dick immediately and they started coming up with ideas on how to get him away from Ra’s. Dick understood that for their plans to work, Bruce couldn’t know, though Dick didn’t really like keeping such a big secret from the man. But Bruce tended to get tunnel vision and he had control issues, he would want to be in charge of making the plan and he likely wouldn’t agree with Talia’s plot to kill Ra’s.

It was a bit of a surprise, when Dick killed Joker, but Talia couldn’t really the blame the man. Still, she worried as Dick seemed to get more and more traumatized, and as more and more evil landed on his doorstep. When Dick finally ended up in Nanda Parbat, it took more restraint than she was willing to admit to hold off on embracing him. This would only work if they kept their cover. Still, despite Dick’s competency and clear dangerousness, Ra’s seemed to underestimate them while he poured his time and resources into keeping an eye on Bruce and the third Robin. Dick didn’t interact with Jason, still scared to be found out by Ra’s, but they did pass messages through Talia. Damian had also taken quite the shining to Dick. If it were anyone else, Talia would be envious of the amount of attention Damian gave to him, but this was Dick and so Talia understood completely. Dick had taken to calling Damian “his little Flamebird” in private. Once Talia understood the context behind the name, she felt honored on Damian’s behalf.

However, despite the emotions swirling between them, they still had coup to plan. Talia was both relieved and a bit worried about how easily Dick persuaded people to join them, but then again he had always been a people-person and a good conversationalist. In the end, it was Talia, Dick, Jason, Deathstroke (which Talia did not have the time to question), Lady Shiva, Lady Shiva’s daughter (???), and a little over half of the League that went up against Ra’s. Dick moved with a fluidness and vengeance that Talia had never seen before. As promised, he and Deathstroke gravely injured Ra’s, but left the killing blow up to her.

Ra’s hadn’t seen any of it coming. Here he was bleeding out, watching as Talia approached. His only hope was that his daughter or someone loyal to him would throw him back into the Pit, and he would get another chance. Next time, he would do things differently. Next time, he would kill the brat before Bruce even looked at him. Next time, he would ensure both his daughter’s and Bruce’s total submission to him, and him alone. Next time, he would-

There was no next time, because before Ra’s could even finish his thought, his head was at Talia’s feet. Things were different, now. Talia was softer, but no less determined. Dick was sharper, more jaded, but no less kind and loyal. Bruce was darker, but no less loving. Jason was angrier, more traumatized, but no less protective and caring. They might have more trauma, more hurt and pain and and scars anger and darkness within them, but they were a family, and they were all willing to try for each other.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

He met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her just as she broke into sobs. She buried her face in his neck, clutching at his back like he’d vanish if she let go. His voice was steady, but thick. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve missed you every day. Every hour.”

🥺🥺🥺

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered, heart aching.

Still haunting 💔

“Am I dead?” Her voice cracked. “No.” He sat beside her. “Not yet.” She looked at him, eyes wild and desperate. “Then let me stay.” His jaw clenched. “You can’t.” “Please.” Her voice broke. “Please, Bob, I’m so tired. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to wake up in that house without you.”

This truly broke my heart 💔 but it makes so much sense that she wants to stay but he knows he has to let her go, for their child alone 🥺💔

“I know. But listen to me, baby—Jake’s gonna propose one day.” She looked up sharply. “He bought the ring,” Bob said. “I’ve seen it.” She burst into sobs again. “I want you to say yes.”

Damn he is not beating around the bush

“He told me to come back,” she said, eyes wide, glassy. “He said it wasn’t my time.” Jake dropped his head against their joined hands like he’d been holding his breath for a week. “You flatlined for twenty seconds,” he said, voice shaking. “You were gone, Y/N. They said you might not make it. They said—” He stopped, his whole body trembling. “You came back.” “I didn’t want to,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “I begged him to let me stay.”

This is so heavy but understandable 🥺💔

“I’m not asking now,” he said gently, setting the box on the table beside her, unopened. “Not like this. Not when you’re still hurting. But I need you to know… I meant it. All of it.” “I know,” she whispered. “He told me to say yes.” Jake let out a broken breath. His hand cupped her cheek, gently. She leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

I love how she instantly shares what Bob has told her, so Jake knows its okay too

“I missed him,” she sobbed. “He looked the same. He smelled like home. He showed me everything we could’ve had. But he still sent me back.” “He gave you back to us,” Jake said, voice raw. “To me. To Robert.”

🥺🥺🥺

Instead, he staggered down the corridor, just past the vending machines and the nurses’ station. Just far enough that no one would see. And then— He broke.

It was only a matter of time

Not praying. Not asking for anything. Just… hoping Bob was listening. Thank you, he thought. For sending her back to us.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You almost died,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to tell your son…”

This truly hit me so hard, he loves little Robert so much just the thought of telling him his mom is gone too haunts him

And when the nurse peeked in to check vitals, she didn’t say a word about Jake staying after hours. She saw the way their hands were tangled.

🥺🥺🥺

She smiled, but her chin quivered. “He’s just a baby.” “You’re his world,” Jake said quietly. “You’re both my world.”

So sweet 🥰

All That Lingers PT4

Jake seresin x fem!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6

WARNING: this might not make sense (or it might make perfect sense) I couldn't see through the tears and all the hyperventilating. Too much going on in this one, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. but please comment, I love reading your lawyers emails !

There was no sound. No glass shattering. No tires screaming.

No sirens.

No pain.

Just… stillness.

It smelled like cedar and smoke.

Warm, familiar. Gentle. Like a place she’d once known, long before grief rooted itself into her bones.

Y/N blinked, slow and dazed. The world wasn’t spinning anymore. Her hands didn’t shake. The crushing pain in her chest — gone. The air smelled like Bob’s old flannel shirt. Like the firewood from his parents’ backyard.

And the light.

It was golden. Filtered through the trees like Texas sun.

She turned her head.

There was a porch in front of her. A white wooden house with chipped paint. Rocking chairs swayed on their own. There was a dog barking softly in the distance. The wind made the leaves flutter and hum.

And then—

“Sweetheart.”

Her breath caught. She turned.

He was there.

Bob.

Standing in the middle of the dirt road. Baseball cap in one hand, wearing that old, worn flight school hoodie he never let her toss. His eyes were just the same—blue, kind, steady—and he was smiling at her.

Her chest collapsed.

She ran.

He met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her just as she broke into sobs. She buried her face in his neck, clutching at his back like he’d vanish if she let go.

“I missed you,” she whispered. Over and over again. “I missed you, I missed you—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

His voice was steady, but thick. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve missed you every day. Every hour.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she whispered, heart aching.

He pulled back just enough to hold her face in his hands. “I know.”

They stayed like that—standing in the sunlight, in a world that couldn’t exist. Her forehead pressed to his. His thumb brushing the tears from her cheeks.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let me show you something.”

He took her hand and led her up the steps, into the house. The floorboards creaked beneath them. Pictures lined the walls—his childhood, his parents, his squad.

Her.

And one photo at the very end, in a frame made of worn wood and love: Her in the hospital bed, holding baby Robert. And Jake, standing beside her with his hand on her shoulder, eyes red from crying, smiling anyway.

Y/N touched the frame. Her hand shook.

“How—how is this here?”

Bob turned toward her.

His eyes were wet now too.

“You were in an accident,” he said, gently.

She froze. “What?”

“A drunk driver. It was bad.”

Her knees nearly buckled. He caught her, helped her sit on the couch. It was the same couch from his childhood home. The same knit blanket. The same clock ticking away in the corner.

“Am I dead?” Her voice cracked.

“No.” He sat beside her. “Not yet.”

Silence. Heavy. Deafening.

“But I’m here,” she whispered. “With you.”

“You’re unconscious. Somewhere between.”

She looked at him, eyes wild and desperate. “Then let me stay.”

His jaw clenched. “You can’t.”

“Please.” Her voice broke. “Please, Bob, I’m so tired. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to wake up in that house without you.”

“You won’t be alone.”

Her hands curled into fists. “It’s not the same.”

“I know.”

Tears poured freely down her cheeks now. Her whole body shook. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to go back to that pain.”

Bob reached for her hands.

“I want you here with me too. Every single day, I want that. But you can’t stay.”

She sobbed.

“Robert needs you,” he said, voice trembling. “He’s just a baby. He needs his mama. He already lost one parent—he can’t lose another.”

“I can’t do it alone.”

“You’re not alone. Jake’s with you.”

Her breath hitched.

“You’ve always seen him, haven’t you?” Bob asked quietly. “Even when you didn’t want to. Even when you weren’t ready.”

She nodded, shaking.

“He loves you. I know he does. I know it, because he told me the day I left for that mission. I asked him to look after you, and he said he already was.”

She gasped, shaking her head.

“I don’t want to forget you.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t want him to replace you—”

“No one ever will. But you don’t have to replace someone to find love again. You just have to be brave enough to let it in.”

She looked down, tears falling into her lap. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But listen to me, baby—Jake’s gonna propose one day.”

She looked up sharply.

“He bought the ring,” Bob said. “I’ve seen it.”

She burst into sobs again.

“I want you to say yes.”

Her shoulders shook with the weight of grief and love and impossible choices.

“I can’t say yes without you—”

“You already have me. Always.”

He pulled her into a hug again, tighter this time.

“You have to go back now,” he whispered into her hair. “They’re calling your name.”

“I want to stay.”

He held her, eyes squeezed shut. “I know, sweetheart. I know. But it’s not your time.”

The light outside the window started to change. Fade.

Her heart ached like it was being pulled apart.

“I’ll be waiting,” he whispered. “But not yet. Not for a long time.”

“Will you be there when I do go?”

His voice broke. “Always.”

And just as the world began to fall away—

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said. “Now go. Go be a mom. Go be happy. Go find forever again.”

And then—

Darkness.

———

The beeping was sharp. Harsh. Artificial.

Everything was too loud, too cold, too bright.

She gasped.

It was like breathing underwater — choking on air that didn’t belong in her lungs. Her whole body screamed as pain came crashing in, violent and unrelenting. She tried to move but couldn’t—her limbs were heavy, bandaged, tethered.

A hand gripped hers.

“Y/N?”

Jake’s voice. Cracked. Torn open.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, like lifting concrete. The first thing she saw was the white hospital ceiling, the second was Jake leaning over her, his face a mess of tear-streaked panic and utter disbelief.

“Jake…” she rasped, voice nearly gone.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, brushing the hair back from her forehead. “Oh God, you’re awake—thank God.”

Her chest hitched. It wasn’t a dream.

The crash. The other world. Bob.

“I saw him,” she whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Jake—I saw him. I saw Bob.”

Jake’s face crumbled. His mouth parted, but no sound came.

“He told me to come back,” she said, eyes wide, glassy. “He said it wasn’t my time.”

Jake dropped his head against their joined hands like he’d been holding his breath for a week.

“You flatlined for twenty seconds,” he said, voice shaking. “You were gone, Y/N. They said you might not make it. They said—” He stopped, his whole body trembling. “You came back.”

“I didn’t want to,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “I begged him to let me stay.”

Jake’s eyes closed, and his lips pressed to the back of her hand, a broken sort of reverence. “But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t,” she breathed. “He wouldn’t let me. He kept saying, Robert needs you. Jake needs you. It’s not your time. He said—he said you love me.”

Jake looked up at her then, and the emotion in his eyes shattered what little composure she had left.

“I do,” he said. “I love you more than I know how to say.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “He said you’re going to propose.”

Jake’s breath hitched. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“I was waiting for the right time,” he whispered. “But I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, fresh tears rolling down. “You didn’t lose me.”

“I’m not asking now,” he said gently, setting the box on the table beside her, unopened. “Not like this. Not when you’re still hurting. But I need you to know… I meant it. All of it.”

“I know,” she whispered. “He told me to say yes.”

Jake let out a broken breath. His hand cupped her cheek, gently. She leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

“I missed him,” she sobbed. “He looked the same. He smelled like home. He showed me everything we could’ve had. But he still sent me back.”

“He gave you back to us,” Jake said, voice raw. “To me. To Robert.”

“Where is he?” she whispered suddenly, panic creeping in. “Where’s Robert? Is he okay?”

Jake nodded quickly, trying to soothe her. “He’s safe. Phoenix and Coyote are with him. He’s been asking for you.”

“I need to see him,” she said, trying to sit up despite the pain.

“You will,” Jake promised. “You will, but not yet. You need to rest.”

She blinked at him, and in the way her fingers reached for his again, in the way she let herself be comforted… something changed. Or maybe something finally gave in.

“I don’t think I could’ve come back if you weren’t waiting.”

Jake’s voice broke. “I never stopped.”

Her eyes closed slowly. Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but sleep pulled her under again—this time real, this time human, this time safe.

Jake didn’t leave her side once.

——

Jake couldn’t stop shaking.

She was awake. Breathing. Here.

But she’d been gone.

He’d watched machines scream and doctors shove him back. He’d seen the line on her monitor go flat, and he’d thought—That’s it. That’s the end.

Until it wasn’t.

“I want to see Robert,” she’d whispered. Fragile and hoarse, her eyes wet with too many worlds. “Can you bring him to me?”

Jake nodded.

Of course. Anything. Anything.

He left her room quietly, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go. But the moment he stepped into the sterile hallway, the weight hit him like a freight train.

He didn’t go to the waiting room. Not right away.

Instead, he staggered down the corridor, just past the vending machines and the nurses’ station. Just far enough that no one would see.

And then—

He broke.

His hand slapped the wall with a dull thud as his knees buckled, shoulders shaking with a sob so deep it didn’t even sound human.

He’d almost lost her.

Twenty seconds. That’s what the doctors said. Twenty seconds. Just a sliver of time. Just long enough to rip his heart out of his chest and wring it dry.

Jake pressed his forehead to the cold hospital wall and wept.

He didn’t cry often. Not when he buried Bob. Not when Y/N had the baby and said Bob’s name with tears in her throat. Not when he held that little boy for the first time and realized that he was going to love him for the rest of his life.

But now, he cried.

Because she saw Bob. Because he was there. Because Bob got to hold her, speak to her, say goodbye.

And Jake didn’t.

Jake just waited. Day after day. Woke up on the couch, made coffee, kissed her temple, folded laundry, ran errands, watched little Robert take his first steps.

Loved them with everything he had.

And almost lost them both in a heartbeat.

His hand clutched at the wall, fingers trembling. His jaw clenched against another wave of sobs, but it was useless. The tears came anyway—harder now, deeper, breaking him apart from the inside.

“She was gone,” he whispered, to no one.

And the silence answered back: but she came back.

Because of the baby. Because of him.

Because Bob let her go.

Jake finally slid down the wall, crouching with his elbows on his knees, head bowed.

He didn’t want to be seen like this.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this much.

But he did.

Because he loved her. And he loved that little boy. And he wanted so badly to give them everything—even if it was all built on the ashes of what she lost.

A soft voice interrupted the silence.

“Jake?”

It was Phoenix. Holding Robert, eyes soft with understanding. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

Jake stood slowly, wiping his eyes, trying to pull himself back together for the baby.

Phoenix offered Robert over. The little boy blinked up at him sleepily, cheeks flushed from his nap.

“He’s been asking for her,” Phoenix said quietly. “He keeps saying ‘Mama’ and looking at the doors.”

Jake nodded. Swallowed hard.

“Let’s take him to her,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Robert’s forehead.

But before he turned to go, he glanced up at the ceiling.

Not praying. Not asking for anything.

Just… hoping Bob was listening.

Thank you, he thought. For sending her back to us.

Then he turned toward the room again, holding the boy who saved her life—and carrying the grief for the man who couldn’t stay to see it.

——-

Phoenix didn’t say much when she came into the room, just smiled gently as she stood by the door, her eyes flickering between the woman in the bed and the man still holding her hand like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.

Robert was asleep in her arms now. His thumb halfway to his mouth, his lashes fluttering as he rested on her chest like he’d never been scared, like everything in his tiny world was finally safe again.

Y/N looked up, reluctant, and brushed her lips against his forehead before whispering, “I think… I think he’ll sleep better away from all this.”

Jake hesitated. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Just for tonight. I need to know he’s somewhere warm, somewhere soft. Somewhere he won’t hear the machines.”

Phoenix stepped closer. Her voice was quiet, careful. “I’ve got him. For as long as you need. I’ll keep him safe.”

Jake stood first, lifting Robert as gently as if he were made of glass. The absence of him in her arms was immediate—like something being ripped away again—but she knew it was right. For now. Just for now.

She kissed her son one more time. “I love you, baby. So, so much.”

Robert stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and tucked his face into Jake’s neck.

Phoenix took him with practiced arms, settling him against her chest. “I’ll text you when we get home. I’ll send pictures.”

Jake followed her to the door. But just before Phoenix could leave, he reached out and touched her shoulder.

His voice cracked.

“Thank you.”

Phoenix gave a small, sad smile. “We’re a family. That’s what we do.”

And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

The room was still. Too quiet.

Jake turned back, his expression unreadable, shoulders stiff like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that Robert was gone from his arms.

“I didn’t mean to—” he started, but she shook her head.

“Come here,” she said, voice softer than it had been all day.

He hesitated only a moment before sinking into the chair beside her again. His eyes were tired. His hands shaky.

“You’re allowed to sit with me,” she said, threading her fingers through his. “You’ve been holding us both up.”

Jake lowered his head, eyes stinging. “I lost it in the hallway. After I gave him to Phoenix. I just— I couldn’t hold it anymore.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

He rested his head on the edge of the mattress, forehead against her hip.

“You almost died,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to tell your son…”

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. “I’m still here.”

He closed his eyes.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

And when the nurse peeked in to check vitals, she didn’t say a word about Jake staying after hours.

She saw the way their hands were tangled.

She saw the way he pressed a kiss to her wrist like he couldn’t believe she was still warm.

She saw, and she let them be.

Let them hold onto each other like two people who’d nearly lost everything.

Let them just breathe.

————

Y/N woke slowly.

The room was pale with morning light, the sterile hospital whites softened by the faint golden hues bleeding through the curtains. For a few seconds, she didn’t remember—just floated in that quiet space between sleep and pain, where nothing hurt yet and nothing was missing.

But then she moved, and the soreness pulled her back down into her body.

The accident. The dream. Bob. Jake. Robert.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Jake was there. Sitting in the chair again, same as the night before, only now his head was leaned back against the wall and a lukewarm cup of coffee rested on the table beside him. He looked exhausted, but peaceful—like he’d spent the whole night willing her to keep breathing.

She shifted gently.

The sound stirred him.

Jake blinked, rubbed his hand across his face, and then sat up straighter when he saw her watching him.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” he said, already standing, already reaching for her hand. “I wasn’t really sleeping.”

His hand covered hers, warm and grounding. He looked like he hadn’t let go of her since Phoenix had taken Robert home.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded slowly. “Sore. Tired. But… here.”

His eyes shimmered at that. He gave her a watery smile, then reached for the coffee cup. “It’s probably cold. I can go get a fresh one.”

“Stay,” she said quickly, a little breathless, fingers tightening around his. “Just… stay.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Jake set the cup back down, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into the hospital bed beside her like he’d done it a hundred times. He didn’t say anything, just tucked himself around her body as best he could, careful of the IV in her arm and the bruises along her side.

She rested her head against his chest. His heart was beating hard and steady beneath her ear.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t think I’d survive that. Not again.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just pressed a kiss to his chest and closed her eyes.

They stayed like that a while—breathing in the quiet, wrapped in the kind of silence that only came after the worst had passed.

Eventually, Jake spoke again, soft against her hair. “Robert’s okay. Phoenix sent a video last night. He kept asking for you.”

Her lip trembled. “I miss him.”

Jake nodded. “I’ll bring him as soon as the doctor says it’s safe. He’s okay. He’s got his duck and his blanket. Phoenix says he hasn’t let them go.”

She smiled, but her chin quivered. “He’s just a baby.”

“You’re his world,” Jake said quietly. “You’re both my world.”

She looked up at him, searching his face.

And he met her eyes with that same steady certainty he always carried, even when his heart was breaking.

“I’m here,” he said. “However you need me. However long it takes.”

[snailfen]

cohesive list of everything i want to talk about in ii s4e1

- so nothings been the same since the shimmerlight was removed from mephone?? obviously this makes sense, duh, meafterlife definitely wouldnt last without it, but im worried that something else could be up with mephone in the real world. Im sure we'll see what he and 3GS are up to later at some point but thats GOTTA mean something. RIGHT???

- are tape recorder and jack of spades also character clones/understudies? maybe my mind is glazing over something here but if they are my guesses is tape recorder is a microphone or cabby clone and as for jack..... yeah i got nothing lol. maybe a paper clone but thats all i got. bonesaw also strikes me as a clone for knife. buuuuuut I'd be fine if they weren't all related. points at magnet. where'd you come from. who are you.

- lowk i dont wanna talk about that damn play because of the discourse its causing. but i do wanna say this seems to be taking place... not long after the finale. Its clear toilets still grieving mepad pretty hard. hell, its clear the wound is still fresh on taco and marshs minds later on. the dedication ceremony stage is still up for gods sake!! but man, toilet seems to be taking it the worst if how he acted on stage is indicative of how he acts whenever mepad is brought up. it figures- toilet couldn't bear to go to the ceremony and assumingly the funeral. but man, poor guy...

- "I can never get those years back." ohhhhh box <:(. yeah no not everything is set right for her yet now that shes alive and that makes a lotta sense. those are years she could've spent doing anything she wanted. but she stayed dead. Hopeless and trapped and alone. poor thing.

- METAG IS HERE!!! or at least one of them? i hope both of them are here i liked those tortoise beetles. since its obvious they weren't on the ship (we didn't see them fall when it disappeared) it'd be really funny if they were sent to find cobs, found out he died and were like ohhhh nooo. anyways can we party with you guys now ^_^ (translated from happy machine sounds), and then realized that just like everyone else on this island they desire a purpose to guide their entire existence, and started following suitcase around as her lackey (because she killed cobs aka their former boss and therefore freed them of Working for him), and suitcase (uncomfortable with having a lackey) was like well i guess you can be part of the safety committee...??? and THATS why theyre there. I love metag :)

- bomb so prettyful with his new fuse. im adding a pretty braid to my gijinka design for him :D

- I WAS RIGHT!!! vibha melkote ended up inheriting soap since she already does her singing!!! im gonna be honest here i.... prefer vibha's soap voice 😭 her old one will be missed dearly but her new voice is so cute!!! so happy for her. mic still has yet to be recasted.... good luck to whoever they get honestly hailey brought something special to the table each time she voiced mic 😔

- SUITCASE MUSICAL NUMBER WHO CHEERED 🍻🍻🍻🍻🍻 SHES SO QUIET LMAO 😭 i love how oj and cabby have no problem projecting their voices but suitcase (for obvious reasons) is as soft-spoken as always. her gentle voice is cute tho. AND SHES SO CUTE IN THIS NEW ARTSTYLE GRRRRRRR RRAARARARARRARRAGAGAHHGRGRG

- oh my god bows new asset is PERFECT. SHE FINALLY HAS PROPER PROPORTIONS NOW !!!!!! thank GOD!!! i love that her torn ends now seem to eerily flow like her tail oh my god its PERFECT. adds so much to her ghostly vibe. THANK YOU WHOEVER CAME UP WITH THAT.

- Marshmallows 15th Worst Day of Her Life just dropped. oh my god no one ever listens to her shes going to end up being so right about all this 😭😭😭 NO ONE LEARNS ON THIS DAMN ISLAND. MARSHMALLOW IS ALWAYS RIGHT FOR FUCKS SAKE !!! IDIOTS

- apparently in ii18 when cobs tears away three of his kernels to get dough off of him, he only crushed two of them afterwards, the third kernel bounced away.... so Thats How Poppy Happened. cant wait for episode 2 to come out i NEED to know more about them. they share my birfday :)

[squinkiy]

i went on a HUGE ramble in a server im in about fan and ii4

the text in the image is under the cut if its unreadable

i am so sorry about the one huge paragraph i went So overboard

rewatching ii4e1 starting from the "uughghh so demeaning..." line and im back at the part where hes tryna convince the osc that Hey We;re All unhappy and im kinda losing my shit a bit (fan has me in a chokehold actually) bcs ohhhmy god Fan you FUCKING IDIOOOOOTTTTTTT "what if we shouldnt get used to it?" YOURE PROJECT9IIINNGNGNGNGNGGNGMNGMNFG IM GONNA BEAT YOU UUUUPPPPP hes so distressed and doesnt know How to cope with literally a Completely New Life that he's Never had before . He's so understimulated form not having the competition daily and its just. Oh my god Fan you're Projecting YOU'RE the one unhappy NOT EVERYONE ELSE well yes theyre prolly unhappy but holy FUCK dude A life without drama suitcase says,,, yeha like THATS gonna happen with fan as the host. Sure buddy as if hes NOT gonna make the game a drama series again. this shit wont go well at all hes gonna dig himself a hole and hes gonna be too deep in to get out and when hes calling for help NO ONE is gonna want to help him the fact that the osc ENCOURAGED him to be host and basically appointed him to be so? cabby you BETTER fucking interviene he is GOING TO GET OBSESSED WITH THE COMPETITION ITS LITERALLY IN HIS CHARACTER AND WIRED IN HIS BRAIN BECAUSE THATS WHO HE IS. NOT TO MENTION THAT ITS INANIMATE INFUCKINGSANITY WE'RE TALKING HERE . ITS HIS SPECIAL INTEREST AND KNOWING HOW FAN IS AS A PERSON HE'S NOT GONNA DO GOOD AS THIS GAMES "MODERATOR." he's gonna start becoming Just like mephone and start putting them all in danger, i genuinely dont see how thisll be a lighthearted season considering Fan, THE #1 FAN OF INANIMATE INSANITY, NOW HAS CONTROL OVER THIS THING HE LOVES SO SO DEARLY THAT IT'S LITERALLY HIS WHOLE LIFE. as ive said SOOSOSOSOSOSO MANY TIMES BEFORE he's going to Ruin himself and ruin Everyone else. He's going to cause so much injury because of his lack of genuine awareness to how other's are feeling, he's going to ruin his relationships because he's doing such destructive things that his friends are Now the evil ppl in the situation because theyre disagreeing with him and Trying to take away what he loves so much, they MUST be in the wrong and they MUST be the bad guys here, becasue to Fan, he's the only one who matters and he's DESTINED to take on this role! and when someone dies because of him he's going to get his entire reputation obliterated becasue he didn't take into account the fact that this was never a good idea to begin with and that hes the only one who truly wanted this game to come back to life. Sure everyone may have a choice in whether or not to participate, but how do we know he's not gonna quickly become posessive and controlling over everyone because of the fact that he LIVES for drama and he has LITERALLY stalked and studied Everyone of the cast, he's parasocial as fuck and mr. i've studied you all over here is gonna start seeing everyone who competes as mere characters again and as not real people in his life and only as mere entities who are there just to serve as his entertainment. He lives in his fucking head and nothing is real to him including himself and only when shit hits the fan (pun not intended) will he actually start to realize that he's fucking up everything and that he's putting himself and everyone else in danger because Now EVERYONE can die forever and NO ONE can be revived. people are gonna die man this guys going to cause so much to happen because he's host and nothing is going to go well . oh my god i cannot wait for the rest of this season dude. Okay I think i typed for a bit too long

[the-secretary-of-baker-street]

Some Day the True Story May Be Told

During the war, Watson published The Valley of Fear, a case which he had entirely dreamt up, mainly to pass away the time. He and Holmes were not receiving any more cases, both at an age where their action days were far behind them. When the war ended in 1918, His Last Bow is published by its mysterious author after being edited by Watson. Within the next few years, The Bruce-Partington Plans is written and released, with the dates changed of course, since Watson still felt uneasy to admit exactly what transpired in 1895, and wanted to fill that year with as many cases as possible. Finally, in 1923, to end the rumours once and for all, and on Holmes’ insistence, Watson published The Creeping Man twenty years after the fact; all dates were correct, since the case was so publicised at the time and it would be difficult to make a ‘mistake’.

Then comes the epilogue: Watson’s final words to the public. The Retired Colourman, a gruesome case which both shocked and intrigued all that heard of it. This was not why Watson chose it to end his and Holmes’ life in the spotlight- no, he chose it because he knew it went against what was already known. Inspector Mackinnon had taken all the credit for it when it occurred, like so many other detectives. But for Watson, who observed everything, he knew who had really solved the case. And he was the only one who actually knew Holmes for all that he was, beyond the detective, the super sleuth, the thinking machine: they could keep that image of him, fictionalise him beyond recognition, put him on a pedestal or misinterpret him entirely and leave him to be flanderized into something he wasn’t. To Watson, he would always be his Sherlock- and he was his John.

The public were not to hear of either of them again, but they certainly left their mark behind. No wonder, since the only echo they had of Holmes and Watson discredited everything they had ever been told about them. Now, the public were told that something was left in secret, perhaps in the archives or hidden somewhere in Baker Street, or in a locked cupboard in their Sussex cottage. And what was their secret? What would Watson never tell us, at least not during his life? Would we ever find out?

Perhaps Watson wants us to figure it out. He could never tell us himself, therefore he has left us all these clues in his publications, little details which may or may not mean something, and could lead to a whole new world, a whole new narrative which exists within his words. Yes, I do think Watson intended us to eventually learn the true nature of his and Holmes’ relationship, so they could know the truth of the loving man behind that cold mask, in the hopes that their legacy can exist in a world which accepted them for who they are, not the caricatures they were morphed into. He knows, and wishes, that he will, some day, be understood.

So, all the mistakes- his ‘wife’, perhaps plural, who died and came back again, or Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner being interchangeable- he didn’t try to amend them. Like I said before, they were all breadcrumbs, leading to a different story.

[blackfilmmakers]

Will Disney ever give us a black prince?

I'm so sorry for this novel you're bout to read:

Short answer: Probably not

Much longer answer: Yknow how princesses in Disney's case are meant to represent things like youthfulness, beauty, kindness, romance, passion, and a free-spirited nature?

It's relatively the same formula for Disney princes. They are youthful, charming, passionate, free-spirited, romantic, light-hearted, you get the idea

Disney seems to struggle associating those characteristics with Black boys. To them, Black boys make for great kings, but never princes

Kings and Queens in Disney are either righteous and responsible rulers who are also loving parents who have to care for their energetic children in an uptight manner. Or they are evil, vain dictators that want to control everything and everyone through the power of...evil. Whichever depiction it is, both roles serve as the "adulthood" counterpart to the princess and prince formula

So to Disney, Black boys just can't be princes. They are too serious, brutal, and not charming in the slightest to be a prince and appease to audiences. They are masculine, sure, but they are toxic masculine. Disney princes need to have a romantic and sweet and sensitive nature they show to their partners, which I guess Black boys aren't capable of. This is scarcasm btw 🙄

Even outside of the lineup, the closest you get are TChalla or Simba(Broadway Musical). But then their stories revolve around becoming a proper king after their fathers died. Their youthful nature is seen as a childish hindrance they need to get over to become proper adults even if they are still kids

Disney had plenty of opportunities to create a Black prince as part of the lineup

Prince Naveen

Prince Naveen could have been Black in a story about a Black woman and Black culture. But again, they can't see a Black boy as charasimatic and youthful like Naveen. Even Naveen's bratty privileged nature has a witty charm to it they can't apply to Black boys

That said, it would have been too on the nose this is what they were avoiding had they made Naveen white as they originally planned. Yeah, your boy was originally gonna be a white British royal named Henry. They changed it, but like gestures

So Naveen ends up as this ambiguous Brown man. Like he could be hypothetically could be part African, but also he doesn't have afro-textured hair, or a broad nose(its big but more so in a "boys have bigger noses naturally" way) or big lips. Interestingly enough, Naveen is played by a Black actor in the Once Upon a Time series, yknow, a mature darker take on fairy tales(and Disney). This is the voice actor for the animated movie btw

Yeah they were doing a lot just to avoid making Naveen Black. Which sucks cuz some of his concept art does make it seem he would be Black. It's just especially irritating that Tiana just does not seem to get support from other Black people aside from the mom figures. In fact, Tiana is lowkey written like she's a "queen" character in a sense she is super serious and mature and before Elsa, was the eldest of the princess line-up. Very peculiar choice to write your first Black princess as a no-nonsense grown woman. And then killing 2D animation with her just to start off the 3D trend with a quirky white girl with long blonde hair?

So to have Tiana be the first Black Princess and really one of the only ones in the lineup to be with a partner outside of her race is a choice. Technically, Pocahontas and Kida did it too and would you look at that? They are both sexualized women of color for a white colonizer to romance 🤔

Not that it matters how Tiana and Naveen are presented, because both are frogs for the majority of the movie, which there's that 😔

Prince Eric

Specifically from the live action movie. Eric's kingdom was transformed into this Carribean Islands setting ruled by a Black queen, and yet Eric still has to be white?

I remember as news of this movie was coming out, a lot of us suspected Eric to be played by a pale East Asian man, which I understand part of it was to make a callback to Brandy's Cinderella. I was one of those people, too. But I did stop and think, "Why couldn't Eric be Black too?" The setting was Black, Ariel was Black. It's like they took that concept of having Naveen originally be a white man who would seem out of place in a Black-centered movie, but just went through with that decision for this movie

Is there a reason Prince Eric couldn't be Black? Was it that hard to imagine a Black boy who was adventurous and wanted to run away from princely duties but always knew to follow his heart? Was that not something Black boys would do? Also notice how Paolo is an Asian man who is visibly brown? I think those of us that wanted a pale Asian man to play as Eric, or specifically a "kpop idol" should probably look into some internalized colorism at play here

Star Boy

If you haven't seen the movie youre probably thinking: the marketable plushie?

And no, I'm more so referring to the concept art where he was originally this whole star person with the personality of Peter Pan. He was also originally going to be Asha's love interest

Now honestly, even though they ended up writing him out, Asha and this movie needed serious revamping before throwing in a love interest

But aside from that, even had they done so, he would have just been another white prince for a character that could have been Black. Or yknow, Black Amazigh-like Asha. They barely get into her Amazigh heritage, as you could imagine, despite how much they advertised themselves of looking deep into that group and their beliefs

What makes this worst is that in some drafts, Star boy was meant to be Asha's grandfather(who is white) just younger. Which....that's just weird

The movie obviously didn't do well, leaving fans making rewrites and fan works based off of the concept material. And oh boy, do they love that white boy. From what comes across my dash, or what I've seen on Pinterest for a good few months, I've only seen 1 or 2 Black Star Boys. Everyone else was just a pale white boy paired with the occasional whitewashing of Asha

Whew, that's a lot of info thrown at ya for a single question. But it is frustrating the more you think about this stuff and how not only Disney, but most stories adultify Black boys and girls

I only imagine Disney makes the occasional Black princess only because the princess line-up is margeted towards girls. And even then you one or two decades apart. The Black boys though? What do they need to see Black princes for?

TLDR: Stop relying on Disney for proper rep

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 12

The aftermath.

i told myself i'd write until my phone died and i finished this chapter with it still having 5%!

ao3!

poly!ghoap/gn!reader

I Wanna Hear Your Voice

You cower in the bathtub for what feels like an eternity.

The shuffling of the intruder moves from the kitchen to the living room, then to the storage room. You’re sure your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You’re terrified, and you wish Riley were here with you instead of spending the holidays with one of her dad’s friends. You have a feeling the dog would be able to fight a person twice your size, though you doubt her dads would let her.

Then- miraculously- the door opens. 

You can’t hear footsteps, and you’re about to panic again, thinking that maybe it’s backup for the intruder, but then you hear the unmistakable sound of metal on skin, then a body dropping onto hardwood. You quiver so hard you’re sure the bathtub shakes.

You don’t have to fear for very long, however, because very soon after the bathroom door is open and Johnny is in front of you and, oh God, you’re crying, and you’re in his arms, and he picks you up and you’re just so scared you don’t hear Simon beating the intruder to a pulp. You do hear, however, Simon calling 999 from the storage room as Johnny sits on the ground with you pressed against your chest.

He wipes tears from your eyes, and he murmurs sweet things into your ear. You feel like throwing up.

The police arrive at your flat not very long after. They question you, now wrapped up in a throw blanket and shaking, while Johnny rubs your shoulders. Johnny makes sure you don’t look as they carry the intruder out on a stretcher.

Simon sits next to you and Johnny as the police evaluate what the intruder tried to steal. You’re still crying, you think. They talk, heads bowed over you, but you only catch snippets:

“…Not safe…. Really, we should-“

“-Christmas, Si! We ‘ave…”

“…Hotel, maybe, then. We’re not staying here.”

Johnny sets you to sit alone on the couch with the throw blanket over your shoulders. The adrenaline has finally gone, leaving you tired and sleepy. You hear the police leave, and you hear the boys search the storage room. The sound of them quietly talking. Johnny kisses your temple, murmurs “it’s okay to sleep, bon,” and then goes into your bedroom. You don’t care. You’re tired.

When you wake up, you’re in a hotel with Simon holding you. He’s not asleep, instead he’s watching the large window your back is facing. You shift and he does, too, looking down at you. 

“Hello, love,” he murmurs.

“Where…?”

“We left the apartment building. It’s not safe there.”

“But…”

“Christmas, we know, love. We’ll celebrate in the hotel and then worry about everything else, yeah?”

“…Yeah.” He sighs.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry we left you. Irony of the whole thing- we left t’ get you some basic home defenses.” He huffs a laugh, but you don’t hear any humor there. He pets your hair tenderly before kissing the top of your head.

“We never should’ve left you alone,” he whispers. “We… God, we thought those days were over. I’m so, so sorry.” He says, before hugging you tighter. This time, you have the impression that it’s more for him than for you. You let him, until you inevitably fall back asleep. 

You wake up when Simon’s chest rumbles from beneath your head.

“…now, careful. Don’t want two 999 calls in one day,” his gravel says.

“Och, Ah’ve got it,” comes Johnny’s timber from a different part of the hotel room. Curious, you stir against Simon. He lets you sit up and rub your eyes, and take in the hotel room.

You find a rather nice, if not borderline luxurious, room. The bed is large and the window is, too, and when you scan the room to its farthest corner, you see Johnny standing on a desk chair, arranging wrapped gifts underneath a small Christmas tree. Against your will, tears well in your eyes at the sweet gesture.

“Oh, Johnny,” you say, pawing away tears.

“Canne have Christmas w’out a tree,” he says with a grin before going to bed, climbing in next to you. “Simon alr’dy told ye, bon, but we’re both so sorry.” You swallow thickly.

“It’s not your fault,” you try to reassure, but Simon just shakes his head.

“We need to talk,” he says. Your blood goes cold again for the second time that day.

You sit in a small circle, and they lay their background down for you, plain as day:

They’re ex-military. They were both some sort of special forces (“Can’t tell ye too much, bon, we might be oot of the game but ‘s still classified). They met on a task force, and they tell you Riley’s with their other two teammates who also shacked up. But they also tell you about the consequences of their line of work- obviously, nothing too detailed, but just enough where you get the gist.

They have made enemies, and though the worst of them are long gone, some of their followers have a taste for revenge. They’re retired, but safety isn’t ensured- especially not for you, a civilian. (“Maybe if we were younger,” Simon starts quietly, “we would’ve made you leave. Something like a saviour-complex. ‘You’re best off without us. ’” You balk at the idea, then immediately regret it, scared of seeming too attached. He just squeezes your hand.) The intruder was a follower of one of their greatest foes- no doubt, he’ll be facing multiple years behind bars, considering he was an accomplice to terrorism.

“So,” you say, surprising yourself with how shaky your voice is. “What… do you think he was looking for? If he wasn’t a robber, then…”

“Things on us,” Johnny says. “Somet'ing t’ use as leverage.” You shudder at the thought.

“He was planning to kidnap me,” you say quietly. 

“Yeah,” Simon whispers.

“‘S why the flats aren’t safe anym’re,” Johnny says. “We were hopin’ on delaying, but… After the holidays, we wan’ to buy a house. One ye’ll live in, too,” he says.

“Only if you want to,” Simon says quickly.

“Of course I want to,” you say without hesitation. “Sure, it might be moving quickly, but I like the way things are going.”

Johnny sighs like a weight got lifted off his shoulders, then beams at you. Simon looks relieved, too, but more as if he’s planning every bit of logistics that would ever be needed in the history of ever.

“It’s late now,” you say suddenly, looking at the electric clock sitting on a nightstand. It reads 2:34. “Where did all the time go?” Johnny kisses your forehead.

“Ye ‘ad a long day, hen,” he murmurs. “Git some rest.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” two voices echo back to you.

<- back

[fallenangelwings]

"Well. The judgement of souls was never my task, but. It's more lenient than you have been led to believe. There's a reason an entire sect of demons is tasked with luring and contracting souls to Hell." The angel lifted his gaze to find the same shooting star that had delighted the hunter, and a faint smile cracked across his vessel's face. Jimmy had been made for grinning, but under Castiel's control, it was a rare sight. Coordinating muscle to emotion was not his most practiced skill, but the boys were teaching him. Just by being themselves.

"You're right. My Father did not write the Bible, and much of it is self-serving to its authors, not His will." The sudden torrent of questions drew a sideways glance from Cas, surprised at the earnestness from someone who would have you believe held no faith whatsoever. "First. Other paradises do exist beyond Heaven. For instance, Valhalla. People of other faiths aren't condemned to Hell, they are taken where their faiths have led them. If a child dies before learning to speak, it is not whisked away to damnation for being ignorant of God. If a good person has no faith at all, their heaven is still waiting. Even if that Heaven is just a comforting place to sleep for eternity. We don't shape your paradise. We just host it."

Callused hands slipped into the pockets of his coat in a surprisingly human gesture. Bit by bit, Castiel was adapting to his new life in this strange vessel, and the man beside him was to blame.

"... Truth be told, there may be no better example to answer your questions than your surrogate father. Bobby has never told a soul, but... He killed his first monster long before a demon possessed his wife. When he was maybe ten years old, he picked up a rifle and shot his abusive father in the same kitchen you still use to this day. His mother did not thank him for protecting her. Both his parents' words still haunt him. 'You break everything you touch,' and 'God's going to punish you.' He buried that man alone, behind the shed, with a shovel that was longer than he was tall." Castiel's gaze drifted to the forest around them, picking his way along the path a half step behind Dean. "He doesn't allow himself to dwell on it. But behind several concrete walls and infinite locks, is a frightened child who still believes that God will punish him. Despite the countless lives he's saved. Despite helping to raise the boys who would save the world. He thinks the act of ending the violence and terror that haunted their house was enough. Bobby is destined for Heaven. His father is in Hell."

Bobby would be livid to hear his darkest history laid bare, but Castiel couldn't help what he knew. Every soul the Winchesters orbited had been studied at length, long before the Seraph learned to care about them.

"In the interest of preventing that conversation, do understand that you and your brother are already doing much to heal the scars that man left behind. His father was the reason he was frightened to have children of his own. The two of you, doing good in this world under his guidance, has done more for him than you realize." Castiel couldn't remember the last time he had spoken so much. His graveled voice felt strange in his vessel's throat, but for Dean? He'd talk hours longer. Until the man was worn out enough to lay down and rest.

The forest was almost pitch black at that time of night, and with the dense canopy overhead. Cas had trailed a bit behind Dean without realizing, and all of a sudden, the hunter's hand was taken. The warm grip wasn't tight, but it was firm as it pulled Dean to a halt. A moment passed, and a faint glow seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere, bathing the path in a soft icy light that was gentle on their blown-out pupils. It revealed a gnarled branch twisting up from the dirt, with a perfect notch about to catch the boot of Dean's bad leg.

"... Watch your step."

dean listens to his story, imagining the births of planets and galaxies as his mind dreams up visions of swirling dust painted with billions of colors and twinkling silvery sparks that are planets and stars and moons. he pictures castiel in some strange, ethereal nightmarish beauty weaving jupiter out of nothing more than a thought. speckling it with glowing orbs that float outside its atmosphere. wonders how much larger castiel was than that massive rock floating further past earth. could he hold jupiter in his hand? did he ball it up out of floating stones and paint it like a canvas? maybe he'll save those questions for another time. more conversations to be had in quiet moments. always better than sitting in silence. the brain's your worst enemy when there's nothing but quiet. nine times out of ten.

craning his neck back as castiel explains the otherworldly location of heaven--the stars swing into view. twinkling and dancing. he waits, trusting cas to tell him to move if he's getting too off path. maybe one'll try to fall? never know. a slide of his gaze to the side and the angel swings into view. dean's got a small smile, damn near close to a grin, if you look hard enough. one born out of thought at the sheer ridiculousness of creating a heaven for a flawed, human soul that might never find out for mistakes and "sins" they committed while living their small, brief lives.

"seems sorta shitty, if you think about it. that all the trouble does into making the perfect place for a soul to rest. learn. grow. to find serenity and they get shoved to hell because they made mistakes. i mean. yeah. some people deserve to be there. the real dicks that murder or commit atrocities on someone weaker, less able to defend themselves or fight back. rotting in that pit? damn near too good for most. but.."

there goes one! brows jerk up and it's obvious he saw something that made him get excited as silver zips over their heads. finally, he looks down at where they're going as the trees start to swallow them up. dark shadows and silver highlights peek through the branches above. there's a thin footpath that years of people doing what they're doing now has worn into the terrain. the hunter decides they can follow that. nothing but the night and peace and company. rare treat. one he's grabbing onto with both fists.

"..what really condemns a person? i don't believe that mixing fabrics or eating fish on the wrong day or stupid shit like that slams you into," his voice drops and a strange expression crumples his features--one that's gone so fleeting and fast--before they flatten purposefully shifting to lighter, curiouser and curiouser. "there. what are the rules? they give us a guideline written by a buncha dudes that throw their own ideas and biases into the mix. turn it into a product of its time with interpretations that don't fit the world anymore. or tell us to be good and do good things and suddenly we're in. what's good? what's bad? is it intentions? context?"

"whole system seems flawed as hell to us against someone who might not've known better. or are they saved from that harsh judgement because they didn't know? or were raised in a different place? worshipped a different god? can't tell me all buddhists are in cages waiting their turn.." he follow? so many questions from such a man who claims so little faith in the right channels, eh? who'da thought?

[inkbotkowalski]

oh cool so tumblr is gonna close, the last social media site that made me feel more joy than annoyance

[casualavocados]

Learn from who? Learn from you?

Chen Bowen as CHEN YI & Chiang Tien as AI DI KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[rachiebeee]

they are best friends and siblings and i love them both so dearly. featuring piercings bc i stand strong in my belief that they would

[moeblob]

What if I straight up didn't explain myself? What if I just said trust me on this? Would you?

[starry-bi-sky]

'Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings' doodles, because Pathetic Wet Cat Danny is the best Danny to practice drawing young faces with (and expressions).