#in his mid-late twenties era

[sunkenma]

happy birthday to the only streamer i know, the man the myth the legend, mr kodzuken himself

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 02. Down Under

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Conflict arises as a hotshot rookie decided that the current world champion is the next opponent to beat.

Word Count: 5.3k

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Y/n l/n is a superstar inside and outside of Formula One.

It's the way she smiles and crinkled eyes. It's the way she handle interviews with pr trained answers and cheeky quips here and there. It's the way that she always dress to impress, catching everyone attention, be it on the grid or even in fashion week.

It's the way she made winning looks so easy. How she made making into the podium is just a regular Sunday for her. How she would gave the spectators a race that can be remembered by them for the rest of their life.

By the time she finished up her first season, people had called her a superstar in the making. Awed by the sheer talent and grit that she seemed to have for the sport. Finishing third in the standings of 2012 Formula One season, people have to admit that they’re entering a new era in Formula One.

When she finished her second season in Formula One, she’s a certified superstar, evident from the driver championship that she had won that year. When she finished her third season in 2014, she became a legend as she won the driver championship for two straight times. 

It’s almost as if everyone forgets all the slurs and bad things that they had called the female just a few years prior. As if, all of the negative press and criticism being directed towards her are nothing but an old news.

Maybe it’s because she finally proven herself that she can conquer the world of motorsport with her talent. Or maybe it’s just because people found more exciting things to talked and shit about. Who knows? Y/n certainly don’t.

Though, that doesn’t mean that the female forgets all the shitty things that happened to her when she first entered Formula One.

“She’s going to fuck half the grid,” said one commentator, ignoring the fact that the female is seventeen years old, and most drivers are in their mid to late twenties. “She’s going to ruin the sport.”

“A fucking barbie,” said another one. “That’s what she is.”

There are more. More things being said that’s downright horrifying and disgusting. She knows that no one cares about her age, that one of the ugly consequences of her entering a male dominated sport as a girl is the sexualization that she will eventually receive. But still, hearing all these things is gross beyond words.

Her sex life seems to be a favorite topic of them. Talks about she’s dating or fucking who, how she is seen talking with one driver and the next day a news station will say that she’s fucking him and ruining his family. Talks about her being a slut who parties too hard and a raging alcoholic for drinking alcohols during her downtime.

As if, her life is nothing, but a trainwreck of a circus show for them to watch and laughed upon.

It was during that horrible first season when y/n realized, that to be a champion you need to be an overall asshole.

A sick and twisted personality of hers that she always kept under her bright smiles and friendly front. It’s more to always have that competitiveness – on the track or off the track. To always have that fire and determination to always be the best. To actually believe and have the confidence to say that yes, I am the best driver in the grid. Yes, I make no mistake.

Be the best or be nothing. Show the world your worth or you will be worthless. The black and white view that you have to be so fucking successful or be nothing at all.

(It took y/n awhile to recognize that.)

The first time she realized it was when she won her first race in China. It was a close race, with her almost hitting a Mercedes and her own teammate. Back then – way too drowned in the euphoria of winning her first race – she doesn’t realize what that means to the people around her. Mainly, to other drivers on the grid.

There are a lot of drivers that came from a different time period. A period where Formula One has a rigid structure and strict unseen rules. For them, who had lives in that time period, y/n arrival and all the changes that she had brought, looks like a threat for them. A challenger who appeared to challenge their authority.

“If you drive that Porsche, anyone can win.”

“I don’t get it, she drives dangerously. She should’ve received a penalty for that.”

“I just don’t understand what the hell FIA is thinking! I know they’re all about diversity and inclusivity lately but-“

Y/n turned off the tv in front of her, face blank.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ rang true inside of her head. Because hearing all of those things from her own childhood heroes is a bit tragic beyond doubt.

After all, these men are the people she had looked up to. They’re the reason why she wants to race in Formula One. They’re the reason why she have such a deep love for motorsport and why she’s trying her hardest to show all of them her capabilities.

Knowing the horrible and degrading things they called her should saddened her.

Though, instead, she doesn’t feel anything.

For a moment, she felt empty, as she sat there inside of her empty hotel room. She could hear chatters from the hallway outside, no doubt from the Porsche team who’s staying in the same floor as her. Besides that, everything felt a bit empty. And silent.

She just sat there, staring at the dark screen of the television in front of her. The euphoria of her earlier win had left without any trace.

Maybe it's because that she had gotten used to it. That these kind of talks is nothing new for her and slowly - but surely - had become a part of their daily life.

But no one deserves to live like this. No one deserves to be judged just because of their gender. No one deserves to have their skills and talent to be dismissed just because they don't have an extra weight between their legs.

Y/n, doesn't deserve this.

And in one second, that empty feeling was replaced by anger.

What right do they have to say things like that?

What right do they have to judge her life and talent like that?

Some never even won a race in their life! Or even get into the podium! Some even drive for shitty teams that have a brick of a car. A mid-tier driver that doesn’t have enough talent for the bigger teams. Now, just because they lost to a girl almost half their age, they think they have the right to talk shit to her?

So fucking funny. It almost made her laugh.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Honestly, it was frustrating that there are some older drivers that won’t accept their loss. It was more frustrating to hear all of their declarations that if they were also put inside y/n’s Porsche, they can drive better than her.

All that talks that questioned her ability just because of her age and gender. All of the talks that keep underestimating her over and over again.

Maybe that’s why she turned up like this, to have this kind of twisted and sick personality.

“Y/n,” started Herman as he introduced the young man besides him. She almost get a sense of déjà vu at the image. After all, this happened almost every year. Herman calling her to a meeting room just before the pre-season testing. Herman, introducing her to her newest teammate of the year.

Tall, blond, blue eyes. Probably some kid they picked off of F2 or other racing category randomly. She wonder how long this kid will last. How long, will it take for him to blow his gasket off.

“This is Henry Santos, your newest teammate,” said the older man as he gestured towards the male. He looked around y/n age and got starry eyed as he stared at y/n.

Typical, y/n almost scoffed out. It’s the same routine every year.

Almost immediately, she plastered a smile. It was so wide and so immediate. To the point it’s almost fake. “Hi,” she grinned. “Nice to meet you, I’m y/n l/n.”

Henry also nodded, excitement radiating off of him. “I know,” he said. “I’m a big fan.”

“That’s sweet,” she answered before turning her head towards Herman. “So, team briefing?”

Herman as well as other employee for Porsche immediately ushered them inside one of their meeting room in their motorhome. Talks about plans, the cars, and the upcoming season began as y/n listened to it attentively.

The same thing could be said to Henry as the kid could be seen writing a lot of things on his notebook, from his gaze, she could see how serious he is.

It’s the same look that she sees every year.

Kids being picked by Porsche for the position of their second seat. Kids, who was hoping to be able to stay in Porsche – one of Formula One top team, contenders for the championship – for more than one year.

Kids, who salivated at the thought of taking y/n’s seat.

She always blame her horrible experiences in the grid for this twisted personality of her. This kind of competitiveness, the urgency to always see as if they’re her rivals. The ability to unable see anyone as anything but competitors for her seat as uncertainty eats up her heart and whispered words that made her doubt everyone.

Sometimes, she felt a bit guilty, considering a lot of these kids, when they first entered Porsche, are good kids. Someone that just want to left their marks in Formula One.

But everyone wants to leave their marks in Formula One.

Everyone, wants to be the world champion.

Y/n included.

With three world titles under her name, it only made her hungrier for the title of the world champion. Some called her greedy, some called her over ambitious, but y/n thinks that’s just normal. When you taste the taste of winning once, there’s no going back. She's sure that Lewis and Sebastian shared the same feeling.

After that high of being the world champion, there is no way they want to lose it. The taste of winning is addicting after all. It's a dangerous drug to every driver. Once you taste it, you will always want more.

The same thing could be said for her teammates for the past few years.

If you’re in a Porsche, you will be part of the top team. You will fight for wins and podiums. It’s hard, to let it go, for your teammate. No matter how amazing they are.

She guess she has to be grateful that she’s the number one driver in the team.

The Formula One season started soon after that, kicking it off in Australia. Just like every year, Herman will force her to get along with her teammate, shoving them inside of the same private plane and made them do various media activities together.

Contrary to popular belief, she really doesn’t mind. Henry seems like a good kid. A bit nervous, a bit starry eyed. Nothing that she can’t handle. All of their media responsibilities ended for the day before it was time for them to do their driver briefing.

“You seem to get along with your new teammate,” called out a new voice, effectively catching her attention during her journey towards the briefing room. Henry had said that he needs to take some things back in their motorhome first, making y/n doing the journey alone.

“Maxie,” greeted y/n with a grin.

The so called ‘Maxie’ frowned.  “Don’t call me that,” he said. She could see an entourage of Red Bull employees all around him, no doubt protecting Christian’s very own prodigy from whatever danger he could have inside a guarded area.

Daniel couldn't be seen near him. It made her remember all the hushed talks about the Aussie contract renewal with Red Bull.

The woman laughed. “Aw, is little Maxie mad?” she said as she slung an arm around his shoulder – which is a feat itself considering he’s taller than her. “Don’t be that way to your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

“We so are!”

Years ago, back in 2015, when a kid called Max Verstappen joined Formula One, y/n felt that it was her duty to guide the lost little lamb. Or maybe it’s just her excuse to bully the new rookie.

You really can’t blame her for that. After all, she had been the youngest kid on the grid for years. She debuted when she was barely 17, she doesn’t even have a normal driving license. So that’s why when she first saw Helmut Marko newest golden boy, she thought that it was her time to be the reliable guy on the grid and helped Max to adjust to the Formula One lifestyle.

Which had not been going pretty well, considering Max is not the cutest kid on the planet – he broods, like a lot. Also Christian is basically in love with the kid. He’ll probably sell his own family for Max. 

She was not even surprised the slightest when it was announced that he and Kyvat will do a driver swap back in 2016. Controversial but interesting. She likes it.

“Ah, is that the Netflix crew?” said y/n as she waved towards the camera near them as they walked towards the briefing room. “Sorry babes, no camera during the briefings.”

“They know that,” muttered Max. “They just like following us around.”

“Ooo, spicy, stalker much, eh?”

A Red Bull employee actually chocked out a laugh at that and y/n count that as a win. The walk towards the briefing room is uneventful and was filled with small talks between her and Max. Some of the employees would chimed in, giving their own opinion or remarks but it’s pretty boring mostly.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the room.

Surprisingly, the first thing that she saw is a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Ah,” she said, stopping a bit in order to not bump into the male in front of her. “Charles,” greeted the woman good-naturedly. “You’re pretty early.”

Charles who came from the opposite direction, flushed a bit at that. He still got his pretty face which is nice. “I- uh, I don’t want to be late,” he replied. 

“A good mindset,” she said, giving him a thumbs up. “Anyway, have you met-“

“Charles,” greeted Max, with a nod of his head.

Charles too, gave him a nod. “Max.”

Both of them stared at each other silently at that, as if they're in the middle of sizing up each other before a battle. And maybe they are.

Y/n blinked. There seems an odd tension between the pair. “You guys know each other?” she asked, as the three of them enter the room. The female immediately sat at front.

Max, who decided to sit next to her, shrugged. “We met a lot during karting,” he answered, as if that explained the thick tension between the two of them.

“Yes,” replied Charles as he sat at her other side. “We often race against each other.”

“Ah,” she said. “Rivals huh? Neat.”

The door opened again at that, signalling the arrival of another set of drivers.

“Playing nice with the babies, y/n?” laughed Sebastian Vettel, clad in the familiar but still obnoxious red of Ferrari. She could see Kimi walking in alongside him, though just as usual, the man merely greeted her with a nod of his head before he take a seat behind them.

“For real,” she answered. “Gotta protect these kids hopes and dreams.”

“This is my fourth season,” argued Max back.

“Babies,” said y/n again.

Sebastian answered that with a laugh before he greeted Charles with small greeting and a pat on his back. It’s obvious that they had met beforehand. 

Slowly after that, more and more drivers appeared as low chatters began amongst themselves. Y/n was mainly occupied with both Charles and Max, though sometimes other drivers would greet her or chimed their opinion or two.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” started the man from FIA as he stood at the front of the room. “Let’s start the briefing. Is there any concern?”

And that officially starts the 2018 Formula One season.

The first time Charles ever saw y/n, was back in 2012.

It was the year where many things happened. He was entering almost the end of his karting days, looking for sponsors and teams who would want to support him for the higher categories. It was the year where he almost questioned his decision to be a racing driver. 

It was the year, where he realized that a future in Formula One is something that not everyone can reach.

To Charles back then, 2012 was one of the hardest year for his racing career. At the end of 2011, his father had confide to him that they’re running low on funds. That supporting his very expensive hobby will be harder and harder to do. It had stumped him, a realization about the harsh reality of the world.

Charles will be always grateful for Jules and all of his help after that. After all, without the man, he’s not sure if he will able to continue racing.

It was also the year where he found himself idolizing a new driver in Formula One. 

He first noticed her in a magazine. Charles doesn’t even know why did he picked that magazine all those years back. Maybe it was because she’s the only female in the stack of motorsport magazines. Maybe it was because she’s standing in front of a Formula One car, her face plastered on the cover with a headline that he will never forget.

"Youngest Race Winner in Formula One, y/n l/n," could be seen staring back at him. Behind that, in a font that is a bit smaller, the magazine too had added, 'The First Female Driver to ever won a Formula One Race.'

There’s something fierce and intimidating on her face as she stared back at her. It was as if she’s telling the world that she’s a winner. That she had arrived in the Formula One scene with one goal in mind.

To win.

Charles flipped open the magazine and began reading the article being dedicated to the female. About her passion, about her journey so far, and about her team. It is safe to say, that he was hooked ever since then.

As someone that wants to become a Formula One driver, it's only normal to follow the latest news regarding the sport. About the teams, or maybe the junior programs and opportunities that they had that can help his karting career. The arrival of Porsche back in 2012 was a really big moment for any fans of motorsport, so is y/n's arrival at the paddock.

For months, or even for the whole season, what people could talked about in the karting track is about the female. Oftentimes, she's an object of awe and reverent. As someone that started to break many boundaries that's being placed on the sport. Other times, she's an object of mockery and disapproval. Mostly due to her unconventional way to get her seat.

Honestly, back then, he also felt a bit apprehensive at that. After all, wouldn’t it be nice if he also came from a wealthy family that can just buy a whole Formula One team to support his dream? He wouldn’t have to work as hard as he is now, he wouldn’t have to desperately try to find sponsors or teams who would give him a bit of their time.

Maybe, if he came from a wealthy family, Arthur won’t have to give up karting.

That subject is still a sore spot for him. He knows that karting is an expensive sport, he knows that there is no way that his family can support two people karting at the same time. He knows, that he should be grateful that he’s the one being chosen for the investment.

But still, even after years, the guilt just won’t left him.

It’s the way he could see Arthur’s eyes dimmed a bit when he came for his races. It’s the way he would sometimes brought Charles’s old kart and use it in a track late at nights – thinking that no one will notice. His little brother is still as supportive as ever, cheering for him and wholly opened for discussions about his races, but Charles is not stupid. He can see how hurt Arthur was. 

And well, that served as more than enough motivation for him to race as hard as he can.

That reservation that he has for y/n l/n instantly disappeared as he watch the course of Formula One 2012 season. To him back then, it was really amazing for someone so young – only two years older than him – to be able to enter the pinnacle of racing and absolutely dominates the scene.

He watched the videos of her maiden win at the Chinese Grand Prix. He had obsessed over the overtakes that she did in Bahrain Grand Prix. That’s why, when the Monaco Grand Prix came around, he found himself watching it from the balcony of his friend apartment. 

The Grand Prix weekend had always brought a lot of fanfare. From the literal reconstruction of roads to the festive mood that people in Monaco seems to have, the Grand Prix weekend is something that Charles had always looked forward to.

“You seems more excited than usual,” said his friend, leaning forwards to his balcony railings. From their position here, he can almost heard the loud cheering from the grandstand or even the hustle and bustle that the Grand Prix seems to always brought to Monaco.

I’m going to race there one day, he thought, just like the years before. I’m going to be a Ferrari driver and I’m going to win the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Well,” started the Monegasque. “I have a new favourite driver.”

His friend raised his eyebrow. “Alonso?” he asked. “No, is it Felipe Massa?”

Charles shook his head. “Nah,” he denied. “L/n.”

At that, his friend stared at him. “Huh,” he finally let out. “It’s kind of weird not seeing you cheer for Ferrari.”

“I always cheer for Ferrari,” corrected Charles. “It’s just that I have another favourite driver on the grid.” 

“Mhm,” hummed his friend. “Not surprised though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cause you’re active in karting and all,” said the male. 

Charles blinked. “What do you even mean by that?”

“Like she’s a female and she’s one of the top driver,” explained his friend. “I just think that it would be obvious for guys like you – those who actively pursue racing as their career – to have some kind of crush to her.”

Crush?

And- and that stumped him.

It almost made him remember all of the things being said towards y/n. All the weird comments about her being a female or her attractive appearance. How she is more marketable and can play with the male fantasy and that it gave her an advantage compared to her other male counterparts.

How sexualized she is by everyone in the media.

He doesn’t like that.

Why is people talking about her gender when she made that insane overtake last race? Why is people talking about her in such a sexualized way when she’s literally the youngest race winner that Formula One had ever had?

All of them saw her as if she’s an object. As if, she’s in Formula One just to fuck around the grid and leave. They didn’t see her as the driver who won the China Grand Prix. They didn’t see her as the driver who got P2 in her debut race. They didn’t see her as a driver that has any worth for their attention and respect.

It was a bit of a horrifying realization. 

He knows that the world of motorsport has its own values and ideals. How people think that it’s a sport only for men and a job as a racing driver is something exclusive to someone who has balls between their legs. 

“No,” he replied, hand tightening around the railing. “I don’t like her just because of that.”

Because the woman is more amazing than that. He knows that she’s attractive. Anyone who has a pair of working eyes can see that. But that’s not the only reason why he put her in a pedestal so high. 

He likes her because she’s only two years older than him and she’s already a race winner. He likes her because she won’t back down from all the shitty things that the media had said about her ever since her debut. He likes her because she fights for the championship against drivers with an infinite experience and skills. Charles likes her because she’s an amazing driver. Charles likes her, because she has the skills to back up her seat in Formula One.

Not because-

A black Porsche car zoomed past him.

Not because-

He watched her finishing the race at fourth in Monaco.

Charles likes her, because she’s someone that is changing the sport.

She’s someone more amazing than how the media is portraying her. A fighter, someone that’s fighting for her voice to be heard. 

His idol.

From that on, he followed her career attentively. His family called it obsession but he likes to call it admiration. From her maiden driver championship in 2013, to her third one in 2017, he had followed it all.

He watched her win three championships. He watched her break countless records. He watched her turned all of those criticisms into words of adorations and worships.

A legend. A superstar. The best driver on the grid.

It had served as an amazing motivation for him to pursue his career in Formula One. Especially during darker times in life where he had questioned his place in the sport so many times. After loss and loss, the female had always became some sort of motivation for him to continue his racing career.

So after winning F2 and being offered a seat in Sauber, he was excited.

That offer had been a testament of his skill, that someone finally acknowledge him. That offer had made the lie that he had told his dad before his passing a truth, that the guilt won’t eat him up once more. That offer had made the dream that he had held for so long a reality.

That offer had made him even closer to y/n.

When Fred had offered him to meet the female during the pre-season testing he had took up the offer in an instant.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ is something that he would like to disagree because meeting y/n is like a dream come true. She’s Charming and witty. A hard worker and attentive to whatever nonsense he said during their meeting. Y/n is just so nice, just like how he imagine her to be.

Charles almost tripped himself when she asked for his number after that because holy shit- 

Somehow, after that meeting, he convinced himself that they stood at an equal ground. That after years and years of blood, sweat, and tears, Charles finally found himself on an equal ground with his idol.

He had never been so wrong.

He looked up, and he could see the female stood in front of the podium in front of him. Her smile bright, as she sprayed champagne towards Sebastian and Lewis who respectively stood at the second and third place.

It’s 2018 and it’s the Australian Grand Prix.

It’s 2018, and Charles saw the person that he had idolized for a long time won a race that Charles also participates in.

It was almost surreal to see her like this. To see the woman he had chatted with at the Porsche hospitality a few weeks ago to the woman who just won the first race of the season. The three of them – y/n, Sebastian, and Lewis – looks almost unreal to him.

The top drivers in the grid. The three world champions.

The best of the best.

His own 15th position on the grid stings a bit. Which is a bit unreasonable because he drives a Sauber. There is no way a Sauber could defeat cars from the top teams. Him, being a 15th position in a Sauber should be a pretty good achievement already.

But alas, it just doesn’t feel enough.

When they had chatted during the pre-session testing, it had gave him a fake illusion about them being an equal. After all, Charles is a Formula One driver now. He drives in the pinnacle of motorsport. He had shown the world that he’s capable to be a Formula One driver. Just like what he had dreamt of for years.

Today, is a harsh wake up call.

Y/n had looked so friendly and attainable that it gave him a false sense of hope that they stood on the same ground. Maybe it’s the euphoria of being promoted to F1 or maybe it’s the euphoria of managing to meet the woman that he had idolized for so many years.

Seeing this, her being at the top of the rankings while him, at the bottom, is a harsh reality check for him.

Because they’re not equal.

She’s still the faraway star that he can’t reach and he’s still the silent admirer that doesn’t have the courage to reach for her.

He’s still Charles Leclerc and she’s y/n l/n. Formula One superstar and legend. 

If he want her to look at him, to make sure that she remember his name, then he has to be better. He has to prove that he will worth her time.

Drive to Survive Season 1 Episode 3

It’s all about Porsche.

“It seems like a curse,” laughed Christian. “No one can hold off the second seat of Porsche for more than two years.”

A montage of past drivers could be seen. In some clips, a younger y/n could be seen standing or talking with the past drivers. It’s clear that these people are the previous holder of Porsche’s second seat.

“I think that it’s a known secret,” started Will as he stared at the camera. “While y/n portrays herself as a fun loving and charming woman, it’s clear that she is really strict and competitive towards her teammate.”

Y/n and Henry could be seen at that, the both of them entering a Porsche car. From how it looks, it seems that the both of them are going to the track together from their hotel. Henry could be seen wearing the standard Porsche polo shirt while y/n in wearing an oversized Porsche racing jacket and a sports bra underneath it.

“Are you driving?” asked the female, raising her eyebrows from behind her sunglasses.

“Sure,” said the male as they both entered the car, “I can drive.”

“Well if you can’t drive all of us are fucked,” answered the female as she sat on her seat. Y/n sitting at the front while two of their staff sat the back.

“Are you excited?” asked the staff as they made their way. “It’s your debut race.”

“I am,” laughed Henry. “There’s a lot of expectations that came with being a Porsche driver.”

During this conversation, y/n doesn’t seems interested in the conversation as she scrolled on her phone silently. The show made it more dramatic as they show a scene where there’s some kind of awkward silence inside the car.

After that, both y/n and Henry could be seen entering the grid. The female are laughing and taking pictures as well as giving autographs to her fans. From this image, we could see how much of a superstar the female is. Though, as they continue their way, the female could be seen greeting other employees and other drivers in a friendly way while Henry could be seen looking confused at the back.

A rookie and a superstar. A very different image.

“It’s not a bad trait to have,” clarified Will. “Because in order to be a world champion, you have to be competitive. In this sport, your first rival should always be your teammate. After all-“

Two Porsche could be seen racing against each other.

“-You have the exact same car-“

A team radio could be heard between Henry and the race engineer who’s ordering for the male to do a pitstop.

“-the same team strategy-“

A scene of two Porsche crashed into each other could be seen.

“And the same competitiveness to show that you’re the best driver on the team.”

The scene changed back into the interview room as Henry Santos appeared. His name could be seen besides him and his position as Porsche driver are written underneath it.

“My name is Henry Santos and I race for Porsche Royale Formula One team,” answered the male smoothly. A question was being asked offscreen as Henry could be seen listening and blinking before he let out a laugh. “Yes, there are a lot of pressure, considering this is my rookie year.”

On the screen, the standings from 2017 could be seen where Porsche won the constructor championship and y/n winning the driver championship. Henry voice too, could be seen as a voiceover, “Porsche is a winning team,” he said. “I want to be someone that can honour that ambition.”

“Do you think you can become the number one driver in Porsche?” asked the producer.

Henry’s smile froze as there’s a stretch of silence after that question.

It’s clear that Netflix wants some kind of drama from that question. The fight of Porsche’s number one driver position. A rookie versus the world champion.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes I believe I can.”

It was almost like a declaration of war. After all, y/n is the reigning world champion. She’s the one that’s using the number one on her car this year. A consistent driver that always shows a remarkable performance each year.

For a rookie like Henry to say that, it’s a bold claim to have.

“A conflict,” said Christian as he appeared once again. “Will bound to happen in a team like that.”

Taglist!

@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos @chanshintien @fairiesdowntheroad @not-laracroft @ilovegreengrapes @nzygftoji @reblog-princess @aaaooz @chasing-liberosis @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @reneny @hiraethrhapsody @stevesworld9 @miniboast @notleclerc @willowpains @lndonrris @laura-naruto-fan1998 @yaren23 @gills-lounge @asfaraslifegets @dl-yum @dessxoxsworld @goldenchemistry @vellicora @neoteez7 @lana-d3l-rey @mynameisangeloflife @fennecspage @yuriankasavchuk @hascrt-ay @kihc-zya @leilanixx @cha-hot @mafiulaputaama @hockeyboysarehot @stopeatread @lovewithmary @inloveallthetime

[mattsivy]

sigh have to do this again 😔 anywhore 😼 rick smut with enemies to lovers and age gap set during prison era, reader was alr in the group before rick even showed up (L ratio) and she’s just a massive brat (#girlpower) and ricks just like omf can you shut up and then she’s like make me bitch 😼 then BOOM sexy time (is this enough detail 😔) OH and lots of sexual tension 😼

HYPNOTIC ━︎━︎━︎ RICK GRIMES

pairing; Prison Era!Rick Grimes x reader

cw; mentions of death, swearing, making out, fingering, pet names ( baby, sweetheart, good girl ), p in v, hair pulling, choking, spanking (like 2 spanks), dumbification, dirty talk, degrading & praising. age gap (the reader is in her mid-twenties and Rick is in his very late thirties). unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) not proofread. if I’ve missed anything lmk

summary; you and Rick Grimes have hated each other since he stepped foot into the camp. After months on months of sexual tension, something finally happens

Author notes; this is literally gonna be filth guys. thanks for requesting my girl!! Second ever smut so pls be nice. this is so rushed and I got lazy asf at the end, I'm sure you’ll see!

You hated Rick Grimes with every fibre of your being. He walked around, acting like he owned everyone from the second he entered the camp, yet, hearing the gut-wrenching cries as he found out he lost his wife almost killed you.

You had been the one to cut Lori open, killing her. She had asked you too. To save her baby, Rick blamed you. How could he not? You killed his wife.

Despite the guilt, you couldn't help but match his attitude as you argued. The group quickly went to do their own things, not wanting to be caught in the middle.

“God! Can you just stop fuckin’ bitchin’?” Rick snapped. Your jaw clenched. You were not bitching. You were simply pointing out that his attitude is not okay. Lori had told you that her baby comes first. She actually demanded it, even when you had refused.

“Make me,” You challenged, you genuinely thought he would fall flat, walking away. Oh, how wrong you were.

Rick stalked towards you, a look in his eyes that told you you had flipped a switch within him. Soon enough, you were backed against the hard wall of the prison. “You’re gonna be wishin’ you never said that sweetheart,” Rick spoke gruffly.

“Yeah? What the fuck you gonna do?” You sassed him, which was a very bad idea. Soon enough, Rick turned you around, your cheek squishing against the wall.

“God, tell me you don't want this. ‘Cause if I start, I won't be able to stop,” Rick groaned out. You blinked, nodding.

“Words, sweetheart,” Rick demanded, his hand running up and down your sides.

“I want this,” You spoke, your words all muffled due to your cheeks being squished against the wall. God, you don’t know what you were thinking but he was so hot. So why not?

That was all Rick needed before he practically tore off your jeans. You were not happy about that, clothes were hard to come by these days.

Rick let out a low growl as he saw your lacy panties, which were soaked through.

“You all soaked from our argument? Dirty girl,” Rick tutted, landing a soft smack on your ass. You let out a little whine.

“Yeah? You like that?” Rick let out a little chuckle, landing a harder smack on your ass, thoroughly enjoying the little whines that fall from your mouth.

His rough hand makes its way down your waist until he’s pulling down your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Rick hummed as she rubbed your ass, before flipping you around so you facing him. He caught you in a searing kiss as his hand made its way down to your clit, rubbing in soft circles. You let out a little whine into Rick’s mouth.

Rick smirked against your mouth before he pulled away with a bite of your lip, his head dipping down into your neck, his lips moving softly against your sensitive neck. He entered one finger into your cunt.

You let out a loud moan, your head lulling back as he pumped his finger in and out of you. “More,” You gasped out.

“You want another?” Rick had the damned smirk on his face. You nodded. “Words,” He took his hand in your face, squishing your cheeks together.

“Yes, please!” You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders. Rick adds another finger, stretching out your tight cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” Rick groaned, making the coil in your stomach tighten. You were a sucker for dirty talk

“Gonna cum,” You gasped out.

“Cum, Sweetheart. Be a good girl,” Rick rubbed his thumb against your clit, making you let out a pornographic moan, gushing around his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ hot, baby. Don’t know why I didn’t have my way with you earlier,” Rick groaned out, fiddling with his belt. You ran your hands down his chest, all the way to his belt before you helped him undo it. Rick quickly pulled jeans and boxers down, revealing his hard cock.

It was bigger than anything you’ve ever had before, and it scared and excited you. Rick captured your lips in another searing kiss. It was messy, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance, which Rick won.

“Turn around,” Rick broke the kiss, making your knees go weak and doing exactly what he said. He rubbed his tip against your folds before slowly entering you, the pain mixing with the pleasure. It was such a delicious stretch.

“You can move,” You gasped out, making Rick groan. He moved his hips slowly at first before he started to pick up the pace. He wrapped his hand around your hair, in a ponytail before tugging it up, your head being tilted upwards.

You let out a string of loud moans as he pounded into you. Soon enough, his hand snaked down your belly, rubbing your clit. You were a babbling mess.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, look at you. You’re already a dumb cockdrunk slut,” He groaned, his hips snapping into you at a quicker pace.

It wasn’t long before you saw stars, coming around his cock, Rick let out a loud moan, following shortly after, releasing his load into your cunt.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up,” He pressed a kiss to your sweaty back. Maybe, you didn’t hate him after all.

tags ━︎━︎━︎ @rottedcxre @guccifrog @breeloveschris @demistyles @luverboychris xox, nancy

[hwadam-stories]

⊹ PHANTOM PAINS ⊹ PILOT EPISODE

(black!fem!) mea harper!reader x ceo boss!dhan tae-oh

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

I do not consent to my work being reposted, — stolen or translated anywhere else.

⊹ CW: long post, emotional cheating, unrequited love, depression, fluff, drama, etc.

⊹ SYNOPSIS: Celebrating his niece's birthday at a restaurant, Dhan recognizes you from across the room as his past lover from five hundred years ago and is determined to stop at nothing to be with you again.

⊹ A/N: this is my first serious fanfic, feedback on this pilot (comments, messages & reblogs only!) will help me consider continuing it with motivation. Canon divergent / somewhat canon compliant to the MEA CULPA (2024) film by Tyler Perry with some crossover aspects thrown in. I hope you enjoy!

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Does Your Majesty wish to meet again in our next lives?" You asked, wrapping your arms around him.

"Of course, were you considering abandoning me?" Dhan replied, chuckling.

"Okay then, when the time comes, I'll be your master once more." You promised. "Your love. Your pain. Even your very last breath, please give them all to me."

"They are all yours, y/n."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

There was a time when those words meant everything to him.

A time when finding you meant everything to him.

But after his fifth life, Dhan had given up on his search and the phantom pains have haunted him ever since.

It was a pain that wasn't his, a pain that never faltered in reminding him of his failure despite the many times you two were reincarnated throughout the last five hundred years.

Your souls were connected after all and even though this pain has brought him a great deal of misery, part of him hoped you weren't feeling anything.

Presumably, because he was always reincarnated as a man, he assumed you would be reincarnated as a woman but other than that, he never really had any concrete way of finding you. It was safe to assume that since his ethnicity changed, yours did too.

Not that he particularly cared what race you were now, all that mattered was that he was reunited with you. But that promise has become nothing but a fleeting dream. A delusion Dhan couldn't completely let go of because this pain meant that you were alive, somewhere out there. Hopefully looking for him too.

In every lifetime after the first one, he always accumulated a great deal of wealth somewhere in his mid to late twenties under the name of Dan.

In this era, he was Dhan Tae-Oh, the boss of a CEO corporation in Korea and came from a long line of gangsters that reinforced the values of family and business to a rather high degree.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Tonight, he was celebrating his niece's 9th birthday and his sister-in-law's most recent promotion in the fashion industry.

His younger brother, Charles Kang, arranged everything at the finest Italian restaurant in all of Chicago, Illinois, called up Dhan three days before and here they all were.

"You know, we got lucky tonight." Charles set aside his fork and knife for a sip of wine.

"I initially planned to invite more people for Abby's dinner party but a larger group had already reserved a bigger table and I snagged us the only one they had left."

Now that Dhan gave it a second thought, Piccolo Sogno was unusually packed tonight and much busier than he had initially anticipated.

Even looking over his shoulder he could still see the glimpse of the same crowd he passed through, still waiting in line outside.

His assistant, Seon-woo, mentioned something about a on the rise celebrity artist being one of its more known customers over the last couple of years. No one Dhan had really heard of or cared to for that matter.

"Their celebrating their mum's birthday, I heard." Susan remarked, her posh accent gleaming through. She looked past her husband and over her shoulder, seeing the large the table behind them.

There were about five people and that one particular redheaded woman must've been the birthday mom. "Surely Abby won't mind sharing her special day when two cakes come out." Susan teased.

"You got me a cake?!" Abby gasped, beaming with a smile. "Is it a big one?"

"You can only have two slices, young lady." Susan tenderly pinched her daughter's cheek. "The last thing we need is you bouncin' off the walls at 2 o'clock in the mornin' on a school night."

Abby pouted and brought those puppy eyes straight to her uncle.

Dhan stifled a laugh, hiding that cheeky smile behind a half closed fist. "I'm sorry Abby, not even that can convince me to break your parents rules but I'll make it up to you when dessert arrives, I promise."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dessert was served in the form of a double stacked white and pink frosted cake decorated with strawberries and red icing for the words "Happy 9th birthday, Abigail!"

Candles were blown and nine year old Abigail Kang became tonight's birthday girl that the staff (and some nearby tables) sang to. Pictures were taken and there were smiles all around.

The gift that Dhan purchased was a reasonably expensive one but not something he would ever think to showboat about. He simply had some connections here and there and thought to put them to good use for the short time he was going to be in Chicago.

"All fourteen of Taylor Swift's albums!?" Abby squealed, wrapping her arms around her Uncle Dhan and squeezing him tight. "I love it! I love it! I love it!"

Dhan laughed nervously, patting her head and squeezing her shoulder tenderly. "Your arms squishing my insides make that explicitly clear."

Everything was going great. Dhan was feeling great.

That is, until things weren't great anymore.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dhan suddenly gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from keeling over on the floor of the restaurant.

His chest became uncomfortably tight and his head began throbbed with a splitting sensation.

The phantom pain had returned.

For the sake not wanting to make a scene or ruin what was already a perfect night, Dhan got his breathing under control, keeping some stoicism to his face to not alarm anyone.

The tightness in his chest seemed to lessen but the throbbing in his head wasn't going anywhere.

"Pumpkin, why don't me and you freshen up in the girls' room and leave the boys here, yeah?" As if on cue, Susan took her daughter by the hand and headed straight for the bathroom.

"Dhan." Charles sighed, addressing him in a somber tone of their birth language. Entirely oblivious to what his brother suffering with. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye but I'm really glad you could make it tonight."

He listened to his brother -- or at least tried to.

The words were being drowned out by a sudden ringing in his ears, leaving him momentarily stunned that it almost felt like the world around him was going to spin.

But he wasn't feeling nauseous from the alcohol or a sudden fever. It felt more like ... resentment.

It put a bitter taste in his mouth and made him clench his fist at the end of the table until his knuckles went white.

His brother hadn't done anything wrong and yet Dhan was being swallowed whole by the sensation, not knowing where to place it.

It's just ... if his brother wasn't the problem, then who?

"Oh look! Her Majesty, The Queen has finally arrived." A woman's voice cackled in the air.

She was an older looking caucasian woman with red curly hair and wine red lipstick, belonging to the group that booked a table for a total of nine and judging by what the already opened and nearly empty wine bottle, she must've had a bit too much to drink.

That's when he saw you approach the table.

It was you. It was really you.

His soulmate.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Don't worry son, your second wife will be on time." Azalia, your mother-in-law cackled, caressing the cheek of Kal, your husband.

His awkward shuffle of a smile made it crystal clear that whatever came out of her mouth tonight, he wasn't going to come to your defense anytime soon.

What can you expect from a man that holds his disrespectful mother over your marriage of three years?

What's worse is that Azalia had the nerve to invite the one woman she favored more.

Your husband's childhood friend, Jenna.

The same childhood friend that had become the topic of your marriage counseling session that your husband Kal had ditched midway through for this dinner party.

A session that you had to finish by yourself, making you the one who arrived late.

Jenna was a tall, light skinned woman with dark curly hair and a bright red dress with a V neck to show off a window of cleavage and a shortened skirt to show off her toned and slender legs.

And to add salt to fucking wound -- Azalia made sure Jenna sat next to your husband while you sat at the end of the table with your only friend and sister-in-law, Charlise.

"I'm sure you won't mind, y/n. You and Charlise probably wanna talk anyway."'

You looked at Kal, searching his gaze for something, any sign of him speaking up to his mother but to your utter disappointment he just let it happen.

You can only push down the intense feeling of resentment and agitation with a passive aggressive smile, taking your seat at the far end with Charlise.

This was going to be a long dinner to get through.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Apart from a brief exchange of words from your brother-in-law, Ray Hawthorne, and the couple sitting across from you, Charlise was the only saving grace at this table and frankly the only reason you kept it together as long as you did.

As much as you wanted to tear off that terrible red wig and burn it, you tuned out your mother-in-law whenever she made any more chide remarks about you.

Not much of a point in ignoring your husband, he was too focused on Jenna and giving Azalia one of the most expensive birthday gifts you had ever seen.

A silver and gold watch that you knew your unemployed husband didn't have the money for.

"Happy birthday mom, from me and y/n."

You scoffed in utter disbelief and stood up from your seat, grabbing your purse. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air."

"Oh, well you take your time. We're doing fine here." Azalia insisted, smiling from ear to ear.

Kal was on the verge of getting out of his seat, expressing concern. "I can come with you babe--"

"No." You snapped coldly, barely sparing him a glance as you waved him off dismissively. "I'll be fine on my own, thank you."

Kal frowned, lowering himself back down with a defeated expression. "A-Alright, just don't stay out there too long."

You sighed into the night air, hands pressed against the metal railing while the people behind you carried on with their evening under the lit up patio roof. Glasses clanking, people laughing, wine pouring and plates clinking.

All of it was just background noise to drown out one particular thought that you couldn't run away from.

Maybe it's time to put this relationship on permanent leave.

It's not a pleasant thought. It never was. You and Kal had known each other for eight years and had been married for the last three of them. You've had your ups and downs like any other couple and got through it but this? This was too much. His mother was too much.

But that's probably what SHE wants. The sooner you're gone. The happier she'll be.

You only stuck it out this long because you genuinely loved Kal and Charlise was the anchor keeping you grounded.

As one of Chicago's most successful defense attorney's alongside your brother-in-law, you had everything and yet nothing at all with how your marriage was starting to fall apart, on top of shouldering the numerous bills since Kal lost his job as an anesthesiologist.

God, where did it all go wrong?

"Having a rough night?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the deep and smooth voice of a man walking up beside you. The cool night's breeze washing over you both.

He was a tall and handsome man of Korean decent. The darkness of his long hair making the crimson color of his eyes seem as though he were some beast straight out of a fairytale.

Alluring eyes that stared into you with a hint of sincerity and invitation.

You can barely hold in a chuckle, crossing one arm over the other to let your wedding ring glint in the moonlight. "That would be the understatement of tonight."

He sees this and can't hide the smirk on his face. "I don't blame you. In-laws can be infuriating like that sometimes. Especially mother-in-law's."

The restaurant wasn't exactly that big in terms of table arrangements so it makes sense one's antics would be overheard when they're standing around the biggest table in the room.

You chuckle again. The tightness in your chest starting to lighten but your smart enough to keep up you guard to shut down any potential flirting, even the harmless kind. "Can you expect anyone to act cordial on their birthday? I've been here all night without a single drink of my own and tolerating her has been exhausting."

You certainly weren't the type to open up like this to a stranger of all people but it felt good. Yes, you had your friend, Charlise, but there was something different about this man. Something oddly familiar.

"Because she's acting like a cunt towards you and only you and you feel that if you didn't step out when you did you would've tore her a new one right infront of her favorite son and the entire restaurant?" He guessed your exact feelings with a cheeky smile.

You exhale a baffled laugh.

It's like he knew exactly what you were feeling.

"Oh, so you're a mind reader now?"

He raises his right hand, jokingly. "Guilty as charged, your honor."

The both of you laugh.

"Dhan."

"Y/n."

Dhan smiled, staring longingly into your eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, y/n."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Eventually, you were back inside the restaurant. Sitting comfortably beside Charlise and ignoring another passive aggressive comment from Azalia.

You had been gone for a solid eight, maybe ten minutes tops.

The dinner eventually ended and everyone was putting aside their plates and gathering up their coats and belongings while Ray generously secured the bill.

That's when the waiter approached with an expensive looking bottle of wine.

Ray dismissively waved his hand. "No need to send over anymore wine, sir. You can take that back, the dinner party is over."

The waiter shook his head. "I'm sorry sir this isn't for the table. I'm looking for a y/n, is there a y/n here?"

You raise your hand slightly to get the waiter's attention. "I'm y/n."

The waiter smiled at you, presenting the bottle. "Piccolo Sogno would like to formally gift you our most exclusive wine to enjoy right at home. On behalf of a generous courtesy from Mr. Tae-Oh, ma'am who wishes you a fine night. Thank you for you dining with us."

A bit stunned, you still accepted the bottle. That name alone already clued you in to who this was from.

Unaware of your husband's jealous gaze, you can't hide the smile on your lips as you read the note on the bottle.

A drink to wash away all your frustrations - Dhan.

[fabled-lady-twilla]

Hi, I'm Twilla and I'm currently in the process of writing a ShigaDeku Dystopia/Soulmate AU fic that no one, and I mean literally NO ONE, asked for! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why do I always join fandoms late and why do I always somehow end up loving/shipping the rarepairs in fandoms that barely anyone likes or wants to read about lmao? 🥺👉👈

I just finished reading the latest manga chapter, watched all six seasons, and binged all three movies. I am absolutely BURSTING with ideas of where I want this story to go. I want to at least post the first chapter by the time ShigaDeku Week 2024 is here next month. :)

In my fic timeline, the MHA canon story line doesn't happen until Class 1-A's third year, and since my story is set six years after their graduation, most of the main characters are in their mid to late twenties. My story starts after the Quirk Affliction, a strange illness that begins killing off Quirk-users all around to world, resulting in a massive a death toll that causes civilized society to collapse.

Anyways, here's the general synopsis:

The Final War was over before it had even begun. With the onset of the Quirk Affliction, a mysterious illness that disproportionately targeted the Quirks of heroes over the Quirks of villains, the world was left defenseless as it plunged into a new era of chaos and devastation.

It’s been six years since the onset of the Affliction and the death of All Might. Six years since the world’s heroes, and the society they desperately fought to protect, have crumbled into dust in Shigaraki Tomura’s hands.

From the ashes of this destruction, Japan’s new regime was born. The country was split into three territories, each with its own Grand Commander, united in nothing save for one singular rule: life for those who submit, and death for those who do not.

As Grand Commander of the largest and most plentiful of Japan’s territories, Shigaraki has lived the last six years reaping the fruits of his labors and taking pride in helping his Sensei accomplish his dream. But as of late, Tomura has been having strange dreams of his own: hazy memories of an abandoned park, of blooming wisteria trees, of laughter and freckles and forest green eyes.

Midoriya Izuku, now Quirkless due to the Affliction, has not stopped his pursuit of helping others, despite the world — and everything in it — turning itself upside down. Izuku dreams of a brighter future, and strangely enough, dreams of his long-lost childhood friend, Shimura Tenko.

The same Tenko that Izuku had unknowingly befriended as a young boy. The same Tenko who’d stopped him from jumping off the rooftop all those years ago. The same Tenko that, Izuku realized with horror, was now the monster known as Shigaraki Tomura.

Unfortunately, Izuku learns all too late that having a Soulbond with the King of Villains comes with a heavy cost. Shigaraki seems hell-bent on keeping Izuku as close to him as possible, believing Izuku to be his Soulmate, and thus, Shigaraki’s only true weakness, stirring up an ill-fated romance that neither has prepared themselves for.

As a new calamity encroaches upon them in the form of a mad man attempting to become a god, the heroes and villains must find a way to work together and solve the mystery of the Affliction before it destroys the world and everything they hold dear.

✨ P l e a s e ✨ let me know if you're interested in hearing about this by either, liking, reblogging, or sending me a PM. I'm working really hard to get the first chapter of this out by ShigaDeku Week 2024 in May!

Thank you so much for reading. 💚💚💚

[butch--dean]

Thinking about Dean during the Stanford era just before everything went down going to see Brokeback Mountain in theaters. He heard whispers about it but would deny that he knew anything about it if anyone had been around to ask. One night he sneaks into a theatre in a mid-sized town (not so big that it would be busy, not so small that he would stand out). He buys tickets for a different film and sneaks into a late-night showing, and makes sure to sit in the back so he can avoid the judgmental gaze of other patrons (they're not judging you, Dean, they're here for the same reason you are).

Thinking about Dean watching the slow-building yearning and the casual displays of intimacy and affection between Jack and Ennis during their summer ranching. Thinking about how they both go on to get married and have kids but continue to feel so deeply dissatisfied with their lives. Thinking about their reunion 4 years later and a kiss so frenzied that it bruised their noses. Thinking about twenty years of back-and-forth, of yearning for something one of them is too afraid of have. Thinking about the heartbreak of “I wish I knew how to quit you” and “sometimes I miss you so much I can’t hardly stand it” and "it's because of you, Jack, that I'm like this," and "there ain't ever enough time." Thinking about Dean silently breaking down during Ennis' call to Jack's widow, and again when he enters the closet of his lover's childhood bedroom to find a relic of their relationship, hidden away in a dark corner. Private. Loved.

When Dean left the theatre, he was a changed person - heartbroken for something that, in that very moment, he couldn't name within himself. I think that he carries the story with him throughout the series. Eventually, he is able to name that heartbreak - of loving someone so completely but never being able to say it. Of fearing what others would do if they knew, of having someone but never allowing yourself to actually have it.

Of course he sees the comparisons to be made between Cas and him. He sees what his insistence in believing in Cas, even when his gut tells him otherwise, means. He understands what is being left unspoken in long, drawn out gazes and crooked smiles. He knows that their post-death hugs and late nights spent chatting with each other while watching the old westerns that Dean loves mean so much more than they pretend.

I think that over the years, Dean would return to the film and re-mourn the loss of Jack. Over and over, on nights when Sam is out late researching in an archive and Dean knows he has a few hours alone. He has a torrented copy (because he can't risk the physical evidence being found, even after settling into the bunker). I think that Charlie probably downloaded for him, because of course - she knew. Maybe she slipped it in a batch of movies Dean requested from her, with a few of her own added in for good measure. He regrets never having the chance to thank her for that.

After Cas dies and goes to the empty, Dean hangs the jacket with the bloody handprint on the inside of his dresser door. He stands there and thinks about Ennis finding his and Jack's bloody shirts intertwined in a hidden spot in the back of his closet, together, after his death. Dean stands, staring at the jacket, heartbroken. He thinks about loving and losing and never-really-having. Of letting yourself bask in the sun, shining on your face. If he can't have Cas, he wishes that the universe, or Chuck, or whatever, had at least seen fit to have left him with Cas's trench coat to protect on the inside of his stained jacket. But it (or he) didn't, all he has left is the relic of his not-lover's handprint, marked in blood.

[tiredkiwilol]

LU age headcanons!!

Time: okay so of course i gotta start off with time. this guy (i’m pretty sure it’s canon) started his first adventure at 9 years old and i also headcanon he turned 10 sometime during that adventure. i think he’s currently in his mid to late-30s, probably like 35-37? however i think he has both the mentality of a teen and a 40 year old.

Warriors: i think during the war of eras he was 17-18 (enlisted in the military a year earlier maybe?) and is currently in his early/mid twenties, like 23-25.

Twilight: ngl when i first saw a picture of him i genuinely thought he looked like a 16 year old in his little ordon clothes so because of that im going to say he started his first adventure like a month before he turned 17 and turned 18 soon after. currently i headcanon him around 21-23 years old.

Sky: i think sky started probably around 17-18 years old because he was graduating (i think?) or becoming a senior knight at the start of his adventure. now i wanna headcanon him at about 21 years old, though i could also see him at like 19-20.

Hyrule: for his first adventure in headcanon him at 12 years old. it just fits for me. now his age has varied the most since i first got into lu. i used to headcanon him as the second youngest at like 15 years old, but i read some fics and headcanons that had him older than that and i think that it would be halarious with everyone just thinking he’s like 15-16 and he’s sitting there a full grown adult. so now i headcanon him being like 16-18/19.

Wild: wild when he first picked up the master sword was 12 (pretty sure this is canon) and when i first played botw i thought he was probably around 16 during the memories, but when calamity struck he had just turned 17 a few months ago. anyways now he’s 117 but like 17 mentally. or like 2 if you see it from when he probably came out of the shrine.

Legend: ah yes my favorite. i’ve seen him from his starting adventure range from 5/7 to 9-11 but i think he was 9 when he started his adventure and turned 10 a few months into his adventure. for his age now, when i was first introduced into the fandom i saw a lot of people thinking he was about 19 but i had seen some people think he was 21 or older than twilight so i didn’t really have a set age until i read the last few comics and headcanons people had. anyway i headcanon him as 16-17 years old currently. i love triple threat just being a trio all near the same age.

Four: when he started i wanna say about 8/9 because he could still see the minish (i love the art style for that game it’s so cute) and now i could honestly see him as a mature 16 year old or a 20 year old. yeah like no in between.

Wind: when he started he was 12 and now he’s nearly 14 (ngl i read it wrong in the comic and for the longest time thought he was already 14 ㅠㅠ)

[queenvidal]

The Queen For A King

Negan x Reader (Rick's Daughter)

Chapter 1: The Only One

Chapter Summary: Rick want's to protect his daughter, but there is only so much he can do. What Negan wants, Negan gets.

Wordcount: 2741

Era: Season 7

- Part 4 of the The One And Only Series -

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

“Oh, fuck.” You grumble, as your tired eyes try to focus on the alarm clock on your nightstand. Groaning, you quickly crawl out of your bed. It’s already late in the morning and you were scheduled for a few hours of guardshift on the wall, you’re way too late. Within moments you get ready for the day, jumping around the room, trying to get into your pants while simultaneously brushing your teeth. 

You need to hurry, the Saviors are most likely already in town and you really need to talk to Negan before something happens. He still has no idea Alexandria knows about you two and that you know about his wives. You stop involuntarily at the thought. It still hurts to think about it.

You weren’t so naive to believe there wasn’t someone waiting for him in his own community. He’s a handsome man with a lot of power, he just had to be with someone at home. But with five other women? That really hurts like hell, but you have to ignore that ugly feeling that's tightening your chest for now. You take a quick glance into the mirror, adjusting your hair and once you feel presentable, you head downstairs.

Rick is sitting at the kitchen table, checking what seems to be today's inventory of the pantry. You’ve got half a mind, to just run past him without a word, but decide to quickly greet him with a rushed, “Morning,” before dashing to the front door.

Rick's head snaps up and he calls after you, “Hey, where are you going?” 

While hopping into your boots, you answer, “Late for my shift!”

“Uh-uh” Rick’s shaking his head. “Back in here.”

With quick fingers you secure your knife belt around your waist and turn around towards the kitchen. You’re looking at your father expectantly, waiting for him to talk.

“No shifts for you today.” He states, folding his arms on the table. “You'll stay in the house ‘till they’re gone.”

“Did you turn off the alarm?” You ask, but your father doesn't answer. Annoyed, you roll your eyes. “Dad-”

“No!” He shuts your protest down immediately. “I want you out of their reach.”

Now it’s your time to fold your arms. “With theirs you mean his and if you really wanted that, you would have sent me out to another pointless run already.” 

Rick narrows his eyes at you. “You stay here, end of discussion.” 

Or so he wished. 

You mirror his stern expression before starting to argue, “First of all, I am an adult and I’ll be damned if I let you ground me in my mid-twenties. Secondly, you can’t hide me forever, Dad. Why won't you just let me talk to him?”

Rick stands up from the table, picking up his hatchet from the counter. "Because you two have nothing to talk about." He insists while securing his weapon to his belt. 

You’re about to reply to that, but in the end decide to save your breath. Negan will come see you, regardless, like he always has. And if he doesn’t, you will seek him out yourself. You two really need to talk about all of this.

“Where is your brother?” Rick suddenly asks you.

“Haven’t seen him, literally just rolled out of bed.” You lean against the door frame of the kitchen. “If he’s not in his room, I’d guess he’s strolling through town.”

Rick's shaking his head. “I want you and him here at home during the pickup."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him again. "Carl’s old enough. He doesn’t need a babysitter." 

Rick casts you a warning glare, he is more than annoyed and done with your arguing. You just shrug your shoulders before pushing yourself off the door frame again and while going back up the stairs, you say. "Guess you'll have to fetch him yourself then. I've just been told not to leave the house."

Rick looks after his daughter. That girl can be infuriating at times. After a long sigh he decides to head outside. At the door he looks back up the stairs one final time before closing the door behind him.

People are already swarming around town, ready to face today's pickup. Rick’s nerves are slowly getting the better of him as he’s walking down the street. All kinds of emotions are swirling through his mind. Anger, Sadness, Fear. The Saviors are already a handful to deal with, the last thing he needs right now is the wrath of his own daughter. 

She is angry, he gets that. He can’t blame her for not seeing reason at the moment and he knows she’ll come around eventually. Under different circumstances Rick would have laughed at the absurdity of having to lock up his adult daughter, but not today and not with the situation they are all in right now. 

She wasn't wrong about the pointless runs. If he could, Rick would have sent her away again like he did before. But Negan made himself very clear last time. Someone would have to pay if she was absent again today. In this regard his hands were tied. But that doesn’t mean he’d let that scum close to his daughter. If Negan wants her, he has to go through him first.

Rick speeds up his steps a bit. The Saviors are not here yet, but they should arrive at any moment now.

Negan’s eyes wander to the side mirror to get a look of the convoy behind him. Six trucks are following him, way more than he needs for a pickup, but he wanted the man power today, just in case Rick didn’t get the message. 

When Alexandria's tall walls come into view, Negan quickly scans the guards on top. Just like in the weeks before he misses his Sunshine on her post and it's immediately souring his mood. I don’t like how this is looking, Rick.

The gate opens when the trucks are getting closer and the Saviors drive inside. Already irritated, Negan jumps out of his truck. Where the fuck is she, he wonders, looking for her among the guards down at the gate. And again she’s nowhere to be seen. Now he is really pissed. After a quick breath through his nose, in an attempt to keep himself calm, Negan slams the door shut and starts walking towards town when he sees Rick approaching.

Simon orders their men with a sharp whistle to start swarming out, taking up all of the parking lot. Rick’s meeting them in the middle, together with the woman with dreads and a few others Negan doesn’t care to learn the name of. 

“Good morning, Rick!” Negan calls. His eyes quickly wander around the gathering people around them, still looking for Rick's daughter, before he hands his beloved Lucille to Simon for him to exchange her with a little gift he brought.

“You see, Rick”, Negan starts, loud enough so everyone around can hear their little heart to heart. “Last time we talked you gave me the impression that you are doubting my intentions with your daughter. As it was kinda tradition for courting before the apocalypse, I brought the woman in question flowers.” Disgust and anger reflect off Rick’s features, bringing a large smile onto Negan’s face. He takes a few steps closer and stops right in front of Rick’s face. “So, where is she?”

Rick narrows his eyes at him, not stepping down. “She’s here,” he quietly admits. “But you’ll stay away from her.”

He’s still not cooperating? Negan has to huff a laugh at that. “I’m sorry, I think I've misheard you. Sounded like you-”

“You’ll stay away from Y/N.” Rick interrupts harshly. “I won’t tell you again.” Negan’s smile disappears quickly, instead he is scowling at Rick, his mouth forming a firm line as his anger is starting to show. “Let me make this clear,” Rick hisses, staring Negan dead in the eye, “Over my dead body.”

That daring asshole. Negan's scowl slowly eases into a small smirk. “That can be arranged.” Without breaking eye contact, Negan calls over his shoulder. “Simon!”

And the Right Hand raises his revolver, aiming for Michonne. The other Saviors quickly turn and take aim on Rick's people as well. 

Negan moves another step forward, towering over Rick, who seems to be completely unaffected by the threat. Both men stare each other down. “And I won’t ask you again.” But Rick is not backing down, angering Negan even more, who’s patience is slowly running out. Fed up with Rick’s disobedience, Negan raises his free hand but before he can utter an order, he suddenly can see defeat growing in Rick's eyes. 

Rick's body slightly deflates at the realization that he is not in control of this situation, knowing there is nothing he can do but to cause more bloodshed. Eventually he steps down, letting his head fall a bit, with a small voice, barely over a whisper, he finally says. “In our house.”

A bright smile splits Negan's face. “See?” He asks, his voice turning teasing. “Was that so hard, Prick?” Rick glares back at him, which makes this small victory taste so much sweeter. “Simon!” Negan calls while turning towards his men. “Take a look at what these fine people found me this week. I-” He turns around to face Rick again, grinning from ear to ear. “I will pay my favorite Alexandrain a visit.”

While whistling his usual tune, Negan makes his way to Rick's house. The Saviors follow suit, walking past Rick's people to get to the pantry. Rick can't do anything but to watch Negan and his men go. Rage and adrenaline are flooding his system, causing his hands to tremble. He’s about to follow Negan, when Michone lays her hand on his shoulder. “She’ll manage,” She tells him, trying to calm him down, “You know she will.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Even his shoulders are shaking now, “If forces her to-” Rick stops himself from speaking it out loud. The thought of the atrocity Negan's done to Y/N is so revolting, he can feel his stomach rebelling, like he'd throw up at any moment. “I’m gonna kill him.” He all growls. Michonne tries to reach for him again, but he won’t let her. He's too upset. 

Once on the porch, Negan looks back down the street. Rick’s still glaring at him. Good. While keeping eye contact, Negan knocks at the door, grinning at Rick.

You jump down the last few steps when going for the door before opening it without a second thought. When you lay eyes onto the visitor, though, you’re taken aback. Negan enters without waiting for you to let him in, handing you a small bouquet of wildflowers. Almost hesitantly do you take them, looking at Negan with an arched brow. “The hell is that about?", you ask in complete bewilderment.

“It’s just flowers.” He states nonchalantly. “People used to do that kind of thing, when they were dating.”

You want to scoff but manage to move past him without a sound, not sparing him a glance as you go to the kitchen. “So that’s what we’re doing - dating?”

"Sure," Negan follows you behind. "What the hell were you thinking?”

You open a cabinet to grab a large glass. When you fill it up under the sink, you just shrug your shoulders. “Dunno. Screwing? We never put a name on… this.” You arrange the flowers in the glass and put it down onto the counter in front of the window. “Also, I don’t date married men.”

You can hear Negan chuckle behind you, before his arms sling around your middle. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.” When he’s about to kiss your neck, you quickly release yourself from his grip and move out of his arms.

"Don't!” You snap before pushing past him. “Touch me.” You quickly walk around the kitchen table to get away from him, to have some distance. “This has to stop, Negan.” You tell him in a strict voice. His smile quickly turned into a frown in response to your sudden outburst, but before he can say anything, you continue. “Everyone knows about us and they’re all assuming you're forcing me to be with you. I really don’t want to give them another reason to hate you.”

Negan's just looking at you in confusion. Eventually he asks, “What exactly is the issue here? My wives or your people?”

After a quick moment of consideration, you tell him “Both. I don’t want there to be even more bad blood and I won’t be your plaything.”

Negan can see how upset you are, even though you are somewhat trying to conceal the extent of your anger. With a bit more caution, he tries again, “Sweet thing, come on. You know you’re my one and only-”

“But I’m not the only one.”

Negan lets a breath through his teeth. Leaning down on the table, he speaks again. “Okay, listen. If you wanna break this off, say so and I will take my leave. But I offer you something. Let me make it up to you, let me convince them that I am dead serious about you-”

Now you really can’t help but to scoff, “Are you, though, Negan?” You look at him with an raised eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“You know I am, doll.” He sighs, pushing himself off the table again. “Thing is, it’s getting quite lonely at The Sanctuary, when I have nothing but the memories of you to go by.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips and your head tilts to the ground as you take in what he’s just said. "Uh-huh. And of course you’re only thinking of me when screwing them.”

“Believe it or not, but I do.” He admits with a grin on his face. “The fire in your eyes, that fine ass of yours, your very skilled tongue and your damn hot moaning. The thought alone has me rock hard for you already.”

You just shake your head in disbelief. “You really could not have said anything more atrocious.” It’s unbelievable that it was a compliment in his head. That he thought, you’d feel better knowing he was thinking of you while being with other women.

“But it’s the truth, Y/N,” Negan assures you, “We have a deal, nothing more. They wanted something, so I got something - that’s it.” You keep looking at him. Dispite how hurt you are about all of this, you still find yourself waiting to believe him, although you have a hard time doing so. “The deals were made before Alexandria,” Negan rounds the table that is still separating you two. “The wives don’t mean shit, Y/N.”

You bite your cheek, looking anywhere but him. “Even if that was the true, people still believe-”

“And I’ll make them believe otherwise,” he claims with confidence, coming to stand right in front of you, “Promised." With one hand on your waist, he reaches with the other one under your chin, turning your head so you look back at him, “If you let me.”

Your eyes stay locked with his, while you make up your mind. You’re still angry like all hell, but there's something about him that makes him irresistible and you hate him for that. When he slowly leans down to kiss you, you let it happen. His hands move to the small of your back and you fold your arms around his neck. 

You can deny it all you want, but deep down you know you’re already too deep into this. 

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

Carl watches in disbelief that no one stopping Negan from disappearing into the house. Why is no one doing something?

Although everyone tried to shield him from what’s going on, he still learned about what that monster is doing to his sister and Carl swore to himself to never let that happen again.

Quickly the young boy sneaks through town, careful not to be seen by Saviors and Alexandrians alike on his way to the parking lot. How can everyone know about this but not do anything!? He is so angry at everyone, at Daryl, Michonne, but especially his father.

Finally at the gate, Carl looks around, making sure no one saw him. When he's certain the coast is clear, he climbs onto one of the trucks. It's already packend with goods from their latest runs. He rearranges the crates and boxes, making himself a little hiding spot. With a rifle he stole from Rositas secret stash, he buries himself in, waiting for his moment, for the Saviors to leave.

If his own father won't stop this then he will!

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

Taglist: @starry-night-20 / @joceymoo / @srhxpci / @ladykxxx08 / @sunneeflower / @frombloodandflesh

[velteris]

Frieren timeline

The only timeline available on the wiki isn’t super fleshed out with exact dates and counting backwards etc. So I decided to make my own.

Notes:

1. Spoilers for up to manga ch119 (the most recent at this time)

2. Even if it’s likely just a rough measure (“three hundred years ago”), I’m gonna assume when doing my math that it was exactly 300 years, because otherwise I can’t do most of the math

3. I skip most events that don’t have an exact year, eg Fern and Stark respective being taken in by Heiter and Eisen. I do make some estimates (eg Sein’s birthday, we only know he’s in mid-30s so he can’t have been born any further back than year xx).

4. Standardised year 0 as the year the demon king was defeated

5. Realised about 2/3rds through that I could be writing down chapter citations but at that point it was too late lol sorry

behold!

-3,000: Earliest mentioned date, by Frieren re: dwarf beliefs; most people believed the dead turn to dust, so pre-Goddess. Unclear when Goddess actually starts appearing.

[Emperor Boshaft alive, so is Milliarde, Frieren in village]

-1,000: Frieren becomes Flamme’s apprentice

-950: Flamme passes away*

-510: the last time Frieren fought a demon (quite likely Macht, as in year 80 she says 600 years ago, which would be -520. What’s a decade here and there?)

-420: Frieren restores her golden arm

-422: Aura became one of the seven sages of destruction

-322: the last time Frieren saw another elf, Grandfather Voll starts to protect village

-222: the last time Kraft saw another elf

-120: Fass finds Emperor Boshaft’s alcohol, Gehn starts working on his village’s bridge

-26: Himmel is born

-11?: Hero of the South visits Frieren and dies a year later; tells her she’ll meet Himmel soon**

-10: Hero Party sets out from capital

[Hero Party kills Immortal Bose and pushes back Aura sometime during this period]

-3: Goddess arc (Himmel is 23), Hero Party seals Qual***

0: Demon King defeated, Era Meteors, Macht starts to serve^

2: Denken born

20: Macht is braceleted

28: Continental Magic Association started (at latest), Lernen was first first-class mage

29: Denken came to Auberst with his wife (who died when he was in his twenties); Denken’s wife presumably passed away very soon after

30: last sighting of a Darkness Dragon (per random apothecary); Weis turned to gold and sealed

39: Earliest possible Sein birthday (he would be 40); humanity learns to fly

45: Wirbel born

50: 2nd Era Meteors; Himmel passes away; Aura reappears, demon activity increases in north and baby Wirbel makes promise

61: Stark is born earlier in the year after winter; Fern is born some time after harvest festival but before the last three months of the year

68: Graf Granat’s son dies in war against Aura

69: Sein’s friend Gorilla left

70: Frieren and Fern meet

74: Heiter collapses

75: Stark runs away from Eisen

76: Heiter passes away; Frieren and Fern set out on their journey

76.5: half a year spent looking for blue moonweed

77: Fern turns 16 (after spring, latest autumn)

78: 3+ Months spent at seaside town cleaning beach

79: wintered with Kraft, Stark’s 18th bday (after spring), meet Sein around harvest festival (time is a bit funky since it gets cold and then warm after this?)^^

80: El Dorado arc

81: first chapter after El Dorado. As of ch119, we are here, 31 years after Hero Himmel’s death!

and in the future…

97: Tod’s “curse” will engulf the star?

100: Next meteor shower. Fern and Stark would be 39.

149: Frieren promised to be back at hero’s sword village by this time

1079: Frieren may return to the Continental Mage Association :)

*Assuming she died soon after Frieren’s last shown convo with her where she said “it’s only been 50 years”

**Unclear just when was the Frieren/Hero of the South meeting, so it could technically be anywhere before, but -11 is the most recent it could be

***Frieren says it’s been 80 years in year 77. If she’s being precise then this is the date—but I have doubts as Qual was sealed in the Central Lands, and Hero Party should be well into the Northern Plateau near the goddess monument by this point.

^Technically I think Macht starts to serve a leetle bit before the demon king is defeated, but no time frame given for how long it took Macht and Glück to have those convos

^^To be more precise: they start the year’s winter with Kraft. Then it gets warm, and Stark’s birthday happens. Harvest festivals are usually in autumn, which is when they meet Sein, and then it gets cold enough for the gang to wear their winter gear again, and they spend a winter (or a cold snap?) with Sein. When they get to Auberst they spend an additional two months training with Fern while waiting for the exam to start. But when they finally leave Auberst in ch61, and aren’t wearing their winter clothes anymore, it’s still listed as 29 years post-Himmel death??? There’s a mention of it being because they’re in the volcanic belt… But seriously, year 79 goes on and on. I honestly think the authors just forgot to find a good spot to switch that over lol

[melis-writes]

Ok hear me out and I know im insane for this.. we need Victoria x Patrick Bateman smut ASAP

Shipping Victoria x Patrick; did you know I’m utterly insane? 🤭 The wildest prompt pairing I’ve ever received in my life is this by far, and I thought Victonny was wild in the beginning. 😅😅 WELL. 💀 I know Miss Victoria was subjected to a Patrick Bateman era a little while ago and a lot of questions about him and her were asked/submitted sjsjsjsjs. 😵‍💫 You requested and I’m here to deliver!! This is my very first time writing for Patrick Bateman…😅 I am considering writing more for him alone but here goes Victoria x Patrick starting off towards smutty themes…🥵

’55 West 81st Street, Upper West Side. American Gardens...’ Repeating the address in your mind as you enter the luxurious, high security apartment building; the exact one specified to you numerous times by your direct supervisor and one of the vice presidents at Pierce & Pierce; Patrick Bateman.

Having only worked in the same building let alone firm with Mr. Bateman for only a week, you can’t help but find it slightly unnerving and odd, yet also courteous to be invited to Mr. Bateman’s private residence so soon.

Still, you’re not one to give up opportunity of any kind, especially ones you can take advantage of.

How many can say they’ve had the same privilege of being able to meet with and discuss their work and performance with someone as influential as Patrick Bateman and so soon?

‘11th floor.’ Stepping into the elevator, you smoothen out your blazer and patiently wait to be taken up to the eleventh floor; your heart already beginning to race from a mix of nervousness and excitement.

You have to take this meeting with Mr. Bateman as you would competition at work; you’re not the only one in line applying to become Patrick’s personal assistant and secretary after all.

You remember briefly seeing another young woman in her mid twenties named Lily during your interview who was also accepted on a preliminary basis as you.

Pierce & Pierce wanted to see which candidate was more qualified since you and the other candidate, Lily, brought similar skillsets and experience to the role promising an excellent benefit’s package and excellent pay.

You were not trained at the same time with Lily nor did you ever see her around Patrick since employment courses and training were provided on a one-on-one basis with Mr. Bateman and away from prying eyes.

This leaves you to now guess that Mr. Bateman must be personally picking between you and Lily as to who he wants to hire permanently as his personal assistant and secretary; a formality and nothing more.

For dinner tonight, you can assume Patrick will either let you know he’s chosen you as a permanent hire, or that he’s chosen Lily over you; whatever answer, you’re completely prepared. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks now, after all.

Just as you reach the door to Patrick’s suite, you’ve barely reached your hand out to ring his doorbell when you find the front door already opening for you.

Blinking in surprise, you watch as the front door opens to reveal half of Patrick’s suite and his back turned to you, walking away already.

“You’re late,” Patrick states, paying no attention to you as he begins to make his way back towards the living room.

“You wanted to see me at 7:00 PM sharp, sir,” stunned, you take a step inside Patrick’s grandiose, modern suite; unsure whether to focus on him or the striking features and décor of his beautiful home standing out to you.

Hearing your voice instead of Lily’s, Patrick stops in his tracks.

He turns around, facing you with an amused, beaming smile over his face; a completely different tune than how disappointed he sounded just seconds ago.

“So I did. Hello, Miss Ferrari,” Patrick greets you in his cool, soothing tone. “I was expecting a mutual coworker of ours, if you could guess.”

“Lily, was it?” Blushing a little, you begin to slip off your heels and notice Patrick watching your every move with complete interest. “Were you supposed to see her earlier this evening?”

“Actually, that’s none of your business, Miss Ferrari,” Patrick answers, completely nonchalant and still smiling. “But it means well for you.”

“Right,” you murmur, still finding yourself growing adjusted to Patrick’s somewhat erratic behaviour, let alone his distractingly sexy looks every single time your eyes land on him. “Sorry, um,” you clear your throat, clasping your hands in front of you, “there’s no reason now for me to hide how I feel about that.”

“I figured,” Patrick chuckles, gesturing towards his kitchen. “Would you like a drink? I have a number of fine Italian wines that I believe you would enjoy.”

Before you can even answer, Patrick heads into the kitchen with enthusiasm in every step as you politely move into the living room and take a seat upon one of his loveseats.

“Sangiovese wine in specific,” Patrick continues speaking, grabbing out a bottle and admiring the front label. “It’s a fine red wine popular in Italy. One can always find Sangiovese grapes growing in Tuscany, it’s native region, not to mention other various southern and central parts of Italy.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you,” you’re practically mesmerized by Patrick’s tone and how he can make what would be the most mundane, unnecessary explanation by anyone else sound like a fairy tale to you.

“From the moment we met, I came to the observation you enjoy red wine and red wine alone. White wine is not to your liking, is it?” Patrick takes out two wine glasses from his cupboard, setting them down on his kitchen counter in front of your line of vision.

“You’ve observed well,” you nod, smiling back. “I suppose I could have white wine every now and again but I’ve always preferred red.”

“You have excellent taste in wine,” Patrick compliments, pouring a quarter serving of wine in both glasses. “Sangiovese wines such as this one—” Patrick taps the bottle of wine with the back of his fingernails, “are rich in flavor. Even the color derives meaning from it’s name; the blood of Jupiter.” He picks up both glasses of wine, moving towards you. “You may enjoy the prominent cherry flavor upon first taste, but the dried herbs will add to a delectable aftertaste with a hint of plum.” Patrick hands you your glass of wine, pausing for a moment to smile at you again and give a small nod. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Nodding, you take your glass of wine and blush. “I almost always drink a Sangiovese wine. You read me like a book, Mr. Bateman—”

“Patrick,” he corrects sharply while maintaining an overly friendly attitude. “You’re in my home now, Miss Ferrari. You don’t have to be formal with me.” Patrick raises his glass of wine to his lips. “I however, will call you whatever I wish.”

Taking a sip of your wine, you maintain eye contact with Patrick and find yourself clenching your legs while being unaware of it, but everything from how your expression changes, your body language and reaction times are noted by Patrick immediately and well.

“Patrick,” you repeat back, feeling your face grow hot with blush. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

“It presented itself,” Patrick swallows his wine, setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of him without taking his eyes off of you. “I saw what a patient yet confident and demanding woman you were throughout this week. I couldn’t take this position right from your hands now, could I?”

“I didn’t see it that way,” you reply back, “I always pictured you putting it in my hands.”

Patrick chuckles, shaking his head. “You more than have it now. I’m glad we made such an impression on you at Pierce & Pierce. That other woman, Lily, didn’t seem to think so.”

Your eyes widen a little but you hold your tongue, remembering Patrick practically scolding you a few moments ago for asking about Lily.

Patrick grins devilishly at you, noticing how you grow quiet. “I appreciate the gesture, Victoria,” he says your name for the first time, rising from his seat to sit directly next to you. “You won’t ask further questions.”

“You told me it was none of my business,” your heart begins to pound in your chest as you pick up the scent of Patrick’s heavenly cologne surrounding you. “And so it isn’t.”

“That’s right,” Patrick smirks. “You’ll find we do things differently at Pierce & Pierce; our rules do not shift but they are enforced strict. I have my own set of rules, and I have them for you now too.”

“Such as?” You can hardly focus on drinking your wine this close to Patrick.

“Your work attire,” Patrick places his hand over your thigh, sending a wave of excitement and pleasure rushing through you. “This skirt, for example…” He knits his brows, looking displeased.

“Oh,” you blink, unable to find anything wrong with the black, knee-length pencil skirt you’re wearing and had been wearing to work earlier today. “I’m sorry, what exactly don’t you like about it?”

“It’s not short enough,” Patrick’s eyes meet yours once again. “I want you to wear something shorter next time. Flatter your figure. You’d look good in something tighter and shorter.”

Your eyes don’t leave Patrick’s, but you can feel his hand taking your wine glass away gently and placing it down to reduce risk of you dropping it in surprise from how focused you are on Patrick’s words now.

“I’ve made my observations about you all week, Victoria,” Patrick continues, lowering his tone of voice as his hand begins to slowly glide up your skirt. “Your performance at Pierce & Pierce was more than satisfactory. Your attention to detail…” His hand moves up further to your upper thigh as you find yourself relaxing and spreading your legs further, but at a complete loss of words from throbbing, surprising arousal racking over your body. “Immaculate.”

You’ve no idea when Patrick’s face got so close to yours to breathe his words upon your neck, but you can’t get enough of feeling his firm, large hand caressing your skin.

“How you act around me is not workplace appropriate, so,” Patrick gives your thigh a squeeze, trailing his finger to trace your jawline. “I took the liberty to invite you somewhere private. My home—where you could indulge on all the dirty thoughts you have in my office about me. Isn’t that right?”

“Patrick…” Your eyes widen as you let out a soft whimper, watching his hands move underneath your skirt.

“And where I don’t have to sit and imagine what it’s like to feel your soft, supple skin; to touch and caress your thighs while adoring your body as one would do to a piece of art.” Patrick nuzzles your neck—his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the scent of your perfume.

With that, you feel Patrick's hand harshly smack your thigh, causing a quiet yet surprised moan to fly out of your mouth as you clutch onto his shoulder and feel his hand tenderly rubbing over the reddening skin where he hit you.

“Where I can have you all to myself.”

[teecupangel]

Hey, so, assassins creed x Idols (Kpop?). From the comments of the other post I remember the band "Now United" where every member is from a different country, maybe it can be used as a concept for the band?, idk I'm just giving ideas but I really want to continue the idea of them as group bc I found it hilarious lmao.

I tried looking for the post where we talk about this but I can’t find it anymore TTATT

(Also, it’s kinda funny that I’m answering this ask now the same day I watched the last Hololive concert with my friend. What a coincidence lol)

So, first things first, since my idol era happened during the early 2000s with Jpop, I’m going to borrow the setup of Debut or Die for this one to make it feel more Kpop XD

First things first, we’ll set up what we need in the idol group:

Lead Vocalist

Sub Vocalist

Main Dancer

Lead Rapper

(there are other parts like “Face of the Group” or “Main Visual”… aka the most photogenic one, maybe even something like the group’s composer/lyricist if we want that)

Anyway, we’re focusing on those 4 because this is the formation for Desmond, Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Okay, let’s be honest. We’re going to put Desmond in the lead vocalist part because it’s me XD

But, putting him as sub vocalist would be a random reference to the fact that Desmond’s voice actor, Nolan North, sang the sub vocalist part of Saint Row IV’s Opposite Attract singalong scene

(this also help show how high Nolan North can sing I guess?)

Also, also, Ratonhnhaké:ton has to be the lead vocalist. His voice actor, Noah Watts, has a 13+ min video showing why Ratonhnhaké:ton should be the lead vocalist.

Altaïr would be the main dancer because I like the idea of Ezio being the main rapper and Altaïr’s body build would make him a good dancer.

So our final setup would be

Ratonhnhaké:ton – Lead Vocalist and Maknae (the youngest by one year)

Desmond – Sub Vocalist and the reluctant leader

Altaïr – Main Dancer and maybe their dance coordinator?

Ezio – Lead Rapper and Face of the Group + Main Visual

Now, I think you asked what Edward’s part will be?

Normally I would say Edward can a retired idol turned into this group’s manager but let’s fuck with the timeline and make everyone around the same ages and turn this into…

ACB48

hehehehe

(for those wondering, this is a reference to one of the longest idol group in Japan, AKB48)

So Desmond’s group would be part of ACB48 together.

Other groups include:

A group composed of Edward, Arno, Evie and Jacob (fans jokingly calls them the Hundred Years War Group)

A group composed of Shao Jun, Arbaaz Mir, Nikolai Orelov and Aguilar de Nerha.

A group composed of Kassandra, Alexios, and the twins Eivor and Havi.

A group composed of Bayek, Aya and Basim.

(Modern Assassins will be assistants or managers. Other historical Assassins can have their own group: like maybe Malik and Federico with their own group??? An all girls group of Claudia, Mary Read, Anne Bonny (even if she's not really an Assassin), María, Rebekah and Roshan)

And, of course, one of their rival idol group is made of Haytham Kenway, Shay Cormac (who was once part of ACB48), Daniel Cross and Maria Thorpe. (The CEO of their company is Warren Vidic)

Since they’re all of similar ages (around late teens early to mid twenties), Edward and Haytham are brothers and Ratonhnhaké:ton is their half-brother. Whether they’re cousins with Ezio is up to you.

[floating-above-sea-level]

My SecurityWaiter/DreamTheory gender+sexuality head canons because they’re giving me brainrot and queer identities is one of my SpIns 🫶🫶🫶

+some like general love life sorta stuff ig lol

Mike:

-AroAce (spectrum) and gay (or at LEAST achillean/mlm in some way that man is a BOY KISSER)

-Ness is one of if not the only person he’s liked/been attracted to

-he always just assumed he was straight cause yk it’s the “default” and prior to Ness he was never attracted to guys/masc people (at least not that he realized), but after catching feelings for Ness and talking to Ness abt gender and sexuality and all that, he realized he wasn’t really ever attracted to women either, then Ness explained the whole AroAce thing to him and he was like “oh damn yeah ig so huh”

-was literally so confused when he first started liking Ness because 1: he found them VERY annoying at first and 2: again he’s never really fallen for anybody before this so he was like ???

-he never really comes out to anyone he just kinda does whatever and is either generally private/quiet abt it or just doesn’t say anything until someone asks

-trans man :)) maybe like a few years on T, binds and packs because let’s be real that man is not affording any sort of surgery, HRT alone idk how he’s managing. I imagine he probably came out/started transitioning in his late teens-early twenties and is pretty stealth (he’s in his mid-late twenties, so is Ness in my mind, just for the general record lol)

-kinda insecure abt his gender and sexuality. It’s a mix of internalized stuff, dysphoria, generally always having felt awkward when it comes to that stuff, etc. Ness is the only person he’s really talked openly abt it with

-Abby would’ve been fairly young when he came out, and their parents were already out of the picture, so she’s never really known any different, plus he doesn’t talk about it much so frankly she may not even know he’s trans. If/when she finds/found out, she’s probably very curious about it and then became a HUGE ally. Also definitely questioned some stuff (briefly and privately but I headcanon she may have come out as non-binary when she’s older)

-is one of those trans guys who’s like a bit paranoid abt misgendering just cause he’s so insecure abt it. He hasn’t been misgendered in YEARS but every now and then he’ll overhear people talking about literally anyone with she/her pronouns and he gets a little anxious abt it

-tries so hard not to be anywhere close to naked around anyone because he hasn’t gotten any surgeries. Wears a shirt to the pool (if he even goes in the first place), wears layers in the summer, anything sexual’s never been a problem cause he’s chronically bitchless, but you get the idea

-definitely binds an unhealthy amount (someone please stop him)

-uses masculine looking/smelling 2n1/3n1 cause it’s the “man soap” (yeah he’s one of those trans mascs /lh, Ness definitely helps him get into more of a proper hygiene routine)

-has never slept anywhere that’s not home or let anyone sleep over because he has to take his binder off to sleep (dysphoria attacks often ensue)

-first few times he’s not binded or has been any amount of naked around Ness, he was understandably nervous and uncomfortable, but after a while he gets so perfectly reassured by Ness that his body is perfect the way it is and he’s a man PERIOD that my brother in Christ SOBS in their arms :33 (I feel like I sound so cringe but guys I’m literally transmasc let me have this)

-k I dunno what else to say about him but I love him dearly, moving on

Ness:

-Non-Binary and queer, uses all pronouns (I mainly use they/he for them but they use all pronouns)

-fairly open abt his queerness, especially compared to Mike (don’t tell me that it’s unrealistic for the era or anything like that I completely ignore the concept of time in all of my headcanons ever)

-teaches Mike a lot of stuff abt sexuality and gender since Mike never really looked much into it past realizing he was trans. Definitely helps him unpack some things 💔💔💔

-literally just a silly little malewife femalehubby themboss

-really doesn’t care much abt labels for themself specifically, but he’s one of those “I need to know and understand EVERYTHING” autistics so he learns abt that sort of stuff for other people

-has dated a handful of people before, all across the gender spectrum, so they’re pretty comfortable in their love life and such

-is good at flirting but like in an autistic theater kid kinda way (gay and silly)

-loves to experiment with presentation and style in all sorts of ways. Has definitely done drag at least once

-they’re too silly for binaries idek what else to say abt it that’s kinda just the overall consensus

-was very supportive when Mike came out to them as trans (obviously) it doesn’t matter what they said, Mike would feel awkward no matter what, but they were glad Mike trusted them with that sort of thing and Mike was relieved that literally just SOMEONE knew (specifically someone he trusts and cares abt)

-would wear so many pins related to all sorts of things but yes that includes pride flags and pronouns bro LOVES pins their silliness cannot be contained

Ok that’s all I feel cringe but from what I can tell that’s what tumblrs for so yeah. I will definitely yap more abt them in the future

[soranihimawari]

Shaken not Stirred

7. We always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?"

Pairing: teen->adulthood friendships||nanami x yn

Warning: 🔞nsfw! bc sexual awakenings and teasing may affect those who’s first choice was hawk girl or j.depp (specifically Cry Baby era)// nanami & reader realize their friendship was built on lustful attraction versus friendly ones as they grew up. 👀 also, implied that reader’s family has yakuza or mafia ties…

Rating: adult!relationship with nanami kento [adult as in a good fucking means someone tried to test reader’s patience and they are not one to stand by and let nanami be insulted…]

You are writhing beneath him; a man twice your size is above you, giving into his earthly desires. His voice is gruff and demanding as he pulls another pitiful moan out of you. He mocks you, lustfully licking a stripe from your neck to where your ear connects—it’s hot. The heat in the autumnal day is now cooling, but the bed creaks. Something ancient is awake and angry, his broken growl of your name hangs in the air. He fucks you to his rhythm as you cry out you can take one more fleeting orgasm. And the jackal of a man laughs muttering how brave you must be.

Rewind yourself to 72-hours ago when you arrived back on your home neighborhood in Sendai. You’re reuniting with some old friends after you found out your last remaining uncle had passed. Being in your mid to late twenties and working for a moderately ran start-up company for blue light lenses, you thankfully had merciful bosses who believed in putting family first. Though rare, they did make you file a leave of absence as you finalize your travel arrangements in the office before the end of the week.

You fly out on cold February morning, kind of overrated but if you’re able to get to Sendai Ciry by dinner tomorrow, your folks would have said it was worth the red eye fees. Honestly, once you traverse through bay check and the security points, you’re at your gate, eyes heavy as sleep is something you lacked.

Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours (and if you count the other twenty four you were up for, you’re sure you’d put your body through some sort of cardiac issued stress), however you were able to picked up by an old neighbor—Nanami Kento. Sure, the two of you grew up and apart, but considering the other options of your contacts, you went with the most reliable one. He bows as he greets you, his driver acknowledges you and you introduce yourself to the man and apologize for the delay.

“Snow this time of year is brutal,” the driver chuckles.

You nod as Nanami opens the passenger door for you. You give him your thanks as you sit down and strap on the seatbelt.

Looking back as both the driver and Nanami get in after you close your door, you fidget on your seat and nervously crack your knuckles, chuckling here and there as you listen to their banter until you speak up at an upcoming red light.

“Umm… I’m sorry, but I forgot to ask if I could spend the first few nights with you, Nanami-kun? If not, I know you’re busy with work, but if it truly is a problem, I could find a hotel to stay in…”

You’re stifling a yawn and he notices the slight wrinkles at the sides of your eyes. Surely you’re not still suffering from insomnia before trips, he thinks. Then, after he ponders for a light or two, he agrees.

“Bless you, my parents just texted me that my room was part of their remodeling phase and it’s getting a fresh coat of paint right now. I don’t mind taking the train from Tokyo back,” you explain with a soft smile.

You don’t remember much after the turn to his apartment high rise. You figured you knocked out and the driver, Mr Iji, had taken your things up for Nanami because well, for lack of better words, Nanami would have been carrying you. At the thought, your cheeks flush and you swat away all the raunchy things that could have happened, but it didn’t.

Nearly six in the morning and you are awakened again this time by an alarm and a half dressed adult blonde best friend. There’s several bandages on his arm and ribs from what you used to consider an awful part time job. He worked in an office from 9-5, but he did clock in some hours since he went back to being an adjunct teacher. Apparently even in this relic of a neighborhood, something keeps killing his colleagues. He told you all this before when you were nineteen and he had just turned twenty a season prior:

“You ought to be careful next time,” you hum as you help him place gauze over his cut brow. “I won’t be here to patch you like Shoko-chan can.”

“You can stay,” he hums, sort of pleading to you when the alcohol seeps and stings between the stitches there. “Mm…was that necessary?!”

Shows him the message from Shoko.

“Doc said so,” you mirthfully laugh as you see him frown. You put away the first aid kit and sigh. “I worry about you. This job, can’t you quit it before you die?”

“What? Why would I?!”

You realize he hasn’t loosened his grip on your hand; the alcohol must still be stinging a bit you reason.

“Because I can’t lose my best friend right after we had just gotten back on better terms,” you’re gentle tone makes him look you in the eyes and it dawns on him just how right you must be. “Besides, who’s gonna come bother me in the U.S. when I get my doctorate degree in medicine over there? Don’t send Gojo, I’d kill him with whatever fad he’s on now…”

Nanami chuckles.

“My girl is a clever one,” he says.

“If I really was yours, you wouldn’t be talking,” you tease. “Remember what happened when you told me you loved Hawk Girl and I still loved that crybaby movie?”

“‘Get wings or I think you’re a square?’ Oh get over yourself, we were seven and eight.”

You laugh and slip your hand out his… “I know! Isn’t that wild? Anyways, I better get home now.”

You grab your bag and wave over your shoulder, “See you at the airport. Thanks for offering to take me!”

The conversation plays in a loop in your mind and he’s in the middle of greeting you when you walk up to him and study his face, then his body…he has so many knicks and scars and even bruises. Some deeply rich in color you think he has internal bleeding. Then coffee maker begins whirring for both of you and you force his face to glance at you. You hold his chin firmly and move his face to see the same scar from the conversation still prominent with his bangs swept back.

“You told me you quit,” you half smile.

Nanami turns, wincing as he holds his bandages on his ribs to hand you a mug, but your hand presses against his side first and his breathing stutters. It isn’t the close proximity that causes him to do so? It’s just…he hadn’t seen how bright your eyes are in the dawn.

“What’s wrong? How did you…?”

You’re adjusting the gauze and your breath ignites his skin in the most subtle of ways and you adjust the pressure on his side. You gauge how he reacts and you know how he gets when you fret over him and you’re afraid you might have angered your host.

“Not important,” Nanami stubbornly stated, but he saw how the wrinkle in between your brows becomes prominent before walking away.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you whisper and straighten up to walk away from the kitchen.

Silence ruled over you both as you fall into line with helping him make some rolled eggs and rice. He glances over every once in while, keeping his hard pressed lips together, he focuses on how delicate you’re chopping the chives. Your hands, he’s noticed, are calloused over from your trade in the medical field.

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” you say to him. “I found a hotel near the memorial services building.”

You take your plate once your dish is finished and sit on the table waiting for him. You eat together, he didn’t try to make much small talk, but you say some hurtful words.

“I never backed away, so why?”

Your voice cracked a bit when the plates were placed in the sink.

“Because you don’t deserve to use your talents on people like me,” he stands behind you, wrapping an injured arm around your waist, you’re pulled into his chest. “Can’t lose you too.”

Your hearts hammer like a forger beats the metal into a fine shield. You can feel his pulse practically race through this veins in his forearm around your waist. He whispers he’ll be back no later than six-thirty.

You think nothing of it as the day progresses even going so far as to cancel the hotel reservations. The services are day after next, so you don’t have much time left with Nanami before your life would be filled with aunts and would be retired uncles from your father’s side who’s ask awkward questions. Your cousins though? They’re immature and annoying, but the worse part? Everyone would ask you if you’re married yet, expecting, or trying to out you as many believe you’re not as you define yourself. Surely, family can be invasive, but yours is a whole other level. Hence why you being Nanami to these functions growing up or at least steal away to ditch the gatherings and hang out with him at his dorm room halfway across the prefecture.

Even now, as you don your ceremonial robes for the hybrid family traditions, he leans against the door way connecting his room to yours. The bathroom light backlights your frame as he hums in approving. Communicating with Nanami has improved, but you are reminded by him to move one stone at a time before moving a whole beam. He said that old saying of your grandmother to you when you introduced him to her in her flower shop. Nanami offered to help with the chores one afternoon and you, you decided it would be a good trial run before introducing your new friend from the middle school you started would be worked into your everyday life. Things did go well, or at least you thought they did until graduation day. His parents were a no-show, and your parents thought it was a bit awkward having him stand next to you for photos until the family matriarch decided to show up and pose for photos with him claiming how much she loved her future grandchild-in-law. The embarrassing situation was swept under the rug for the later half of the next fifteen years: in that time, you two grew up and apart especially with your residency being in the United States and he would continue his studies here in Japan. Only now, after a death in the family has returned you to your home soil do you stand before the boy you liked-maybe even dared to love-and he adjusts his spectacles to see you clearly.

"Think this is too much?" you tilt your head this way and that as he notices the bronze glitters of your neutral makeup.

"You look beautiful, even for a mourner," Nanami tells you as he takes your hand in his as he is to escort you per the request of the elders.

"Must you come with me?"

"Mr Iji is bringing the car around the corner," Nanami checks his phone. "And yes, if I don't, then your family might have its curse clinging to you."

Last night, after his shift on your second night with him, he walks into the kitchen to see you reading a few debriefings. Some were inscribed with the year of your second year and you meet his eyes when you finish reading about the Haibara-case.

"You're crying," Nanami states this easily as he dries your cheeks with a kerchief.

"Why didn't you tell me? Is this what you didn't want me to see?" You hold his wrist. "Min, please answer me."

He sighs, nodding with a head bowed in some form of shame. You move to the bedroom where he chooses to open up to you and tell you what you need to know.

"Just the facts?" you try to plead, but even your pout is enough to make anyone cave, but he doesn't budge although he did think about how your line of work in the medical examiner's office at the morgue could use some of the details to be familiarized.

Both of you stay up all night, crying together, laughing at Gojo's antics and how it had affected Nanami's ways as a sorcerer, but you stay true. You're not afraid of him nor his talents. To the outside world, he is Nanami Kento, director of sales from 9am-5pm, but only after six on the weekends, does he dabble in sorcery.

"Your family is experiencing tremendous amounts of grief," Nanami is pragmatic for sticking close to you. "Curses feed on raw negative human emotions. I'm going with you to the service tomorrow night."

Currently, Mr Iji's car is seen around the curb as you step in like before. Your family has no idea you were going to bring Nanami with you, yet when you are dropped off by him at the memorial service hall, he extends his arm to you. You greet your elders together and you bow to your godmother who's freshly widowed. As you console her, Nanami waves a hand in the air with such finesse you think he was a tea servant trainer in another life. Regardless, you chalk it up to his spectacles that help with seeing the other wordly parasites.

"...and you brought Nanami?" your godmother asks.

You nod. "He wanted to come. Mentioned he stopped by uncle's tie shop before the incident with the break in."

You motion for Nanami to come over and your godmother hugs him after he gives her a slight bow and condolence greeting.

"You were the only person who loved that pattern," she states, chuckling. "My husband fought very hard to keep that least selling item in stock because of you, and for that, I thank you."

She bows to him and cups your face.

“You remind me of us: a worrier and a warrior, praying for the the other to be kept safe.”

“Auntie, it’s—”

Nanami kisses your hairline and your words escape you.

“Exactly as you say, ma’am. C’mon, your mom’s looking over here…”

It’s unbelievably effortless as she hugs you and him. Her brother’s photo is on the offering table, lookin at you three. Your father is outside smoking with a few work friends from his gallery.

“How is dad? He was close to uncle Rob, wasn’t he?” You ask.

Nanami stands a little off to the side between you and your mother as he eyes your father’s boys club. Some of them make obscene hand signs admiring your curves as you had filled in while abroad. You’re not paying attention until Nanami snakes his arms around your back to whisper a, “behave. I’ll be right back.”

“Huh? Oh,” your eyes follow his and see your father and uncle’s shared friend group eying you disrespectfully. “Thank you.”

Nanami walks outside and he has a stern face while your mom nudges your arm.

“He’s a good one, I can tell ever since you told me about him,” she laughs.

“Mother,” you rolls your eyes and she ushers you to the offering table where you pick a plum & leave it at the alter for your uncle.

Meanwhile, Nanami puts the respect back on your name as the fools your father would have allowed to fuck you if you so wish were getting an earful from your friend.

“What makes you think you could ‘ave a go, huh?” Your father’s cigarette hangs low. “Y’know that kid of mine stems from a Yakuza-driven family on both sides.”

“And I hunt devils for a living, curses black an smoky,” Nanami coughs before covering his nostrils with his handkerchief. He smirks, your father can tell before insulting the young man further. You nearly drop your plate of food you were going to being over to Nanami as you heard your father call him a derogatory nickname for a half-blood person.

“Nanami, call Mr Iji. We’re leaving," you reach out to hold his hand. Your father chuckles as he hurls one more insulting dig in your direction and you pause your steps.

Marching up to your father, you rudely withdraw the cigarette from his lips, and put it out on his eye. He yells at you bellowing a hit order and banning summons, standing tall, you are so close to punching him in the jaw, but you did get his henchmen in the nose.

"Do not dare insult him again," you are filled with iron and vinegar. "Lest you forget who is the true seat holder to your puppet king. Nanami, let's go. We're done here."

In the heat of the moment, Nanami kisses you with finality, murming a, "Yes ma'am."

So here you were, hours later, three orgasms deep with the blonde man. You're breathing unevenly, panting, praises in feeling full and satisfied. Nanami's hips matches yours, you feel him tensing as he shyly hides in the crook of your neck and he tells you the story of his latest injuries.

"It's ok," you whisper, hotly into his mouth. "You're with me now, we're here...balls deep in this cavernous pussy which was always going to be here...ngh!~that's the spot, baby."

Nanami glistens in the sunlight peeking through his blinds. It's dawn and he cums with a little more encouragement; he slumps forward, clutching you to his chest. You too are a dewy mess, your ear turns to his bare chest and you listen to his heartbeat.

Hours later, you yawn before climbing into his bed again with the new sheets spread out, Nanami finishes his pre-sleep routine. He took the initiative to change the soiled sheets while you were in the shower, washing yourself clean from the rousing bedroom activities. You were joined a few minutes later with a bare Nanami. He remains a silent protector, a man of few words, but he is gentle and caring like you were made of fine porcelain- his hands were lightly scrubbing you, kneeling down to wash your front clean, both with his tongue and loofa. He made you believe heaven can be found within the tiles with him worshipping you like a slave moth to its sacred fire. Impossible to even try to focus to return the favor, he forgives you because you did the most basic of things to warrant this type of love: "You gave your father an order and made an example of his asshole crew."

Nanami Kento emerges from the shower room, steam rising from his nude body. Your eyes rake his body low to high, head to toe, as he dresses himself in his pajamas post dragging the boxer briefs over his thighs higher to his waist.

"I can hear you undressing me again," he muses when he pulls an undershirt over his body.

"You caught me," you chuckle back.

"Are we going to talk about this?"

The blonde lays in a relaxed position before you leaned into him, starting the ministrations of tracing his scars with your fingertips lightly. Nanami hums prompting you to answer.

"We always used to have sleepovers as children, why would it be weird now?"

"Because," Nanami tilts your head up to look at him. "You've had my heart packed in your suitcase since you left almost a decade ago. "

"You finally caught up to me, huh?"

You smile when Nanami leans forward to kiss you-it's simple and passionate. The curtains block this part of the universe where a humble doctor and a sorcerer melt into each other creating another realm of possibilities as their relationship blooms fresh.

Months later, you arrive to your new flat a few minutes away from the hospital that hired you. You sit down with a new case file handed in to you by a colleague. Nanami has yet to come home from a surveillance mission with one of Gojo’s students, yet you spoke too soon into the air when Nanami knocks on your door. You open it as he slumps forward saying his days might be numbered because of a patch-faced curse.

“Mahito’s alive?”

You escort him to your couch right away to administer first aid as necessary. A stitch or three were needed when you peeled his bloodied shirt off him.

“You knew him?” Nanami winces when he breathes between your hands sewing him shut. Again for the second time in four days.

“Mahito was one of the old hit men my great grandparents hired. They didn’t know he was a curse at all, maybe a misguided youth, but yeah…he’s clearly had work done and had become stronger.”

You nod saying you’re done with the stitching as Nanami holds your hand delicately in his.

“You should have told me,” he half smiles, weak from the day’s battle.

“I have a case file that you might be interested in reading with me. This body was exhumed around the turn of the century. Look familiar?”

The corpse on the slab from back then looked eerily similar to Mahito’s playfully long nose and long silvery hair.

“He died with a smile on his face after razing his town to the ground…” Nanami reads the report. “He was sealed and then unsealed?”

Nodding you out the first aid kit aside and sit on Nanami’s lap for a few moments, putting the sealing cream on a gauze strip and taping over the stitches.

“He was, yes. But this is why,” you pause to cup his face when you were done. “I tell you to be careful.”

Nanami kisses your inner palms.

“I’ll come home to you a little shaken.”

“Not stirred?”

“You’re so quick witted…,” he nips your jaw playfully flirtatious.

“I’m the sitting leader of a branch of the mafia thanks to my uncle passing who, by the way, left me in charge because I knew a sorcerer…”

My uncle’s will is next to his photo. Right next to it? There is a small vase of forget-me-nots that Nanami gifted me with. We stay on the couch for a little longer, talking about the future, the present, and a little about the past: we feel invincible when we’re this close to each other. What we do not know is how long we have left especially when there are plenty of curses who have their eyes on us around this part of the city.

[maeve-on-mustafar]

Anakin + Aayla

So, the Star Wars: Republic comics (now considered Legends) had a lot of great moments, including the Padawan Pack's last stand on Jabiim and Anakin's desperate attempts to find Obi-Wan when everyone else believed Obi-Wan was dead.

But a really cool element that I don't think a lot of people realize is this comic series contains one of the first (possibly the first?) significant interactions between Anakin and Aayla.

First, let's set the scene: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Aayla, and a bunch of other Jedi are on Kamino, prepping for an attack on the Republic cloning facility.

First, I absolutely adore this moment between Anakin and Obi-Wan. I think it's a good glimpse into some of the tension in their relationship during this time. You have Anakin being kind of weird and unconventional for a Jedi, trying to do his moving mediation outside and in the rain.

In response, Obi-Wan is a little bit exasperated--you definitely get a sense of impatience from him for Anakin's quirks, and that he doesn't like that Anakin strays from convention, just like how he didn't like that Qui-Gon strayed from convention. He's also not willing to coddle or comfort Anakin. He tells him to get it together, stop worrying, and focus on the upcoming battle, and doesn't hesitate to include a little bit of critique in his instructions.

Enter Aayla. I really enjoy her presentation here. She's kind and friendly, and though you get a sense of some formality in their relationship, as Anakin doesn't use her first name when he replies to her, she doesn't hesitate to take a moment to sit down and have an earnest discussion with him. Also, unlike Obi-Wan, she doesn't mind Anakin's unconventional meditation methods, even commiserating with him about using the same style.

(Sidenote: I have no idea how old Aayla is supposed to be here if she was Quinlan's Padawan and Quinlan was friends with Obi-Wan and around the same age as him. Possibly mid to late twenties? Someone let me know if there's a timeline I'm unaware of.)

I also really enjoy how Anakin interacts with Aayla. It 's very platonic, given that he's already married to Padme at this point, but you also get a sense that Anakin respects her and doesn't hesitate to confide in her or explain his different meditation style to her. When she asks what the problem is, he tells her without hesitation, signaling that he trusts her. When she succeeds in fixing the droid where he failed, he genuinely smiles and compliments her and seeks out her advice. Even when frustrated with himself, Anakin is fine with Aayla knowing more than him, and he wants to know her strategy so he can emulate her. And Aayla doesn't hesitate to clue him in.

One of the reasons I love the Republic comics so much is that they're filled with little character-building moments like these. And I really appreciate this interaction between Anakin and Aayla because there's a true sense of warmth and companionship between the two of them that's frequently lacking when it comes to Anakin and a lot of the older Jedi in the Order.

Later, Obi-Wan decides Anakin is too distracted to participate in the battle and refuses to allow him a starfighter despite Anakin's considerable piloting talents. Anakin protests, but Obi-Wan won't relent. Anakin exits, and Quinlan, present via hologram, offers a sympathetic ear. Obi-Wan responds by listing off Anakin's flaws without a single positive attribute to counter them.

That's something I think people forget about AOTC-era Obi-Wan. He was very aware of Anakin's flaws and didn't hesitate to ever discuss them. In AOTC, he tells Yoda and Mace Windu that Anakin is arrogant and not ready for his first solo mission, and it's Mace Windu who defends Anakin. Here, Obi-Wan offers Quinlan a laundry list of everything he thinks is wrong with Anakin, and notably includes "he rarely ever talks" among them. But what he doesn't seem to register is that Anakin was trying to talk to him earlier, and Obi-Wan didn't want to listen.

A recurring point of tension in Anakin and Obi-Wan's relationship, both in Legends and canon, is the unusual and unorthodox way in which they were thrown together as Padawan and Master. The truth is that Obi-Wan only took Anakin as his Padawan because of Qui-Gon's final request, and he says at much to Yoda at the end of the movie. It's not "I think Anakin could be a great Jedi" or "I want Anakin to have a home and a life beyond slavery." It's only "I gave Qui-Gon my word" and nothing besides that.

It's Qui-Gon who's important to Obi-Wan here. Not Anakin. That comes later.

And I really like that both Anakin and Obi-Wan think about this unique aspect of their relationship as Jedi. Anakin knows that Obi-Wan didn't choose him and initially didn't even think Anakin should be a Jedi. Anakin was in the room when Obi-Wan in TPM told Qui-Gon that "the boy is dangerous", and it's a recurring insecurity of Anakin's throughout both canon and Legends that Obi-Wan doesn't actually want him as a Padawan and probably wouldn't have selected Anakin if he'd been permitted a choice. It's common to mischaracterize Anakin as having an ego problem, but in Legends, when Obi-Wan admits that having Anakin as a Padawan has been good for him, Anakin is left speechless at the revelation.

But what I find most interesting is that in this comic, it's not that Obi-Wan doesn't want Anakin as a student, it's that he has an insecurity of his own. Quinlan helps him to realize that it's not about Obi-Wan not trusting Anakin. It's about Obi-Wan not trusting himself to be Anakin's teacher.

And that's why I love these two little moments between Anakin and Aayla and Quinlan and Obi-Wan. They're not monumental, they're not action-packed, but they're two instances of self-realization and character-building. It's often been said that the Jedi are a family, but personally, I've never gotten that vibe from the films. But with these panels, I completely believe it. Aayla wants to be there for Anakin, and Anakin wants to hear her advice. Quinlan wants to be there for Obi-Wan and encourage him to trust Anakin, and Obi-Wan takes his words to heart.

They're willing to be vulnerable and affectionate with each other in these comics, and up until Obi-Wan and Anakin's final goodbye in ROTS, that was not something that happened in the films. And its absence is very, very noticeable, so scenes like this one are incredibly refreshing.

Even though the Republic comics are from a different era, I really appreciate how they humanized the Jedi and gave them genuine personalities--and in particular, I appreciate that they laid the groundwork for current fandom's Anakin & Aayla friendship fanon.

[warwickroyals]

we've heard about james's brothers and their families, but what were princess elizabeth and princess alice and their families like?

Princesses Elizabeth and Alice, Louis's paternal aunts, had a pretty standard life for princesses of the era. They both married into well-off families, the sons of wealthy peerages, and continued to do a lot of work in support of the monarchy.

Princess Elizabeth - Elizabeth was the elder sister born in 1917. She was educated at home alongside her sister and became fluent in French and German. During World War II, Elizabeth became a key member of the family. She visited many welfare organizations with her mother and sister to over financial support and emotional support. Princess Elizabeth's Annual Charity Fund helped raise thousands of dollars for children who lost family members in the war. She was also one of the first members of the family to visit Europe following the war. In late 1945 she married William Warfield, the Earl Warfield, and had two sons: Frederick and George. Elizabeth left Chester Palace to raise her family at the Warfield's ancestorial home but she continued to represent her brother and later nephew at domestic and international events until she died in 1995. Princess Elizabeth's Annual Charity Fund is today handled by Elizabeth's granddaughter-in-law, the Viscountess Chester.

Princess Alice - Alice, born in 1920, had a nearly identical upbringing to her sister. She also participated in charity efforts during WWII, working closely with nursing associations in North America and Europe. Following the War she married Cecil Mornington, the Duke of of Wellesley and St. Clair in her mid-twenties. Cecil, two decades Alice's senior, was later appointed Governor-general of Alexandria (representative of the monarch on the provincial level) and the family relocated to Santa Ana, the province's capital city, in the late 1950s. She and her two children, William and Christabel, settled well into their new home and became popular locally. Alice, as the chatelaine of the Governor's mansion, was known for her extravagant parties and her passion for maritime sporting events, such as yachting and sailing. During this time represented her brother James II in a wide variety of events in western Sunderland. Following the end of her husband's term, she returned to Great Lakes where she became one of the family's hardest-working royals, taking on hundreds of engagements each year. Like her sister, she was made Chancellor of several universities and the Colonel-in-Chief of s few Royal Army units. In 1990, King Louis V held a reception at Woodbine Castle in recognition of his aunt's work for her seventieth birthday. However, later in the decade tragedy struck when her son William was killed in a helicopter crash. William had succeeded his father but was unmarried and childless, and the Dukedom of Wellesley and St. Clair went extinct. A few years later, Alice later died in 1998, she was the last surviving child of King George II and Queen Anne.

[omegaremix]

Pandemic Blues (Spring).

When Dad passed away, I knew it was a new era. No more of his presence meant things would change on the inside and out, for better or worse. He almost had hit the U.S. average of male life expectancy by a pinch (78.54 years to his 78.19) so he’s had about his money’s worth. God couldn’t have cashed him out at a better time.

To start 2020, I took two weeks off from work for the first time in the six-plus years I’ve been with the company. I’ve met friends I haven’t seen in ages. I’ve abandoned non-successful projects in the name of self-care. I’ve re-wrote my diet for the better now that Dad wasn’t pumping me with free food ‘round the clock. I’ve also become the store champion in revenue for the year once again, and learned how not to get stress get the best of me. I had only one sunny day out of the twelve off in February which was extremely disappointing. As all you devils know, heading to New York City never leaves my mind. I promised myself that I’d make a visit to both Modern Pinball and Sunshine Laundromat, visits I’ve been waiting three years for. I came close. I did visit the city in early March for a check-up and visited Central Park as I called up my Godmother Laura to make Easter plans, leaving only after a half-an-hour when it started to get dark. By then I’d started to receive inklings of pending changes. The coronavirus was only in the back of my mind, and you normally don’t think of these things unless it pertains to you. I dialed up my aunt Theresa and she told me that the city schools and offices were contemplating closing down. I brushed it off like it was nothing, until…

It was a weekend at work like any other. A regular Sunday. Then it started. A customer asked me for nine mid-range laptops for himself and his co-workers to work from home. I sold them all to him. That’s a $3,100+ ticket. Another older man came in looking for five printers and ten monitors for his business. I could’ve hit the jackpot if only we had enough but we didn’t, but we piece-mealed whatever we could from other stores and that was another $1,500+. More customers and business owners came in to buy buy buy whatever they could to work at home with no limit and we now had a weekend clearance sale we never planned for. Every man and woman for themselves rushed in to save their jobs and tried grabbing whatever they can. When the weekend was over, they wiped us out of all our essential stock. Webcams, budget laptops, and monitors went clean off the shelves. We were fucking bewildered.

One outstanding memory I had of last year’s outbreak was seeing someone eye-ing over all-in-ones. After twenty minutes of no one asking him for assistance, I finally got him. He already had as much time under his belt deciding which way to go: Windows or Mac? He had lots of questions for me, and took me on a world tour of my own department to see which of three units he wanted to take home with him. Fine by me, because being in the presence of his brown-eyed peanut-butter haired daughter was all that mattered. Imagine Jessica Chastain in her late twenties and neck-length hair wearing a green St. Patrick’s Day shirt with a beige clover on it and blue jeans. Somewhat conservative and reserved but she was nice 100% all throughout. That’s more I could say than most people on the island or in my life I’ve met. An hour later, her dad finally decided on a high-end unit. “Wrap it up” he said. “Thank you for your time and purchase” I say, and it’d be the only time I would ever see her. Eventually, I noticed more customers coming in wearing masks. A different father-and-daughter pairing didn’t get it right wearing theirs under their chins, a half-assed way to at least fend themselves from the poison going on. Later on, two young female best-friends asked me for a Nintendo Switch. When they saw I had the Animal Crossing version, they suddenly asked for two more. Done. Knock yourselves out.

Within one week our store changed operations on a near-daily basis. We shortened our hours, then limited our total number of occupants to appointments only. By mid-week our store was closed to the public and it was all phone-orders and curbside pick-ups. Salespeople became impromptu warehouse and back-end runners. We couldn’t believe what we were experiencing. We were literally witnessing the slow gradual death of our traditional operating model. Corona- finally arrived and everyone was on edge not knowing what was coming next. Then we got the call from corporate: “all New York stores to be shut down indefinitely until further notice. Pack it up and go home. Expect a call from us in a few weeks”.

This was unreal! Our positions were in limbo. It felt like we were let go yet still employed otherwise. Meaning: furlough. We’d be fortunate enough to hold our titles and be kept on the payroll while we were mandated to stay home. Later as I learned, the ‘essentials’ as deemed, still had to work on through as a necessity to others; pegged to deal with the public who had no foresight as to how serious it would be. Before heading home indefinitely, I walked next door to the market. Never had I seen meat and paper shortages. Bare shelves of canned goods, frozen vegetables, pasta, and rice like the world was ending. There was no timetable for lockdown or how it’d last. I was now in competition with everyone else to stay alive. Count my high cards that an long-term food shortage was not the case.

27, 47, 81.

If only Dad would’ve lived long enough to see this unfold. He’d be forceful enough for me to stay home with him like some early exits from my location did. I can imagine that even if my bro- didn’t yell at him to stay home, Dad would say “hey, fuck you!” and drive out to see his friends. He literally fell of heart failure, and if that didn’t get him, would the -virus? Could he survive it with his expiring health and the spectre of death on impatient delay? Since Dad fed me almost daily, he’d feel very sad and broken if he couldn’t bring food home for me. He’s not here on this Earth anymore to do that, so it was time to change it up. The haunt of immuno-compromization had me thinking to cut the crap and go healthy.

245, 332, 417.

My ex- Yenny, the most cautious person in the world, sent me directions on how to make my own mask which I did out of old worn-out tees. Welcome to the new real dystopia. The first aesthetic of the pandemic was in the form of this makeshift cloth mask dampened with my own carbon-monoxide emanating the smell of damp stale cotton. Back to the neighborhood Chop N’ Drop I go. I stockpiled on fruits, vegetables, broth, anti-oxidants, juices, dark chocolates, nuts, and seltzer water. The moment of spending money on real food was the moment I started making real meals; the mixture of Idaho and sweet potatoes, celery, carrots, and vegetable broth aerated a distinct spring of fumes forever tied to these months in isolation. A daily carousel of apricots, oranges, cauliflower, tomatoes, and green peppers were a wonderful much-needed addition I had to have from now on. Visits to Bullseye had plenty of food, albeit the shelves were disorganized and the essential workers were overwhelmed. Idolatry was only steps away and to stock up on whatever non-perishables I could find, then threw them on the belt where the young silent Spanish girl who didn’t feel like being there was waiting for me at the register.

I noticed all around me that things were a little…different. Most of us were given things we never imagined. You’d never think of being home for months to have the opportunity to catch up on a life they once had no time for. People finally caught up on cleaning, pursing through personal belongings, old photos and memorabilia, reading lists and vinyl records that piled up. Imagine all the things said about not having to travel to work, or staying home to work, or not working at all. They were right. No such thing as stress. No managers shoving daily quotas or finding faults down your throat. No awkward moments, lack of courtesy, rudeness, or interruptions. No immature adults turning into bus-ride children competing for your attention or older women stamping their feet when being reminded of how out of line they were. It was total bliss.

486, 548, 753, 819. 

Most of us had all the time in the world to shit ourselves in our front-row seats for what we were seeing. It’s all happening next door in New York City, fatally crowned the epicenter of the worst pandemic of our lifetimes. We were The Death Nation. The deaths came at such an expedient rate that literal dead bodies were lined up outside the city’s funeral parlors. By then, restaurants closed. Businesses closed. Stadiums, theaters, arcades, bars closed. Schools and universities were canceled. Even Easter, the next social holiday in line…closed. The nation’s unemployment rate spiked high as 15% as people pounded on the doors on a broken system to have their unemployment benefits or loans in hand as soon as possible. No meta-game suffered distinctly than the music and venue industry. Artists, operators, and promoters had their livelihoods taken away from them in an instant; forced to make a living improvising on live-streaming. They just lost their selves overnight. Now, they held on tight for their own stability and sanity; hoping to reach for that brass ring while riding on a lagging carousel engulfed in flames. 

Over at WUSB, the show still had to go on. Our general manager disallowed any further staff to enter the studios. As most planned to live-stream from their homes, I opted to send my shows in. For the entirety of spring (and summer) I’d hand my shows in our engineer’s at-home automation for broadcast. Saturday 10:00PM Eastern Standard Time on the dot, no error. I had all the time in the world to post on Ω+, my portfolio VMFX, and get Our Lady Omega finally up to speed without worry of deadlines, distraction, or needless interruption. It was when I rifled through many auditions burning on the hard drive. Cleaners From Venus’ “The Jangling Man” couldn’t have come at a better time, signifying a cancelled Easter intended to be spent with my Godmother now at home. I never heard it ever but it yet it sounded familiar before. The cassette fidelities and a certain ‘89-’90 recorded feeling that took me back to my Nintendo youth becomes a new forever memory. Shoegaze and post-punk cuts such as Ing’s “Closet”, Milly’s “Talking Secret”, Es’ “Hidden Track”, and Miserable’s “Loverboy”, to name a few, have indisputably defined the pandemic era’s soul.

But enough of that for today. Down comes Mario, my five year-old nephew who’s yearning to play. Dad / Pop is no longer here, so it’s me he’s looking forward to seeing every day to try and win me on Uno or Candy Land while ginger-superior Madelaine Petsch / Cherry Blossom or Hayley Orrantia were on the flat-screen. We had nights where he’d chose a deck from my collection and we’d make separate piles out of suits. He’d play some good ones, too: the “Junior” of Hearts, the “Mom” of Diamonds, and the “Dad” of Spades he calls them. Aces were “sooper!” and the jokers had their own narrative: a clown on the unicycle was riding to 7-11 to get some Slurpees for us. (Once in a while, a horse-head or the word “MAVERICK” in cowboy caps- for those wild ones.) What kind of an imagination is this? And he loved Monopoly, too. We played so much that it inspired another aesthetic forever tied to the pandemic. Solid oranges and sky blues against the CRT’s, and Monopoly symbols of trains and utilities helped create sets of icons for a series of graphics templates I’ve made.

800, 814, 1036.

Red bottles with blue and red labels of now-discontinued blue liquid soap. Blocks of green and white cleanser cubes cased in plastic. Bulbs of blue and purple diffusing liquid. Cucumber sanitizer. They’re all symbols of cleanliness. All the time in the world posting, sound-editing, and layouts prove exhaustive at times. It’s 1AM Eastern Standard Time in New York City / Long Island and an open window allows the smoky cold chill of a 50°April breeze to vacate downstairs. It’s an invitation to step outside and admire the clear moonless skies. No clouds, only the stars above. I sit in my backyard to hear near-total silence emanating from the expressway. The asphalt rushes were a bare minimum because no one had a reason to travel. The utmost quiet was enough for the nostalgia to vacate right in. The cold, clear, quiet spring Saturday and Sunday nights spent with my Plainview circle of friends. We’d talk shit about everyone we knew, what our favorite Green Day, The Offspring, Collective Soul, or Nine Inch Nails songs were, and matching up with the alternative girls I never met before. The post-dinner April starlights spent shivering with Cath- off the busy Sunrise Highway admitting how much I missed her and how it felt when she succumbed to the heroin demon, the drives down random gas stations to save her ass, or the rare night rides from campus to take her home after my Wednesday radio stint. The temperatures also matched the experience of visiting Central Park for the very first time while an essential contact was in the back of my mind, her text asking how my day in New York City waited for me when I arrived home. It kills me that these are rare moments I’ll never have back. To this day that I’m still paying emotional interest on them.

142, 103, 101.

Rinse, repeat. For two months there was no place to go. No work shifts, classes, ballgames, weekend traffic, or Sunday dinners demarcating the days of the week. Saturdays were Tuesdays. Sundays were Mondays. No one ever humanly experienced a blur of time where every day was literally the same. Then a phone call. “Operations are re-opening. Be here Sunday and ready to start packing.” What my manager should’ve said to me: “be ready to be crucified”. I told myself it’s the last week of May. Three days to get back into it. The spoils of staying home from work once again with financial security and benefits intact will end. Slowly but surely things will pick up again. The floodgates will soon open and here come the entitled Karens, ugly kniving fishwives, dumbshit Tony’s From Brooklyn, and whatever unkempt messes who somehow still manage to breathe will tug my shirt for attention or see me as a whipping boy for their insignificant grievances I never asked for. 

If the quarantine made many lives a nerve-wracking unbearable hell for some people, then what happened next would be the breaking point: footage posted of Minneapolis police murdering George Floyd sent people into the streets in an outrage, and rightfully so. Short-Term Memory America didn’t learn and repeated their mistakes once again. No surprise there. The unnecessary needless precursory murders of Breonna Taylor and Armaud Arbury led up to the state’s latest nationwide collapse of unrest.

It took the latest event of racism and murder for everyone to finally come outside since the start of the pandemic and show what they were hiding for the longest time. Frustrated adult-male mouth-breathers acting out like total jerkoffs throwing their childish ignorance and building blocks in more reasonable mature people’s faces, and unattractive vanilla pig females turned into cartoon versions of themselves as they yapped multitudes of n-bombs and were damn proud of it. Cutting noses and spiting their own faces; doing whatever it takes at all costs to preserve their personal right and false constructs in treating people-of-color like garbage. Bulletin-board bruisers and ultimate keyboard warriors finally brought it out for all of the world to see. Others, however, had enough of their friends, family, co-workers, and fellow human beings being shot, beaten, or killed based on the color of their skin. They came to protest, picket, fight in the streets, and set it all in flames because enough was enough…enough of a corrupt racist celebrity president who’s done absolutely nothing except write off white supremacists and dismissed the coronavirus as a hoax. It all came down to this after living in an irrational anything-goes backwards presidency, all because the Fascist-in-chief cared for no one but himself, his family, and those who pledged their allegiance to him.

If the last four years provided us some out-of-this-world ridiculousness, what else would’ve been possible? We’ve experienced a hell like no other. We genuinely lived in fear that we could reach the point of no return. No one had any idea what was in store for us or how bad it could’ve been; during an election year, nonetheless. 

Where I’m heading is another story. I drive home down Rt. 25 and there are clusters picketing on the side of the road. One supporting Black Lives Matter, one for Tr*mp 2020. Summer’s on her way and the new heat was here; the allegory of pent-up frustration and emotion which everyone was feeling exacerbated by the pandemic. The possibilities were spring-loaded in the back of my mind and made me on edge, not knowing what could happen. 

All I, and us, could think about was when this would all end, and when we could go back to life as we knew it. We were holding out on all hope that something had to give. When will we be open for business again? When would be all go back to what it used to be, or what would ‘the new normal’ be? Will we change course and advert a national crisis, or will be dig ourselves a totalitarian grave so deep we won’t crawl out of? Will we have reason, rationality, science, humanity, and common sense back again, or will we have hatred, nastiness, cruelty, and contempt kept in place for tradition’s sake and have it rammed down our throats until we die sick of it?

It was the three most surreal months of my life. True uncharted territory; no map, no compass. And Spring wasn’t even over. Not just yet. As everything was unfolding and unraveling, something else was headed my way. A season that was anything but normal was going to end on an even more bizarre and curious note. Not in the form of more shutdowns, sickness, emptiness, or despair; but of someone who reached out to me.

(To be continued.)

Cleaners From Venus “The Jangling Man”

Damp “Death, Sex & Arby’s”

Ing “Dust”

Crumb “Ghostride”

Future Islands “Day Glow Fire”

Lisel “Digital Light Field”

Milly “Talking Secret”

Stardeath & White Dwarfs “What Keeps You At Night”

Miserable “Loverboy”

Districts “Cheap Regrets”

Snarls “Walk In The Woods”

Es “Hidden Track”

Strobobean “Keep It Together”

Katie Tempest “People’s Faces”

Penelope Isles “Round”

Shopping “All Or Nothing”