#maybe during their next like state of the world announcement thing..?

[dent-de-leon]

Do…do you think there’s a chance we’ll get another animated mighty nein teaser by the end of the year—

[andy-wm]

Jikook - The Fan Service Professionals

These two are such pros when it comes to fan service, they even practice behind the scenes. Dedication with a capital D! Even during the height of Covid, when there were no performances on the horizon, they were diligently keeping up the charade.

The newly released Bangtan Bomb of the BE Skit recording is a great example...

It is 2020, JK's birthday, and the Billboard #1 win for Dynamite has just been announced. Five of the guys file into a recording studio and sit down. Namjoon leaves an obvious gap next to Jimin.

JK arrives a few minutes later and takes his place... next to Jimin.

The group discusses the fact that the Billboard win was announced on JK's birthday and that he clearly needs no more gifts. What happens next is interesting...

JK tells them he received the best gift of his life and Jimin speaks for the first time since JK entered the room, jumping in to say "We're recording Skit, right?"

I've never seen anyone change the subject with such haste as this. In fact i might go so far as to say the way Jimin interrupted was ...almost rude! (But not really rude, because.. .he's Jimin)

But I digress...

The producer tells Jimin they're already recording and Jimin glances furtively at the microphone to confirm. Yes, the red light is on, it is indeed recording.

He laughs and slaps his thigh. Something must be really funny because he continues to laugh behind his hand, which is SUCH a tell for when he's embarrassed.

Long after everyone else has moved on, Jimin is still smiling to himself.

Maybe it's because JK just announced to the world that he got the best birthday gift OF HIS LIFE.

But he didn't specify what it was. He didn't say it was the Billboard win. And it looks like that birthday gift went on all night because the boy is clearly exhausted.

Anyway, moving on...

They start practicing their "fan service routine" at this point:

Without a word being exchanged between them, Jimin stands up and gives JK space to change his position. He then sits down next to JK and adopts the exact same position, with folded legs. Tick the box for mirroring behaviour

The next part of routine is connecting through touch - you know - how genuine couples touch each other as a way of checking in? Yeah like that. (Somehow I see caressing a person with your knuckles as more intimate than using your palm, but maybe that's just me)

And then there's a different type of touch - that body contact that comes with intimacy and familiarity. When you're a new couple this type of thigh touch can be very titilating but when you've been together for a while it's more comforting than sexy (although there's definitely an element of sexy too). At this point they are barely interacting, aside from Jimin's arm draped over JK's thigh and his fingers resting casually on JK's shin like it's his own personal armrest... he's certainly covering all the bases on that leg.

uuummm... okay, well played Jikook...

10/10 fan service here I guess.

Anything else that might have happened in this 'practice session' was lost on the cutting room floor, but one thing is for certain... neither Jimin nor JK got a wink of sleep on the night of JK's birthday.

Some may say it's because of the BB #1 win but I don't see any of the other guys in such a state of disarray as these two.

One thing that is obvious though:

Whatever the two of them were celebrating, they went at it all night long.

*cue Barry White*

[unreliablesnake]

Goodbye (Vincent de Gramont x reader)

Note: A follow-up drabble for this.

For all you knew, Vincent hadn’t signed the papers before you left him for good. You could only hope he would come to his senses and do it before your lawyer arrived the next day, but either way, you knew he would do it once he accepted you weren't coming back.

You were heading to your seat in first class, already sipping a glass of champagne like you always did during these flights. But today you truly needed some alcohol. Yes, it was you who left him, but it still hurt to know it was over. You wanted to make it work, you truly did your best to accept him with every flaw of his, but you reached a dead end with him.

While the other passengers began to arrive, you pulled out your ebook reader and dived into the book you had begun to read a few days ago. It was a romance novel, although there were comedic elements that made it truly entertaining. It was nice to get lost in a world where a relationship was working and everyone was happy.

One of the flight attendants suddenly began to explain that there will be an unexpected delay, but you didn't make much of it until it was announced that the flight was cancelled and everybody had to get off of the plane. A mechanical issue, they said. But you had a bad feeling, that maybe it wasn't entirely true.

A man your age you had met on the plane kept you company as you made your way back, but you choked on your carefree laughter when your eyes landed on Vincent. You should have known, the whole last minute mechanical failure was so fake in retrospect. They would have known sooner, not two minutes before take off.

“Who is he?” he demanded, his eyes fixed on the poor guy on your side. “I thought you said you weren't seeing anyone.”

“I'm not seeing anyone, we only met on the plane.”

The man next to you shifted uncomfortably before saying, “I'll leave you two alone.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the wedding,” you told him with a warm smile, even waving as he walked away.

Your back was to your dear husband, and you were thinking about leaving him there. You didn't want to talk to him. There was absolutely nothing to talk about. Well, except for two things–the cancelled flight and the divorce papers.

With a sigh, you turned around and gave him a tired look. “Did you have anything to do with the cancellation of my flight?” you asked as you stepped a little closer.

“I can't just let you go like this, I had to do something,” was all he said, as if it was perfectly normal. “I won't sign those papers either. I love you. I don't want you to leave me.”

“Vincent, it's over. I don't want anything from you anymore.”

He bit on his lower lip before putting his hands on his hips and turning away for a moment. You could tell it truly hurt him. That wasn't your intention, you always hoped he would take it well. But he clearly didn't. All of a sudden you felt guilty for doing this to him.

But no, you couldn't give in. You couldn't let him manipulate you and make you stay somehow. The only direction you were willing to go from this airport was New York. Or hell, any other city in the States as long as you could leave. Paris was beautiful, but it wasn't your home anymore.

“Just one more night,” he suddenly said. “Stay for one more night and think it through.”

With a sigh, you put your hand on his arm as you stepped closer. “I'm not going anywhere with you. I loved you, I truly did, but it's over. Sign the papers. Please,” you asked him.

Silence fell between you, but you could tell he was about to say something. He probably wanted to object, but he didn't speak up because he now knew you wouldn't stay. But then he took a deep breath and said, “If you ever change your mind, if you want to come back, I'm here. I'll be waiting.”

Smiling at the thought, you stood on your toes and softly kissed him. “You deserve someone who loves you. I'm not that person anymore.”

“I'll miss you, love” he told you as he pulled you into a tight hug.

[lv3psh]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: 𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴-𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘀, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟭.𝟰𝗸

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲 𝗮𝘂

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹!𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽

you were already regretting coming to the library early, not because you didn’t like being there, but because he was. park sunghoon. you cursed under your breath as you spotted him in your usual spot, his head buried in a textbook and his fingers tapping rapidly on his laptop.

he didn’t need to look up to know you were there — he could probably sense the irritation radiating off you. the two of you had been in an unspoken competition since freshman year. you didn’t even remember how it started. one moment, you were both at the top of the class; the next, every assignment, test and lecture had become a game of who could outdo the other.

“morning,” he said, without bothering to look up. his voice was laced with that trademark indifference that drove you insane.

“morning,” you replied stiffly, taking the table beside him. you didn’t want to acknowledge him further but the fact that he was there — quiet, focused, and somehow always two steps ahead — kept you from fully focusing on your own work.

a few minutes later, you heard the soft thud of his notebook closing. “can’t believe you’re here this early. got something to prove?”you shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. “i could say the same about you.”you stated as he shrugged. “maybe we both do.”

that was always how it was with sunghoon. conversations were battles of wit, and every smile or smirk was a carefully calculated move. you sighed, trying to ignore the slight tightening in your chest that came whenever you interacted with him. you hated how much space he took up in your thoughts, how much he affected you without even trying.

the rivalry persisted for two and a half years. sunghoon was frustratingly brilliant, always just ahead of you in every course. he never gloated, though — no, he was far more subtle than that. his victory came in the form of quiet smirks when test scores were handed back or the slight raise of his eyebrow when a professor praised one of his points over yours during a discussion.

it wasn’t until senior year, when your professor announced that the final capstone project would be completed in pairs, that your world collided more directly with his.

“partners?” you repeated, staring at the professor in disbelief. sunghoon, sitting a few seats away, looked equally shocked. for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something — displeasure, maybe? but it quickly disappeared, replaced by his usual unreadable expression.

“yes,” the professor said, with a smile that seemed a little too pleased. “i think the two of you will work exceptionally well together. exceptionally well together. you stifled a groan. if only they knew.

the first meeting wasn’t ideal. you tried to keep it professional, focusing on splitting up the tasks logically so you’d each have your own part to do. sunghoon, however, seemed less interested in working separately.

“it’s a group project,” he said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “we should work together on everything.”

“that’s not efficient,” you countered. “if we divide the work properly, we can get it done faster.” retaliating as you flipped through the syllabus and marking key.

“but this project is supposed to be a collaboration,” he replied, voice annoyingly calm. “we can bounce ideas off each other, catch things the other person might miss.” you stared at him, trying to hold back your frustration. he wasn’t wrong but you hated that he always had a counterpoint. “fine,” you muttered, relenting for now. “but we’re going to need a schedule.”

weeks passed and much to your surprise, working with sunghoon wasn’t as terrible as you’d expected. sure, you still had your disagreements — he was a perfectionist, you were more pragmatic but you couldn’t deny that he was a good partner. smart, reliable, and (though you hated to admit it) thoughtful in a way that you hadn’t expected.

there were late nights spent in the library, both of you bent over laptops, quietly typing and researching away. the rivalry between you still lingered, but it softened. somewhere between the shared coffee runs and discussions about data points, something shifted. it wasn’t obvious at first, but you started to notice things: how he sometimes brought you your favorite coffee without asking or how he’d pause his work to listen carefully when you spoke about a new idea.

it became easier to talk to him, to work alongside him without feeling like you were constantly on edge. the tension was still there but it was different now, more of an undercurrent than an outright competition.

one evening, after yet another long session in the library, the two of you stepped out into the cold air. the campus was quiet, the sky dark and a light dusting of snow covered the ground. you rubbed your hands together, trying to stave off the chill, when sunghoon suddenly nudged you with his elbow. “cold?” he asked, his breath visible in the freezing air.

you shot him a look. “obviously.” without saying anything, he shrugged off his scarf and handed it to you. “here. you didn’t bring one.”

you blinked at him, confused by the unexpected gesture. “uh... thanks?” you said, hesitating before wrapping it around your neck. it smelled faintly of his cologne, and you mentally cursed yourself for noticing. “you’re welcome,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

the two of you walked in silence for a bit before sunghoon spoke again, his tone unusually thoughtful. “you know, i always thought working with you would be… harder.”

you looked at him, your brow furrowed. “you thought i would be difficult?”

“i mean.. you’re competitive,” he said, smirking. “but so am i. i guess i just thought we’d clash more.”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “i guess we’re not as bad as we thought.”

“guess not,” he agreed, his smirk softening into a small, genuine smile.

that smile — it was rare but it was the first time you felt something shift inside you. maybe sunghoon wasn’t just the academic rival you had built him up to be. maybe there was more to him than the competition, the quiet smirks and the top grades. maybe, just maybe, you could see yourself wanting to be around him beyond just the project.

the project neared completion, and so did your final semester. with graduation looming, everything seemed more real. you’d have to part ways soon, move on with your separate lives. you hated how that thought made your stomach sink.

one night, as you both sat in the library, finalizing the last few details of your work, you found yourself glancing at him more often than usual. his brow was furrowed, his lips pressed together in concentration. for the first time, you weren’t thinking about how to outdo him or get ahead. you were thinking about what it would be like to miss him.

“hey,” sunghoon’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. “what’s up?”

you shook your head. “nothing. just… thinking.”he raised an eyebrow, clearly curious “about?”

“about how weird it’ll be once this project is over...” you admitted, surprised at how easily the words came out. “we’ve spent so much time together these past few months. it’s going to feel… strange, i guess?”

sunghoon’s expression softened and he leaned back in his chair, studying you for a moment. “yeah,” he said quietly. “i’ve been thinking about that too.”

there was a pause, and then almost hesitantly, sunghoon spoke again. “you know, we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s over.”

you looked at him, your heart skipping a beat. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying,” he began, a small smile tugging at his lips, “that maybe I don’t want this to end. the project, the coffee runs, the… whatever this is.”

you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. for once, there were no academic scores to worry about, no competition, no rivalry. it was just you and him, and the possibility of something more.

“i think i’d like that too,” you said softly, feeling a warmth spread through you despite the chilly air.

sunghoon’s smile widened and for the first time, it felt like you were truly on the same page—no rivalry, no tension. just the two of you.

and that, you realized, was something you’d never expected, but had always quietly hoped for.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 © 𝗹𝘃𝟯𝗽𝘀𝗵. 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. 𝘂𝗻𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗵𝗶𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hey thanks for accepting this ask. So what I wanted to ask is how the amazing digital circus crew would react to a reader who's a strong hero...that's incredibly optimistic, dense and Guilable thinking that the world acts like a cartoon/comic sometimes

TADC cast x comic hero type reader!

meant to start knocking out these last two requests earlier this morning but i had to clean up the house a bit; but im finally getting onto it! reminder that requests are currently closed and any requests sent in will not be answered and will be deleted to keep the inbox clean; so please keep your requests until i announce theyre open again! plan on taking a day or two off to rest my brain n back as well as catching up on art and my own personal fic. the requests being answered currently were sent in prior to requests closing with that said, i hope you enjoy this anon!!

CAINE:

honestly i think caine would be the same way, not exactly but i think he would some of the cluelessness in terms of how the real world works... except its mostly with the non digital real world; call it inexperience or something! lets you play hero during the IHA.. honestly you kind of fit right in with your personality, with tropes and being a stereotypical comic book hero, if not a little naïve. pretends he doesnt recognize you when you walk around in your "citizens disguise"

likes coming up with villain npcs for you to fight during adventures

POMNI:

initial confusion when she sees you just walking around with a tie plastered to your chest, asks you what its for as well as dropping your name. even more shocked that youre shocked that she knows who you are. kind of just accepts this is a thing you do and doesnt question it, especially as she settles into the digital world.. at least youre handy during IHA.. i think during my little break i might try to figure out how i wish to right pomni because i really do wish i made her stuff more... interesting

RAGATHA:

honestly i think she would make you stuff to add to your disguise. doesnt want to shatter the illusion for you so she just tries to casually give you stuff out of the kindness of her heart... which isnt... totally wrong.. honestly i dont think she would try to change you or bring up the bad disguise thing so long as its not somehow putting you in danger. in fact i think she finds your whole hero personality endearing, you guys are both optimistic and its nice to be around someone who isnt just. losing their marbles or being a dick.. plus, you arent technically wrong to view the digital world as a cartoon, i mean, look at it and look at the physics of the world and all

JAX:

oh he is going to be a menace, probably makes a joke villain persona to mess with you only for you to immediately gun for him and deal with his "evil antics",, i mean hey as long as jax doesnt put his silly little villain mask back on you wouldnt suspect a thing... maybe... i think he would roll his eyes at some of the things you say, since youre way more optimistic and out there than ragatha... probably uses your gullible..ness... as a means to trick you

KINGER:

honestly the "as a royal myself" line he dropped in the pilot makes me think that at some level he believes himself to be a real king; or maybe he was just REALLY playing into his whole theming and he knows hes just some dude but was trying to appeal to the gloink queen... what im trying to say is that i think there might actually be a solid chance he fully leans into your hero thing, and perhaps even falls for your disguise (if him constantly forgetting gangle is standing right next to him says anything about his observation skills and/or mental state)

ZOOBLE:

similar to jax but also not. finds your optimism a little too much sometimes; especially if youre very outwardly social and friendly so its not like you swoop in to do your hero duties but you also stop to talk to the 'civilians' of the circus.. though unlike jax they wouldnt try to trick you, nor do i think they would exactly be mean to you. a little irritable by your energy and attitude, maybe, but i think zooble gets irritated by almost everyone in the circus.. reluctantly plays along with your disguise

GANGLE:

i think she would be into it, probably draws you in your non-disguise outfit. you get fanart, yay! probably similar to pomni in the whole, just accepts how you are both as a person and with your antics, but i think she just accepts everything everyone else does! not much to say, shes a fan of it and if you stand up for her when jax is mean thats just an added bonus for her

[transhoverfish]

OK SO IM LATE BUT. MORE SUB3 NEWS!!!

so a few days ago, krafton (their publisher), apparently had this like presentation of their plans over the next like 2 years. and during that they talked a bit about sub 3!

and this obviously creates a LOT of questions. not to worry, though, because unknown worlds added on to this:

im honestly not surprised by this. iirc, when below zero released they said it would be a WHILE before the next game, and they only announced this back in like... january? now, the first game's release was in january, and bz was in may, so it's definitely possible early access with be in spring of 2025. those games did not have multiplayer aspections tho! its possible we'll wait until mid 2025, and full release will likely not be until 2026. but who knows? the first game took like ten to be fully finished!!

and honestly. THANK GOD. i can't imagine any subnautica game having BATTLE PASSES or LOOT BOXES. i would have just straight up ignored this game 😭

i do wonder what these updates will entail! "many years to come" is definitely something interesting to me, because other than bug fixes... i dont remember sub or bz getting many updates post full release. is this referring to bug fixes, or is it implying that it will be in a state of early access for much longer? are they going to just keep adding new things (like the building update for sub1) and taking fandom suggestions? very interested!!

maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but i actually,,,, dont want multiplayer. now i do like bz, and these games arent really intended to be horror games, but also bz is very noticeablely less scary than sub1. and some of it i think definitely has to do with all the extra characters and dialogue. its hard to feel isolated when you know al-an and marg are nearby. so im very happy that it's optional, bc i know i will probably enjoy single player a lot more enjoyable!!

so now... SPECULATION.

so the first thing im curious about that the development team didnt mention:

"uncover the mysteries on an entirely new alien planet"

apprently we are NOT returning to 4546b. which im kind of sad about!! ik the story is very obviously done there, but it feels weird that its going to be some other planet this time around. THERE WONT BE PEEPERS!!!! (well there could be but it would be weird if some other random planet had the exact same lifeforms)

now my next immediate thought is: is this a direct continuation of below zero? my opinion is: no. probably not.

mostly because it mentions up to four players, and robin and alan are, if you look very closely, only two people. now they COULD just create two new characters to go alongside them (my fanfic brain loves the au idea of marg and ryley 🥺) but im just going to assume that with the addition of a new planet, we're going to drop the old storylines. which means no more degasi, sunbeam, aurora, or ayou sisters. we might move away from architects/precursors altogether! (my basis on this is absolutely nothing and i could be wrong, this is 100% just theorizing)

also, i imagine that it would be difficult to keep the plot the exact same with two established characters and then two new ones, depending on how this multiplayer aspect works. if its another crash, it would be a lot easier to just have the extra players die/survive, then try to work in a balancing act of one guy playing al-an.

(also i like keeping the ending of bz vauge. if they show up again, they would have to mention what happened to the rest of the architects, and i think it's much more fun if thats a mystery!)

((also also, im gonna drop a bomb on u all for a second. i actually,,, dont like al-an. i have a deeper connection to probably every single other character in bz. i think they really fumbled al's character and story and he is so incredibly bland to me. it feels like they go nowhere with how he was responsible for the kharra outbreak because the game ends immediately after he confesses! it would be nice to give him another chance, sure, but i personally dread the idea of even more al-an. sorry everyone for this horrible news))

HERE'S A CONCEPT IMAGE

i hope they bring back some cut content creatures for this!! i noticed this new area looks VERY similar to the safe shallows, and several of the fish seem to be variations of ones we've already seen (im already seeing bladderfish and hoopfish color pallettes, and the shark resmbles some early concept art for the shadow leviathan, but with the ice worm's colors...)

will there be more land areas?? is it going to entirely underwater?? more kharra?? NO DISEASE AT ALL?? AAAAAA!!!!

[joysmercer]

okay I’m so curious about the short fic you posted yesterday

can I ask how in this universe nina dies? And does eddie too?

(it’s mask of anubis on main btw)

ooh fun questions!! i was hoping someone would ask cuz i couldn't figure out how to work it in. also i added way too much info that you didnt ask for so now it's under the cut :D

first of all, this au is a much darker take on how i think nina's life "actually" played out – I think she'll always have random spirits coming up to her etc, but in this au, it's pretty constant and can get very dangerous very quickly. on the flip side, she sees a lot more fame for her "irl" work than she does "in canon" (see below).

somewhat ironically (given how guarded nina becomes from the constant barrage of gods forcing her to do things), she makes her living off of writing movies about her experiences. i think she does this in canon too, but here she really throws herself into it, almost like a form of therapy since there isn't really any professional she can process things with, you know? she eats, sleeps, breathes her craft – whenever she has downtime, she's writing, editing, networking to get her words out there. she's so fast and so talented with it that she graduates university in three years with honors, by which time the chosen one (season 1) has already been picked up by a major company and has started filming; she wins her first oscar two years later, and the next two each year after that.

(actually, all four scripts got picked up at the same time, which is why the turnaround was so quick – but they didn't announce the sequels until after the oscars because at that point she was a relatively unknown person)

(also i know this isn't how these things work irl but just work with me here. maybe she called in a favor from a random god and had things sped along idk)

anyway, the point im trying to make is that she spends her whole life balancing what she wants to do (her work) with what she has to do (paragon shit) and has a weird sense of self-worth as a result (she knows she's good at what she does, but wants to hide it from the world at the same time (out of fear). she hates that she needs others to keep her safe and refuses to believe they're doing it out of kindness, even though she also knows that they genuinely love her. it's weird) (also she and fabian make up sometime during their uni years so all is good there)

anyway, they (amber + KT) set up a rota of all ex-sibuna members (+ willow as she learns about it pretty quickly post-grad) to spend time in the states for a couple months out of the year each. this essentially made sure there was always 1 other person on the mission with her and 2 people nearby who knew where they were going, should things go wrong and they need rescuing or something. but for small/random tasks, nina would just do those alone.

her last mission (that fabian alludes to) had taken months to complete: three formerly-benign ghosts had been "turned" by a magician up in canada, released from the underworld, and, driven mad by the magic (and confusion of being back in the real world), had started a series of freak thunderstorms across the american midwest. together with jerome, she had to figure out how they got released, stop the magician, construct the device necessary to trap the spirits and send them back, and use said device to stop the storms. the effort had completely exhausted her (so much so that she – making headlines – decided to take a step back on touchstone production, instead of hanging out on set like she did for the other three)

(that's why tor is the way it is. with her dropping off of the face of the earth, someone decided – while she couldn't argue against it – to absolutely slash the budget, which lead to a mess of a story (screenplay is the only oscar it wins)

nina's death (as alluded to in the article) really seemed out-of-the-blue. basically, she was on a mission – alone – that suddenly and very unexpectedly turned dangerous. but when she was found (by KT and amber together) it looked like she just collapsed at home – there was no indication of any foul play or anything, really, of how she died.

also alluded to in the article, but a lot (but not all) of KT's "investigative journaling" was her covering up the consequences of nina's missions with theories that would make sense to the general public. nina's last request of her was to halt any investigation into her death prematurely as she knew things would unravel pretty quickly otherwise

joy's role in nina's life was mainly to book her for enough public-facing events/etc so that people wouldn't question where she was when she "disappeared" for a month or two, as well as act as her social media manager/"source close to her" to tabloids during extended absences so people continue to think she's okay. this was especially important given nina's monumental rise to fame (and as a screenplay writer, at that! usually it's the actors/directors who get most of it!) and her relatively young age, which meant she got herself a fandom very quickly…and we all know what the rumor-spreading capabilities of stan twitter are like. there were quite a few times nina came back from a mission to find several "new" pics on her instagram or that shes going viral for something she doesn't "remember" saying lskdjf

amber's role was to media-train the hell out of nina so she never gives any indication that a) there's an element of truth in her work; b) she lives a double life; and c) weird things keep happening in the cities she happens to frequent (eg random buildings falling, artifacts disappearing, etc). we all know this girl can't lie to save her life…amber is nothing but a miracle-worker in that regard lol

as for eddie – his death is basically the reason things are so awful, now. he actually dies at the end of tor, and not only does osiris himself blame nina for it (using "logic" that can rival senkhara's in s2), but it also leaves nina terrified since she no longer has a protector – something all the other gods/spirits quickly take advantage of (threats/blackmail/etc) for the first few years, by which time word of her willingness to do anything spreads and she can't get rid of the constant requests. it doesn't help that his death also proved to them that nina (like her counterpart) can, and will, sacrifice herself to save the world, if it came down to it, making her the perfect pawn in a lot of schemes.

[cator99]

I love making phone calls I love sending emails and being overall pleasant to interact with I love looking for solutions and being eager to understand how the world around me operates and to ask people about the role they play in this beautiful world I love being able to tell that other people are excited for any reason at all to strut their shit in this way and I always take notes on how they do it. It's all so funny to me. I am doing this because I am an insane person. I am the best person for the job. I am like the inverse of Jude St Francis. Born in a wet cardboard box doomed fucked in the head and forced to make an accommodation with life BUT I think its cunty and will commit awesomely violent ritual seppuku when my life is at its absolute peak. But yeah I dont get anxiety anymore if I dont like something it I can just thank them for their time and then find a way to leave and literally do anything else no one really cares as long as you do it right and you know like you can just keep looking for better things you literally never know you might turn out to be really passionate about fish mongering and didnt even consider it and it's not always easy but if the alternative is unbearable then fuck it pack a bag and stick your thumb out on the highway and spend 2 hours chatting about life with a fat 60 year old semi truck driver with photos of his happy fatty family plastered over the entirety of his dashboard and who was concerned why some kid was wandering the highway without a jacket and is nothing but totally kind and appropriate towards you which you kind of didnt expect when you hit the road but then you get to the city and go to an orgy party at some xi/xirs apartment who you met while on a psychiatrist-approved leave to attend an LGBT youth summer camp during the tail end of your 4 month stay at a youth mental health/detention facility but you can't stay there because his 40 year old housemate just announced that he's moving to the states and suddenly wouldnt be contributing to next months rent and didn't want to say anything until the night before when his boxes were being actively moved out of the apartment in order to avoid any sort of confrontation and the resulting altercation is heart breaking this 40 year old workig professional gay dude just absolutely betrayed this screwed up teenaged lesbian with no hesitation but maybe the drug fuelled sex parties had something to do with it but im just there stoned watching some tv show about anthropomorphic fast food and xe really did care about me but this was not the time to be pulling some cutesy whimsical runaway shit so we said our goodbyes and xe gave me directions the youth emergency shelter. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream. This was just the "hard" part. I broke the high score on the ancient tetris machine at the day-shelter and barely ate anything because they relied entirely on donations and for whatever reason nobody thought to donate anything gluten free. I slept in the girls quarters of the cold shelter we were taken to every night, driven in huge vans by the staff at the day shelter. The girls were primarily quiet and didnt want to talk or even look at anyone. Some of the native girls were chill to play board games or watch tv with though. The guys were real rough. Mostly drug addicts. Mostly violent. They were known for treating each other terribly. I was told I could "use whatever rooms or washrooms that align with your gender identity". I told them I'd rather use the room that made me less likely to have me end up raped or my pillow pissed on.

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 7. Act of War (and parting ways)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

a/n: I'll be taking a quick break from Entangled Strings of Fate first as I build up the back log for it's remaining chapters and as I also plan to finish Yours Truly, Romeo to make way for 2 new Spencer Reid fanfic ideas I've been drafting (one is a one shot y/n that could be turned into a mini series idk yet and another is a confirmed mini series y/n.) Hope that gets you excited for new releases!

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"All warfare is based on deception." - The Art of War by Sun Tzu

Radio static silence—that was the accurate description Cleo could think of during the next two days she and Spencer sparsely spent around each other’s orbit. No longer was there an unseen force tethering their limbs to another and in its place there was vast empty space between their two drifting souls, where the universe lay in wait while the cosmos convened their fate. The small bursts of respite came when he would leave her existence, donning on his mask and gear to play pretend that everything was alright in his world for his team of profilers to believe. BAU stayed firmly on ground, finishing endless paperwork and with no invitation coming from local precincts—a first, as if the killers of the state agreed to take a break. A lull not welcomed by Spencer, she instinctively knew, as it gave him no fodder to distract his brilliant mind from the turmoil ravaging his insides. 

By the third sunrise, Cleo was the one pulled down by gravity while he stayed aimlessly alone and drifting, taunted by his craving for his own choice of poison. But she didn’t know that and should she had, things may have gone differently.

Nevertheless, she wanted to throw her responsibilities into the endless void and stay to brace for the turbulence coming to hit their already damaged ship but reality was cruel and did not allow it. So, she found herself surrounded by her peers, sitting in a cramped lecture room listening to a guest prosecutor drolly giving advice to the future workers for justice. Physically, she was there but introspectively, her mind had flown back to where he—Spencer—was. She had wanted to call in for back up—Derek or Penelope to keep him company, to act as a distraction but it was impossible to do without having to fill in the reasons why—why he looked like he had been pulled down to hell and back. Why he couldn’t be left alone with his own thinking and near-perfect memory. And why he needed a warden disguised as a friend to keep him safe. She almost hated her past self for promising to keep his brutal fall from grace as a secret.

The end of the lecture brought her back to the present and to a stand, hastily exiting without so much a glance around. 

“Spence, I’m back,” she announced her presence as she stepped inside. “Spencer, are you there?”

Deafening silence answered back. With a cellphone left precariously on the entryway table, she scanned for a shadow of human life. As she rounded every empty corner, the whispers of her imagination got louder and louder. The chorus inside her now screaming horrible chants of drugs and death. She closed her eyes and took a deep shaky breath to push the screams away. Maybe he went up on the roof for fresh air, maybe to the corner mart for Jell-Os, or maybe to the nearby bookstore—her unwavering trust and naivety churning excuses for her grasp on. She compromised with herself to wait, anxiously, for at most thirty minutes before calling in the cavalry in the name of SSA Derek Morgan.

Time crawled slowly with her staring at the clock pendulum swinging unabashedly. But forty-five minutes and a phone call had gone by and Derek was now announcing his imposing presence with rapid knocks on the door. 

“Pretty girl, what’s wrong?” He asked, side stepping into the apartment. “Where’s Reid?” 

She opened her mouth, unsure on until what extent she should share but it was as if the cosmos made the decision for her. As Morgan was entering the living room, he had knocked over Spencer’s well-worn satchel left lying on the floor with its straps unbuckled and as if in slow motion, it topped over and two medicine bottles came rolling out to stop in front of his shined boots. Eyes widening, he bent down to pick both up, one empty and one still sealed shut. 

“Murphy,” Morgan’s tone no longer containing any niceties. It was as if a switch was flipped. “What the hell is this?”

Rubbing her fingers to her temples in a circular manner, Cleo came clean on what transpired the other night.

“You should have told me right away,” he exclaimed, banging his empty fist on a nearby surface. “This isn’t some small secret you can promise to keep.”

“I-I know—I know that now but that isn’t the reason why I called you here. Well, it’s part of the reason but when I came home, he was nowhere to be found and I don’t know what to do. You don’t think he’s out buy—" she cut herself off, unable to speak aloud to the universe where her mind had been spiraling to.

He clenched his jaw, trying to rein in his anger. “We’ll talk about this when I get back and I mean it, Murphy. Stay here just in case, I’ll go find him.” 

She nodded as Morgan rushed out the door, clearly not wanting to waste any more precious minutes.

———

An hour had passed before the handle on the main entryway turned to unlock. It was Spencer, looking worse for wear than when she last left him. The faint purple bruising under his vacant eyes now looked deep in color—almost matching his favorite scarf loosely hanging on his neck. His shoulders hunched forward as if caving in from the weight of the world he’s carrying. His fingers stuffed inside the pockets of his cardigan—Cleo didn’t want to think of what they could contain. And his listless feet dragging his body forward before collapsing on the couch. 

“Spencer, where were you?” Her voice cracked as her knees landed with a gentle thud, the carpet cushioning her fall, in front of his hunched form. “Where did you go?” 

“Out. I went out,” he muttered under his breath. Her ears straining to hear any more of his reply but there were none. She was no profiler but she read enough of his signs to know that he was withholding something from her.

She wrangled with her fingers, preparing herself for the anger that her next words would bring to the surface. “I called Derek, he’s out looking for you now and—” her voice cut off as her eyes shifted to look at the two vials Morgan had placed on the table. His own following her gaze before widening and springing his body upright as if electrocuted. 

“How could you! I trusted you!” He raised his voice, filled with accusation and malice. Gone were the vacancy in his eyes, replaced with such poison her eyes couldn’t take to see.

“Please, Spencer, what was I suppose to do?” She begged imploringly, overwhelmed with the anger rolling of him in waves. “You were nowhere to be found—no note, no way to contact you, no way to know what you were doing. Tell me, what should I have done?”

He paced the floor, throwing his hands up in the air with aggression. “You could have waited for me to come back—you could have done anything, anything at all, but call Morgan,” he ragingly ranted. “For someone who claims to have a genius IQ, you sure did something stupid.”

“That’s not fair, Spencer, and you know it. You promised me there were no more drugs in this apartment. You can’t call me out on breaking my promise when you did just the same,” she answered back as she stood up from her kneeling position. 

“So I told a small lie—a fib. But that doesn’t give you the right to share what I’m going through with any member of my team. My team, Cleo, not yours.”

She took a deep breath, thinking of a way to diffuse the situation. “I’m sorry for breaking my promise. I’ll make it up to you—just let me help you. Let me in,” she looked down at her fingers, head bowing, a clear sign of defeat. “This isn’t like you, Spencer.”

“No offense Cleo, but you don’t really know who I am now, do you? You’ve never seen or experienced what I see, do—did for this job. This position that I’ve been working towards to ever since I could form words. This career, that is now endangered to be taken away from me all because of you—a people pleasing upper-class girl who never knew hardship a day in her life so she created mini problems for herself just so she could have a backstory to use as a social crutch.”

Cleo wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to hold herself together at the seams threatening to unravel. She knew his fury was making him say all these hurtful words as if he a wounded animal lashing out to protect itself from further pain and death but knowing the reasoning behind it didn’t make it less hurtful.

“Do you want me to continue,” he smirked. His eyes staring straight into hers with such rage and hatred. “‘Cause I can go all day and profile and every little action, sentence, and tic from the very first day we met. I have an eidetic memory, remember?”

Nails digging into her skin, the physical pain amounting to nothing but a flesh wound compared to the viciousness the boy she once considered her other half threw at her. She huffed out a breath, feeling the treacherous tears slide down her cheeks. “I just wanted to help you, really. Th—there was no need for you to hurt my feelings like this. Is that what you wanted to do? Break me down into a black and white profile, just like your case files and unsubs then throw it back to my face as if you think I didn’t know who I am,” she countered. “Did that make you feel any better? Did that lessen the anger in your chest? If not yes, let’s talk properly and if not then, what now, Spencer. What now.”

“I think this is a mistake,” he stated matter of factly, as if to bar any argument to be uttered by her lips. “Trusting you, meeting you and getting to know you is a mistake that I will regret for the rest of my life. I’d like you and your things gone now.” 

Shock rooted her to the spot. This wasn’t the end that she ever imagined coming. “Is this what you really want, Spencer?”

He nodded and reached his palm wide open in between the charged space. “Yes, the spare key please—“

Her hands violently shaking as she reached and removed the proof of his trust hanging from her keychain.

“—and it’s Dr. Reid.” There were tears pooling beneath his eyes, but his face was rigid with defiance. 

Wanting to stay and fix whatever had been broken between them regardless of what had transpired was not an option she could see to pursue. So she gathered her nearby items, whatever remaining dignity she had left and walked slowly towards the exit. And without so much another word, the door was slammed behind her. An unmovable barrier between the world that she once knew and loved to be.

“Goodbye, Dr. Spencer Reid,” she sobbed under her breath. Cleo stayed there spiritlessly standing for what could have been hours just trying to gather her bearings and her broken, black and blue heart.

Derek ran into her on the building steps, brows furrowing as he took in her appearance—red rimmed eyes, tear stained face, and wilting aura. “Hey pretty girl, you alright? What happened with Reid?” 

She shrugged, not having the energy to rehash the scalding hot words thrown at her. Morgan was a profiler after all—she’d bet he profiled her the same way Spenc—Dr. Reid did. “He’s back in his apartment.”

“Murphy?” His voice going up at the end, concerned. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I—I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Books to read, cases to study,” she said quickly, wanting to escape the seasoned gaze before she comes crashing down.

“Don’t lie to me, Murphy. I’m a profiler. I know when something is wrong.”

She shook her head, trying to keep whatever honor she had left. “Please Derek, don’t ask.”

His dark brown inquisitive eyes studied hers for a moment. “Alright, I won’t.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a small thank you. “I need you to do something for me,” she pleaded as she reached into her pockets before turning over the folded piece of paper to Derek. “This is a contact number for Narcotics Anonymous—A.A meetings for law enforcements. Give it to Reid when he’s ready and take care of him for me, will you?”

His eyebrows raising in alarm. “Pretty girl, what happ—why can’t you give it to him yourself?”

“I can’t, Derek. I can’t. Just promise me, okay?” Her last word breathy, betraying the tears residing in her eyes that are threatening to spill.

He sighed—clearly wanting to push but nodded in respect to her decision. He let go of her hand and started to slowly walk towards the elevator. “Take care of yourself, Murphy. Call me when you need anything, I mean it.”

“You too, Morgan. You, too,” she mustered up a weak, fake smile.

Cleo stepped down the apartment building with shaky footing and a suit of desolation. As if she was an astronaut in space who had lost her ties to her spaceship. Floating into the void, helpless and facing inevitable death by lack of oxygen. She took another step and another and another away from her air, her constant—from the one she once thought as home until she was nothing but a blip in the distance. 

[melonpiemelon]

STARB⟡Y part two

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

summary: the night in between. 3.5k of smutttt. Miguel wakes up w a boner basically. Still a cutie patootie tho.

warnings: 18+, afab reader, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, established relationship, subby Miguel, biting, Miguel’s fangs and claws, consent yas, needy and feral Miguel, aftercare

Part One

Read full thing on ao3

_________________________________

You arise from your slumber with sleepy eyes and a yawn. The moon shines bright outside of your window and you tilt your head to take a further glance at the stars. It was still dark outside so you must’ve only been out for a few hours. Considering how worn out you became after Miguel fucked you to oblivion, you find it pretty odd how you’re awake right now. You figured you’d be passed out for a while, still in a haze of post coital bliss.

It’s no issue though, maybe once you’ve managed to escape from your man's gorilla grip you could go take a shower.

Your arm is numb from laying on it so you shift your body weight and move your hips a little to reposition yourself from the discomfort. This disturbed the man sleeping next to you, a groan rumbled through Miguel’s throat and you felt his arm tighten around your waist, keeping you from moving.

You huffed and used your hips to push back against him, separating your bodies so you could breathe and not be suffocated by the heat. Your bare skin was sticking to the covers from the sweat your body released during its sleep and your pillow was warm so you flipped it over real quick to the cool side and laid your head back down.

Miguel grumbled again. This time, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him, making sure your back is flush against his bare chest and tucking his face into your neck. You had to give it to him, the man was persistent even in his sleep. And you can’t help but twist your neck to the side and take a long look at his beautiful face, so serene and peaceful with his eyes closed, lashes reflecting the shine of the moon and pouty lips at rest.

His mouth quivered in his sleep and he started mumbling incoherent words as he continued to dream. Times like this with him were your favorite. When he was naturally adorable and unbothered by the shadows of his past. He was also definitely more attractive when his mouth was shut. You snickered to yourself and placed a gentle quick kiss to his lips. Your forehead stayed near his as you continued to view the relaxed state he’s in. Watching the even rise and fall of his muscular shoulders.

You felt content and fulfilled. If only you could spend every day like today. You don’t want it just for yourself, but for Miguel and your baby as well. You guys weren’t exactly the most traditional family out there, both you and Miguel having to balance your double lives and protecting the secret that your lover technically doesn’t exist within your world. With all these secrets piled up, it makes sense that you would long for some semblance of normalcy in your day to day, considering you’ve spent these past few years living life in the most unorthodox way possible. The date was a refreshing but also solemn reminder of what could be.

Drowsiness kicked back into your sore system after you got comfortable again, it seeped into your eyes and lulled your muscles into relaxation, calling you back into the dark void. You were ready to accept and fall into the midnight abyss, but the heavy weight that was currently curled up behind you announced its presence in a timely manner with a squeeze to your waist and a vocal “Good morning, baby.” that was scratchy and so deep, it sent shivers down your spine.

“Hey,” you respond back and turn to look at his sleepy eyes and move some of his hair out of his face. “It’s not morning though sadly.” You give him a fond smile when he wraps his legs around you and pulls you closer.

“Guess we still have time then.” He breathes against you and moans softly into your ear. Your eyebrows raise and for a second you try to ponder what exactly he meant by that, but before your thoughts could go running, you feel it. A subtle but very noticeable poke in the back of your thigh. Your body sparks with electricity and heat rises in your face, making you blush when you acknowledge the condition Miguel is in at the moment.

“Miguel?” You whisper. His hand around your waist slowly starts to trail up your abdomen, tickling and making your muscles clench underneath the feel of his calloused fingers.

“Hmm?” He draws out, voice low and raspy, giving featherlight kisses to the side of your neck while cupping your breast and curling two fingers around your nipple. You suck in a breath when he bites your earlobe and grinds his hips ever so slowly into the back of your ass.

You can feel the way his clothed dick twitches in confirmation of his arousal, bending the fabric of his sweatpants to rut up against you. He runs his hand all along your body and down your thighs, slightly parting them to reach in between. You watch, bewildered and delirious from the sudden foray of excitement, briefly wondering when he changed clothes but quickly forgetting that thought when he licks against your neck and sucks wonderfully at its side.

“Look at you, already wet from just a few touches.” You shiver at his words and gasp when his hand reaches your inner thigh and opens the folds to your core. He traces the outline of your cunt, playing with the way you drip all over his fingers, leaving you twitching and aching for more. “Such a dirty little slut.” You whine when he roughly pushes two fingers inside, scissoring them and spreading you apart.

He moves against you again, moaning when his hips meet your ass. Time starts to lag and your head tilts back when he moves his fingers in a slow rhythm inside you and kisses the side of your face when you whimper at his ministrations. Using his knee to keep your legs spread apart, Miguel continues to fuck you open with his fingers, dragging them along the ridges of your sensitive core and building up the burning coil that settles in your stomach.

“You feel so good- so pretty.” He says while planting kisses on your head and mumbling sweet nothings in Spanish when you twitch and convulse around him, growing hotter with every second he spends touching you and pulling you under, deeper with him into an erotic sea.

You clench particularly hard on his fingers when they brush past the one spot within you, hitting it just enough that you feel an attack of pleasure overwhelm your senses, but quite not the right amount to lift you up and make your insides quiver in elation.

He whines in return. Looking down in awe at the way your cunt wraps around him and sucks his fingers in and he swears he’s never seen a more beautiful sight. “Can I…” he starts but gets distracted by your big round eyes, peering up at him, half lidded and full of lust. He slowly extracts his finger from you and repositions himself so he’s leaning on his arm over you and his waist is slotted in between your legs.

“Can you what?” You say, slightly out of breath from the way you’ve been holding it in as he drove his fingers through you. His dark brown eyes lock onto yours, pleading into your soul without actually verbalizing his need.

He dips his head into your shoulder and mouths at your neck. “Please,” He breathes against you, running his tongue along the veins of your neck and humming in satisfaction at the aroma of your skin. He can taste the scent of your arousal on his tongue as he inhales and he knows that soon his urges will hinder him and he won’t be able to hold his fangs back. “I need to be inside you.” His brows draw tight together as his heavy dick throbs underneath the tight confines of his pants.

You looked so ready for him, eyes glossy and pussy twitching in anticipation, practically an invitation to just run his cock along your walls and bury it deep inside you. He could do it if he wanted to, and you’d probably let him. But he wanted to hear it from you. Wanted you to desire him as much as he desired you.

He took your wrist and your eyes widened when he placed your hand on top of his crotch. His hardness was large and piercing even through the thick layer of cloth he wore. “You feel that baby? This is all for you.” His dick jumps when you squeeze him back and his eyes roll into its sockets. He bites his bottom lip and you smirk when he lets out a lengthy moan, his fangs now presented amongst his teeth.

You slowly trace the outline of his dick and notice the wet spot that has darkened on his grey sweatpants from the precum that he was leaking with his arousal. You could tell that he was very sensitive right now when his whole body shivered and jumped when you unbridled him and took his long cock out of his pants that hung loosely around his hips. You sucked in a breath at the fact that he wasn’t wearing any boxers. His dick was flushed and eager for you, the tip glistening with precum and his veins throbbing in impatience.

Your cunt clenches and the urge to have him inside you takes over so you muster up your strength and flip him onto his back, straddling his hips and placing a hand on his chest. “You wanna fuck this pussy huh?” His pupils dilate and you take notice of the change of color in his iris from dark brown, to a bloodshot red. He whimpers and groans in his chest when you rock your hips and roll your slick cunt over the length of his dick.

“God- yes, please please.” He nods his head rapidly while his hands reach to the swell of your hips but you swat them away and push his wrists down onto the bed above his head.

“Stay there.” You demand and he fusses, looking up at you in puzzlement when you shoot some of your webs to bind his wrists in place.

“But-” You shush him with a finger on his lips and grin down at him. Stroking his dick with your other hand slowly, and he submits. Staying silent as you run your hand along his member, starting at the base and making your way up to the top, swirling your finger around the tip and putting pressure against the slit. He bucks his slender waist up into your hand and releases a heavy sigh, relishing in the way the wetness of your cunt collected along his length and acted as a makeshift lube.

“Mmm fuck- I bet you’d feel great inside me right now.” You moan as you continue to stroke him faster, his back arching when you wrap your hand around him tighter. “You’re so big, I don’t know how it even fits. You practically make my stomach bulge every time.” He watches intensely as you drift your hand seductively from his side, up the planes of your stomach and onto your breast where you fondle your own mound and pinch your nipple. A whirl of jealousy floods throughout him and he envies the exhibit of your free hands, wishing he was the one embracing your round tits. Instead he was bound tightly above his head, escaping from the constraints definitely not possible unless you release him yourself. He doesn’t bother trying to break them either, not wanting to risk upsetting you.

You see the desperate look in Miguel’s eyes and it increases the drive you felt to please him and yourself. He looked so hot underneath you. His hair a mess and sharp face flushed and irresistible. His head was angled towards you, chin up and eyes fixated on your face as you leaned down to swallow his mouth in an intoxicating kiss, tongue parting his lips and exploring the edges of his teeth, tracing over his fangs gently to redirect and bite on his lip hard. He moaned into your mouth and you licked his lips once more before leaning forward, angling your hips up and taking his cock from behind and lining him up against yourself. His pulse increases when you continue, eyes facing him in sincerity.

“Ready?” The question reaches his ears and he’s too choked up to properly say anything so he just hysterically nods his head in effort to finally get you to sit on him.

You smile at his enthusiasm and slowly release the tension in your thighs when you feel the head of his dick breach you. The incursion makes your breath hitch and you have to steady yourself with your hands on Miguel's chest to make sure he doesn’t rip you right apart as he enters. The thickness of his cock stretches your tight walls and he breathes in deeply while watching his length disappear inside you inch by inch. It takes everything in him to not thrust into you relentlessly. The heat that coats around his dick is so hot and warm, it’s like a sheet of pure sunlight wrapped around and throbbing on him. It makes his mind go black and chest swell with passion. He could stay forever inside you, filling you up and drinking your spend over and over again if he could.

“F-fuck” he groans and feels pure gratification when you take him in his entirely, fully seated on top of his cock. You feel like he grows even harder within you when you finally reach the end, his dick stuffed up inside of you so deep that you think he’s punctured your womb. His biceps flex and breath shudders when you begin to roll your hips. You both moan in resonance, feeling waves of pleasure build up and crash back down as you bounce on his length, riding him earnestly, feeling the sweet burn in your thighs as you make them work to continue the chase of your pleasure.

You lean your chest forward so you could move your hips faster, ass plunging down and slapping against his thighs as your cunt squeezes and clenches around his long dick, juices leaking out down onto the part where your bodies meet. His moans increase in volume and he grunts when your plump breasts make their way in front of him. He uses the position to his advantage and takes one of your breasts into his mouth, greedily sucking upon the flesh and moaning around your nipple.

You wail at the slick sound of him sucking around your breast. His attention to your nipple shoots sparks down to your core and you ride him harder, squeeze him harder, and he rightfully moans below you, enjoying the way your tight walls flutter around him, making him go insane with lust. His face knit together and eyes closed as the only thing he could focus on was the way your pussy was wrapped around him and enveloping him in unrivaled bliss.

“Shit, you're so perfect Miguel, feel so fucking good right now.” You pant and lean down to kiss him again, more sweetly this time. He licks up into you and you grab his face and plant your fingers into his hair, tightly coiling around his brown locks, he whimpers in response, kissing down your neck and you tilt it to the side to give him access to bite. He laps and sucks feverishly for a moment before biting down in hunger, his fangs once again breaching the skin, tearing it open and releasing toxins into your bloodstream like an aphrodisiac that only further increases your yearn.

His hips begin to rut erratically and your voice has gone high pitched as the angle of his dick kept hitting your G-spot, maintaining the fast speed that makes your head spin and cease all further functions besides fucking. His grunts and groans have become animalistic and the desire to feel you closer overrides his judgment and he uses his brute strength to break through the binds of your spiderwebs, immediately sitting up and moving his hands to your hips and ass, moving you along his length in a brutalizing pace, one where you can’t keep up and can only moan his name as you clutch his hair and claw his back as he drives into you. You’re sure he's bruising your cervix with his primal actions and your breath escapes you when his hand moves in between your bodies and his thumb places itself onto your clit.

“Miguel!” You scream and moan his name, the feel of his length thrusting inside of you and the quickening swirls of his thumb makes you feel as if you're going to black out.

“Come on, you can take it.” He says gruffly and leans back a little and places a hand on the small of your back to roll his hips and fuck into you slower but more controlled and harder. He hits all the right places and the inside of your walls molds itself into the shape of his dick while he assaults your tight cunt over and over again. His lust is insatiable and you feel the increase of speed on your clit which serves as the foundation to finally take you over the edge. Pressure built up so high and you tensed around him like a boa constrictor. Your body froze and shivered ferociously, bursting in your core and spreading throughout every single one of your nerves like fireworks. You thrusted your head in Miguel’s shoulder as you cried and cummed all over his dick, coating it with your slick, creating a ring of white at the base when he continued to move inside you.

“Carajo, que rico.” He moaned loudly as your cunt leaked all over him, making a mess in between you two. His thrusts turned sloppy and he felt like he was being transported through the fabric of space-time itself as he moved inside your sweet pussy. He fucked you and divided you open, grabbing a hold of your hips and forcing you back down onto his lap, ignoring the whines you sounded out of overstimulation as he chased his own peak. “Fuck, fuck, baby i cant stop.”

You twitched in his lap as he finished inside you, spilling within you suddenly as his claws also retracted and pierced at your waist. He whimpered from the way your nails dug into his back as he reached his climax. His cock was hot and throbbing inside of you and pulling out was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, so he continued to hold you. Kneading your hips and massaging your back as you both catch your breath. Miguel was always needy after lovemaking, and you were more than willing to oblige him. You honestly loved the way he felt like he needed to be near you at all moments, it made you feel appreciated, loved. Which was perfect. Because you loved Miguel too.

You smile and kiss into his shoulder while inhaling the tangy scent of sex and sweat in the room. You noticed the red lines blooming on Miguel’s back and internally applauded yourself for marking him up. He was a tough one and it’s not a regular thing for him to get roughed up. You were secretly proud of yourself but of course nobody else would know why.

“Hey, you alright?” You turn your head and softly run your fingers down the back of his head and through his hair, watching him shiver in response and nod slightly.

“Mhm” He replies. His chin was situated and resting upon your shoulder. He mouths at the spot, lapping up the small amount of blood that spilled. “Lo siento, lo siento, mi amor.” He mumbles under his breath and hides his face.

“No, no. It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me. I liked it.” You move him so that he is looking at you, cradling his face with both your hands and looking at him with genuine love to combat the guilty look in his eyes. “Trust me, I would let you know if anything was wrong, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods his head and smiles at you, the comforting aura you emit lifts him up out of his gloom and you guys kiss once more. All encompassing and full of passionate love while your tongues danced in unison, pouring your hearts out to each other in a single action while you stayed interlocked with each other even after he grew soft.

“You wanna go clean up?” You pull away slowly from the kiss, his eyes still closed and floating in bliss from the reeling sensation.

“That would be nice, yeah.” He hugs you gently, wrapping his big arms around your tinier body, closing you in and holding you with so much tender that you could potentially forget that this was the same man who was fucking you into overstimulation just a few moments ago.

[filmhead-productions]

I know everyone and their mom has already said Snivy, Torchic, and Piplup will be the legends z-a starters. And they're completely 100% right, and here's why. Remember, this is only speculation, please don't take some rando's word as fact.

First off, evidence. I'm sure we've all already seen the Indigo Disk trailer with Snivy, Torchic, and Piplup with the previous legends starters, Rowlet, Cyndaquil, and Oshawott respectively.

But has anyone said anything about the tera raids events? The first was Mighty Blaziken from January 19th to 21st; it's tera type was Flying type. And you're probably asking "but the new starters are probably getting megas and Blaziken already has one." Yes, but why can't he have two? Charizard and Mewtwo do, and Blaziken's quite popular, so a second mega isn't out of the question in my eyes.

Next was Mighty Empoleon from February 9th to 11th. It's tera type was Ice type.

As of this post, Serperior has yet to get a raid event, but I believe the next starter tera raid will be this haughty plant snake, and I believe it's tera type will be Fighting. Why? Because it completes this type trio:

Fighting > Ice > Flying

So we have three starters who final evolutions will be Fire/Flying, Water/Ice, and Grass/Fighting. But why these types specifically? Strap in, because this is where things get interesting.

Everyone knows that Empoleon is based on Napoleon Bonaparte, infamous general and emperor of France. So why not Water/Fighting? Because in 1812, Napoleon attempted to lead an army into Russia to conquer it. What he failed to account for was the frigid weather, which took out the majority of his troops and forced them to retreat. So maybe Kalosian Empoleon will be in this constant state of near freezing based on this event, it would be a glass cannon.

People chose Torchic as the fire starter since the rooster is France's national animal. It became France's symbol because in ancient times, when the Roman Empire occupied France (then named Gaul), the rooster wasn't worshipped, but rather the god it symbolized, Mercury, the Roman god of travelers, communication, and many others things. Mercury was also known for being very, very fast. So maybe Kalosian Blaziken will be a speedy pokemon.

About the travelers and communication bit, perhaps this oversized chicken will also be inspired by messenger pigeons, which were used during World War I to send messages across countries. (Let's hope that if abilities come back, this doesn't get speed boost again, lmao)

Finally, we come to Serperior. Pokemon designer Ken Sugimori said that Serperior was inspired by a manga called The Rose of Versailles, we all know this. It's about a woman raised as a boy trained to be a royal guard, who later leaves to join the side of the revolution. Kalosian Serperior could look more like a literal rose, covered in thorns, and will probably have a lance for a tail. This snake will definitely be both offensive and defensive, best of both worlds.

So we have a general, a guard, and a messenger. The theme surrounding these three things seems to be wartimes. A hint at the story maybe? Honestly, I could be dead wrong on this, but I don't care, I love this trio, I hope I at least get close. I might make another post speculating with other starters. Any thoughts?

EDIT 3/31/24: Ok so the next tera raid was announced, and I was kind of right. It is a grass type starter. However, it's Meganium with Psychic tera type...

Y'know what? I think I'll try and make a post predicting what this is about later.

[cozywriter]

EPIC the Musical: A Rant

This isn’t really an important post, I’m just here to let my bainrot loose onto the world since the Wisdom Saga is out (🥳). So now, please enjoy my dwindling mental health and ever decreasing emotional state (or not, whichever you prefer is okay with me…)

1.) Something I’ve noticed is that whenever a god plays a role in any saga, one of three things happen. Either Odysseus confirms their true identity to us, the audience, by saying their name (I.e. Athena and Hermes), a chorus introduces them to us (I.e. Poseidon and Apollo), or they themselves introduce them to us (I.e. Calypso). However, this is not the case in the Thunder Saga. In the song “Mutiny” Odysseus says:

“These cows were immortal, they were the Sun God’s friends!”

“And now that we’ve pissed them off, who do you think they’ll send?!”

Odysseus doesn’t explicitly confirm who but in the next song, ”Thunder Bringer”, it doesn’t open with Odysseus mumbling his name under his breath in fear or a dramatic chorus announcing his arrival. Instead, it was just a few thunder claps and then Zeus already singing away. This is because, he needs no introduction, being Chieftain of the Gods and all.

The first incident this happens is during the Troy Saga during the song “The Horse and the Infant” when Zeus sends Odysseus a vision about his older self about his final moments, and then proceeds to command him to kill Hector’s infant son. The only confirmation we get that he is Zeus is the thunderclap and flash in the sky, which seems to be the only thing that precedes his arrival.

2.) Another detail I found interesting (read as: absolutely earth shattering, I actually might need therapy after listening to this) is during the song “Love in Paradise”, when Athena says:

“Old friend, it’s been ten years since I last saw you..”

And the next line cuts to Odysseus’ reveal during the song “Remember Them” in the Cyclops Saga when he reveals his identity to Polyphemus. This is because, that moment was truly the moment she last saw him. Either this means that during their argument in the song “My Goodbye” — which mind you, is the song directly after “Remember Them” — she was blinded with rage because he didn’t follow her instructions, or that she was so blinded with the fact that he disobeyed her, she didn’t think to look past that and see why he disobeyed her.

The next few lines support this and truly show her guilt, seeing as after Athena says:

“Let’s see where you’ve been…”

The song cuts to Aeolus’ game, then to Poseidon’s encounter, Circe’s confrontation, Tiresias’ vision, the Siren’s massacre, Scylla’s cost and then Zeus’ retribution. Notice how every song that plays signified a major event that changed the course of Odysseus’ travels. However, these were all events that Athena wasn’t guiding Odysseus in any way. This either means that she was purely just going along the timeline of his journey to see where he went, or she also wanted to see just how far he went without her help, being that in the song “We’ll Be Fine” during the Wisdom Saga, she says:

“I had a friend before and he was a lot like you…” “I helped him fight through war but he had his demons too…” “And then we grew apart…” “Then his light went dark..”

“And so I thought, maybe, if I made a different call, maybe, if I hadn't missed it all, maybe he'd be fine… Maybe we'd unwind…” “Maybe, if I help another soul, maybe, if I helped you reach your goal, life could be that bright…! I could sleep at night…!”

During this, when she calls Odysseus her “friend”, either she means that she truly did see him as more than a student all that time she mentored him and didn’t want to tell Odysseus because she was afraid she’d look weak to him, or after she cut ties with him, she realized that she cared about Odysseus more than she let on.

3.) Lastly, during the song “Ruthlessness” in the Ocean Saga, when Poseidon was taking his revenge on Odysseus and his crew for making Polyphemus suffer, the rage and hatred towards them was genuine, to the point that were it not for Odysseus’ quick thinking, their journey would’ve ended there. Now, compare it to Zeus during the song “Thunder Bringer” in the Thunder Saga. Zeus was toying with them. Almost like he didn’t care about the situation and was only using it for entertainment. This parallel really tells you a lot about the brothers and how they’re like, Poseidon being unforgiving and ruthless hehehe get it? Because you know… it-it’s his song… when necessary but “chill with the waves” — his words, not mine — because that’s how the sea is. Calm but unforgiving. As for Zeus, he’s flamboyant and passive, not really caring about who or what he hurts as he makes a grand musical number before he strikes, much like how like thunder and lighting do.

[lukaslosteyelashes]

I really wanted to post this before the London Special, also I’m sorry in advance if anything is incoherent or not grammarly correct. I had a bit of a trouble collecting my thoughts and write this but I tried my best.

Anyways, let’s go!

Tomoe Tsurugi was the main reason why people now view Gabriel Agreste as a hero of Paris

At first I haven’t thought much about the season 5 finale, overall I liked it, but then it started to bug me: why was it necessary to make Gabriel Agreste the hero of Paris, how did it happen and whose idea was it, who would benefit from it?

Ladybug/Marinette

She probably had to make a public announcement to the media at some point that Monarch was defeated, that’s a topic that cannot be avoided after all, and there is also the fact that Gabriel Agreste died at the end of that fight.

Gabriel is a famous fashion designer, a public figure who, even though spent the last bit of his life basically isolated, is known far and wide. His death would be something that shakes the rich and the poor alike. So what would happen if Marinette would reveal that their adored fashion designer was also the villain that kept the entire population of Paris in terror? Nothing good and his son, Adrien would suffer the most because of it.

If we’re at Adrien. There is also Gabriel’s final wish, which was to keep this a secret from his son, so Adrien could only remember the times when he was trying to be a good father to him [which happened like once or twice during the 5 seasons].

Would Ladybug call Gabriel a hero to the press?

I don’t think so, maybe not intentionally, the press could put a lot of pressure on people. I can imagine that Ladybug being confused of what happened and also distressed that she couldn’t find the butterfly miraculous, so she might said something that she didn’t meant or the press made her say things.

Marinette probably fulfilled Gabriel’s final wish because she wants Adrien to be happy and free and spilling the beans about everything would achieve the opposite. With Gabriel’s death there’s no Monarch anymore either, that’s what matters no one really needs to know that the two were the same (not even his son). It’s an end of an era and the beginning of a (not so promising) new one.

Side note: Do you remember that in "Conformation" Ladybug sent a message to Chat Noir that Gabriel Agreste is Monarch? Adrien still can learn about the truth from her IF the message came through.

Nathalie

She was Gabriel’s accomplice from the start who would have helped him as Mayura until the end if he didn’t went off from his original plan. But as Gabriel went more and more crazy and the videos about Emilie waked her up. Also during the time she was bedridden she had plenty of time reflecting on her wrong doings as well.

Although, she wasn’t able to do much to stop Gabriel because of the state that she was in near the end and if she revealed the truth about Monarch then she would also get found out.

Natalie was definitely shocked and confused but also happy to learn about Gabriel’s final choice, still she wouldn’t declare him as a hero after everything that he did, and she definitely feels guilty of what she did as well, but would play along for the sake of Adrien’s happiness.

Lila (or whatever her real name)

Since we yet to learn what her true motives are, I don’t have much of an idea what she would do and why, but she’d definitely benefit form this situation.

Lila figured out Hawkmoth's true identity much earlier than Marinette and she was also able to collect informations about him and his past and most certainly knows that Adrien is a sentimonster as well. And let's not forget that she was able to seize the butterfly miraculous and rumored to be the next Hawkmoth. Because of these she has some advantage and could reveal the truth to Adrien, to Paris and to the World at any moment. And for this reason, Gabriel being a celebrated hero, comes in handy for her.

Just imagine this situation: Lila wants Marinette to loose everything and become pitiful. And what would make Marinette more distressed than seeing her beloved boyfriend being miserable? So Lila would reveal the truth to Adrien with showing all of the information that she collected as a proof, Adrien starts to loose all trust in his late father and Nathalie, maybe even in his late mother as well. He had already shown signs of being emotionally unstable before and this would be the last straw, not even Marinette would be able to comfort him. Lila, of course would observe the situation carefully from afar, waiting for the right opportunity. Adrien because of all of this, became so careless that he transforms into Chat Noir which Lila saw and akumatize him. Then BOOM... Chat Blanc became the future that Ladybug wanted to avoided at all cost...

That’s one hell of a scenario, but seeing how Lila became so obsessed with completely destroying Marinette, I think she’d do something like that. Also with having an as powerful akumatized ally as Chat Blanc on her side she'd be unstoppable.

So what’s the deal with Tomoe Tsurugi?

At first I thought that she would be furious about Gabriel messing up their whole plan about gaining Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s miraculouses to create a new world with a wish, but Tomoe likely realized that she could very well use this to her advantage and created this image about Gabriel as the hero of Paris. But why would she needed to do that?

The Alliance rings

The Alliance rings basically were one of the biggest main issues in the 5th season. They were created by Gabriel and Tomoe which was known all across the Globe, there was a whole marketing campaign about it, featuring Adrien and Lila, later Kagami.

When the Alliance rings started to turn almost every users into a Ladybug and Chat Noir hunting robot, every sane person instantly thought about Monarch making all the mess. But how come no one seems to connect the whole ruckus to Gabriel and Tomoe? [It shouldn’t be a surprise since the majority of the characters are blind.] Even if no one suspects either to be Monarch, the happenings should connect Gabriel and Tomoe to him in some way.

So I think, Tomoe wanted to avert suspicion by creating this hero image.

The head of the Tsurugi Industries probably wasn’t pleased that her partner in crime changed his mind last minute, had a different wish than they agreed on and Ladybug was able to get back all the miraculouses (except Nooroo). Now she also has to face the possiblity of getting caught, that people would slowly [really slowly] start to realize that she also had something to do with all of this. So how could she be able to avert the suspicion?

By playing the victim.

Deceiving the public by saying that her and Gabriel were both used by Monarch and that they couldn’t do anything because they were threatened with Adrien’s and Kagami’s life, so their only choice was to help him hijack the Alliance rings. With that it was easy to see Gabriel’s action as heroic because in the eyes of the people he just wanted to save his son by sacrificing himself, and Tomoe is also able to continue her pursue for the miraculouses without people suspecting anything.

To make things worse, she’s now taken over the Agreste brand, and it also looks like all those inventions, to make Paris more eco friendly [you can see them at the end of the season 5 finale] are also products of the Tsurugi Industries. And let's be real, I'm certain that she wants to control Paris from the background by swamping the city with her machines. The statue of Gabriel, which was created from the remaining Alliance rings, looks suspicious as well.

I hope it's not a complete bs theory

[kisses-from-crows]

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch. 5

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: After the media fiasco from the day before, Campbell just wants to go to work and forget about it. But nothing is ever that easy.

Genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2,882

Warnings: Swearing, Daddy Issues

Chapter 5: Digging a hole

Beginning | Previous | Next

E!: Do we hear wedding bells? Rodger Del Ray Jr., future CEO of DreamLight Records, has announced his engagement to actress-turned-singer Penelope Taylor after a year of dating. Congratulations to the happy couple!

Posted: 2 weeks ago

Sunlight streamed through Campbell Bain’s bedroom window, spraying little rainbows across the wall as it got caught in the prism hanging from his window. It had been a gift sent to him by Rosalie about two Christmases ago. The light shining in his eyes gently forced him awake. He yawned and stretched out his unusually sore body. He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow.

Similar shuffling noises came from the unusually warm phone that sat unplugged beside him. He blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from his eyes. After a few failed attempts at reading, he finally made out the words on the screen:

ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN; DINNAE ANSWER IT

Time Elapsed – 10 Hours 34 Minutes 25 Seconds

Campbell stared at his own confused reflection in his phone screen for several long seconds as his sleep-addled brain struggled to catch up with reality. In that time, Y/N groaned tiredly on the other end. Y/N… Phone… Morning? What was that? Ah, it was reality, right on time to smack him upside the head with a steel chair.

He never hung up last night. She never hung up last night. They never… well you get the point. He shot out of bed instantly, as though a fire had been lit underneath him, scrambling away from the phone like it was a ticking time bomb.

Campbell paced anxiously around his bed, floorboards squeaking beneath him as he planned his next move. Maybe he could just hang up the phone and she would never realize how long the call was. Who checks their call logs anyway? But, what if the sound of him ending the call woke her up? And then she would know. Even worse than that, she would know that he knew. And then the world would end, obviously.

The sounds of Campbell’s stomach growling drowned out the irrational argument he was having alone in his head. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t exactly thinking straight. With a deep breath and a clenched fist, he ended the call. He waited with bated breath, staring at the black screen sitting ominously on the bed.

When a large cartoon anvil didn’t drop from the sky and crush him through the floor, he figured he was safe. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice, and they could go on as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing had happened really. They just fell asleep on a call, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. They had a long day and accidentally fell asleep. On the phone. Together.

There was a distinct thud beneath him. Likely his downstairs neighbor hitting the ceiling with her broom, not so subtly telling him to stop pacing. This was a common occurrence.

It was a completely innocuous thing, falling asleep on the phone like that. But Campbell couldn’t quite shake the odd feeling in his stomach… probably just indigestion. Right, that made the most sense. Never mind the fact that it was the best night's sleep he’d had in months. He bent down to the floor and knocked twice to acknowledge his neighbor’s complaint. Sore legs carried him unwillingly to the kitchen for some slightly burnt toast and coffee.

Eddie always said Campbell drinking coffee was like giving cocaine to a toddler. Which Campbell found amusing if not slightly insulting. But a cup of coffee in the morning was obligatory now. He had developed the habit during his first year in New York. Back when he had his very first show in the States. It was a show he co-hosted in a small station, filling in the 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. time slot. Just a throwaway assignment designed to fill the dead air, but to Campbell that show meant everything. It meant he had finally made it. It meant that of all the time and energy he had poured into the radio station back at St. Jude’s was worth the heartache. Hell, it even meant his father was wrong about him.

Campbell wondered if his dad knew just how successful he had become. Or if Campbell’s name had become as unspeakable in that house as his bipolar disorder. Or his ‘condition’ as they called it. The moment he announced his plan to move to the State, his father decided he was on his own.

“Don’t come crying to me and yer ma when this daft scheme of yers goes up in flames.” had been his father’s exact words if he remembered correctly. And he did. The words had seared themselves to the inside of his skull. The point of no return.

To say Campbell had missed his father would be a lie. But that didn’t stop him from wishing things could be different. To hear from his father that Campbell knew what he was doing all along. That he was proud of him. Campbell knew it was a dream, something akin to wishing on stars. He was never going to get that satisfaction, but it didn’t matter. He’d made his own family, made his own way in the world. Sometimes blood was simply that… blood.

It had been far too long since he’d called Eddie McKenna. Campbell made a mental note to give him a call soon. He filled it away in his brain along with all the other things he was likely to forget.

He munched on his lightly blackened and over buttered toast, grabbing his phone to scroll absentmindedly until it was time for work. The hope had been that the mindless serotonin machine that was social media would distract him from the fiasco with Y/N yesterday and the phone call incident this morning. Instead, he was confronted with an onslaught of tabloids speculating on the nature of their relationship and discovered that he had become a meme.

The picture of a rather panicked Campbell peering over the side of a building had caught the interest of many young people with big imaginations. Who had started photoshopping Campbell into random places: teacups, airplanes, space, peeking over the edge of the trenches in a World War I photograph. You name it, he was there. “Campbell Bain in places he shouldn’t be.” They called it.

While seeing himself plastered across time and space was a particular type of disturbing, he had to admit, some of them were pretty funny. Someone had quite alarmingly edited him into a guillotine. ‘Y/N would like this one.’ The thought passed as quickly as it came, slipped right through the grasp of his consciousness like a leaf in the wind.

Campbell finished up his breakfast and got dressed for work. Over the last 2-3 years, he had worked hard to secure the prime-time spot for the station. From 2pm to 6pm every weekday, Campbell Bain had his own radio show. Comforting the huddled masses stuck in rush hour traffic.

In a flash, he was out the door, bundled up in a comfortable hoodie with his chunky headphones covering his ears. Music blasting, he made his way to the subway. A part of him missed the simplicity of the old Glasgow railway but there was just something about the hustle of New York that agreed with him. At least, that’s what he would’ve said three years ago. These days, it was beginning to wear on him.

Campbell Bain had become a household name years ago. Around the time Y/N and Campbell had their fourth interview together. That had been the most vicious of them all, not counting their very last interview before Y/N’s disappearance. He could picture the second it all went to hell like it was yesterday.

He had delivered some jab about her lyrics being generic and expected. The moment the mood shifted from school-yard taunts to an all-out war was palpable. Y/N cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. Under her piercing gaze, Campbell had never felt so exposed. Her eyes scanning his being as if assessing his greatest weaknesses like the Terminator. Before she even opened her mouth, he knew he was going to regret whatever it was that he just said. With a wicked grin, she delivered a blow that hit him right between the gaps in his armor, and he just lost it. That night when he went home, he stared at his ceiling without blinking. The harsh conversation playing over and over in his head. It wasn’t the first time in those seven years that Campbell couldn’t recognize himself. Nor was it wasn’t the last.

Lost in the flow of the music and his own mind, Campbell nearly missed his stop. He squeezed past tourists and commuters alike, against the human current flooding into the overcrowded subway car. As he stepped onto the busy sidewalk above ground, he marveled at the skyscrapers towering above him. Only a few short years ago, all these buildings felt so much taller. Stone giants, so shiny and full of promise. Now they just felt like walls closing in on him.

Campbell pushed his way through the revolving doors of the radio station. The interior had changed a lot since DreamLight Records had bought the station, just a year after Campbell had signed a contract with them. Nearly eight years ago now. It wasn’t so bad at first, working for them. But slowly over time, things got more and more strict. All these different rules about dress code and what music they could play. He didn’t care much for being told what to do. So, he made himself utterly indispensable, the biggest name to grace what was once a small station. Now he could pretty much do anything he wanted. Well, almost anything.

Campbell got settled in his cushy leather chair with his mug of coffee and looked over the available catalog for the day. It was a list of artists all signed under DreamLight Records. Around year three, DreamLight’s CEO, Rodger Del Ray Sr., announced that the station could only play music written, produced, owned, or approved by the DreamLight Record label. They claimed it was to “promote their brand”. Campbell thought it was a load of shite, but they signed his paychecks, so he kept quiet… mostly. Well, quiet for him at least.

He took a long swig from his Bugs Bunny mug as he picked out a few of his favorites to start out the day, deciding to sort through the rest as he went along. Campbell worked best in a flow state, planning it all out just wasn’t his style. The tech guys outside the sound booth held up five fingers. Five seconds until he was live. He cleared his throat and chugged some water, best to keep the instrument clear.

5… 4... 3… 2… 1. “HELLLLLOOOOOO AND WELCOMEEEEE. If yae are just tuning in, yae are right on time for the Loony Tunes show with Campbell Bain. I am your designated loony for this afternoon, Campbell Bain.” He fell into the character like a second skin. It was a part of him. At least it had been, once upon a time. Now it just felt like a costume. The grandiose announcer thriving off the undivided attention of the general public.

Campbell played his first few queued up songs and began wracking his brain over what to play next. Deft fingers flitted over the song choices till they came to a pause at a familiar name. F/N L/N… it was a track from her third album. As much as he loathed to admit it, he actually quite liked this particular tune. Something about the way the drum kicks and cymbal sizzles emphasized the emotion in her voice made his chest go tight. He used to listen to it alone in his room and think about his father. All the rage he felt, all the disappointment, the yearning he had for his father’s approval even to this day. But that was a secret he planned to take to the grave. And when he met Fergus wherever he was going, his lips would remain sealed.

He queued up the song before his brain even recognized what his hands were doing. Campbell’s eyes widened as he watched the track go into the lineup of songs. He scrambled to fix his mistake, mouse clicking furiously. But it was too late. With nothing else to play, the channel began broadcasting a 4-year-old deep cut from Y/N’s third album. Campbell swore silently and slid dramatically from his chair onto the floor. This was not good.

Of all the ridiculously dumb things he could’ve done, this had to be one of the stupidest. If the media frenzy over their near escape yesterday had been bonfire, Campbell had just thrown gallon of gasoline on it. Plus a few fireworks for good measure.

As Campbell laid curled up under his desk, the beginning chords of the song floated through the air. He felt sick to his stomach. This was disaster. Even worse, it was downright embarrassing, he had a certain reputation to uphold after all. Maybe if he just hid down here for a while, his slip of a finger and the consequences that would soon follow might just disappear. His phone buzzed in his pocket, it’s from the tech crew. The message read: ???.

Campbell crawled out from under the desk, limbs getting tangled in the wires of the headphones. After nearly faceplanting in the well-worn carpet he managed to right himself on top of his chair with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. An awkward thumbs up to the guys on the mixer and he pretended to go on as usual. As if nothing had happened.

The song picked up around the second chorus bringing in loud baselines and a few subtle strings over top of it. The build of the instrumentals matched the intensity of her vocals as she sang about feeling alone in a crowded room and being desperate for the approval of those who could never see her. The lyrics were vague enough to be widely relatable but still cut deep. In a few measures, Campbell’s favorite part of the song was coming. The music reached a fever pitch before ending abruptly as if the entire band ceased to exist when they were giving it their all just moments before. The end left the listener feeling like they had the rug ripped out from under them. It suited the tone of the song so well.

So, maybe Campbell liked this song a little. His head bobbed to the beat of its own accord. Okay, more than a little. But after 6 studio albums she was bound to create one song he liked. Even a broken clock was right twice a day.

Campbell let the music fade out and hoped the mistake would pass without acknowledgement from the press. As 4 o’clock rolled around, it was time for requests. Loony Tunes had an hour-long segment where listeners could compete to request a song.

With every call and every right answer, Campbell was bombarded with question after question about Y/N. What were they doing together yesterday? Is she releasing a new album? Are you guys dating? Why did you play a Y/N song? Is that a secret message? Why were you two on a roof?

Mind you, Campbell Bain can bullshit with the best of them. Lie his way out of a hole in the ground. But at this moment, he had no explanation. Not one single line concocted to get him out of this mess. Because the truth was, he didn’t know the answers either. Questions swirled around his head; he was more confused now than he was before. It seemed his meeting with Y/N had only brought more questions. It had also unfortunately chucked him like a rag doll straight into the rumor mill.

Another buzz emitted from his phone from a contact labelled: Boss Baby. Oh god, it was Rodger Del Ray Jr., Y/N’s former fiancé. The text cryptically read: “You’re dead, Bain.”

Well, that much was clear already. Anxiety boiled over in the pit of his stomach and wrapped a hand around his throat. He had to find a way out of this. Maybe he should reach out and tell Y/N the interview was off. He wanted no part of whatever mess he’d found himself in. But even as he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t too late to walk away, curiosity gnawed at him like a dog with a bone.

As the last half an hour of the show rolled around, Campbell decided to take matters into his own hands. He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was full of notifications, endless links to new articles claiming to have the inside scoop on Y/N’s new Scottish beau. The memory of waking up next to her on the phone flooded his overactive mind as he pulled up her contact. Passively, he wondered if he should change her name in his phone. He typed up and deleted ten different messages before settling on:

“We need to talk.”

A breath later, a buzz.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: sorry this is more of a filler this week, everybody at work got sick so i was working a lot more than i expected. i promise next week we’ll get some good drama in there. also i don’t know why it didn’t occur to me when i wanted to write a popstar!au that eventually i would have to make up fake music. don’t worry i’m not gonna try to write a song that would be a disaster. just gonna stick to describing the vibe lol. - Ducky

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VIII

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, here's the next part!! happy reading <3

masterlist!

Pedro hadn’t expected his career to take another sharp turn so soon after The Mandalorian. The call he received that night in January, while lying in a dimly lit hotel room in London, still felt unreal. Hazy, thanks to the Ambien coursing through him, but real enough to make him sit up in bed after the line went dead.

Something big was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would change everything—if things weren’t already good enough as they were.

A few weeks later, he was back in London to film The Bubble. Everything seemed to blur by—filming, meetings, and the quiet rhythm of his life with Julia. He hadn't expected to fall into a relationship so effortlessly, but here he was.

She was a producer he’d met during a project in Budapest, though nothing had happened between them until months later.

Late November, to be exact. By then, things had shifted.

Pedro was never good at deciphering if someone liked him or not, and maybe that was why, when she suggested coffee, he didn’t think twice. She was lovely—kind in a way that didn't feel overwhelming, and he liked the way it felt safe, uncomplicated. When she reached for his hand, the world didn’t spin beneath his feet, and that was comforting. It was normal, and maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

After that first coffee, there were more—turning into casual dinners, casual sex, easy conversations, and eventually, a steady progression toward something more.

By December, things had gotten serious, though Pedro still sometimes woke up disoriented, feeling as if he was living in someone else’s life. Julia kept him grounded. And though it wasn’t the kind of love that made him lose his breath, it was steady.

One morning, in early December, he woke to find a message from you. You’d mentioned him in an upcoming Vogue interview, a brief nod to his help in keeping you sane during those first chaotic months of the pandemic. Your publicist thought it might make a fuss for a while, and you didn’t want him to wake up and think someone had died or something.

Nothing too big, P, just the usual storm. Call when you’re back in the States. Miss you.

Pedro stared at the message for a long time, debating. You’d always known everything about him. Every high, every low. But now? There was Julia to consider. He sat on the edge of the bed, Julia still asleep next to him, the London sky a dull gray through the curtains. He’d thought about telling you about her for weeks—maybe he should’ve before New Year’s—but it was easier to let the conversation slip away.

Until it didn’t.

That night, at Oscar’s New Year’s party, when you found out about Julia, he could see it in your eyes—the hurt, the shock, the confusion. You didn’t say much after that. Just told him you hoped he was happy, and if he was, that would be enough.

But it didn’t feel enough.

Not then, not now.

•••

Back in London, the routine of it all began to suffocate him. He spent his mornings reading lines, drinking bitter coffee, and answering the inevitable buzz of questions about his relationship status. He didn’t care to comment. He didn’t want to make it official in a way that felt like another announcement to the world. His job was to act, not live his life on a stage. Still, the headlines rolled out, and his relationship with Julia became another topic of conversation.

The days passed in a blur, but something bothered him. You had gone silent. Completely. Not only from his life but from social media, from the public eye, from everywhere. He called on your birthday. Oscar had mentioned you hadn't planned anything for the day, not that he knew off, and Pedro found himself standing on the cold balcony of his hotel room, dialing your number with a strange urgency.

You picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice sounded far away, thin and almost unfamiliar, like a melody he had forgotten.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause where recognition should have clicked into place. Instead, you sounded distant, hesitant.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Did you delete my number?”

A soft shuffle on the other end, like you were shifting in place, caught off guard. “No, uh, I just picked it up without looking who it was.”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter as if it could bridge the distance between you. The cold metal beneath his fingers bit into his skin, grounding him, though your absence felt like it was growing by the second. "Happy birthday, mi amor."

“Thank you, Pedro.”

The way you said his name, the clipped tone, made something stir in his gut, but he shook it off.

“You doing anything? I heard you didn’t have plans.”

“Nothing really, maybe over the weekend,” you replied, but there was a softness in your voice that didn't match the words, like you were choosing them carefully, holding something back. “I know you’re in London; that’s why I didn’t—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call,” he interrupted, leaning against the cold railing. His free hand found his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, trying to steady the unease creeping in. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been... You know how it is.”

Another long pause. For a moment, all he heard was the faint rustling on the other end, like you were curled up somewhere small, the space between you both stretching impossibly wide. He didn’t notice the silence for what it was—didn’t notice the way it wrapped around your words, cloaking the pain underneath.

“I do,” you whispered. It wasn’t an agreement; it was resignation. "Listen, I have to go. Say hi to Julia for me."

You hung up quickly, the words leaving him cold. The last part stung in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Days turned into weeks, and though you stayed in touch here and there, your conversations felt different. Lighter. Less personal. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. The less he tried to think about you, the more you occupied his thoughts, living in the corners of his mind where you had always been. It felt like torture, the way your presence always lingered even in your absence.

When Pedro finally posted about landing the role of Joel Miller, the flood of congratulations came pouring in, but only one comment left him reeling.

So happy for you!!! You’re gonna kill it.

It was from you. Simple, encouraging, and yet it twisted something inside him.

His birthday arrived not long after, and he found himself back in LA, where his friends greeted him with a backyard party under the stars. Sarah held a cake with a single candle, and as everyone cheered, Pedro smiled, but there was an immovable weight in his chest.

Later that night, after the crowd had dispersed, he and Julia escaped upstairs to his room. They ended up half-dressed, tangled on his unmade bed. She smiled at him afterward, her gaze hazy with affection. “Happy birthday,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest.

Pedro wanted to stay in that moment, to let it be enough, but his mind wandered. He had that feeling of wanting to be trapped in one place, wanting to dig his heels in. It didn’t need to matter that that reality was waiting for him outside the door. It didn’t need to matter that you hadn’t called.

April 11, 2021

London, England

Pedro’s mood had been darkening for weeks now, but if Julia had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

She’d taken on a slew of new projects, coming home late most nights, leaving him to his thoughts and the silence that clung to their flat like fog. Pedro found himself pacing the empty rooms when she was gone, unsure where to place himself in her absence. He felt the weight of insomnia closing in again, the recognizable ache behind his eyes making the hours stretch painfully long.

That day, however, his focus had shifted. He was set to present Best Foreign Film at the BAFTAs, and his stylist had dressed him in a Prada tuxedo coat, a crisp white shirt, and skinny-fitting suit trousers. He looked sharp, elegant even, and for the first time in days, Pedro felt something close to confidence.

He and Julia arrived at the event together, but they didn’t pose for pictures side by side. Still, photographers captured fleeting moments—Julia holding his hand as they stepped out of the car, a quiet laugh between them under the canopy of flashing cameras. By the next morning, their images were all over social media, sparking the inevitable buzz about their relationship.

Pedro ignored most of it.

Two days later, while sharing a quiet breakfast in a cafe with Julia, he opened Instagram out of habit, and your face appeared.

There you were, standing in the middle of some forest, your expression serene. The caption read: Surprise. A new album drops at midnight. In isolation, my imagination ran wild, and this is the result—stories and songs that flowed like rivers. I hope you love it.

The post had already gathered thousands of likes and comments, and Pedro’s chest tightened as he stared at the screen. The timing of it all was almost cruel, but it was the impact of your sudden reappearance that left him reeling. You had vanished from the public eye for so long, and now, with no warning, you were back.

That night, Pedro lay awake next to Julia, the persistent itch of insomnia dragging him out of bed. He moved quietly so as not to disturb her, slipping his earbuds in as he stepped onto the hotel balcony. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled up your new album. He hesitated for a moment, but he pressed play anyway.

For ten songs, Pedro was transfixed. Your voice wrapped around him, haunting and familiar, weaving tales of heartache and isolation. There was a rawness to your words, an unflinching honesty that pierced through the midnight air. He listened intently, picking apart the lyrics, wondering if they were about him, if the pain you sang about was shared between you. It felt like an open wound, and yet he couldn’t stop listening.

Each song was a confession. Each melody a letter never sent.

When it ended, Pedro sat in the dark, overwhelmed. The emptiness gnawed at him, and all he wanted was to call you, to talk, to hear your voice. But he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, he found himself shamelessly googling you again, hoping for something—an interview, a post, anything—but there was nothing. You had gone silent after the album drop.

No promo, no press. Just the music and then nothing. He congratulated you once, a brief message saying how beautiful the album was. You replied with a simple, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

That was it.

July 10, 2021

Alberta, Canada

Pedro arrived in Alberta at dawn, the skies painted in soft hues of pink and orange. The cab ride to the hotel was quiet, his agent and hairstylist riding with him as they prepared for the long months ahead. Filming for The Last of Us was finally starting, and though Pedro was eager to begin, a deep nervousness tugged at him.

Julia hadn’t come with him this time, staying back in London for her own work. She promised to visit, but Pedro wasn’t sure how often. In her absence, he felt that familiar loneliness creeping in, the kind that terrified him, mostly because it left him alone with thoughts of you.

He checked into his room and sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision blurred. He needed to eat, to call his family, to ground himself in something, but instead, he grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and settled back into the couch. His fingers hovered over his phone again, the compulsion to check your Instagram pulling at him like a bad habit.

But, like always, there was nothing.

Your only other post had been a month ago, thanking your fans for the love on the album. He had messaged you a couple of times—small, inconsequential exchanges that left him unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was searching for in those brief interactions, but whatever it was, it felt futile.

Then, ten minutes later, like a sign from the universe, you shared an interview. A video with you talking about your creative process. Pedro couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his laptop, another beer, and settled in.

As he watched, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You looked radiant, sitting across from the interviewer in the backyard of your California home. The conversation was easy at first, touching on the album’s success, but then it turned more personal.

"The pandemic was really rough, and also life in general, I guess," you said, your voice quiet. "I found myself post-breakup, isolated in a cabin in Calgary, and writing was all I had. But the inspiration wasn’t just from that breakup. It came from years of… things."

The interviewer asked gently, "You mean the breakup with your most recent ex specifically?"

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes dropping for a second. "It wasn’t entirely about that. I pulled a lot from my imagination, I guess. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred, and I found myself writing from perspectives that weren’t always mine."

Pedro’s heart clenched.

"There’s a song on the album," he continued, "the final track. It’s haunting. You sing about being hurt by someone you love but being unable to let them go. Can you talk about that?"

You paused, taking a breath before you spoke. "It’s a quiet resignation," you said. "That person and I, we hurt each other, but I love them. So, I guess that’s it. It felt like the right way to end the album."

Pedro’s world stilled. He realized, in that moment, what he had been searching for all this time. He had wanted confirmation, a sign that you still loved him. And with every word you spoke, you gave it to him.

Filming for The Last of Us began a couple of days later, and though Pedro threw himself into the work, your voice lingered, ghost-like, at the back of his mind. Days turned to weeks, and as production moved into September, the physical toll started to wear on him. He spent long hours on set; the Canadian cold started biting into his bones. Bella, his co-star, became a bright spot, their energy infectious, and though they bonded quickly, Pedro felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

In the early mornings, when the world was still asleep, he would take walks to clear his head, the cold sunlight grounding him. Julia came to visit now and then, joining him on these walks, but they often ran out of things to say. He could feel the quiet disintegration of their relationship, like watching ice slowly melt into water. He didn’t know what they were holding onto anymore.

•••

When October rolled around, Pedro’s schedule clashed with the start of The Mandalorian’s third season, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to join the production on time. His agents scrambled to find a solution, but when Pedro’s stunt double was suggested as a replacement for the early scenes, he was left with an odd sense of detachment. And when his agent told him it had been your suggestion, something in him cracked.

The anger simmered for weeks. He felt foolish and abandoned, wondering if you had pushed him away to keep your distance. But then, just as the resentment began to harden, you showed up on set with two coffees in hand, flashing him a smile. "One iced caramel macchiato for me and one large quad over ice for you," you teased.

Pedro blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected your warmth. "Thanks," he managed, taking the coffee.

"You’re welcome," you replied brightly. "We missed you here."

"Did you?" he said, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his tone. "Because I heard it was your idea to keep me away."

Your expression twisted into confusion before you laughed. "I was just trying to make things easier. You were still filming, and I figured rushing back here would be a nightmare for you. I wasn’t plotting anything."

Pedro felt a wave of relief wash over him, mixed with the faintest trace of regret. "Well, in that case, I missed you too."

•••

For two seasons, your character hadn't seen his without the helmet. Today you were shooting the scene where, out of necessity, he reveals his face to you. It was written as a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship.

The moment the director called action, the air on set felt different. It wasn’t the usual hum of crew members shuffling in the background or the low murmur of cameras whirring. Instead, a heavy, almost sacred quiet descended, blanketing everyone as the scene unfolded. Pedro’s mind mirrored that stillness, a sudden and unnerving hush. It felt like everything outside of this moment ceased to exist, like time itself had bent inward.

And then—nothing. No words. No script. Just you, standing so close to him, your face inches from his, hands cradling his jaw.

You widened your eyes, a silent prompt, urging him to speak, to remember his lines. But all he could do was stare. He hadn’t been this close to you in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of your touch or the soft presence of your breath in what felt like a lifetime. His throat tightened, his words trapped somewhere deep inside. He knew the scene needed to move forward, but for one fragile moment, all he wanted was to keep you there, locked in this pocket of stillness, as if holding onto you would stop everything else from slipping away.

You read him, like you always did. You settled in, your hands still on his face, fingers pressing gently into his skin as if anchoring him. Then, softly, you filled the silence with a line—one that Pedro was sure wasn’t in the script, but it was perfect. You carried the scene, leading him back into it, your voice becoming the tether that pulled him out of the stillness and into motion. Pedro blinked, refocusing, forcing his body and mind to follow your lead as he finally delivered his line.

The scene moved on, but something lingered, thick and unsaid.

When filming wrapped for the day, the tension still simmered. You caught him at the edge of the lot, your expression unreadable as you approached him. Maybe you'll ask him why he froze like an idiot during that scene, or maybe you'll just walk past him without a word.

Instead, you simply asked, "Dinner?"

Pedro couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to you.

You ended up at a small sushi restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. The space was warm, softly lit, a sanctuary from the noise of the outside world. Pedro sat across from you, picking at a piece of sashimi, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it hard. You talked about the year you’d spent away from the spotlight and how you’d pulled back from everything.

"I mean, I’m doing this because I signed a contract," you said, lightly joking, but your eyes flickered with something that gave you away. "Disney has snipers; you know how it is."

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Pedro chuckled, though he could hear the sadness in your voice, the weight behind your words.

"If I could’ve gotten out of it too, I would have," you added, your tone quieter, more reflective. "I guess I just needed to slow down. I’m tired of it all."

"You even skipped the Oscars," Pedro replied, taking a sip of his drink. "That's how you know it's serious."

"Yeah, I love the Oscars. Excellent champagne."

Pedro watched you closely, wanting to dig into your words to pull apart the layers of exhaustion and sadness you were burying beneath the surface. He wanted to offer you some kind of comfort, to tell you that he understood—that he, too, had been feeling the weight of it all. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, the two of you ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but spoke volumes.

There was something about being with you, even without words, that felt…right.

Later, as he lay in bed, his mind kept returning to you, to your confession. He wondered what you weren’t telling him, what you were holding back. But as much as he wanted to reach out to ask, he couldn't.

The next morning, Pedro was on a flight back to Canada. The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of cold, grueling days on set and long, sleepless nights. He threw himself into The Last of Us, trying to lose himself in the work, but no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of you crept back in. You were there, always, lingering in the corners of his mind, and Julia could sense it.

She didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro could feel it—the slow unraveling of their relationship. It wasn’t sudden, like a crash or an explosion; it was quiet, a gradual dissolution. Every day, a little more slipped away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this relationship, from this life they had built together. Did he think they would buy a house, start a family? Had he ever really seen himself in this life with her, or was it just easier to disappear into hers?

Finally, Julia said it. Brightly, almost too casually. "I think maybe we’re done."

Pedro didn’t fight it. He didn’t have the energy. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think that was my fault."

•••

Christmas and New Year’s came and went in a blur. Pedro went to Chile for a few weeks, seeking the comfort of home, of family. There, surrounded by his siblings and nephews, he found a brief pause, a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. But even in the warmth of his childhood home, memories of you still haunted him. He saw you in every corner, heard your laughter in the echo of the hallways.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, he called you on a whim. It wasn’t about anything important—just small talk, catching up. You sounded good, better than the last time you spoke, but there was a distance in your voice, a kind of finality that made Pedro’s heart sink. For some reason, he didn’t tell you about his breakup. He kept that part of his life hidden, not out of secrecy but because it felt irrelevant at that moment.

What would it change? What did it matter?

You didn’t talk much after that. Your silence felt deliberate, not like a missed connection but a closed door. It was as if you were telling him, without saying it outright, that this was where it ended.

In the days that followed, Pedro did his best to push you out of his mind, but it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep back in. They always did. Anger. Sadness. Regret. They whispered in his ear, insidious and unrelenting, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he could never quite hold on to.

February 7, 2022

Los Angeles, California

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, with clothes spilling over the edges like an unspoken reflection of your mind. Each item you folded and placed inside felt heavy, as if carrying pieces of the last year with you. Taylor sat cross-legged in the chair by the window, scrolling through her phone while talking, but her words barely reached you over the noise in your head.

“I’m surprised you said yes, that’s all,” she said, her voice light with curiosity. “You’ve basically been a hermit for a year now.”

You laughed softly, your hands smoothing over the fabric of a sweater. “I needed the break, you know that. ”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push yet. You were grateful for the acceptance, even if you knew she was waiting to bring it up again, the same way she always did.

“One day, you’ll tell me what really happened,” Taylor continued, her voice taking on a familiar teasing edge. “You'll tell me what had you sulking at home like a sad Victorian poet for a whole year.”

You folded another shirt and placed it in the suitcase before responding, “I’ve told you countless times. Nothing happened other than…he got a girlfriend, and I stayed out of the way. That’s it.”

Taylor squinted at you as if she didn’t quite believe it, her eyes narrowing with the kind of suspicion only a close friend could afford to show. “Aha,” she said slowly, drawing out the sound.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I wasn't sulking,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. “I was…relaxing. It was my year of rest and relaxation.”

She chuckled at that. “Good one, smarty pants."

Outside, a breeze rustled through the palm trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of LA traffic. You imagined the street below, the shuffling of photographers leaning against their cars, lighting cigarettes, and murmuring to each other. They had become a permanent fixture, appearing gradually over the months, staking out your house like ghosts waiting for you to return to life.

It never ceased to surprise you how much people cared about what you did off-screen. You couldn’t just let your work stand for itself. No, you had to prove yourself over and over again, reminding the world that you were still an asset, still someone worth admiring.

You shrugged, half-smiling, but there was something sad in it. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this because I've been dying to work with this director, and it’s a closed set. Once those eight weeks are up, it’s back to my hermit status.”

Taylor shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “So we’re missing the Oscars again this year?”

You threw a pair of socks at her, chuckling. “Seems like it.”

But inside, everything wasn’t as lighthearted as your words. Last year, you’d taken a step back from the spotlight, and while you didn’t want to attribute it to the hurt you were feeling over Pedro, the truth was, it had everything to do with him. Well, at least a huge chunk of it. It hurt not to have him. It hurt to see someone else kiss him, hold his hand so freely, so easily. The pain wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

The world expected you to bounce back, to emerge from this self-imposed exile with a smile and a perfect soundbite. But the truth was messier. You had spent a year nursing a heart that hadn’t fully healed. You loved Pedro in a way that still hurt, in a way that sometimes made you feel like a child who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted most. You wanted to be the bigger person, the one who could let him go gracefully, but instead, you had hidden.

You were blue all the time. Some days were okay; some days you barely got out of bed.

There were moments it felt paralyzing. The weight of the world outside your window, the expectations, the love you still felt for him—all of it crushed you. Some days, you simply couldn’t move. You stayed curled up in the safety of your blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t long before someone intervened. Your PA was that someone.

She didn’t push you at first. She’d just knock on your door, leave food outside, and ask if you needed anything. You’d spent three weeks in your room, moving only to get water or occasionally sit by the window.

One afternoon, Renata came in and found you in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She placed a sandwich she brought on the counter and looked at you, her voice careful, but firm. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water.

“No, you know what I mean. A professional. It’s okay if you don’t feel…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” you said, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“You’re not going to eat?” she called after you.

“Not hungry, but thanks,” you mumbled, disappearing into your room again.

But Renata didn’t let it go. She pushed gently, week after week, until finally, you let her schedule an appointment. She promised not to say anything to anyone, especially Taylor. You didn’t want to worry her.

The word depression had seemed too big to say aloud, too heavy, but that’s exactly the word your psychiatrist had used.

“You’ll need to take these every morning,” he said, handing you a small prescription bottle. “And it would be good to write how you feel. Keep track of things.”

You sat there, legs crossed in an oversized chair, staring at the prescription bottle in your hand.

•••

You watched from the sidelines as Pedro continued to rise, landing roles in The Last of Us, becoming the face everyone adored. You were thrilled for him, of course, but the distance between you felt insurmountable.

The only interaction you had was through a comment on his Instagram post, and even then, you weren’t sure if it meant anything. You didn't dare to call him on his birthday; you didn't want to stain his day with sadness. Every time you looked at your phone, tears threatened to spill. You felt as if the moment he spoke into the phone, you might collapse.

He's better off; he might not even notice.

The album you dropped in the spring had been a release of every emotion you hadn’t been able to speak aloud. Each song was laced with love and loss, heartbreak and longing; every note was a confession you’d never let yourself voice. You wondered if he listened to it—if the lyrics registered with him, if he knew they were about him.

That same week, you saw photos of him in London, holding her hand. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The months passed in a blur of avoidance. You busied yourself at home with anything you could find that didn’t involve thinking about him. You did the one interview your publicist insisted on. It was with Zane Lowe; you liked him, so it was mostly okay. You found yourself talking about the songs you wrote during that time. As you listened to your own words, you realized that the music had given you a voice when you felt silenced by heartache.

It was a bittersweet realization.

By October, filming for The Mandalorian had loomed on the horizon, and when you found out Pedro was still tied up in Canada, you suggested beginning production without him. It felt easier that way, like a reprieve. But when he finally arrived on set, the connection between you two still crackled beneath the surface. There was an unspoken understanding in the way he looked at you during that intense scene—the one where your character saw his face for the first time. He froze, and you wondered what was running through his mind—what thoughts had stopped him from continuing.

You hesitated, but after the scene wrapped, you found yourself asking him to dinner. It was a slippery slope. You could pretend you were okay all you wanted in the brief moments between takes, offering coffee and smiles, but no one saw right through you like him.

Still, you asked. It was a small gesture, just a way to extend the fragile thread of connection between you, to hold onto him for a little longer before he left again.

But you’d learned how to stay in your lane. You’d learned how to love him from a distance, how to let him be happy with someone else. It was an act of love, really—letting him go, stepping aside to give him the space to live a life that didn’t include you. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Taylor’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Do you think you could be a hermit in Greece next? I could use a vacation.”

May 29, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Between promoting The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and wrapping up the final scenes of The Last of Us in Canada, he had little time to do, well, anything else really.

It was late May, just after the Star Wars Celebration. He’d worn a blue two-piece set that felt more like pajamas than anything formal, which was fine by him. Comfort was the priority these days.

But something was missing. You. You hadn’t been there. Out of everyone from the cast, you were the only one absent, and that absence settled like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"She’s just taking time off," he’d tell himself, repeating the words like a mantra. “She’s probably busy; she's okay.” But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

Pedro had even caved one evening, calling Taylor. It had been late, after a full day of press, his voice rough from interviews and late-night whiskey. He had only meant for it to be one drink. But then he thinks back to the fact that you've plagued his dreams every night this week and that there was a song he kept hearing repeatedly that reminded him of you, and one drink had turned to three, and now here he is.

“Taylor?” He had sounded more vulnerable than he intended. “Is she... I mean, everything’s okay, right?”

Taylor had reassured him, of course, her voice patient, telling him you were fine, that you just were busy. Pedro wanted to believe her, but it gnawed at him. Something felt off.

He still woke up some mornings with the urge to tell you something, a joke he heard or a weird dream he had.

•••

By August he found himself in Spain, the arid heat of the desert sinking into his skin as filming for Strange Way of Life began. The project felt like a strange departure—something raw and gritty, something that required his full attention—but even then, in quiet moments between takes, his mind wandered. He’d sit in his trailer, his phone in hand, thumb hovering over your contact name, but the messages stayed unsent.

The days passed in a blur of rehearsals, early morning call times, and late-night script revisions. He spent his downtime with Ethan, exchanging stories over beers. But there was a quietness to Pedro that hadn’t been there before—a missing piece of him he couldn’t quite place.

•••

November 22, 2022

Miami, Florida

The night was sweltering; even by late fall standards, the air was thick and humid. Pedro was grinning, wearing a loose-fitting animal print shirt that made him feel playful, like he was stepping into some exaggerated version of himself for the evening. Lux was by his side, vibrant as always, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses as they arrived at a wine event.

But it didn’t take long for Lux to notice the shadow that hung over him.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, side-eyeing him as they sipped their drinks by the bar.

“I’ve been busy,” Pedro answered vaguely, swirling his glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light.

“Sure,” Lux replied, smirking. “And when are you both going to stop being idiots? It’s getting tiresome, hermanito.”

Pedro nearly choked on his drink, laughing in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Lux’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through his defenses with that typical bluntness only siblings could pull off. “You and her. It’s obvious. To everyone.”

Pedro sighed, leaning back against the bar, the Miami night buzzing around them. “It’s not that simple.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both so afraid of what might happen that you’re stuck in this limbo. It’s ridiculous. Why let it get this bad?”

Pedro stared into his glass, her words echoing in his head.

"Because I love her," Pedro finally admitted, his voice quieter, weighed down by the truth. He stared down at his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. "I love her so much I’m willing to let her go."

Lux didn’t say anything.

Pedro shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I would only hold her back. I know her so well. She’d sacrifice things just to be with me, and I can’t let her do that. I would only hold her back. She deserves so much better."

Lux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if what she wants is you? What if she’s out there feeling the same way, thinking she’s the one who isn’t good enough for you? Do you ever think about that?”

Pedro let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "Of course I’ve thought about it. Every day. But what if I’m wrong? What if she gives up things she shouldn’t for me? I can’t let her do that, Lux."

Lux leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe it’s not your decision to make. Maybe she deserves the choice. Don’t you think it’s a bit arrogant to assume what’s best for her without even asking?"

Pedro met her gaze, feeling exposed. “I just... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to ruin her life.”

Lux smiled, but it wasn’t pitying. It was knowing, soft around the edges. "You’re not ruining anything by loving her. But keeping it to yourself? That’s where the damage is, hermanito. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is pushing her away. And trust me, that hurts more than anything else."

He had always been so afraid of losing you, so terrified of not being enough, that he hadn’t even realized how much distance he had created.

Lux’s voice softened again, the words cutting through the noise in his mind. "She deserves better, Pedro? Maybe. But who says you don’t deserve her, too?"

a/n: please like, reblog and comment! i love reading your thoughts!! next part will be posted in a bit ;) aaaand something might be happening ;)

[aquarii-if]

Hi, I really liked your game! My favorite character so far is Vega, I’m interested to learn more about them. I have a couple of notes/questions.

First, when you meet your godly parent, they refer to you as “$lastname.” I assume this is because I never had the option set a surname during my playthrough; the option to tell the kidnappers your name only sets your first name, and both choices when you meet Estelle and Amare lead to your character refusing to give their last name, saying "I think my first name will suffice for now."

Second, is there a reason that if you decide Liviana should know about the mind control, you have to tell her right there and then, directly in front of Vega? My immediate instincts during that scene were to play along during that conversation and then pass on that information later in private, either during the security meeting or afterwards when MC is hanging out alone with Liviana. There’s no reason to think that telling her in the moment would change anything about the current situation, or that this is your only opportunity to speak to her, right? Vega already said that there’s not enough evidence for Liviana to arrest them, and Izar just told you you’re free to go. MC doesn’t indicate any doubt or suspicion about either of these things, and isn’t characterized as a particularly brash or impulsive person that would still blurt it out regardless.

Especially if MC has been acting cooperative with Vega and Izar so far, they seem willing to trust you and talk about their plans. It seems like an unforced error to immediately play your hand 30 seconds later and lose that potential tactical advantage, letting the ‘enemy’ know both your true allegiance and what intel you’ve gotten from them. There doesn’t seem to be a clear in-world reason why you can’t try to play both sides for a while, or even just test the extent of Vega’s control/access; If MC betrays them in private, but Vega still seems to know about it the next time they meet, that would be a good indicator of some form of spying/surveillance. I totally get if that’s not what you’re going for though, it’s just what I thought while I was reading!

This is a long post, so I put it under the cut.

1. Thank you for pointing that out to me, that’s a bug. I’ll send out a bug fix for that later. Apologies.

2. I want to preface this by saying this is not a permanent choice. MC will have the multiple other chances to tell Liviana about it in private without Vega knowing. Now, onto your question. If you choose not to tell Liviana, MC states that it’s because they don’t want to ruin Vega’s trust in them and also because they’re aware they don’t have any proof for their claim. Yes, they feel guilty afterwards, but that’s a natural feeling when you’re withholding information that could potentially help keep someone out of jail. MC does not have another chance to tell Liviana as she is more concerned with the meeting with the guards and making sure MC is safe. Maybe they could’ve told her in the aircraft, but if they wish to continue having a positive relationship with Vega, then telling Liviana that information right in front of the driver who is clearly on Vega’s side is probably not the best idea. The conversation after the meeting wasn’t very long, MC was still recovering after everything that just transpired, and didn’t have a chance to talk about any of it because they were interrupted by the announcement.

3. As for why the MC can decide to shout it out then, it’s an option for the MC to be more impulsive. They can cooperate with Vega and Izar, yes, but at that point MC is with people they feel safer around, and has no reason to continue going along with Izar and Vega if they have no interest in playing for both sides. If they wish to make it clear they side with Aquarii, this is the perfect chance to do so.

If you’re wondering why the allegiance stat goes down even if you plan on telling Liviana later, that stat is purely based on the other characters opinions of you, as well as the groups they stand for. In that moment, Vega took MC’s silence as them siding with Chronos. Thats just how Vega is, they’re quite irrational and impulsive. You’ll win those points back if you tell her later. Liviana on the other hand will not have any negative reaction if you decide to tell her during your second chance of informing her of Vega’s misdeeds. After that, however, you do risk a relationship drop with her.

Hope this could clear things up for you, I understand if you don’t agree of my reasoning here, but this was my thought process while writing the scene. Thank you for your insight and your praise, as well as the notice about the bug, sorry about that again! ❤️