#she's just a bit of a celebrity. that has to be a lonely existence. i feel bad for her really.

[mothbeasts]

happy fabricator friday. time for me to post fabbylaris content okay?? obligatory these are all my personal headcanons and some of it has little to no basis in actual canon, it's mostly just me expanding on things I think make sense. with that out of the way.

I think, in theory, that Solaris is one of the very few people who could convince the Fabricator to leave Zoraxis. If not the only one. I doubt the Fabricator has many outside support systems, and while she could turn to the Agency for help... I doubt it'd go well for her.

So that leaves Solaris. Someone she worked closely with for years. Half a decade, at the very least. It would be incredibly difficult for her to get away with the amount of loyalty to Zor she has, and the manipulation she has to have experienced, and the fear for her life... But Solaris leaving might have planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. There's nobody she trusts more, despite the rocky start their relationship had.

I like to think that Solaris was the first person in over a decade, besides Zor, to actually... Interact with the Fabricator in a generally positive way. Solaris never belittled her, or talked down at her, or made her feel like she wasn't worthy of her rank... Because despite her prominence in Zoraxis, I don't think the Fabricator truly has a seat at the table. And this isn't really new to her, she's far too accustomed to being looked down on, but... It stings. With Solaris, though, she's finally someone's equal. There's mutual respect. It's nice, being appreciated...

So of course if she wanted to leave she would seek out the one person who might not turn her away. What else would she have?

[weemsfreak]

The Only One

Hi ya'll, happy pride month!!

Sorry for being mia, I have been quite busy with school and also working on this (slowly) all of June. I was unsure of the vibes I wanted this story to give, as I have been feeling confused(?) as of late, and for some reason June has brought many feelings and a couple crap experiences that I wanted to incorporate into here. I did make the story hopeful toward the end, but I just wanted to say that if anyone feels this way, you are not alone!

Calling our Lesbian Headmistress to help make the confusing and lonely times a bit better with a pride event. I know not everybody likes to celebrate pride in this way, but I thought it was cute.

Larissa Weems x studentreader (platonic) ~4.6k words

Part of my 'All the Time' series, based on reader being a lesbian but struggles with her sexuality and falls for her straight friend (canon experience ;))

Warnings: partially closeted, mention of family not understanding, self reflection (internalized homophobia/being proud)

༻༺

Nobody ever talks about how lonely it is, being queer in a small town.

The lack of representation, of places to go, and people to meet. The sliver of hope that you will feel safe if you decide to venture, if you decide to try.

Her with him and him with her and 'girl crush' this and 'man crush' that.

But all in all, you thought that perhaps the worst of it all was the feeling of being the only one.

You listen to songs that describe other places, places you wish your mother would tell you to go.

You know she wants you to stay, but you can't ignore the crazy visions of you in…well, somewhere that perhaps doesn't exist- or maybe it does.

Somewhere a different version of yourself could live; hopeful, happy, proud.

Your favorite movie, which makes you feel accepted, alive, is less than ten years old, even though you're a fan of old classic Hollywood.

You don't see yourself in them.

Many times before, you've heard people say 'it would be so much easier to be gay.'

They must've been joking, of course; but being gay was not a joke.

They joke about being gay but they've never wondered if their family would still love them.

They joke about being gay but they've never been scared of their friends abandoning them and talking behind their back.

They joke about being gay but they've never rejected a man with the reason of being interested in women, just for the man to ask if it's the truth, 'they could turn you', so they say.

They joke about being gay but they've never been the quiet one when others talked about boys.

They joke about being gay but they've never felt like they were disrespecting women because they found them attractive.

They joke about being gay but they've never been the outcast.

They joke about being gay but they've never worried about their loved ones not attending their wedding.

They joke about being gay but they've never pretended to like men to try and fit in with their peers.

They joke about being gay but they've never had nobody to talk to.

They joke about being gay but they've never had nobody to cry to.

They joke about being gay but they've never wished they were a boy, for the sole reason of a woman liking them back.

They joke about being gay but they've never had to love somebody in secret.

They joke about being gay but they'll never know what it feels like.

As bad as you felt, through the loneliness, the grief, the 'what ifs' and the doubt, it wasn't the fact of being queer that scared you, it wasn't that you weren't open, or accepting.

What did hurt though, was what came with it.

The fear of never finding someone, the fear of being rejected and harmed in public, the fear of never understanding how you really felt; the fear of feeling too deeply.

There have been times where you almost, almost, decided to leave it be.

'In another life' you said, shrugging your shoulders as a tear dripped down your cheek at the thought of faking it, and marrying a man.

But one day, you were reading a book dated from the 60s, when the realization hit you.

Years ago, regrettably not that many, you would not have the choice, you would not have the freedom.

And here you were, in the age of progression, hiding away in the land of heterosexuals.

You had a choice, you had freedom.

For the woman before you who were stuck in sham marriages, cried themselves to sleep, snuck around with another woman and feared for their life, for the women who raised children but not with whom they loved, for the women who had no such thing as freedom of choice.

You would not fake it, you would not hide, you would be your true self for them, and for you, regardless of the very possible fact that you could be the only queer in this small town.

༻༺

The headmistress stood outside of the chemistry classroom one gloomy morning, greeting students as they entered as your teacher always did.

You sauntered through the halls as you watched your peers and their modernistic and typical ways.

You weren't sure who's twisted idea it was, to put hundreds of adolescents in underfunded schools run by people whose dreams were crushed years ago…but you admired the sadism.

Opening your locker and retrieving your books, your sketchbook met the floor with an echo when a guy accidentally bumped into you.

"Oh crap, sorry Y/N"

You gave him a menacing look, before taking a breath and straightening yourself out.

"No worries."

His friend, who had shoved him into you, continued on to class as he spoke from down the hall. "C'mon man, leave the freak alone."

You expected him to continue on as well, but he didn't.

"How are things going?"

You'd likely be late for class if he kept the conversation up.

"A lot of this" you shrugged, pointing to your books.

"Yea, me too. The harvest festival is coming up though, I know you love the fall, and all things creepy."

You huffed in amusement, nodding your head.

"It’s nice to have things to look forward to."

He smiled and nodded, looking to his feet.

"Well, I'll see you there. Maybe I'll message you?"

You shook your head uninterested, not holding him to it.

"Sure."

Bending down to pick your sketchbook up off the floor, it was open to a doodle you had done which was rather, well, not appropriate for school.

Slamming your sketchbook shut, you stood and met your locker mirror; your own reflection, as well as the principals, smiling back at you.

Jump scare.

"Good morning, darling."

You spun around in surprise, staring wide eyed.

"Principal Weems, good morning."

She nodded as she looked at you in amusement, hoping to hide her true thoughts about your morning interactions.

"Where is Ms. Currie?"

The principal tilted her head at you, "Out today. I was notified last minute, so I'm your substitute."

Well, it was your lucky day.

The principal never failed to notice your…disinterest.

She didn't fail to notice the way some students picked on you, nor your lack of emotion; your presence of indifference towards men.

She saw herself in you, you were just like her.

That thought brought her both joy and pain.

༻༺

Sitting in the quad, you nervously twisted your fingers as you watched your friend approach.

You had heard, apparently, that it was a 'cannon lesbian experience' to have a crush on your friend.

Man were they right, and man, did it hurt.

She sat with a smile, though you could see that her attention was diverted.

"Hi."

"Hey Mar."

You swallowed, looking her in the eye across the table.

"I um, I was thinking, the Rave 'N is soon, maybe we could go together…"

Just then, you watched Gannon make his way to the table and sit beside your friend.

She squealed lightly, pulling him closer to her.

"Y/N, did I tell you Gannon and I are going to the Rave 'N together?!"

Your heart dropped, but it wasn't anything new, it wasn't at all surprising.

For you knew your friend liked men, but you had thought that maybe, well, you didn’t know; maybe there was hope that someone could be like you.

"Oh, uh, congratulations."

Your heart panged as they looked into each others eyes, smiling in anticipation.

"So, what were you talking about?"

You shook your head and let out a weak chuckle, quickly thinking of an excuse.

"I um, I was thinking maybe we could get ready for the Rave'N together, that could be fun."

Marcella smiled as she stood, linking her arm with Gannon's.

"Sure! I'll see you later!"

The principal, who supervised lunch in the quad, watched your rejection with disappointment and regret.

It dug deep, it brought back memories of her own time at Nevermore; the hate and the heartbreak that she felt, that you felt.

Sometimes, things never changed.

'I don't know if I believe the way I feel is real

And I often wonder if it is

Watching your friend dance with a guy

And pondering whether it's what she truly wishes

Should you step in, or leave her be?

You know you wouldn’t wish it, but does she?

It hurts a bit, a little, a lot; watching her dance so close to him

And maybe she'd dance with you like that too

But not in this life, no, not now,

For she's dancing with him, and you watch from the crowd'

༻༺

You knew it wasn’t the fault of your own; the despair, the regret, the loneliness.

But, you couldn't help but feel it when you were alone, so utterly alone, regardless of the fact that you could be surrounded by people.

They'd never understand the feeling of being so outcast, ironically, the feeling of being so different. The feeling of being told that how you felt was somehow wrong.

You felt it, you felt it wholeheartedly; and how could your heart be wrong?

Your parents, who never meant any harm, contradicted themselves.

Honestly, you couldn't exactly say how, but it hurt in a way that you didn't understand.

You thought maybe they were smarter, more knowledgeable, perhaps wiser than you.

They had always said that you could talk to them, but it was useless, as any attempt made you feel worse, not better.

They had been on this earth for sometime, however, surely they must've experienced the hate, and transformed themselves to some degree?

Wishful thinking.

They could never be so open.

And you think, maybe that's what hurt the most; wishing they could understand, wishing they would care enough to understand.

Alas, wishing was useless.

There were nights where you prayed for an older, wiser being to cry to. Someone who could tell you what to do and how to feel, someone who would listen, someone who would care.

Someone who would see you. Someone who understood, because they felt it themself.

༻༺

You made every attempt to be true to yourself.

To not lie, to let yourself feel what you felt, to get out more; to live.

It was hard to be true to yourself, though, when your friends agreed to accompany you to a pride day in Jericho, and then ditched you.

You resented them, you envied them, they didn't know what it felt like; they never would.

The hurt multiplied ten fold when June came around. The hiding, the thinking, the loneliness, it didn't settle, it didn't stop.

After an hour of scrubbing off your makeup, crying face down into your bed, and ditching your  themed outfit, you arrived in Jericho, the opening ceremony finished.

The town square was very festive, multiple restaurants and shops agreed to host a scavenger hunt, crafted special meals to celebrate, provide smaller fun activities, and fireworks. You were proud of the small town of Jericho, they were trying; as were you.

And although they were trying, these activities were not really fun to do, well…alone.

Alas, that's what you were. Alone.

Passing by the Weathervane, you saw a small group of Nevermore students on their way out. You wanted to join in, but you didn’t know them, not that well.

Peering over at the counter, you found a drink special for the day;

'buy any regular sized drink, get rainbow whipped cream for free.'

You snorted, it was rather cheesy, but cute.

Stepping up to the counter, you ordered an iced coffee.

"Would you like rainbow whipped cream on that?"

You sighed, about to shake your head no when you heard a voice at the other end of the counter.

"Thank you, dear. This looks delicious."

She was standing tall with a red lipped smile, peering down at her hot chocolate; rainbow whipped cream on top.

You had to agree, it did look delicious.

"Yes, uh, whipped cream please."

As soon as your drink was made, you beelined it for the door, hoping she wouldn't see you.

It wasn't that you didn’t want to see her, it wasn't that you didn’t want to talk.

It was that you didn’t want her to see you- alone.

Unsure of where to go next, you stood on the sidewalk and tried your drink; delicious.

The doorbell rang and she stepped out, gazing around the streets.

In a flash, you turned and headed down the sidewalk, away from the activities, away from her.

"Y/N?"

You stopped, slowly turning as if you were unsure of where the voice had come from.

A wave, a smile, and she was next to you in a few strides.

"Darling, you're going the wrong way, the festival is this way!"

She never failed to make you happy, her and her rainbow hot chocolate.

You shrugged, "I uh, I don't really want to participate."

Her head tiled in question as she caught sight of your drink.

"You're not interested in celebrating pride?"

Well, that just made you sound homophobic. You shook your head quickly.

"No, no I am. I just, my friends were supposed to come with me but, they changed their minds I guess."

The principal looked down at you, your head hung in sadness, perhaps shame.

Today was not a day to be sad, it was not a day to be shameful, it was a day to be proud, to celebrate.

"Well, I am here with a few Nevermore students. I am proud to support them, no matter who or what they are."

You couldn't help but smile crookedly in awe, meeting her appreciative blue gaze. She bent down closer to you, softening her voice. "That includes you, love."

Your heart beat fast as you stared in surprise, tears threatened to spill as you felt accepted and cared for, for the first time in a long time.

Taking a sip of your drink with a shaky hand, you fiddled with your jewellery.

The woman saw you thinking, contemplating.

She felt the exact same at your age. Knowing who you were, to an extent, but pushing the feeling away with every chance you got.

You didn’t want to, she knew, you wanted to be proud, she knew, but it was hard when you felt like the only one, the only one in this small town.

"How about we try the scavenger hunt, hmm?"

You looked up at her with a frown, but inside you felt joyful.

"We're probably already behind" you chuckled.

The woman waved a hand in dismissal, "Nonsense. We have a good chance if we work together."

༻༺

1.

You made your way back into the Weathervane, retrieving the first clue to the hunt.

'If the first pride flag was designed in Jericho, it would've been designed here.'

You passed the first clue to her, knowing the first pride flag was designed in 1978. If it had have been designed in Jericho, well, you had three options.

The woman smiled, gasping lightly as she recalled "'Sew it forward', it was established here in the 1960s."

༻༺

2.

You followed the intriguing woman to 'Sew it forward', watching as she retrieved the second clue and stamped the pride book red.

She took the clue between her fingers, narrowing her eyes at the small writing.

'This famous bar in New York City was the site of the 1969 riots, a pivotal event in LGBTQ+ history. Find the Jericho bar that starts with the same letter.'

You racked your brain around the bars in Jericho. You have never been to the bars besides for lunch.

"Stones!"

The principal raised a brow at you, a small smirk on her face.

"What?! Just because I'm not of age doesn’t mean I haven't been. Stones has good pizza."

A loud laugh was heard throughout the fabric shop. You were overjoyed that you could make her laugh freely, albeit most likely sounding stupid.

She headed for the door; and you would follow her anywhere.

༻༺

3.

Arriving at Stones, you found those also attempting the hunt, and those drowning in drinks.

You stamped the book with the second stamp, orange, and retrieved the third clue.

'Locate a pin or item that displays personal pronouns or sexual orientation, both important ways to respect people's identities.'

Leading the way out into the street, you looked around.

You didn’t remember seeing a shop with a prominent pin or badge.

"A pin or badge."

You looked up at the tall woman, her eyebrows furrowed in question.

Raking your eyes over her form, you found a brooch on her jacket, one you knew she wore often.

Lips.

"Where did you get that brooch?"

She peered down at her brooch, straightening it out as a light blush overtook her cheeks.

"Oh, my brooch. I got it at the antique shop, Uriah's Heap."

Uriah's Heap, a shop so very, well, out of the ordinary.

It was your favorite.

You stared at her for a moment hoping she would catch on, until her eyes widened in excitement.

"Let's go!" she smiled, grabbing your hand as she drug you to the shop.

༻༺

4.

You stood outside of Uriah's Heap, finding a large progressive pride flag pin on their window.

You knew this was a scavenger hunt, a race of some sort, but you always loved searching for hidden treasures in the shop that many people didn’t appreciate.

Following the principal, she found her way to the antique jewelry.

Choosing a vintage locket, you placed it on the counter and found a basket of pins staring back at you.

"Hello, did you find something of interest?"

The woman, who you remembered enjoyed chaga tea after working here on outreach day, peered down at you.

"Yes, may I purchase this?"

Peering over at the tall woman, she held a brooch up to you.

"Do you think this is nice, darling?"

A brooch which you thought resembled an eye. Very fitting for the principal and her unique look.

"It's beautiful, it matches your bracelet."

She smiled gratefully down at you, placing it on the counter.

"You are very perceptive" she remarked.

The lady rang up both items, the principal speaking up.

"Oh, I'll purchase that separate."

You shook your head at her with a sly smile, "I got it Principal Weems."

After purchasing your items, the principal retrieved the fourth clue and stamped the book yellow.

'What LGBTQ+ novel, written by Sheridan Le Fanu, preceded Dracula?'

You had read this book recently, an easy clue, really.

"Carmilla"

The woman looked down at you in surprise, nodding her head.

"Great novel, absolutely the best. I'm proud" she winked.

You smiled, gaze landing on the floor bashfully before peering back over at the pins in the basket.

The woman noticed and sorted through them. "Hmm, so many options. Would you like one?"

You watched as she held them in her hands to you, every option they had available.

There were so many colors, so many flags and pronouns.

You hummed and hawed over them, knowing which you wanted to chose, but still unsure.

"Well, I think I like this one."

The principal chose one; red, orange, white and pink stripes staring back at you.

Your mouth opened in shock as you watched her pin it to her jacket.

She smiled mischievously, "What's the matter, darling?"

The lesbian flag, something you didn't see often included in pride merchandise.

"I, uh, are you…" you stuttered.

The woman chuckled, straightening out the pin. "A lesbian?"

You nodded speechless as you stared up at her, thrill running through your veins.

She clasped her hands together and gave one nod, a bright smile as she batted her eyelashes your way.

Her support, her happiness, the confidence that she had, it made you want to cry.

You were so, so happy for her, you were so very proud.

Proud of her for her openness, proud of her for her representation, proud of her for being her true self, and for showing others that it was okay to be gay.

Grateful for her bravery, to show others that they were not alone.

You took a deep breath, "Can I have the same one?"

She dug through the pins, finding the very same flag and holding it out to you, "May I?"

You nodded, presenting your jacket to her.

She pinned in on, running a hand soothingly over your arm.

"I'm so very proud of you, darling."

You breathed in heavily, taking in her sincere and caring smile before meeting her gaze.

"I'm proud of you too, Principal Weems. And I'm so happy for you, thank you."

It was all the principal had wished for on this day, to help at least one person through their journey. To help you present yourself, to help you feel like you deserved to be seen, to help you feel proud.

"Of course, love. Now, where can we find the novel 'Carmilla'?"

Well, the library or bookstore, of course. But, you took a bet that Carmilla may not be at the library, so you headed to the bookstore.

༻

5. Crow bookshop

You retrieved the second last clue, stamping the book green.

'Locate the basket prepared for a festive outdoor meal, filled with colorful snacks and drinks. Perfect for a celebration under the open sky.'

The principal looked down at you in contemplation.  "The Basket, like the restaurant?"

You shrugged your shoulders, unsure of where else they would be referring to.

༻༺

6.

You arrived at 'The Basket', a restaurant just before the beach.

There were a few specials, a fruit basket, a flight of ciders, and a flight of sliders.

You knew the principal was a fan of burgers.

"Are you hungry?"

The tall woman looked down at you, smiling as she read over the special.

"Chipotle, Bacon and cheese, Veggie, Bean, Texas, and Chicken sliders. Would you like to share?"

You looked over the menu, rereading what she had just rhymed off.

Nodding, you asked, "What's a flight?"

She chuckled, ordering the special for you both.

"You're about to find out."

Sitting at a table on the back patio, you settled down across from the principal.

A moment silence, you looked her up and down, questioning many things.

An older, wiser being. A beautiful one who appeared to be pretty open, who seemed like she'd understand, who seemed like she cared.

"How did you know that you liked women and not men?"

The woman raised her gaze to you, lips stretching into a sad smile.

She took a deep breath and smoothed a napkin over her lap.

"Well, when I was your age, this small town was all that I knew, just like you.

I knew that I didn't feel the same as my peers, I never cared to talk about boys, I never really fit in in the way that I hoped to.

One day I realized that I wouldn't at all mind kissing my friend, in fact I longed to" she chuckled. "Representation was lacking, but what little of it there was, it helped me realize how I felt as I grew. It's hard to accept yourself, for many reasons, but when you try to push it away, it doesn't get any better, it never changes."

Your voice was hoarse as you asked in confirmation.  "It never changes?"

She shook her head, "It never changes. You have to decide for yourself.

Do whatever makes you happy, feel whatever makes you happy, no matter how different it is, no matter how alone you may feel."

You pursed your lips as tears built in your eyes, she was right, of course she was.

"Well, it helps knowing I'm not the only one."

The woman nodded her head in agreement, wallowing over the memories of her feeling alone, of her heartbreakingly coming to the realization of how she truly felt, of who she really was.

It brought her sadness, to know that others felt the same; perhaps even worse.

"The journey is not an easy one, it's not for the weak. You have to know that you're strong, and you're worthy, always."

The sliders were placed on your table, averting her attention.

She carefully cut them all in half, holding up a piece of the bacon and cheese as she offered the rest to you.

"Bon appétit."

The principal stamped the book blue and picked up the last clue.

 '"At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon." What establishment is named after this poet?'

She looked down at you with a finger pointed your way.

You scrunched your eyebrows, Edgar Allan Poe.

The only establishment could be, "The Poe!"

You and the principal laughed, shouting the answer at the same time.

༻༺

7.

 You headed to The Poe, a small museum and shop on the beach that sold trinkets, drinks, and ice cream.

Principal Weems stamped the last page purple, turning in the scavenger hunt book to the shop.

"Well, congratulations! You were fifth to finish the scavenger hunt."

You laughed, fifth place.

The tall woman smiled down at you with a wink, "We're losers."

You both were, in fact, losers.

After collecting your prizes and ordering ice cream, which the principal insisted on, you made your way to a bench on the beach.

You watched the woman with great interest. An intelligent, interesting woman she was. A powerful, selfless woman. A perceptive woman, a force to be reckoned with.

You hoped and prayed that you would grow up to be at least half the person that she was.

The principal caught your interest with a low chuckle.

"I'm having lots of fun with you, love, but I'm sorry you had to spend the day with your principal."

You tilted your head in confusion; you were not sorry, not one bit.

"I'm not sorry. Today was the best day I've had in awhile. Thank you."

The woman pouted, opening her arms to you; you gladly embraced her.

With a deep breath you pulled away, placing your hand in her soft reassuring one.

"So what happened with your friend? The one you wanted to kiss?"

The principal chuckled remorsefully. "Nothing."

Looking out over the water, her smile turned to a frown.

"I wanted to hold her, to protect her from men with all the fury I had grown.

They don't see her beauty like I do, they don't care to.

But unfortunately, it's the same old story."

She turned to you with sad eyes.

"A girl cries over a girl and that girl cries over a guy, and well…

it goes on and on and on,

and it doesn't stop.

It never stops."

You were just like her, perhaps there was hope for you.

Just then, fireworks lit up the darkness of the beach. All colors of the spectrum were on display, but all you saw was red, orange, white, and pink.

Your attention was then diverted to a girl wearing a Nevermore uniform as she made her way to you.

She waved, "Hi Principal Weems."

She then looked to you. "Hi Y/N"

She spoke with the principal as you analyzed her. You recognized her, but you didn't know her name, so how did she know yours?

The girl's eyes landed on you once again, meeting your gaze. You didn't want to ask.

"Aura, I like your pin." A sly tone to the older woman's voice.

You followed the principals gaze to the pin on Aura's jacket, then you peered down at the pin attached to yours.

"Thanks Principal Weems" she smiled, eyes slowly trailing to the woman's pin, then to yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and Aura's raised in surprise.

"Oh, we all have the same pin!"

The principal chuckled, gazing down at you with a bright smile.

"See darling, you're never alone. I promise you're not the only one."

[agendabymooner]

ride home ! carlos s. x ofc (filipino!content creator!ofc)

“and my weary heart has come to rest in yours.”

summary: carlos sainz accidentally outed himself as a married man and his wife is filipino, which is quite ironic if you would look at the history between the two nations. OR mona magdalena was something of a surprise to the f1 world as she’s something of an… ordinary person. but the ferrari driver’s in love with her and that’s enough for anyone to understand.

content warning: established relationship, use of explicit language, unclear plot (intro to carlos sainz’ ofc wife), fluff, lando = knowing something you don’t, poorly translated comments, mentions cheating (no one did), connected to the alessandro/hearth universe (see masterlist)

note: there will be a translation to some of the words in this post (context: spain colonized philippines for 300 years and language/culture/practices were adapted from spain.)

this is a self-indulgent fic. a little bit of it i think. this came from my halo-halo homies’ asks and i was inspired to write. i should write some fernando alonso soon, no? enjoy xx

masterlist

liked by carlossainzjr, landonorris, zildbenitez

user1 CONGRATS MAMITAAAA

user2 welcome back to philippines magda!!

zildbenitez sex or chocolate? liked by monamagdalena

monamagdalena the city by the 1975

user3 i cant believe that you’re working a regular job in spain/england while you’re a whole ass celebrity in the philippines 😭 liked by monamagdalena

monamagdalena duality of a woman 😉

benandbenmusic gimmick sa’n? where should we hangout?

monamagdalena i want some inasal :)

benandbenmusic bet, meet u at the nearest mang inasal then 🫶

carlossainzjr y u so pretty cariño? liked by monamagdalena

carlossainzjr posted a story !!!

this story in unavailable

[translation: my wife should just quit her day job and come travel with me]

[translation: there’s no one i would yearn for more than you, my lovely lady.]

tagged monamagdalena

liked by charles_leclerc, blastersilonga, landonorris

user1 ok but why doesn’t she give wag vibes? did she ever attend any of his race?

user2 she doesn’t seem to be like his type tbh. why does she have a huge fanbase?

user3 bestie they’re married- what more can they do?

user4 she’s hella gorgeous

user5 i didn’t even know who carlos was until now :’] magda really chose the perfect one 😭

user6 welcome to the pits of hell we call f1. ferrari’s at the deepest depth - carlos drives for ferrari

user7 y’all btches blind if you don’t see the heart eyes carlos is giving her

user8 he’s so in love i wish that were me

landonorris ok but i’m rooting for you two though 🥲 liked by carlossainzjr and monamagdalena

monamagdalena thanks, lando! i’m also rooting for us :)

monamagdalena you’re the best partner to have existed. mahal kita sobraaaaaa ❤️ i love you soooo much liked by carlossainzjr

carlossainzjr see you soon cariño ❤️

user8 she really said “colonizing his heart” 😭

user9 who cooks better though?

carlossainzjr her because she grew up with a single mother only and they always make the best cuisines - lena taught me how to cook most filipino dishes

monamagdalena most filipino dishes that NEED to be paired with rice 🥲 i get so lonely having to eat rice by myself at times

landonorris you should have me over so we can eat rice together

monamagdalena you betcha. i’ll be making you dinner like it’s a filipino birthday party lando!

user10 now THAT is the dream 😩 imagine being so sweet that you’d make your husband’s mate some roast pans full of filipino food and pull up the karaoke ughhh so mother of u

bonus !!!

translation

mahal / irog = terms of endearment, “love”

[beanghostprincess]

Usopp has never celebrated Valentine's Day. And it's not that he hasn't had the chance, because he has. In fact, Kaya was always the one saying they should be doing something together, even as friends. But... But Usopp has never liked it? He knows saying that out loud would cause a world war inside the crew because he's aware of how beloved the day is for some of them. But it's just... Isn't it dumb? He thinks it's basically just another way capitalism and big corporations have of taking people's money. If you truly love somebody, you show it every day, not just on a random day in February. Besides, his mom always seemed a bit sad and lonely this time of the year, and Usopp never liked thinking about his parents this way.

But Sanji? Sanji adores it. It's a day of joy and love and he has an excuse to give Nami and Robin flowers and chocolate without being seen as weird. It's still weird but, you know, less weird because now there's a reason behind his actions and they're always just a bit softer on this day. Sanji himself is way softer. He gives Luffy more meat and barely argues with mosshead, and if somebody asks? It's just a day for love. He cannot be bothered to be angry today. His mom loved February 14th. It was one of her favorite days because she kept saying she celebrated all kinds of love, not only the romantic ones. Sanji was always excited to see her at the hospital on those days.

So when they start dating and February comes... They have different reactions to it. It's- It's a bit hard to handle at first.

The sniper realizes it's Valentine's Day right when he wakes up, and he kind of sort of wants to die because he hasn't gotten anything for Sanji and he knows how much this day means to him. Usopp just never thinks about it or remembers until Sanji explicitly screams about it. He blames Nami for not reminding him either. Not that it's her responsibility, but the girl could've helped. Whatever- He's not panicking. He's not. It's a dumb, stupid holiday and there's no need to do anything. He doesn't owe Sanji a Valentine's Day because it's dumb.

Besides. They barely started dating. And Sanji only ever gets gifts to the girls. There's zero chance he's gonna prepare something for Usopp.

Or so he thinks. Because the second he wakes up, there's a box right next to his bunk bed and he knows he's fucked. He doesn't want to open it. He truly doesn't. But if course he does. It's a beret. One he fell in love with a long time ago. Back when they weren't even dating. Back when even the possibility of dating Sanji was just a faint dream. So he- He doesn't even want to ask how the hell Sanji got this or when, but there's so much guilt inside of him that Usopp doesn't want to get out of bed.

But he has to, doesn't he? So he does. And he hates himself a little too much during the whole day. Sanji kisses him oh so sweetly. The pet names are over the charts. The guy won't stop speaking in French, which he knows makes Usopp weak in the knees. He cooks his favorite meals, and aside from the beret, he gives him a bunch of flowers he says he has been growing himself in secret (oh lord, for a botanist that's peak romanticism). And Sanji hasn't even paid much attention to anybody else. Not even the girls. It's as if only Usopp existed. And the thing is-- Usopp is expecting Sanji to throw a tantrum or get angry or be mad about Usopp not doing anything for him.

Sanji doesn't expect anything in return, apparently, and he doesn't seem that bothered about it. That's what ends up fucking up Usopp the most, in the end. Because he knows why Sanji is like that. He knows why Sanji doesn't care about it. He hates it.

He tries to approach the topic subtly:

Usopp: I... Hey, Sanji? Sanji: Yes, mon trésor? Usopp: I'm sorry for not getting you anything for today. It's just- You know Valentine's Day is not my thing and I sort of forgot- Sanji: That's alright. Do you think I'd reduce our relationship to only today? Usopp: No, of coruse not. But, just saying, that if you want to be angry, I don't mind. You have the right to want these romantic things. Sanji: As long as you like what I have planned for you, that's all the gifts I need.

But it doesn't sit right with Usopp. The fact that Sanji never thinks about himself this way and yet keeps showering him with love and gifts instead. So he waits until nighttime because he knows it's Sanji's turn to watch the ship and he knows he'll probably be in the kitchen more often than not. It's not much, but he thinks about something he can do for Sanji.

Everybody is asleep when Sanji finds a letter, a notebook, and flowers on the dining table. While Usopp watches his whole reaction from the door, hoping not to get caught. It's a stupid, overly romantic letter that Usopp has written in no time because whenever he thinks about Sanji, the words just come out of him easily, like a story he never wants to stop telling. The notebook is basically just his sketchbook, and it isn't a gift because it wasn't planned to be one, but it is all the drawings he has made of Sanji over the time they've been together, and Usopp thinks that's way better than just any letter. Meanwhile, the flowers are just the most peaceful and beautiful ones of his garden. The ones he uses more for scents rather than explosives.

It's not the best gift he could've made. It really isn't. But he thinks it's enough to show Sanji that he deserves these things too. He doesn't want his boyfriend to spend any other Valentine's Day assuming he won't be getting any form of love from Usopp.

What the sniper isn't expecting is Sanji to start sobbing all of a sudden. That's when Usopp realizes he needs to step into the kitchen. He's panicking a little while Sanji cries, sitting right next to him and holding his wet cheeks in his hands to check if he's alright. Maybe he has truly fucked up with the gift? Maybe he didn't like it? Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten involved. Fuck. Fuck.

But... But Sanji starts laughing? For some reason? He laughs between tears and grabs Usopp's hands in his and kisses them, holding him close.

Sanji: I'm sorry. Shit. I hate it when I get like this. I'm sorry. I'll stop. Usopp: What? No- No, Sanji. What's wrong? Did you not like it- Sanji: Huh? How could I not like it, dumbass? I'm crying because it's the sweetest, sappiest most romantic thing somebody has made for me and it's from the love of my life. How could I not- Idiot. Shut up. Usopp: I'm... The love of your life? Sanji: Did I not make it clear today? Usopp: Then you... You like it? Sanji: Idiot. Yes. I do. Usopp: Well, then expect all of our Valentine's Days to be like this from now on and forever, because your fantastic boyfriend Usopp will be known as the king of Valentine- Sanji: Dear, I know you love doing that. And I adore it. But the king of Valentine's Day is me and I'm not letting you have the title. Usopp: But we're together. Then that means we're both kings. Sanji: We would if we were married. Usopp: Then... We should- Sanji: Stop right there. Usopp: Huh? Why can't you let me be romantic?! Sanji: ... If you say it I don't think I'll be able to handle it- Usopp: Oh, shit, you want to marry me for real? Sanji: Yes? No- Not yet. Someday. I- Please, don't make me cry again.

Usopp truly can't wait for the next Valentine's Day with him.

[lovelessrage]

I have been struck by an urge to discuss Bojack Horseman. While I am not asexual, I am aspec in every other sense outside of it, and Todd Chavez still matters a lot as a character to me. It was the first canon aspec, the first character where it is said, matters to his plot, and impacts his life, that I had ever seen in a show I actually enjoyed.

A lot of aspec representation feels like it isn't made for me; it's made for young/rowdier teens, and while that's a demographic that needs those figures, it leaves me feeling like reading these books and watching these shows just aren't my thing. It isn't my carnival ride; it feels like I'm too old, despite... not being that old. Maybe it's my humour or my preferences, I dunno. Regardless, Todd Chavez feels like, for all his goofy antics and being the character that has the most absurd life out of anyone, an adult facing a real crisis of identity. Not a teenager coming to terms, but an adult man realizing what's expected of him as an adult is immensely limiting and petrifying as a closeted asexual.

The way his first interaction with being aspec is not being comfortable with labelling it yet, setting boundaries about whether he likes jokes, trying to find community but still feeling a bit lonely and out of place. It all feels very natural, real, and lived. And so does his relationship with Yolanda, which was immensely good commentary to me about aspec loneliness.

Especially for those who still like to date, have hookups, QPRs, or any other type of committed dynamic, it often feels like you are compelled to choose the first person who offers it to you, because you have no other choice. This extends to other queer labels as well, such as T4T struggles and the gay and lesbian dating scene, but we're talking aspecs right now and we'll stay on that ball. There is nothing wrong with Yolanda, which I like as well, she's not framed as a bitter person or frigid, they're just not meant for each other. I also like the inclusion of, despite how different they are, Yolanda is still desperate to cling to this because she's afraid she'll never meet another asexual again. It is, again, a real problem; people getting into unhappy relationships because they think it is all they will get.

That's why this show's representation speaks to me so much, even if it's not my label. It feels like an honest confrontation of aspec issues, rather than just making a character aspec as a one-off, or only confronting it for one episode. As well, it doesn't belittle Todd for this aspect or make his problems childish. It's another adult problem alongside all the others the characters are going through, and there are plenty of references to the struggle of acceptance and the struggle of existence without making asexuality at fault for any of it. It is acephobic society, not asexuals, being blamed. They get to be part of the humour rather than at the expense of it.

There gets to be ace joy alongside ace struggle, and neither are treated as more worth focusing on or telling a story about. His later happiness with Maude is celebrated by his family and friends, and his coming out is met with understanding, even if it's not fully informed. He gets to meet other asexuals, and even if it does not solve his problems, it lends a needed helping of reminding the audience there is a community, not just an individual.

Nothing in Bojack Horseman is instantaneous. No change of character is simply a heelturn and a continuation. I am always immensely happy on every rewatch to see how much time was devoted to making Todd's asexuality journey mean something and mean something to his life. To me, this is the textbook example of what it means to write an aspec character with their identity in mind; it's not just a label, it's also how your life is affected, your relationships, and how you see your future.

[misc-obeyme]

So, i want to share a few smaller headcanons that i have about the OB cast!

- When Beel is in a good mood and/or happy, you can hear the faint sound of fly wings going "Buzz Buzz." Beel also rubs his hands together before eating his meals just like how Flies rub their hands together.

- One rare occasions when Belphie can't sleep, he'll count cute Mc sheeps to fall asleep. He also snores similar to cartoon characters like "Honk shoo mimimi." He swats away any biting bugs/flies away with his tail if they annoy him during his naps.

- Raphael has a talent for Swallowing Swords/Knives/Speers.

- Mephistopheles likes "My Little Pony," and his favourite character is Rarity. He and Leviathan talk about MLP all the time. Mephistopheles has a strong kick, similar to how strong horses can kick someone.

- Thirteen likes calavera makeup, and every year, she dresses up as La Calavera Catrina to celebrate the "Day of the Dead" also called "Día de Muertos" ((Day of the Dead is a joyful time that helps people remember the deceased and celebrate their memory.))

- Solomon likes to watch his descendants fondly from afar even if he can't be part of their lives.

- Mc dressed up as a giant pickle once and scared Diavolo half to death (not really, but he was definitely spooked)

- After the brothers were cast out from the Celestial Realm, God created Jesus, making him the 8th brother.

- Every year around Christmas time, Satan accidentally receives "letters to Santa" from young children with dyslexia confusing the words "Santa" and "Satan," so Satan writes back letters to the children pretending to be Santa. (I wonder if Santa Claus exists in the OB universe?!). Satan, after coming to terms with his existence and his place in Devildom alongside his brothers, wanted to share his ideology and wisdom with humans. So he created a new religion that encourages hedonistic urges and desires but emphasizes heavily on keeping to yourself and not bothering or offending anyone else as you act on those desires. He called that religion "Satanism", unfortunately, humans misunderstood and painted him as evil and spreading rumours that is Satanism all about sacrificing Animals/children/virgins for selfish gain which pissed Satan off.

- Barbatos likes to be in control and puts everyone's needs before his own. He's always there for others, but he won't let anyone easily reciprocate. Because of his greed, he's afraid to lose himself in his passions/desires, so he keeps all his feelings bottled up. He fears his selfishness, consuming him whole and losing himself to the darkness. That being said, Barbatos once said, "I don't want to give myself completely to the darkness, and i won't as long as you're with me" to Mc. Basically, Mc is the "light" to his "darkness," and he would do anything in order to protect his light. There's a quote that i really like that fits perfectly. It goes like this; "Love is not blind. It sees you in the dark and chooses to be your light."

Anyway, that's it. This low-key got a little bit loooong, Ooooops.

-Angsty Anon.

That's it, I'm counting cute sheep MCs to help me sleep from now on. Please, that sounds so adorable 😭

Also excuse you with the Solomon one! Like my man isn't lonely enough, now he's watching his descendants from afar?? He would, too. :(

JESUS IS THE 8TH BROTHER aklj;sdfkljdskjlf what would have happened if God had made him at the same time as everybody else!??!?!

Poor misunderstood Satan! I'd be pretty pissed too if a bunch of idiot humans decided to make me evil and sacrifice babies in my name.

Ahh, Barbatos my true love. He's definitely got something about himself that he feels he needs to control to the point where he almost never lets go... one day maybe we'll learn about that mystery of his that he keeps so well hidden...

I quite liked all of these, thank you for sharing!

[silent-sanctum]

Can you write like a little cute one shot or Drabble of Jotaro (part 3 or 4 don’t matter to me) learning that his crush is a celebrity from America that has come to Japan? If you use part 3 then you can use the exchange student trope!!! 😳

you thought it was just gonna be a drabble? But it was me! A short fic! but sure I'll write a cute lil sumn for you honey ^^ And before reading this, I'm gonna give a bit of context for this world. I used 4taro for this one, placed him in a modern au in Tokyo where Stands don't exist, he isn't married, and he's just living life as an ordinary marine biologist on a break. With that given, hope you enjoy~ ^^

Still with You - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 2.3k

To be labeled as a “poor oblivious old man” at the age of 28 was something Jotaro would dismiss in less than a second, but considering what just happened to him… might as well live up to it for a day or two.

What transpired for that name to be given to him?

The whole thing started one fateful afternoon when the marine biologist earned himself a well-deserved break from a week-long dive into the Pacific Ocean, and he opted to visit a local café that was near his office. It was small and family-owned, serving only up to 20 customers max.

He wasn’t the type to be too picky in choosing his cup of coffee, so visiting small-business shops would end up in his subconscious to-do lists during his free time. Besides, the place was homey- had nice furnishing, theme, and a small stage for any singer to perform on.

It also happened to rain heavily that day, leaving Jotaro holed up in the tiny establishment. Then again, he wasn’t complaining. He loved the sound of the the drops pitter-pattering on the pavement outside while he sipped his warm drink, white coat draped over his shoulders.

The door opened, signaled by the chiming of the bells above. A person hurried inside dressed with a bucket hat, mask, and hoodie, half-drenched by the downpour outside. The owner addressed the soaked clothes but the lady merely shrugged them off and lifted a bag, stating she had extra dry clothes.

Again, Jotaro wouldn’t have even paid attention on a normal day, but for some reason he was curious on what she was up to considering her inconvenient situation. He played it nonchalantly, taking another sip from his cup and waited for her to return in new clothes.

He watched her wave to the eager-looking customers with a beaming smile as she approached the stage with freshly changed clothes and a microphone in hand.

Jotaro cocked a brow. A performance? He huffed. It’s been awhile since I’ve indulged in music. Might as well.

The lights dimmed for the spotlights to focus on her. The music opened to the sound of rain ambiance then combined with the muffled instrumentals, she began to sing:

Your light voice that passes by me Would you please call my name one more time Although I’m paused underneath the frozen sunset I’ll walk towards you one step at a time Still with you

The piano began to play and somehow, the atmosphere grew cozier than before as the soothing jazz music played out. The crowd began to sway, some recorded the singer on their phones, and Jotaro ended up in a trance, focused on the person behind the vocals.

She continued to sing the following verses with an almost alluring tone to it like a siren playing her song to the helpless sailors lost at sea, washing over their worries with a waves of calm and comfort. Eventually, as the chorus came, he found himself unable to tear his eyes off from the performer, his head slightly swaying as a victim to the music.

Her eyes would close from time to time, and when it wasn’t, she would sweep her gaze across the room, watching her audience to let them know that the song was theirs to enjoy.

But then as she reached the verse after the chorus, her gaze stopped at him and with maintained eye contact, continued to sing:

The moon looked lonely It looked like it’s crying brightly in the night sky Though I know that the morning will come I wanted to stay by your sky like a star

The day, the moment If I knew it will be like this I would have kept more of them When will it be if I see you again face to face I’ll look you in the eye and say I missed you

At that one moment, Jotaro’s heart fluttered beneath his stone-mask façade, breathless. What was the purpose of that prolonged eye contact? Or was he overthinking? She may have turned away back to the others, but he couldn’t forget how she didn’t stray away from his gaze for that long.

But even then, he couldn’t stop watching. The chill music didn’t help either. The chill beats were the type of tunes he’d hear from his playlist, and he’d hear from his coworkers that there was the additional charm when hearing it live.

And he’d be lying if he said that was a false statement.

He tried to pull away from the melody as the song neared its end, but as if the singer sensed his intentions, her hooded gaze returned to him and he couldn’t turn away as she sang the final verses of the song:

Behind the faint smiles that gaze at me I want to paint with the beautiful light Even though our footsteps might not match I want to walk this path together with you Still with you

The café burst in applause, some cheering as the performer smiled at the crowd with a bashful smile and bow. “Thank you everyone!” With one last wave, she walked off the stage with a bounce to her steps.

Yet Jotaro still remained on his seat, brows furrowed as he could only stare into the half-emptied cup in his hand that has gone cold. That was intentional. He shook his head and drank, not minding the coolness of his coffee. Impossible. What are you even thinking? Has Polnareff filled my head with all his nonsensical sappiness? He rubbed his temple with the added stress. Damn you Pol-

“Uhm… hi there.”

Damn me. Jotaro didn’t reply anything back to the singer standing by the chair opposite of him, a cup of coffee in hand, the smile still fixated on that face of hers as she spoke fluent Japanese to him. “You wouldn’t mind if I sit here, right?”

“Why here?” He said, arms crossed. “Aren’t there other tables for special guests like you?”

She shrugged. “There are, but there are some things that need addressing and will keep me awake all night if left unsaid.”

He scoffed. Tell me about it. Without a word, she took her spot in front of him and set her warm drink on the table. “So… I know you noticed something during my intermission.”

The maintained eye contact with the lyrics? “And what would that be?”

“Being stoic are we?” She chucked. “Well, I know you know what happened so I’m not going to beat around the bush any longer. First thing’s first,” a hand reached out to him. “Y/N. Just a tourist on vacation, but you may have known me from somewhere.”

He tilted his head and tried to remember the many face he’d seen throughout his life, but he couldn’t recognize yours in any. Regardless, he shook your hand. “Jotaro. And no, I don’t know who you are.”

You widened your eyes. “Really? Even from somewhere like… I don’t know… movies or shows from the States? Showbiz, Internet, and all?”

He shook his head. “I don’t watch much media nowadays, neither do I stay online. Too busy with work. I’m also not interested in showbiz. Why? Am I supposed to know you?”

“Oh no! No no no,” you laughed, nervous. “I’m just a cover artist in YouTube. When I’m not busy, I sing either to myself or to others, like now. I just asked… out of curiosity.”

“Mm… I see,” Jotaro said. “Though I’m still asking why you chose this table specifically among-”

“You’re cute.”

He stopped short, mouth agape with words left unsaid. What followed was his cheeks growing warm together with the tips of his ears and his eyes widening by a bit. “Ah…”

“Hey, I told you I’m not gonna beat around the bush,” you giggled, shrugging. “And I’d be lying if I told you that you were otherwise.”

Jotaro cleared his throat as he looked away, lower half of his face hidden with the back of his hand. “That was so sudden, I apologize if I’m turning away for a bit.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” You said. “It’s natural for the crowd to turn bashful around my presence after all~”

“Well, aren’t you boastful…” He said lightheartedly, glancing back at you for a second.

You hummed, leaning on your hand on the table as you stirred your drink with a small cheeky smile and slightly puffed cheeks that surely didn’t tug at his heartstrings. “Can’t help it. It just comes naturally good sir.”

It took him a couple of minutes to recollect himself from the out-of-nowhere compliment. Only after about 5 sips of caffeine and the simple music of the cafe’s playlist did Jotaro turn back to face you with a straight back and steeled face. An imperfect one at that with how his brows were furrowed and how his cheeks were still likely tinted pink.

“Uhm… thanks.”

You smiled at him and nodded in acknowledgment, closing your eyes to take a long sip of your drink. Shit, what now? Part of him wanted to remain quiet, waiting for you to continue talking, but another wanted him to say something back to not make the conversation too one-sided.

“I…” You looked at him again with shining eyes and he had urges to just back out and leave with a lame excuse. But he trudged on… the best he can. “I- You… you have a nice voice. And music.”

This time, your cheeks bloomed a warm pink and hints of a shy smile were forming, and Jotaro looked away for the umpteenth time, the visual too endearing for him to handle. “But I know you already knew that. Might as well give my review.”

“I can tell,” you said, breathy as if you had to stifle in your bashful chuckles. “You kept watching me when I sang in front of you all with this look of intrigue and awe, and…” A huff of breath. “I couldn’t help but return it. The cover I chose to use today certainly didn’t help either.”

As you let out a short embarrassed laugh with your hand covering your smile, your eyes closed from the joy that paired with your natural blush, Jotaro couldn’t help but smile back with his own cheeks warm. Your happiness was infectious apparently.

“You know,” you started as you finished your drink and got ready to leave. “You’re a nice guy despite your initial grumpy demeanor.”

“Get used to it. It’s not a demeanor.”

“Oh? Are you implying we’re gonna meet again, Jotaro?” you asked with a raised brow and he spluttered, not used to hearing his name being blurt out from your lips with that voice. At his response or lack thereof, you chuckled and ripped out a piece of paper from a notebook in your bag.

“I see. Lucky for you, I too hope we get to hang out together like this sometime soon.” With a pen from your pocket, you wrote down a series of numbers and your name with it. A second later, you handed your number for him to take. “Will I be expecting something from you soon?”

Jotaro cocked his head with regard and took the slip of paper. With no hesitation, he folded in half and ripped it, leaving your number unharmed as he took out his own pen and wrote his on the other blank half.

“I don’t mind chatting with you,” He slid his contact to you. “But don’t expect me to be the one to start conversation. As I said, I’m busy.”

You scoffed, albeit playful and smiling, liking his wager. “We’ll see about that.”

~

It’s been a week since your encounter with him at that mini café, and even in the midst of paperwork and research, Jotaro couldn’t forget the sweet-voiced singer and the song she sung.

He knew when it came to these feelings, he didn’t know shit about them and so he wasn’t aware that they’d persist for this long.

Jotaro didn’t want to do this but he figured he’d first figure out to deal with the current issue through communication with a friend or two. Either that or end up thinking about a café performer who he just met 24/7 until god knows when.

Suffice to say, he came out of the conversation dumbfounded, flattered, and very much the one with a mind of an “old man”:

“Pol, can I ask you something?”

“Jotaro asking me questions? Now that’s a first! What is it buddy?”

“Something happened when I was at a cafe and… ah good grief, I can’t believe I’m about to say this…”

“What? Tell me! You say it like it’s something serious-”

“I think I got… I have… a crush on somebody.”

…

…

“Oh my god. You’re 11 years too late but holy shit! My man! Finally! Do you have her number?”

“Ah right. It’s here.”

“Aha~ A phone number~ So you weren’t lying. Did you text her?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I did Pol.”

“Oh?”

“OH?!”

“What is it this time?”

“Jotaro, you have a popular actress crushing on you?!”

“Huh?”

“Y/N L/N?! The Y/N L/N?!?! MY GUY-”

“She’s one of the most critically acclaimed celebrities in the United States. I’m definitely sure Mr. Joestar have heard of her since he’s always glued to whatever’s showing on screen. She also has her own YouTube channel where she does a lot of gorgeous covers of her favorite artists!”

“Oh.”

“'Oh' doesn’t cover the fact that you discovered one of her secret busking spots, got her to talk to you over coffee, liked it, AND GOT HER TO LIKE YOU.”

“Ah.”

“YOU REALLY DIDN’T KNOW?!”

“I don’t watch much and I’m not on the Internet as much so-”

“Damn I may be the older adult here but you sure are one poor oblivious old man.”

…

“So are you going to help me talk to her again or not?”

“You bet your stone aged ass I will. Just make sure I get an autograph in return~”

[danses-with-dogmeat]

F is for -- Fawkes

I'm so glad he won this poll, honestly. Writing for Fawkes just gives me life <3

Also, holy crap, I gasped when I drew this line for him from the dialogue prompts. It's perfect.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this bit of sweetness as much as I loved writing it! 😊

Literally was so excited for this one, that it was the first of the 2k celebration prompts that I started

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Fawkes x F!Lone

Dialogue: “I never knew that I could feel this loved."

Word: Forever

Rating: SFW

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1k

Fawkes grinned as he ducked through the threshold of the front door, nodding approvingly at the smooth way the hinges yielded so easily as he closed the door behind him. 

So many improvements to make still, and yet… This dwelling is more of a home than any place I’ve found myself in prior. 

Or any Lone has lived in. 

That thought comforted him as he moved towards the kitchen, a mouthwatering smell drifting to his marred nose he rounded the corner. At the same time, gentle music sounded from the radio sitting on the counter, lulling him further into this sense of domestic bliss. He sighed as his eyes caught Lone’s form, as she floated from the fridge to the stove, and, not for the first time in the months since the Enclave were wiped out and Project Purity was finally completed, he found himself wondering if he were dreaming. 

After all they had gone through, the trials, the violence, the loss… He wondered if it would ever be possible for the pair to move on, for his Lone, his love… to be happy. As with most situations though, Lone defied all that Fawkes believed was possible. She went beyond his hopes and dreams for her, conquered everything the cruel wasteland threw at her, cared for him so wholly, even as he continued being unable to fathom such things, and now…here they were. 

Existing peacefully; cooking, gardening, reading, dancing, living, in a way the supermutant had never imagined anyone could, so close to the horrors permeating the Capital Wasteland. The way anyone could here, now. Maybe before the bombs and the vaults, the raiding and the wars, the existence of what he’s become, and what Lone has always, not overlooked, but embraced more gracefully than he, himself ever could. 

It was something that Fawkes had no words for.

The gratitude he felt. The affection he held for her was more sacred than anything else he could imagine in his long life, and yet still, it paled in comparison to her own, if she could love him, the way he was now. 

Lone was humming along to the tunes drifting through the air as Fawkes quietly approached from behind, her body jolting only slightly as he lightly placed his hands at her hips and laid a kiss to her head. 

“Anyone else would’ve hit you with their spoon if you snuck up on them like that.” She said with narrow eyes turned to him, and a chuckle rumbled through his chest. 

“That is why I risked it, you see. For even the wrath of your wooden spoon could not deter my show of affection for you.” Fawkes lowered his head in time for his eyes to catch the smile that spread her lips as he spoke. 

“That so, huh?” She continued stirring the vegetables in the pan before her, even as Fawkes nuzzled further into her soft hair. 

He just couldn’t help but be close to her. 

Ever since that fateful day at the Jefferson Memorial, when he’d nearly lost her, he relished Lone being beside him, within his reach. 

She giggled at the way his breath tickled her skin. 

“What’s all this for, love?” She turned around in his embrace, leaving the spoon in the pan as she faced him, and wrapping her own arms around his broader waist. “Really, it’s just dinner, you don't have to act like I'm making miracles in here…” 

Fawkes shook his head as he looked down at her, raising one hand to gently move a stray hair from her face. 

“Do you know the date, Lone?” 

Her brows furrowed at that as she looked blankly towards his chest, as though the answer could be found there. 

“Six months ago, today, we decided to move forward in our relationship.” 

“Only six months?” Her eyes widened, and he felt her body stiffen in his embrace. “It feels like it’s been so much longer than that… all that’s happened…” 

“I know.” He said softly, as he stroked his thumb over her cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I just… How could I have forgotten? Are you sure?” 

Lone looked worried now, and Fawkes felt a pang in his chest. 

“I am certain, yes, but… It’s as you said. So much has happened, so much that you’ve been through in such a short time. I would never blame you, I… I only realized myself when I was in the garden.” 

“Well, dammit. If I’d known, I would’ve planned something. Something to celebrate, you know?” 

“Being here with you now…” Fawkes tightened his embrace, folding her into his arms until she nearly vanished within his bulk, “It is celebration enough, my dear.” 

“I know, but…” She trailed off as she hugged him back, her face pressed firmly to his chest, arms wrapped about him so tightly, her fingers could almost reach each other behind him. “We’re together all the time, and as wonderful as that is, I don’t know… It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Lone.” Fawkes felt another ache in his chest as he pulled back, leaning down to look her earnestly in the eye as both hands released her waist in favor of caressing her face gently. “I assure you, it is more than enough. To be with you this way… I never knew I could feel this loved. I hardly knew what the word meant before you, and every day that I spend with you by my side quickly becomes my fondest memory.” 

Her hands moved to smooth over the backs of his as she grinned tearily, her cheeks squishing beneath the pressure of both their touches so endearingly, Fawkes couldn’t help but press forward to capture her sweet lips in a chaste kiss. 

Quickly, before he could properly pull away, her hands opted to bring his face closer to hers, before wrapping about the bulk of his shoulders, drawing him nearer as she prolonged the tender contact. 

Fawkes’s chest warmed now, at the feeling of her, and he knew that he was telling her the pure, and honest truth. 

This, right here. It was more than enough. 

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #2 - Saturnalia

This fic is for @cortmac1989, who has asked for Valek romancing Reader at a Christmas masquerade! I’ve taken a bit of liberty with the request to stretch it out a bit longer – hope you don’t mind and that you all enjoy!

TW: Stalking; Voyeurism; Blood-drinking (due to vampirism); confession under duress (mesmerization); dark, rough sex; References to violence and murder; Gratuitously going against the lore (or lack thereof) of vampirism from the book/movie to fit my own agenda

---

Saturnalia

---

Valek’s POV:

He takes care to press down with every step, ensuring that a footprint is left behind in the snow. It was important to never give the humans a reason to suspect he was anything more.

Jan Valek had always embraced the winter months; the loss of hours of sunlight giving him the opportunity to surround himself with people going about their lives as usual beneath the blanket of darkness. Christmas was quickly approaching, and Valek always found himself wistfully thinking back to his human life at this time of year. His family, their traditions, all long dead… watching people all around him, bright and alive and happily thinking of their loved ones could make him feel either moved or horribly depressed.

Tonight it has him feeling empty.

He makes to leave, to return home and to his lonely, meaningless existence, when something suddenly catches his attention: an intoxicating scent on the wind that washes away all traces of his melancholia.

Curious and almost unable to help himself, he tracks the scent. He knows that the aroma belongs to a human, but he can’t remember the last time he was so tempted by the bloodlust, feeling his canines start to lengthen and sharpen as his mouth waters. He pauses in his search of the source of the appealing scent, getting himself under control – he was able to relatively blend in with the humans when his vampiric instincts lay dormant, his features only revealing their true form when he was making use of his abilities to fight or feed. There would be time for that, once he had isolated the victim…

Nicking his tongue on a still-sharpened fang, he lets his own vampiric blood flow into his mouth, helping to distract him from the scent until he is able to continue his pursuit. Eventually, he comes across a small group of people bundled up for the weather and chatting amongst themselves. One woman, the source of his temptation, stands slightly apart from the crowd, watching the others talk with a slight smile rather than participating in the conversation.

“Everyone is coming on Friday night! No excuses!” one woman’s voice drowns out the others, resulting in a cacophony of whoops and groans from the others.

“Do we have to wear a mask?” someone complains, murmurs of agreement echoing him. “Halloween was months ago!”

“Yes!” the woman insists. “It’s going to be a fancy Winter Solstice masquerade, and you’re all cooperating. We haven’t all gotten together in years, and this will be fun!”

“Your version of ‘fun’ is very different from the rest of ours, Roberta,” another person chimes in, and the woman, Roberta apparently, scowls at the group.

“We will have my family’s manor to ourselves, with full access to their liquor cabinet. Am I really asking for so much here?”

A hush falls over the group for a brief moment.

“Masquerade ball it is!”

“Great idea, Roberta!”

“Can’t wait for Friday!”

Roberta smirks, pleased that the group has been won over, but Valek finds his gaze drawn to you, the wallflower, as you roll your eyes at your friends.

“Hey, how did you get Y/N to agree to come? There’s no way alcohol would be enough to win her over!” someone asks with a laugh, and you jump as you become the new topic of conversation. Roberta throws a friendly arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

“She’s staying with me while she’s here; she has to!” the woman announces smugly, and you give a bashful, reluctant smile.

“Plus, she described it to me like a Saturnalia celebration, so I’ll just hide in the corner and observe from a safe distance,” you add, your smile fading as no one recognizes the word or asks about it. Valek himself is surprised that you’ve mentioned the ancient Roman festival – it has no current cultural relevance that he’s aware of.

“Ugh! No nerd stuff, please!” someone chides you, and you scowl. “You’re supposed to be taking a break from all that, Y/N!”

“And you will not be hiding in a corner during my party!” Roberta insists. “Hopefully you and Michael will hit it off before then so that he can help you have some fun!” she winks roguishly at you, and Valek hears your heartbeat speed up as you blush.

“You’re going out with Michael?” someone asks excitedly, and the other women in the group burst into giggles.

“Roberta–” you hiss at her, yanking yourself out of her grip. “I’m not talking about this. I’ll see the rest of you on Friday!” you snarl, stomping off down the snow-covered street, clearly upset.

Valek ghosts after you, staying in the shadows. Perhaps the opportunity to feed will present itself to him – he wants to savour you, just the once, and if he wasn’t rushed at the thought of being discovered, there was less chance for an… accident.

“Y/N, wait up!” Roberta calls, jogging to catch up with you. You reluctantly stop to wait for her, tapping your foot impatiently. Valek takes the opportunity to move to the other side of the hedges that line the sidewalk you were on, allowing him to eavesdrop and watch you through the snow-covered pines without being spotted himself.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as she approaches, and from what he can see, the woman has the grace to look abashed.

“I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking,” she says, and you two set off down the path together.

“Why are you insistent that I go out with him while I’m here?” you ask quietly after a minute or two of walking in silence, and your friend peeks over at you, concern in her eyes.

“I just… I worry that you’re alone, Y/N,” she admits. “Your parents have been gone for a few years now, you’re away from your hometown and busy with school, and I know you’re not the most social person… I just want you to be taken care of, hun.”

You let out a deep sigh, your breath coming out in a spiraling, misty cloud.

“I’m fine by myself, Bob,” you tell her, and both your mouths twist into a smile at what Valek presumes is a nickname. “I appreciate your concern, but trying to force the issue isn’t going to get me into a relationship that lasts. The right person will show up when it’s time; I don’t want to rush it.”

“I get it, I get it. I won’t do it again, I promise. Just please give Michael a chance? For me?” she asks you hopefully, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you give in with a reluctant smile. “But just a quick cup of coffee – I don’t want to be stuck at a restaurant for hours if this goes south.”

Your friend nods, a wide smile on her face, and skips off ahead of you, whooping into the night.

So, he wasn’t the only one that felt alone during this time of year, Valek muses to himself as he follows the pair of you to the elegant manor house where you’ll be staying. It was unfortunate, but truly made you the ideal ‘victim,’ loathe as he was to use that word. But you had no family, you were here for a short period of time… it would be easy to make you disappear in the event that he got carried away.

He doesn’t think he will – sure, your blood was inviting, but he finds himself equally, if not more so, interested in your brain.

---

One Day Later…

Reader’s POV:

You force yourself out of Roberta’s home, bundled up against the cold. You really don’t want to go on this stupid date, but you had promised, and you didn’t want to be rude to Michael.

You stifle a yawn as you make your way to the coffee shop, grateful that you’d at least be able to wake yourself up a bit with a nice, hot beverage. You hadn’t slept well the night before, and as twilight turns to dusk the darkness isn’t helping with your fatigue. Still, it’s a beautiful, clear night, the snow still thick on the ground and the treetops, so you do your best to enjoy it. Perhaps Michael would be late, and you could take some time to yourself; your journal and a bag of poetry were in your bag.

Unfortunately, you see him waiting for you outside the coffee shop as you approach, and he gives you a beaming smile that you do your best to return. No time to enjoy the night on your own, then.

Michael wraps you up in a friendly hug as he greets you, the embrace lasting slightly longer than you are comfortable with. You two weren’t complete strangers; he’d been a year above you in high school and you had seen each other at the few social events you had attended with your friends in the years since.

Once you grab your drinks you decide to make your way to the nearby park, making small talk along the way. Michael is… fine. He’s friendly, not leering overtly as he checks you out (you’re grateful again for the cold weather and the layers of clothing it affords you), and he even offered to pay for your coffee, but there’s just… nothing between you. You feel no spark, no real interest towards him, and every attempt you’ve made to tell him about your hobbies and interests he couldn’t be bothered to indulge you, always steering the conversation back to himself.

You’re disappointed, but not surprised. Like you had said to Roberta yesterday, you aren’t going to hit it off with someone by being set up with someone else. You’re old-fashioned, romantic, reserved, with a bunch of interests that people rarely wanted to hear about. Finding someone that you would connect with would be like finding a needle in a haystack, especially in this tiny town.

You sigh internally, trying to turn your attention back to Michael instead of counting down the minutes until you can go home.

---

You manage to make it an hour and a half before you start laying it on thick with the exaggerated yawns, and Michael eventually takes the hint, walking you to the entrance of the park.

“I hope I’ll see you at Roberta’s party on Friday,” Michael asks with a boyish grin. “I’ll be the one in the mask!”

You let out a genuine laugh for the first time that evening. “Yes, I’ll be there – she’s insisted on it!” you reply wryly, avoiding the subject of seeing him there. You’re bad at rejecting people – you hate disappointing anyone, for any reason – and are hoping that you can just go your separate ways without having to formally announce it.

Fortunately, Michael just wishes you a good evening with another hug that you force yourself to return before he turns to head home. You frown at his back. It’s not like you need him to walk you home – or even want him to – but the gesture would have been appreciated. Letting out the sigh you’d been keeping inside all evening, you turn to head back home.

“Excuse me,” comes a smooth, deep voice behind you that makes you jump; you hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind you. Turning around, you’re taken aback by the massive man that stands just a few feet from you. He must be nearly six and a half feet tall, with long, pitch-black hair that flows to his shoulders, blending in with his dark clothing. In contrast, his skin is incredibly pale, and his eyes were a piercing blue-grey that you can’t look away from.

You take a reflexive step backwards and bite back a gasp, and the man tracks the gesture before taking a few steps back. You feel guilty immediately – he seems polite, and you hope your jumpiness didn’t offend him.

“I apologize; I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says gently. “I merely wanted to ask if this was yours.”

He holds up a book which you immediately recognize as your poetry collection; it must have fallen out of your bag somewhere.

“Oh, yes! Thank you so much!” you exclaim with a smile, accepting the book from his gloved hand and returning it to your bag. “How did you know it was mine?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Nobody else is here. Someone was just leaving as I arrived, but he did not seem like the type to read poetry.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing – no, Michael was definitely not the literary type. This man, on the other hand…

“He’s not – not for my lack of trying, anyway,” you say with a wistful sigh. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” you introduce yourself, extending a mittened hand to him.

“John,” he returns, taking your hand in his large one to shake it. Your skin never touches his, but you feel a thrill of electricity race from your palm up your arm, making you tingle.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you breathe, finding yourself reluctant to step back from his personal space.

“And you,” he replies, not taking his eyes off of yours as if considering something. Your heart is thumping like mad, and you’re glad there’s no way he can hear it.

“So, the not-poet is a friend of yours, then?” John asks with an amused smirk.

“Who?” you ask, momentarily confused. This man’s presence is very overwhelming, and you find it hard to focus on anything else. “Oh, him! No, not really,” you say, rushing to get the words out. “We haven’t seen each other in years and were just catching up.”

“That makes a bit more sense,” he replies, and you cock your head at him inquisitively. “Someone closer to you should have the decency to walk you home, especially so late at night.”

You feel yourself flush, and hope that he attributes it to the cold.

“I don’t mind,” you say shyly, unable to look him in the eye as you speak. “It’s let me talk to you.”

Braving a look up at his face, you see him smiling down at you, his blue eyes glittering like the snow under the lights that line the sidewalk.

“May I walk you home, then?” he asks quietly, seeming nervous himself. “Provided that I would not be imposing.”

“You’re not imposing!” you say quickly, hoping that you’re not coming across as too eager. John merely grins at you before asking you to lead the way.

You slowly make your way back to Roberta’s home, trying not to shuffle your feet, but you can’t help it – you don’t want this walk to end. You and John talk about literature the way that you haven’t been able to with anyone outside of a college lecture hall, and it feels wonderful. John is knowledgeable, opinionated and thoughtful, and you’re both firing off questions one after the other. You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so comfortable with a stranger; he doesn’t even feel like a stranger!

All too soon, you make your way to the front gate to Roberta’s home, turning to John with a sigh.

“This is me,” you inform him reluctantly, trying not to let your disappointment show. “Thank you so much, for giving me my book, and walking me home.”

“It was my pleasure, Y/N,” he replies warmly, before giving you that look again that has you desperately wanting to know what he’s thinking. “Have a good evening.”

“You too, John,” you say, giving him a timid smile. “I’m really glad that I met you.”

You fight the urge to look over your shoulder to see if John is still there, forcing yourself to walk up the driveway and to the large, ornate front door. The moment you close the door behind you, you press your nose to the glass of the window to check, but you can’t see him standing there. Turning, you lean your back against the door with a sigh.

What an absolute dream…

An encounter with someone like that, even just a one-off as this was – and your heart twinges at the thought of not seeing him again – made you believe that your approach to romance was correct. Why settle for just anyone when you now had evidence that someone like that existed?

“You look like you had fun.”

You jump, a guilty smile spreading across your face as Roberta enters from another room with a smug expression.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie flatly, and the woman rolls her eyes.

“Oh please, you look positively smitten. I’ll admit, I didn’t think things would go quite this well when I set you two up!”

You open your mouth before snapping it shut again, weighing your options. Telling Roberta that your good mood was from spending time with anyone other than Michael would beget a hundred more questions that you didn’t want to answer. A large part of you wants to keep John a secret, keep tonight something that belongs only to the two of you.

You hide a smile behind a feigned yawn, moving towards the stairs and the privacy of the guest room you were staying in.

“I’m not talking about this right now. Goodnight, Bob.”

“Sweet dreams,” the woman replies, her tone thick with implications. “I plan to see this romance for myself on Friday night!”

---

Friday Evening…

Valek’s POV:

He feels he’s making a mistake, but he just can’t help himself.

Entering a venue amongst a large group of people, their inhibitions lowered as they celebrate, their collective blood pumping in their veins, and your mouth-watering scent among them… For all his centuries as a vampire, Valek finds himself doubting his self-control.

He’s been taking precautions, to be sure – feeding far more than usual in the days leading up to tonight, the Winter Solstice. Tempting as you are, he finds he no longer wants to feed on you – he doesn’t think of himself as worthy.

He remembers that quote about the flower by Osho – about not picking a flower that you love, as it then ceases to be – and finds it appropriate for you. As much as he wants to take you, consume you, that would deprive the world of the beauty and life that you bring into it, should he get carried away.

Despite that, he’s going to see you tonight; he can’t bring himself to stay away.

You’ve made him feel nearly alive again, ever since your meeting a few nights ago. He’s been plagued by desires; for your blood, yes, but also for more of your conversation, your smile, your essence…

He has been tempting fate these past few evenings, needing to be close to you and content to just watch from a distance as you appear at one of the manor’s windows or walk into town with your friend. He doesn’t let himself approach the home, not wanting to torment himself, even as you sleep. Instead, he has left deep red roses on the doorstep every night for you to find in the morning. Somehow, you rightly knew that they were intended for you.

He adjusts the cuffs of his blazer, still unaccustomed to this type of modern clothing. He’s chosen a black three-piece suit and tie, his shirt a deep blue that matches his mask, his hair down, and finds himself feeling only mildly foolish. Based on the conversations he’d overheard when he had first spotted you, he assumes that this is customary.

Valek is not sure what he wants from tonight beyond getting close to you – again, this all seems like a risky endeavour – but he hopes that one night will be enough to tide him over for eternity.

It would have to be.

He makes his way to the party, the path to the manor familiar to him by now, and joins the throng of people. It doesn’t take him long to find you by scent alone, avoiding attention and standing off to the side, his wallflower. You’re wearing a floor-length, strapless blue dress and a swirling mask of blue, white and gold, your hair in an elegant twist that emphasizes your graceful neck.

Tonight will be difficult.

 ---

Reader’s POV:

You watch the party from a respectable distance – it’s truly a sight to behold, but not really something you want to partake in yourself. You promised Roberta you would stay downstairs and in the ballroom until at least midnight, but you’re finding it difficult to keep that promise, and it’s only just past 10.

“I did not take you for someone that would attend this sort of bacchanalia, Y/N.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine, your memories and dreams over the past few days not doing it justice. Your heart immediately begins hammering away as you turn to face him, and he is utterly resplendent in blue and black – your costumes compliment each other.

“John!” you exclaim, trying to keep the overwhelming joy you’re feeling inside. “I was coerced into coming. What’s your excuse?” you ask, curious, and he smiles secretively as he holds out a glass of wine to you. He is wearing gloves, even indoors, but you don’t comment on it as you accept the beverage. Your mouth is suddenly very dry, and you take a healthy sip of the wine, feeling warm.

“I’m quite certain that the entire town was invited. I recognized the address as your own and found it difficult to believe that you would be hosting something like this; I should have known subterfuge would be involved.”

You giggle, the wine going right to your head. “This is my friend’s parents’ place; I’m staying with her while I’m in town. She demanded I stay down here until at least midnight as a lodging fee.”

“You’ll have to introduce me to her at some point tonight. I have to thank you for ensuring your attendance,” he teases in his deep, smooth voice that has your cheeks flaming beneath your mask. “You are dazzling.”

You try not to hyperventilate, pressing yourself against the wall for support.

“So do you!” you reply quickly, trying to recover. “You look…” Stunning? Gorgeous? Delicious? Like a dark prince straight from my indecent fantasies?

“…noble! Plus, we match!” you tack on hastily, trying to move right past your corniness.

John doesn’t seem to mind, giving you a dashing smile that has you nearly swooning. Instead, you quickly finish the rest of your wine, needing the courage to continue having a conversation with this unattainable entity. Your talk quickly returns to your passionate discussion of literature, and you find yourself relaxing in John’s presence, almost unaware of the party surrounding you.

Looking back up at John – you find your eyes need to take frequent breaks from gawking at him to allow you to maintain some degree of focus – you see that he is looking at you with an amused expression.

“What?”

“You’re practically dancing,” he comments, and for the first time you notice that you are indeed swaying to the music, an orchestral version of one of your favourite pop songs. “Would you like to?” he asks, and you immediately start to panic.

“No!” you cry out before it occurs to you how the rejection might be taken. “Not because you asked, I mean; I just can’t dance.”

“Nonsense,” he counters immediately, stepping closer to you and making you tilt your head nearly all the way back in order to keep looking up at his handsome face. “It’s all in the leading. May I?” he asks, extending a hand towards you. You bite your lip, setting your empty glass down on a nearby table before placing your hand into his much larger one, your fingertips tingly as they brush against the supple leather of his glove. That same feeling of electricity shoots up your arm and nearly has you letting out a moan; the alcohol clearly isn’t helping you keep your composure.

John leads you towards the edge of the dance floor, then turns and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer but not flush against him. He raises his other hand, still holding yours, then moves his gaze pointedly to your left shoulder, your arm still nervously pressed against your side. You slowly lift your hand up between your bodies, placing it on his broad shoulder, and he gives you a pleased smile. He guides you through the slow dance, his palm pressing yours in a way that somehow has you moving the right way.

“Wow, you were right!” you exclaim in surprise, hardly able to believe it. “It’s all in the leading.”

“You are also a very good partner,” John croons down at you, his eyes twinkling beneath his mask. “Very responsive…”

His words have you blushing and feeling nearly dizzy as you sway to the music under his guidance. You could happily get lost in this moment, in his blue, blue eyes forever…

But after a few songs, you’re feeling overwhelmed and need a break; it’s almost hard for you to breathe. Reluctantly, you remove your hand from his shoulder, and he respectfully releases you.

“I’m going to go get some water if I can, provided Roberta hasn’t replaced it all with vodka. Can I get you anything to drink?” you offer with a smile, wanting to do something, anything for him. John’s lips twitch in amusement, but he declines your offer, and you move through the crowd, trying not to stumble in your haste to get to the refreshment table and back to him as quickly as possible.

You gulp down the cool water greedily, still feeling so warm all over. You’re desperate to return to John – you feel a tangible ache at being apart from him, and while you’re not sure that it’s a good or healthy thing, it’s not something you’re willing to endure any longer than you have to.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Whirling around, you’re disappointed to see not John, but Michael, his black and gold costume a bit too ostentatious for your liking. But you suppose you’re being a bit unfair; there was nothing this man could do to hold a candle to John in your eyes.

“Good evening, Michael. Enjoying the party?” you ask politely, even as your eyes scan the ballroom for John – he’s not where you left him.

“I am now. Would you like to dance?”

You hesitate before giving your answer. You really don’t want to give Michael the time of day, but you’re not comfortable with rejecting him, especially surrounded by people you both knew. And even without alcohol, him possibly seeing you with John, or any other factors, men could be unpredictable when they were jealous or rejected. You look for John somewhat desperately one last time, hoping he’ll come save you, but he is nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” you agree noncommittally, unable to feign even a shred of enthusiasm. Unlike John, Michael pulls you tightly against him as he dances with you, his hips chasing yours in a way that makes you feel dirty and uncomfortable. You try to step away after the song ends, but he tightens his grip on you, giving you a pleading expression, and you resign yourself to another dance. He isn’t even bothering to try to speak with you, content to occupy your body rather than your mind, and you’re not upset about it as it allows you to keep your thoughts on John.

You manage to talk Michael out of asking for a third dance, but he doesn’t get the hint, attaching himself to your side as you move through the ballroom, still looking for John. He was so tall, so impressive, so utterly impossible to miss, that you’ve all but accepted that he’s left the party. You hope he hadn’t seen you dancing with Michael and gotten the wrong impression…

The large clock chimes twelve times, and you’ve never been more grateful for the sound. You’ve held up your end of the bargain to Roberta, and are now free to leave the party, and without John’s presence, there’s nothing to keep you here.

You fake a yawn, trying to look at Michael with an apologetic expression that you know rings hollow.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I’m exhausted,” you say. Michael looks pleased to hear this information, and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end at his expression.

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” he purrs, and you suppress a shudder, certain that he will misinterpret it.

“Oh, no thank you,” you say clearly. “It was wonderful to see you again, Michael. Have a good night.”

You move past him without another word, not wanting this conversation to go on any longer, and hurry to the staircase and your bedroom. You slip inside and immediately take your mask off, feeling dejected. John’s presence at the party had been such a wonderful surprise, but his disappearance has left you feeling hollow and surprisingly upset.

There’s a knock at the door and you reluctantly open it, expecting Roberta to be chastising you. Instead, John’s tall form looms in the doorway, his dark mask still concealing his face. You briefly stop breathing, your heart thudding against your ribs.

“John!” you cry, the joy evident in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave after speaking with that man from the park, and you looked upset. Are you alright?”

“I –” you start to say, but you pause, wanting to choose your words carefully. Were you alright? Probably not, considering you were head over heels for a mystery man you barely knew.

“I thought you had left, and I didn’t want Michael bothering me anymore,” you tell him instead, keeping things vague. “Where did you go? I was kind of hoping you would come rescue me.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have been proper.”

“Regardless, it would have been appreciated.”

John opens his mouth to continue your banter but freezes, his head turning to the stairs. After a moment, you hear the footsteps that had undoubtedly caught his attention; he must have excellent hearing. Feeling brazen, especially seeing as you don’t know if or when you would see him again, you take John’s hand and tug him inside, closing the door and turning out the light. You press your ear against the door, listening to the approaching footsteps. John watches you, an amused smirk on his face, and you glare at him in the silence. Eventually, the footsteps retreat, and after a moment or two of waiting, you conclude that Michael has gone, flicking the light back on with a sigh.

“You know, you could consider telling the man you are not interested,” John suggests with amusement. You growl at him.

“I shouldn’t have to outright reject him to keep him from trying to follow me to my bedroom,” you snarl, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Plus, men aren’t always the most accepting of a rejection.”

John is visibly upset by the implications of your words, and something about his slight shift in demeanour has you feeling wary.

“Are you suggesting that someone hurt you as a result of you rejecting them?” he hisses, the sound making you shudder.

“It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t that bad,” you reply quickly, wanting him to settle down. “Loads of my friends have experienced way worse! It’s fine, John, really,” you add, trying to reassure him. His jaw is still clenched, but he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down.

“Why would anyone respond with such anger?” he asks, sounding appalled. Perhaps the culture where he was from was vastly different from America.

“Most people only want to hear what they want to hear,” you say with a shrug. “No one is interested in honesty. I mean, I think I prefer the truth, but even I lie to people if the need arises – I’ve accepted that it’s necessary.”

“Do you mean you would always prefer the truth?” he asks, his eyes locking with yours with a serious expression.

“Yes.”

“In every circumstance?” he presses, clearly fishing for something. It has you feeling nervous.

“Yes, I think so,” you breathe, your eyes at his back as he walks across the room to look out your window. After what feels like an eternity, he turns back to you.

“I have not been honest with you, Y/N,” he confesses, looking deeply into your eyes with a pained expression, and you immediately feel yourself choke up. Of course this wasn’t real; there’s no way that somebody like him could truly exist.

Best get the truth out of him now, then, so that you could move on. You can already feel tears pricking your eyes, so immediately affected by his deception.

“W-What do you mean, John?” you ask in a weak, timid voice, and he takes a deep breath before responding.

“My name is not John,” he begins, and you tense up, the blood in your veins turning to ice. “I am Jan Valek, the first and oldest vampire.”

Neither of you blink or say anything for a long moment, your eyes locked. Finally, you let out a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh, the alcohol burning away your nerves.

“T-That’s a good one!” you giggle, unable to contain yourself, and John surveys you with a mildly irritated expression.

“I could prove it to you, if you’d like,” he offers.

“Oh by all means, go ahead!” you agree, beginning to laugh harder.

In a movement far too quick for you to see, he closes the distance between you, taking you in his arms and lowering his head to the side of your neck for a long moment, inhaling deeply. Your laughter dies in your throat immediately. He releases you, taking a step back before reaching up to pull away his mask. Blue veins beneath his pale skin are now prominent around his eyes, and he opens his mouth, revealing a rapidly growing set of sharp fangs.

You scream, stumbling backwards, but then he is on you once more, covering your mouth and nose with a gloved hand and lowering you to the ground gently.

“Calm down, Y/N,” he commands you, a strange light shining in his eyes, and against all rational thought you feel your body start to relax, your heartbeat returning to normal.

“That’s good,” he murmurs approvingly. “Speak quietly,” he adds, his eyes doing the glowing thing again, and you feel the scream you had been building up fade away. He removes his hand from your face, and you wrench yourself out of his grip, scampering back and away from him.

“What…” you begin, clearing your throat as your voice comes out hoarse and soft. “What did you just do?” you demand, the alcohol helping you push past your fear into anger.

“Mesmerization – it’s a sort of hypnosis,” John – Valek, apparently – explains, his voice calm.

“You hypnotized me?!” you hiss, injecting as much venom into your voice as possible since you are unable to yell at him.

“I didn’t want you to draw anyone’s attention, Y/N, I apologize,” the vampire offers, somehow sounding both sincere and unrepentant.

“Why? Are you going to kill me?” you ask him, whimpering at the thought. Strangely, the thought doesn’t upset you as much as the fact that he has been lying to you.

“No.” His reply is forceful and immediate; he looks anguished at the mere suggestion.

“Then what do you want?!” you cry out as loudly as you can, tears streaking down your face. You’re very aware of how the cut of your dress and your updo leave your neck completely exposed, and you pull your hair out of its twist to fall past your shoulders, concealing you. You know that it’s a completely pointless gesture, but you can’t help yourself, the instinct to cover yourself overwhelming.

Valek watches you with a pained, sad expression.

“It is not your blood that I desire, but your heart,” he confesses, longing and desire filling his eyes. “When I first came upon you, I did want to feed on you. Your scent is… intoxicating,” he groans slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head. Goosebumps erupt over your body as pure, primal terror courses through you.

“But as I heard you speak, as I watched you, as I spoke to you myself, you captivated me,” he continues, as though he hadn’t just admitted to wanting to drink your blood. “I have never been drawn to another as I have been drawn to you, Y/N. I have lived over seven hundred years, and in you I find a kindred spirit for the first time; you make me feel alive in ways I long thought were impossible. I have never wanted another the way that I want you, and I know that I will never find another like you as long as I live. I would happily spend the remainder of my existence by your side, and you would be the only thing in this world that I would cherish.”

There is a prolonged silence between you as you struggle to think of something, anything to say in response. Eventually, you give up.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” you ask, your voice slightly hysterical. How could you believe any of this?

“Do you desire me in the same way? As a confidante, a partner, a lover?” he asks bluntly. “Please, beloved, tell the truth,” he adds, and you feel the mesmerization at work once more. You’re upset that he’s controlling you with his strange magical abilities, but the urge to answer builds within you, creating a pressure so great that you are quickly forced to respond.

“Yes,” you moan out the truth, the intense feeling immediately dissipating as the words leave your lips. “You have been everything I have waited for, everything that I hoped a soulmate could be.”

The look he gives you is that of a man seeing the sun for the first time, awe and euphoria practically pouring out of him.

“But this is too much!” you continue, brushing aside the guilt that makes your heart clench as you watch his own break at your words. “You wanted to hurt me, to kill me! You’re not even human! And you lied to me – how am I meant to trust anything you say, to trust you with my life, when I’m… I’m so scared of you right now!” you sob hysterically, wrapping your arms around your knees. “I don’t want to feel this way for you, I don’t want to love you!”

You force yourself to look back up at him, scared at what your rejection might cause him to do. He is frozen in his crouched position on the floor across from you, eerily still, an expression of pure agony on his face. His eyes flit to yours, and then he nods, standing up in a flash of movement that causes you to let out a strangled yelp. He lifts you to your feet before you can protest, his movements gentle and controlled, and you find yourself trembling in his grip.

“Sleep, beloved,” he murmurs, and your eyelids immediately feel heavy. He guides you to your bed, helping you onto it but making no move to join you. You know that you should feel upset, angry, terrified – who knew what the extent of his strangely hypnotic powers were? – but you find yourself trusting him against your better judgement. He covers you with the blanket, looming over you, and you close your eyes – it’s too difficult to look at him right now. Still, you feel a tear escape and trail down your cheek at the mess of emotions that would be overwhelming you right now if you weren’t so tired.

“Be at peace, my treasure,” he coos softly as you drift off. “I wish for nothing more than your happiness.”

---

The next few days are hard and lonely. You had steadfastly rejected Roberta’s invitation to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve at a nearby ski lodge with your other friends, desperately needing to be alone. You’re grateful for the time to yourself – you know you wouldn’t be able to hide the turmoil of your emotions from anybody. You had initially wanted to get a flight back to school when you woke up the day after the party, wanting to be away from this place and anything that made you think of him, but a snowstorm had grounded all flights.

You’ve been too scared to leave the house, afraid of running into him despite knowing that he wouldn’t need to lie in wait for you in town if he wanted to see you. Regardless, you’re grateful for the fully stocked fridge and pantry – there was no reason you would have to leave the little bubble of safety you had encased yourself in.

You yawn once again despite it being the middle of the day, rubbing your eyes sleepily. The days since the masquerade have been devastating – you’ve floated around in a fog, confused and heartbroken and exhausted. You can’t get Valek out of your head; you dream of him, you think you see him in the shadowy corners of the manor… you recognize the symptoms of lovesickness and heartbreak from your favourite old romance novels, but you never expected that the pain could be quite so intense.

You’ve taken to jotting your thoughts and feelings down in your journal, just needing to get them out of your head – this isn’t exactly the sort of thing that you can talk to Roberta about. A shame, really; she’d been wanting for you to have a love life for years now, and now that you actually have a situation you can’t even come to her with it.

You wander around the manor, eventually ending up in the ballroom – you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to visit it since the night of the masquerade. You wrap your arms around your body comfortingly – the large, open space is incredibly drafty and cold when not filled with people. Your eyes instinctively move to the wall on the far side of the room where the two of you had stood, and you again feel overwhelmed by your emotions. You miss him terribly; not just his presence, but the way he made you feel worthwhile, hopeful for the first time in a long time.

But, as much as your heart aches with regret, you can’t stop the shiver of fear that runs through you at the thought. Valek was a vampire, immortal, lethal; he had wanted to kill you before you had even met!

You force yourself to head back to your room, the ballroom bringing up too much for you to handle just now. It’s dark again already, and you turn the bedroom light on as you enter. Your eyes flit to your journal, still laid open on your desk, bits and pieces of your handwriting jumping off the page at you.

… It isn’t only the feelings he sparks in me, but their depth; I never would have believed such intense emotion existed, let alone that it could be felt so much, and for so long…

… I haven’t had a restful sleep since that night, and it’s starting to affect even my waking life. I see him in every shadow, anticipate him around every corner; he has consumed me entirely, and I fear that it will go on forever…

You grimace down at your messy cursive, feeling pathetic. Who’s to say that he had even been genuine about his feelings for you in the first place? You could be mourning the loss of a relationship that he never even wanted.

You turn to sit on your bed, and as you do you notice that your book of poetry is open on your bedside table, a deep red rose placed along the spine as a bookmark. You freeze. You had buried that book in your luggage the morning after the party, and tossed the roses away immediately afterwards, not wanting to see anything to do with him, and you have been alone in the house for days now. Against your better judgement, you pick up the book, moving the rose to rest on the table and reading the poem on the open page.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

You find yourself tearing up as you read the poem with fresh eyes, Valek’s choice both beautiful and heart-wrenching. You’re still unsure if you can believe his feelings to be genuine, but if they are, you both share the same intense angst of an unrequited love. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself as you prepare to confront him.

“Valek?” you call out, your quiet voice still echoing through the silent old house. It was the first time you had said his real name; you haven’t allowed yourself to since learning it.

There’s a light breeze behind you and when you turn, Jan Valek is standing in the middle of your bedroom. Your heart races immediately, both in fear and longing, and you’re unable to tell whether you want to run into his arms or to run away. You survey each other in silence for a long moment, and then he finally opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t!” you growl out, your voice not betraying any of the nervousness and fear you’re currently feeling. His mouth snaps shut.

“Don’t even think about trying your mesmerizing hocus pocus on me, Jan Valek!” you snarl, and he presses his lips into a thin line; you think he may be trying to keep himself from laughing, which only fuels your anger.

“Who the hell do you think you are? You follow me around because you want to… kill me, or eat me, or whatever, you spy on me, you hyponotize me into confessing that I’m in love with you, you break in, you read my journal, you go through my things!” you pause mid-rant to catch your breath, angrily tossing the book of poetry at him, and he lets it smack him in the chest, remaining perfectly still. “How am I meant to feel about all of this, Valek?! I’m scared, I’m angry, I haven’t slept in days, I don’t even feel like a person anymore! You’ve ruined me!” you sob, unable to look him in the eye, instead staring at the ground in front of his feet.

“But I don’t need to tell you any of that; God knows you’ve been watching me suffer this whole time,” you whisper softly, your anger completely drained from you and replaced with a painful emptiness. You hear a sharp intake of breath that makes you look up at him through your tears; he looks completely devastated.

“So what do you want?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer, be it in the form of words or his fangs piercing your flesh. “Why are you here?” you demand, crossing your arms in front of you.

“I could not bring myself to stay away,” he admits in a quiet, pained voice, looking at the ground just as you had during your own little speech. “At first I was merely being selfish, needing to see you again. Then, I saw you suffering as I have been, and I needed to know that you would pull out of it, that you would be alright. But it has been days, and you are in such pain… I do not know what I can do to make it stop, but I will do anything you ask; I cannot bear knowing of your heartache any longer.”

Your heartbreak takes on an entirely different level of hurt as you watch this giant, otherworldly man come undone at witnessing your suffering. So much of your soul longs for Valek, your love for him rivaling all other emotions, and you find yourself needing to ease his pain, so intertwined with your own. But how to do it?

“Give me a minute,” you tell him quietly when he looks like he’s becoming agitated with your lack of response, “I’m trying to think.” He nods, seeming relieved that you’re planning on answering him at all.

You force yourself to confront all of the negative feelings that this man – for he was still a man, at least in some regard – to try to figure out where they were coming from and how they could be rectified. There was just so much that was completely unknown to you: who he was, what he was, what he wanted with you… perhaps getting some answers would help clarify things for you.

“You forced me to tell you the truth,” you remind him bitterly, and his mouth twists into a grimace. He certainly seems to regret his actions. “Will you do the same for me? Answer my questions honestly, no matter what?”

He nods immediately, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I will never lie to you again, dear one. Ask me anything, and I will tell you true. And if at the end you wish to be rid of me, I will never bother you again.”

Your heart twinges painfully at the mere thought of never seeing him again, but you push your feelings down for the moment, giving him a nod.

“Sit first, please,” he implores you, gesturing to your bed. “You are exhausted, beloved.” You move back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, not wanting to get too comfortable and fall asleep. Now that Valek is here, much of the pain you had been enduring had gone away, being replaced with overwhelming fatigue.

“What about you?” you ask, crossing your legs under yourself.

“I do not tire as you do; my kind has no need for sleep.”

“Well, sit for my sake then, if you would. Looking up at you will hurt my neck after awhile.”

Amused, he looks around the room at his various seating options, then neglects them all in favour of kneeling on the carpet before you, looking up at you with pure devotion.

“V-Valek,” you stammer, peering down at him. “I meant in a chair…”

“I am where I wish to be, Y/N. Now please, what answers are you wanting to hear?” he insists, gazing up at you expectantly.

You decide to start with some of the safer, less personal questions – namely, the ones about vampirism.

“So… you’re a vampire,” you begin hesitantly, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“I am,” he answers, smiling at you indulgently.

“Does that mean that you kill people regularly?” You hold your breath, bracing yourself for the answer.

“Not regularly,” he clarifies. “I have killed vampire Slayers who attempted to kill me and mine, mostly.”

“There are vampire slayers?” you interrupt him, incredulous.

“Yes, they are a part of the Catholic Church.”

You blink down at him, stunned as you process that piece of information. “That’s… er… alright.”

“I do not make a habit of killing humans, Y/N,” he continues, returning to your initial question. “I have, on occasion, gone too far while feeding, and lost myself to the moment, but not for many years. It is largely an issue of self-restraint, and I have had centuries to develop that.”

You mull this information over.

“So you don’t normally kill people to feed on them?”

“Rarely, and never intentionally.”

“And how often do you feed?”

“Every week or so.”

“And do your… victims know about it?”

Valek looks away from you with a contrite expression. You wait him out for a long moment, staring down at the top of his head, but he doesn’t respond.

“You promised,” you remind him, and he looks back at you, ashamed.

“They do not,” he admits, and you find yourself reflexively leaning away from him. His eyes track your movement with an unhappy expression. “Please, may I explain to you why?”

You nod; if he’s willing to give you the truth, the least you can do is listen to it.

“Once we have fed, it is common practice to coat the wound in our saliva. It seals the wound and expedites healing. By morning, they will have a faint bruise, and the area may feel tender for a day or two, but nothing more. I typically mesmerize the victim to sleep beforehand; they never realize anything has happened.”

“You mesmerized me to sleep,” you point out with a cold expression. “Did you feed on me?”

“No, beloved, I assure you. I knew from the first minutes of our conversation that I would never in good conscience feed on you,” he reveals, sincerity ringing in every word. “Without your permission, that is.”

“Why would someone give permission to be fed on?” you ask, confused. “What good does it do them?”

“Companionship between vampires and humans is not unheard of, romantic or otherwise, though I have no personal experience with that sort of thing,” Valek says, and your heart skips a beat. “Some humans offer themselves to be fed on in place of unwitting victims, believing it to be easier on their conscience for befriending one of my kind.”

He rests his head on your mattress next to your legs, looking up at you with a scorching gaze that has your knees going weak. “I have also been told that the sensation of being fed on is nothing short of ecstasy.”

Your mouth goes dry, and you busy yourself by adjusting your position – namely so that you can clench your legs together, darkly seductive images coming to mind. Perhaps Valek’s vampirism was yet another reason you had been drawn to him, your sexual fantasies far less innocent than your relative inexperience would suggest.

“Regardless,” you say, trying to get back on track – or at least away from the current topic. “Just because you heal someone up afterwards and they never know about it doesn’t justify feeding on them without their knowledge.”

“I agree with you; my reasons are entirely selfish,” Valek concedes, looking regretful once more. “But think of how you responded when I showed you what I am; how you are still afraid of me now.”

You swallow, thinking back to the primal fear that flowed through you as you had seen his true form for the first time.

“I do not enjoy being a monster, Y/N,” Valek admits, his voice filled with anguish. “I do not want to cause harm to humans, to see their fear and revulsion in their eyes. Not even if I can compel them to forget it by morning.”

You pity him, seeing the toll that the centuries of suffering he has endured has taken on him. It wasn’t his choice to be a vampire, you presume, and watching others be terrified of you for doing what was necessary to stay alive must be intolerable. Perhaps there is some logic to his approach…

You pester him with further questions, each of his answers only bringing up more questions. He tells you about his abilities – you grill him particularly aggressively about mesmerization – and how many of his kind there are, which prompts questions about how someone is Turned into a vampire. The interrogation goes on for ages, and you find yourself fighting your fatigue more and more as the night stretches on.

“You said that you were the first vampire the other day - How did you become a vampire if no one was around to bite you?” you ask, immediately feeling horribly guilty as the question has him nearly cringing. “I’m sorry! You don’t have to tell me.”

He looks back up at you appreciatively, slowly lifting a gloved hand to yours, stroking the back of your hand. You snatch up one of his fingers, giving it a squeeze with a shy smile, and his gaze softens at the gesture.

“I said that I would tell you the truth, my treasure, and I will. But thank you for your grace, Y/N,” Valek coos, and you feel yourself blush. He summarizes the brutal and unjust exorcism gone wrong, and you feel a vicious rage building within you that you haven’t experienced before.

“That’s horrific,” you hiss, nearly shaking in your anger. Valek reaches up without having to look, reclaiming your hand once more.

“Do not be angry, beloved – it was very long ago, and I have made peace with it.”

“How?!” you ask incredulously. “What could possibly help you get over something like that?”

“It enabled me to meet you.”

His tone is casual, as though it should be obvious that knowing you was worth torture and a warped, twisted life of immortality, though he can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. You’re sure he can hear the way your heart is hammering under your ribs.

“Valek… you can’t mean that.”

He smoothly gets to his feet, turning to look down at you with reverence. “I do mean it, little one,” he croons. “I may have accepted this existence centuries ago, but I have never been grateful for it until I met you. My heart no longer beats, but I feel as though it could for you, Y/N. I desire you in any and every capacity you would allow me to have you, my love."

The confession is everything you dreamed of hearing one day, and so much more.

“The other vampires that you mentioned before, the ones that were involved romantically with humans… how did those relationships end?” you ask hesitantly, and Valek’s eyes light up at the implication that you aren’t completely shutting down the idea of being with him.

“Some go their separate ways, some live out their partner’s mortal life with them, and others go on forever, the vampire Turning the human,” he explains, laying out your options. “I would never Turn you unless it was something that you wanted, Y/N,” he assures you. “I will be with you until your dying breath if you permit it, be that as a mortal or a vampire.”

You’re not sure when you moved off the bed, but you find yourself slowly closing the distance between you until you’re nearly in his arms.

“You are mesmerizing me, Jan Valek,” you accuse, looking up at him with unbridled longing. “You have to be. This can’t be real.”

“I assure you that you have the same hold on me, my treasure,” Valek purrs, his presence seeming to surround you, though he makes no move to touch you, as though worried the gesture might scare you away. “You have me completely at your mercy, Y/N. I will give you anything, you need only to ask.”

“I… I want everything that you are, Valek,” you confess, feeling as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders the moment you get the words out. “I love you; I need you.”

Valek slowly reaches for you, drawing you close to him with an arm around your waist, his other hand gently brushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear before cradling the side of your face.

“Kiss me,” you beg in a whisper, and he immediately obliges, bending to capture your lips with his own. The tingling sensation that had raced through you when your hand had touched his gloved one in the past pales in comparison to the sheer electricity that courses through you as your lips meet. Your desire fully overwhelms you as you throw yourself at him, leaping into his arms to twine your arms around his neck, your bodies flush with one another as you kiss him with everything you’ve got.

Valek seems briefly taken aback by your ferocity; it takes him a moment before he lifts you right off your feet, holding you against him with ease as you devour one another. His lips are surprisingly soft and warm, and incredibly inviting – you find yourself getting dizzy. Valek lowers you back to the ground, trying to break the kiss, but you cling to him; he ends up having to forcefully pull you off of him.

“You stopped breathing, beloved,” he explains with a chuckle when you pout at him, not even aware of your body frantically trying to catch its breath. You blush, horribly embarrassed, and he scoops you up, carrying you to the bed and sitting you down on it, moving to stand back from you, intent on waiting for you to calm down.

“That’s hardly my fault,” you say huffily, staring up at him with dark, hooded eyes, and he smirks down at you in a way that has your whole body trembling with need. “Please don’t stop!”

Valek has you on your back on the bed quicker than you can blink, looming over you with his larger form but pointedly not touching you. Impatiently, you reach up to pull him down but he thwarts your attempts, gathering your wrists and pinning them over your head gently with one hand. Such a little act of dominance has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, completely ready and willing to give yourself to him in any way he wants. 

“Tell me what you need, my heart. I want to taste your desire in your words,” he purrs, lowering his body closer to yours but remaining just out of reach.

He makes you want to let go and lose control and just feel, and you tell him as much, shamelessly begging him to take you and do all the darkly romantic, sensual things you didn’t think you’d ever be able to bring yourself to ask for. The heated look he gives you assures you that he will give you them all and nearly has you delirious with lust.

He moves agonizingly slowly, his hands controlled and precise as he undresses you. Every inch of your flesh exposed to his gaze is looked upon with adoration and awe, and he doesn’t stop to give into his burning desire to touch you until he has fully divested you of your clothes, relying on every shred of patience he’s developed during the course of his existence. Having not had his centuries of experience, you eagerly try to push his heavy coat off his shoulders, your fingers moving to the buttons on his shirt as he chuckles and moves to help you take off his coat.

“Patience, my dear,” Valek croons, taking hold of your hands once more as you squirm underneath him, chilly and impatient and desperate for his touch. “I fully intend to savour every moment of this as I make you mine.”

“But I want to see you!” you whine, pouting up at him and batting your eyes. He looks down at your naked form, desperate with need for him, and the pale blue veins around his eyes start to appear as he gives into his carnal desires. He licks his lips, and you see his fangs sharpening in his mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan wantonly as his vampiric side comes out. Instead of the fear that you had felt the first time you had seen him in this form, now it only sends a thrill through you; somehow, you want him even more because of the danger he poses. Valek, however, misunderstands and immediately moves to soothe you.

“It is alright, Y/N, just the similarities between bloodlust and my lust for you that bring this side out of me. I can stop if you are frightened, but I assure you that I am still in control of myself.”

“I’m not!” you pant, unsuccessfully trying to squirm out of his grip and pounce on him. “Please, Valek, I’m not scared of you doing anything except stopping.”

He leans down to kiss you once again to silence your complaints, and you happily oblige him, letting him kiss you into submission, his dark hair falling around you like a curtain. Still with his lips on yours, Valek tears his gloves off to reveal his long, slender fingers and sharp nails, running them lightly up your sides and making you arch up off the bed with a wail, your cries swallowed by his mouth.

He releases your lips, allowing you to catch your breath while he lays kisses all over your face as though he wants to claim every inch of you. You hope he does; you’re already all his.

“Your skin tastes of sunshine,” he murmurs seductively, his lips moving lightly down your neck to one of your shoulders, then slowly making their way along your collarbone to the other. “I would bask in your warmth forever if you would let me, beloved.”

“I will, I do,” you moan, reaching between you to try to finish taking off his shirt. A loud, purring rumble emanates from within him as your fingers stroke his bare chest, giving you a fluttering sense of pride. Feeling more confident, you slide your hands up along his neck to hold his face, tilting it upwards so that his eyes meet yours. He cocks his head at you with an inquisitive expression.

“You know that I love your old-fashioned approach to romance, Valek,” you tell him seriously, “and we will have my entire lifetime – if not forever – to take things slow. But I need to be yours right now. And I don’t want you to be gentle; show me that you desire me the way I do you – don’t hold back.”

He gives you a nearly feral look, his hands curling into fists as he tries to control himself; somehow, you are able to sense the energy he’s fighting to keep inside of him instead of tearing into something.

“You wish for a taste of darkness, beloved?” he asks, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You gawk at his broad, pale chest, trying not to drool, and lick your lips. Valek hisses at the action, adjusting himself over his pants. You sit up, your hands moving to his belt; this time, he doesn’t stop you.

“I wish for a taste of you, Valek,” you tell him in a fierce whisper, looking up at him as you remove his belt and move to the button of his pants. “If being rough with me will make you feel half as good as I know it’ll make me feel, then yes, please. Claim me, my love. Make all of me yours.”

He pins you back against the sheets with a growl, his sharp nails drawing teasing patterns across your breasts, your nipples peaking as if to demand more of the rough treatment. You arch your back, thrusting your breasts into his hands with a needy cry. Valek is utterly merciless in his torment, bringing you to the threshold between pleasure and pain and keeping you there. You are practically vibrating with need as one of his hands trails down your torso to your thighs, parting them with ease. One long finger slips between your slick folds, grazing your clit, and you shriek, bucking your hips towards him. You hear him snicker softly against your chest, his lips and tongue continuing to tease your breasts as his hands move lower.

“You are otherworldly when you are giving into sin, Y/N,” he croons, his fingers insistent as they explore your entrance, slick with your arousal. You let out a whimper that he swallows into his mouth, his fingers working at your clit and not relenting until you’re on the precipice of orgasm before he backs off, only to repeat the action, edging you over and over until you’re nearly delirious. And still, all you want is more.

“Please!” you manage to beg him, your hands guiding his face to your neck, wordlessly trying to convey what you want. You’re losing all sense of lucidity, clinging desperately to your sanity as he brings you so close to the edge. Valek turns his head to the side, his tongue reaching out to lick the outer shell of your ear and making you shiver.

“Please what, my sweet? I want to hear you say it,” he whispers, and you can tell he is enjoying prolonging your torture.

“Bite me! Feed on me!” you demand shamelessly, your eyes shut tight as you try to focus on the feeling of his mouth on your skin, seeking any indication that he will give this to you. “Make me scream for you.”

You hear him inhale deeply, his nose lightly running up and down the side of your neck, and you turn your head to the side to give him better access. His fingers have stopped their endless teasing of your swollen clit, but you are still trembling in anticipation. You feel his tongue dart out and give your sensitive flesh a sinful lick, making you gasp for breath.

Finally, you feel him bite you, the only pain being a slight sting that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you. You’re not even sure that ecstasy was an accurate enough description for this feeling coursing through your veins – the pleasure is absolutely indescribable. Your eyes roll back in your head, the parts of your body not currently pinned in place by his body thrashing out of your control as you come violently. You hear yourself distantly shrieking in rapture, moaning and whimpering his name, babbling for more as he feeds on you, his fingers relentless at your clit and drawing out your climax – or maybe he was just making you orgasm again and again without interruption.

Eventually, he ends his torment, licking your wound to seal it before lifting his head from your neck, traces of blood on his lips. He stares down at you with a satiated expression, trying to remove his hand from between your clenched thighs, still spasming and out of your control. You’re sure that your inner thighs will be bruised from how you had squeezed them against his firm hand, and the idea only adds to your bliss. He leans down to kiss you but hesitates, unsure of your willingness to taste your own blood. You’re able to gather enough strength and lucidity to force yourself to sit up and kiss him, pulling him down to lay on top of you. There is a slight metallic taste to his lips, but it is largely overshadowed by the intoxicating taste of Valek, an indescribable flavour that you’re sure you’ll never get enough of.

“Finally satisfied, my little temptress?” Valek asks teasingly against your lips, your body completely relaxed beneath him.

“Nearly,” you hum through a yawn, blindly reaching to remove his pants once more. He groans, rolling over with you and cradling you on top of his chest.

“You are exhausted, beloved,” he points out, stroking your hair affectionately. “There will be time enough for that later.” Stubbornly, you ignore him, pushing yourself up onto your knees and tugging his pants down his legs, trying and failing to dodge his hands as they snatch up your wrists.

“Valek!” you whine, pouting down at him. His lips quirk into a smile at your persistence, and you narrow your eyes at him before throwing one leg over him and straddling his narrow waist, inches away from where you really want to be. Valek stills, transfixed, and you slowly bend down until your face is right above his, feeling decidedly naughty.

“I believe we agreed that you would be rough with me, my love,” you murmur, one hand drawing teasing patterns across his bare chest. “I hope you don’t think I’m so delicate that I’ve already had enough of you tonight. I need you to defile me, inside and out.” You grind yourself against his firm abdominal muscles, and he growls. You decide to try the innocent approach next to get him to give in.

“Please?” you ask, batting your eyelashes down at him with the most innocent expression you can muster, and he lets out a wild snarl, rolling you onto your back again and tearing off the rest of his clothes hastily before positioning himself between your legs. You can’t see his cock, pressed against him as you are, but you can certainly feel it, the silky hard length rubbing against your thighs enticingly. Eagerly, you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to line him up with your entrance by feel alone.

“You will be my undoing, my treasure,” he tells you, his blue eyes locked with yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you until your foreheads touch.

“And you will be my forever, Valek,” you reply, kissing him passionately. He thrusts into your wet heat in one fluid movement that has your toes curling and sets about claiming you yet again; you have only so much time before the sunrise.

---

[FYI: The poem Valek chose for her is “Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond” by E.E. Cummings]

Hope you all enjoyed! Day #3's fic is looking to be more depraved than this one, if all goes according to plan... 👁️👄👁️ (It's a carry-over from Dark Desires October I didn't get to; sue me!)

[applejuiceyjuice-art]

PARASOCIALITE MANIFESTO

⚠️massive infodump ahead⚠️

i wrote all that forever ago when i was trying to figure out the dynamic (and after rewatching a stream of the beginner’s guide, feeling incredibly inspired to create a drawing of twitch as a parasocial figure and thought i needed someone on the “other end” so to speak). after writing vol 3, it just sorta fell into place. i was trying not to post too many drawings before it came out 🤭

my original idea was basically the clashing of “someone who doesn’t care about anything” and “someone who cares too much about everything,” which is still true but i really love the added parasocial aspect of it 😁😁😁 and i like opposites attract type of shit i guess

kik wouldn’t even think of twitch as anything more than a basic influencer type until after watching for a good while. at the start, he was only curious, and still held disdain for twitch’s streaming personality. but he likes it when twitch gets mad, so somehow he found himself continuing to watch old streams and new ones.

there’s also a sense of relatability all streamers have, and so for someone like kik, who doesn’t find most people relatable (or tries), it felt even more intense. the fact that twitch is genderfluid, has overlap in their sense of humor, and those random moments where you and the streamer are just… thinking the same thing in the moment, feels like a red strings of fate to kik. donating to get twitch to read her message gives her a major shot of dopamine lol.

things that kik originally disliked in twitch are now reasons why she’s soooooo amazing: workaholic -> talented, trying too hard -> cute. she agonizes over being so attached to someone she once pinned as a normie and over the possibility that she’s being creepy.

deep down kik is a social person, and used to talk to people all the time, only thru the window while rarely meeting anyone “irl.” since amino is the only other person kik cares abt now and they go periods of time isolating itself, welllllll ig kik gets a bit lonely.

from twitch’s perspective, she has been working hard and trying to fit in with the bigger sites as her platform basically became a major trend in recent years. she adores the sleekness and style of celebrity type sites (which is why she thinks yt and insta are attractive) and wants the attention too. just in her own, gamer way.

twitch gets easily swept up in the streamer/audience feedback loop, and hasn’t quite figured out how to create clear boundaries. she could tell right away that kik was a fan by the time they met again. it makes her uncomfortable and annoyed when people idolize her, but at the same time she kinda likes being showered with praise and attention and stuff like that. though she really hates it when kik makes assumptions about her based on their limited perspective, and whenever they say anything self deprecating, so she also uses this as an opportunity to be mean to someone/boss someone around without repercussion.

i specified that this happened during their burnout era because it would be when they make the most irrational decisions and more prone to being mean. before then, they probably didn’t even remember kik’s existence or rejected him. it would take a while for twitch to actually see anything in kik, partially cuz he never talks about himself or his interests, and also cuz he’s just not their type (or so it seems??)

i think that twitch might like kik if she approached her normally, like being bold but not overly obsessive. but then it wouldn’t be very parasocial-ite would it? that would only happen at the very beginning since kik wouldn’t care as much, or the very end after they get past the parasocial aspect of it n are just talking normally.

after the dust is settled, their true dynamic is kik still being mushy/touchy-feely and twitch being awkward about it bc normally she’s kinda adverse to that stuff and would rather it be a joke. especially around other people. kik would bother the fuck out of him in public and likes embarrassing him. this also compounds with kik being the antithesis to the image twitch likes/wants to achieve.

of course at the end of the day they’re just dolls im playing with and i dont necessarily have to stick to any strict timeline or anything lol

dont get me started with the eddsworld polycule thing. theyd all kill each other

[hauntedwitch04]

Bdays cake

brother!Den Winchester x sister!reader

(Dean x Cas because Destiel is my ship and they deserve to be happy)

Words: about 2.0k words

Warnings: sad Dean (my love), John Winchester (in this account John Winchester is a worse enemy and more evil than Lucifer, at the end I kinda love my Luci :) ), lovely Cas, lovely moment between siblings

Author's note: Hi! Here another one shot fo the series for my birthday. Tomorrow is my birthday and I'm kinda freakin' out because i have my first exams of uni :). Hope you like it loves, with love your witch Becky

p.s I'm at season 6, so plese be kind with comment if i got somethign wrong :)

Requests are open I Ask

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Bday plan

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean loves cakes.

And this I think is a universally known truth.

And he's also a decent cook, if we have to be honest, but if we really have to find something that he can't cook, well that's cakes.

Today is your birthday, his beloved little sister, whom he still finds hard to believe has grown up enough to be 19 years old, yet just today he had gone to the supermarket to buy candles, since the nine had now been lost since you celebrated your nine years many years ago and the one they had used the year before for your 18th birthday had melted after Cas had used it as a Christmas candle, thinking it was a badly made candy cane. As a matter of fact, the cashier had smiled at him when she had seen his purchase, along with all the ingredients for the cake she is making, and had asked him how old you were and he in turn, trying to be cordial to the old lady had replied that you would be 19 the next day, today. The lady had smiled even more and told him something like, "It's bad to see one's children grow up so fast, I guess all you would want is for your little girl to still be little." Those words had upset Dean a bit because: first, he had not thought he looked so old that he could have a 19-year-old daughter (Cas, in fact, had spent hours trying to convince her beloved husband, who had been staring at himself in front of the mirror, that he didn't actually look that old and that the lady probably couldn't see that well); second, that indeed perhaps those words were true.

You were born out of a one-night stand, had with a woman in some state that he doesn't even remember, of his father; in fact all Dean remembers is that one day, when he was in his early twenties, his father had walked through the motel door with a bundle of blankets in his hand, and inside in that comfortable chest was you. His life had improved with a simple little human, in fact that day had changed his life, and for that it was the best day of his existence.

Sam had been leaving him for a while, and he had never felt so lonely as he did during those years, and then you had come along, and everything had improved so damn much. Sam had learned about you from a call at two o'clock in the morning from his brother as soon as you had arrived, and immediately asked him to come over to find out about the new addition to the family, and loving you immensely from the first time he had held you in his arms, and found out that Dean was already going crazy not wanting to miss a single thing with you and buying every baby thing he saw in the supermarkets.

For a long time he had been trying to keep you out of his life, leaving you with Bobby and a few other trusted people, but then he couldn't keep you away from himself anymore, coming to see you every chance he got even driving days at a time without stopping, because you were always his light, his tender little reason for living.

Over time you had grown and become a great hunter, having great teachers.

You have always been related to both of your brothers then, but with Dean there has always been a special relationship, you have always been accomplices, each other's halves, and because of that until he met Castiel, Dean was convinced that you were his soul mate.

And it hurts him to see you grow up, to see you become an adult, you his sweet, innocent little girl making drawings to hang on Bobby's fridge with you, your favorite big brother and a gutted monster on them. (Dean also will never confess it to you, because he is too used to not letting on how he feels, but he still has in a box in the back of his closet all the things you gave him when you were little, a box full of mementos, candy, labels and especially all those drawings, wanting to somehow trap little baby you).

But coming back to this moment, we left our Dean intending to read the recipe for your favorite cake, thinking it was very easy, much easier than the website would have you believe. So he takes the ingredients he had bought the day before and begins our great hero's adventure against the most treacherous monster of all: the bakery.

A few minutes pass and already the oldest Winchester finds himself covered in flour, butter and something he cannot recognize, and all having not even opened the flour yet, and for that he does not understand how it was possible.

Cas at the door lets out a small laugh as she looks at her busy husband, who upon hearing it looks up and gives him the middle finger.

"Are you still sure you want to do this? We all know you're not a bad cook, but when it comes to pies you're not exactly the best person for the job." Confesses the angel, approaching Dean, then trying to wipe his cheek before leaving him a kiss in the small area he had obtained.

"She deserves it. I-I have to make her a cake, I have to do something to show her that she is very important to me, she is my little girl, I love her." The man says, gradually shutting off his voice, hoping her husband would not hear the last words, still ashamed a little that he might look weak in her eyes, even though she had now seen him in all his lowest moments and had loved him even in those moments. Cas shakes her head, as we all are doing after all, and looks at the man she loves enough to deny her past and embrace a new present, dreaming of a wonderful future.

"And just tell her what you told me? Don't think I'm not happy that you want to bake her cake, I'm convinced it's a wonderful idea, but it would be even better perhaps if you bake the cake together. She loves to bake, especially cakes for you, why not do it together this time?" Proposes the shorter man of the two, looking into the eyes of Dean who was currently holding back tears, feeling for the umpteenth time as wrong, useless and incapable as when after a hunt gone wrong his father scolded him and beat him until he almost fell unconscious after yet another beer too many.

"Precisely because of that, I have to do it for her. I know perfectly well what it's like to have the need to make sure you do everything to make others feel good, without thinking of yourself, and I don't want her to feel that way too, that the cakes she bakes for me are a duty. I want to return the favor, and for once do it to her." Winchester counters, trying to hide his distress from the piercing blue eyes of the angel he loves so much.

"Then let me help you." Cas begs him, taking his still soiled hands, not caring that he too is now covered in flour, before wrapping leave them to wrap his arms around the waist of the man who had stolen his heart ever since he had seen him in Hell, causing him to plummet, literally dare I say it, from his home.

Dean doesn't find the strength to answer right away, but shakes his head vehemently, before saying in a low voice that he had to do it alone, that he couldn't be helped or the guilt would grip him for who knows how long. This time it is Cas's turn to shake his head, commenting as loudly as all the Winchesters he knows thus emphasizing that John is not for a dick's sake like his sons by reiterating once again the eternal hatred he feels for that existing being who had helped bring his favorite siblings into the world, highlighting how they were frighteningly the same: stubborn, proud, and stupidly and bravely the most selfless and good people he knows.

The sweet and affectionate scene between the two, to the detriment of us poor readers, is interrupted by a voice, yours, which you cannot help but comment on the angel's words.

"Well my dear, you have bound yourself to us with a bond worse than a pact with Crowley himself by marrying that old man." You laughingly comment, looking around the kitchen a bit as you wonder what happened: whether a bomb went off or your brother and his husband decided to have crazy sex while cooking themselves a romantic dinner.

"What happened here?" You ask, then rest your eyes on Dean's red ones, which had let go a few minutes ago in a silent cry on Cas's shoulder.

The angel mumbles an excuse and runs out of the kitchen, leaving you alone, and you immediately hug your brother, not knowing what else to do.

"Sorry, I don't know what else to say. Sorry for not being what you deserve, I wanted to make a cake to celebrate your birthday, but I couldn't even make a fucking easy cake. I am a terrible person, I failed, just like dad failed. I wanted to be better for you, I wanted you to have everything I didn't have, and I feel like shit because I couldn't do it." Dean confesses tearfully as he clutches your figure in your mighty arms, and you can't help but cry in turn and hold him even tighter to you, and sob against his chest.

"Don't even joke about it, you have always been, are and will always be great. You are the only reason I didn't run away from Dad, because I wanted you, and I love you so much, that I can't leave you even for a second because you are a fundamental part of my happiness." You answer, in a voice just loud enough for him to hear you. "I love you, because of what you do and what you are, not because of what you feel obligated to do."

"I love you too little one, much more than you know." He confesses in turn. You stay like this for a while in each other's arms, doing nothing and enjoying each other's presence, until you propose something.

"How about we go see a movie, maybe one of the cartoons we like so much, and then tomorrow, since it's my birthday, we'll all have a cake together, with even those two assholes behind the door who are trying to hide." You comment, seeing Sam and Cas come out of the corner where they were hiding.

They, a little guilty, apologize but you say it's nothing and together they all went to see a movie together, like the beautiful and happy, if a little unfortunate in some (many) cases.

Now the story does not end here, but how about giving these poor people some privacy, I think they have suffered enough already. I hope this little story, good continuation and good research to the next fanfiction to read, from your prophetess Chuck-no sorry Becky is all, with love, to our next fanfiction.

TAGLIST

@cheyennep3107 @mortica-raven13 @theviewfromtheotherside @supernatural-lvr @imnotcryingurcrying-blog

[aquarii-if]

Liviana has never cared for birthday gifts.

In her eyes, the best parts of her birthday came from the people she was surrounded with. Even if she never got another gift again, she'd be willing to do anything to spend every birthday surrounded by people she loves. She never wants to be lonely on her birthday.

But despite the thousands of people standing outside right now, she's never felt so alone.

While the day used to be spent laughing with friends and eating the small candy her mom could afford, nowadays, she can’t spend a single second of the day without seeing reminders.

Her eyes trail down to the framed picture on her dresser, four smiling faces look back at her. She feels tears brink on the corner of her eyes as memories come flooding back. Celebration is hard when in the middle of a war, but she remembers her old friends trying their best with what they had. Cakes made out of dirt that they smashed and threw at each other, pretending the gunshots were fireworks, sneaking off to a new area to explore... Sure, it was depressing, knowing that as soon as the day was over they'd turn back to the horrifying reality, but it was nice to just forget for a little while.

Now, as queen, she no longer has to worry about the scary noises and the blood staining her clothes. She gets to spend her birthday surrounded by her citizens and a pile of gifts she once believed only existed in fairytales.

Without the friends she's had since birth.

She shakes her head, looking away from the picture, remembering what Estelle told her after it was over. "They knew what they were doing when they started the revolution. They knew the risks. You knew the risks. It's not your fault, Liviana. They'd hate to see you beating yourself up over this."

Estelle's right, but she can't convince herself to believe it. While she's here celebrating, enjoying her reign as queen, enjoying being alive, they're all stuck in Mahina's realm. The only consolation that they're even the slightest bit happy is promises and reassurances from Mahina herself, a woman who is known to not be trustworthy.

She's interrupted by a loud knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is.

"Are you just going to sit here and sulk all day?" Estelle calls out, tapping her fingers on the door frame.

When Liviana doesn't turn around, Estelle groans, bringing a hand up to her face. "Liv, you can't keep doing this. Hiding in your room isn't going to bring them back. I know you're still grieving, but it's not going to get any easier if you don't allow yourself to take a break and feel for once."

Liviana wipes a stray tear from her cheek as she shakes her head. "I can't trust myself to not cry in front of everyone."

Estelle walks over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Then cry."

Liviana meets her eyes. "What?"

"Show them how you feel." Estelle shrugs. "They'll understand, they were there too. They lost people, loved ones, friends... They probably feel the same way you do. You're Mitan, Livi, not a machine, you're allowed to grieve and you're allowed to show that you are grieving. I promise they'll understand, and I'm sure they'd appreciate you reminding them that you do care."

They fall into silence for a moment, listening to the cheering and festivities outside,  before Liviana slowly nods. "Yes... You're right. I can be strong, but I'm allowed to feel weak as well."

Liviana turns to the mirror, fixing herself as a small smile appears on her lips. "Let this day of my birth be dedicated to those who cannot celebrate anymore. My friends, my family, my comrades, we shall use this day to remember those who are believed to be forgotten."

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 3: timer au snippet

the birthday countdown continues with another snippet that has nothing to do with clown pirates! (this one is anime-adjacent, though.) i’ve vagueposted about this fic enough times, i might as well see if anyone would be interested in actually reading it. mob psycho friends, for you today i have a bit of serizawa pov on a serirei soulmate timer au (based more heavily on the worldbuilding in the TiMER movie than most aus of this type) that i’ve been poking at for a year or two; this section features a lot of classmate OCs and absolutely no reigen, but i hope you like it anyway:

“Inoue, Ishii—you young people should have the opportunity to live as you please.”  The housewives joined in, and soon enough cash had been pooled to pay for both young people to get a TiMER.  In the face of such encouragement they had to agree, and soon Ishii was looking up the closest TiMER store open this late into the evening, while Inoue begged others to join them. “If it’s just the two of us, they’ll think we’re dating and hoping for one of those thirty-second matches,” he said with wide-eyed horror.  “I couldn’t bear the pressure!  Please,” he turned on Nakamura, “don’t you want the satisfaction of knowing your shitty ex never deserved you?”  Glancing between Serizawa and two of the ex-cons who’d agreed with his priorities, Inoue said, “Even if you don’t want to seek them out just yet, don’t you think your soulmate has the right to know that you exist?” Serizawa swallowed around a lump in his throat.  He thought, suddenly, of Reigen, who didn’t date, who didn’t talk about exes… who was, in an understated way, quite lonely.  Serizawa had never looked close enough at his wrist on the rare occasion it was bare to notice whether his TiMER was blank or counting down, but he suddenly felt certain that Reigen was one of those blank-faced masses, waiting for someone, somewhere, to think, I want to meet you.  I want to love you someday.

(1.5k below the cut)

Thinking back, it all only happened because Serizawa’s civics teacher left her dinner at home one night.

The teacher was a few minutes into the night's lecture on the impact of foreign nations on the economy when her son knocked at the door with a furoshiki-wrapped bento in hand.  She was embarrassed, some of Serizawa’s classmates were teasing her, her son was really eating it up… it was a sweet moment.  The sort of thing that made Serizawa glad he’d decided to go for his high school equivalency through courses rather than cram school.

Then the teacher’s son bowed, gave them all his best wishes, and cast his eyes across the room as he made his way to leave.

BI-BI-BEEP.  BI-BI-BEEP.  BI-BI-BEEP.

A handful of students gasped, but most of the room went silent as the teacher’s son and a student in her twenties seated near the back of the room startled and checked their wrists.  Even Serizawa found himself craning his neck, trying to get a closer look.  An excited energy filled the room as the pair gave each other a curious second look.

“Really now,” Serizawa’s teacher tsked, glancing over her son’s shoulder.  “I’m never going to get the class to stay on task after that.” She waved a hand dismissively at the lot of them. “Oh, go on, there’s no point in me trying to restore order.  We can afford to lose one class to a bit of celebrating.

“Besides,” she added as people started to cheer, get up, and start gossiping in earnest, “it’s not every day my son meets the love of his life.” Pinching her son’s blushing cheek, she pushed him towards the girl in question and sat down to crack open her bento.

The class broadly split into three groups, after the initial uproar: those who had met their match, those who hadn’t yet, and those who didn’t have a TiMER.  The ones who had were comparing meet-cutes—though to Serizawa’s inexpert ear, they all sounded basically the same: I was in a place, so were they, our eyes met, BI-BI-BEEP.  The ones who hadn’t yet sat with their wrists shown off, comparing countdown times or bemoaning their foolish soulmate who, for whatever reason, had yet to get a TiMER installed.  The last group, the smallest by far, primarily consisted of people who had already been married when TiMERs came on the market, fifteen years or so ago.  Serizawa didn’t meet that criteria exactly, but he’d certainly been… unavailable at the time.  A couple other classmates—divorcées, ex-cons, the boy everyone assumed had been raised in a doomsday cult—were in the same boat, and the mood of the room had them talking about why.

“At this point in my life it would show a lack of faith in my husband,” said one housewife, to nods and murmurs from several others.  “I made a promise to him, and getting a TiMER would tell him I value the possibility of love over that commitment.”

“Besides,” said another, “what if you both got one and immediately matched with each other?  What a waste of time!”

“And money!  Even with the government subsidizing the cost, and offering that big tax credit if you marry and have a child with your match, a TiMER is pretty pricey.”

“That’s why I haven’t gotten one,” one of the younger students in their class—Ishii, who’d been orphaned at a young age and left school to fend for herself at fifteen—confessed. “I just can’t afford it, especially not if I have to wait years to find my match and get that tax credit.”  The doomsday cult boy, Inoue, nodded knowingly.  The housewives made a lot of consoling sounds.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what TiMERs mean for the young people,” said Hayashi, a man in his mid-fifties, as he contemplated his bare wrist. “Thanks to the government’s eagerness to encourage the population to be fruitful, and the discrimination lawsuits from people who’d gotten a TiMER in good faith but turned out to have a same-sex match and thus wouldn’t get any of the benefits they’d been promised, we have same-sex marriage in this country, however limited.” He fidgeted with a gleaming gold ring. “But I was already in my Kenji’s koseki by then, and we didn’t want children.  So there's no benefit to us… and if I got a TiMER and it tried to tell me anyone but Kenji was the love of my life, I wouldn’t believe it.  So there’s no point in me getting one.”

“I’m… nearly the opposite, I suppose,” whispered Nakamura, a divorced woman in her late thirties, who was probably the classmate Serizawa admired most.  She’d left her husband under difficult circumstances with virtually no means of supporting herself, as she’d married quite young in lieu of completing her compulsory education.  Now she had plans for a business of her own, once she completed the necessary school equivalencies and got the appropriate licenses.  “I’m afraid a TiMER will tell me I should still be with my ex-husband.”  This earned her cries of disbelief from the housewives.  “I know it’s foolish, surely a person’s soulmate wouldn’t treat them the way that man treated me, but… the way he made me feel when I was young… I still worry.”

Serizawa made a sympathetic sound, flushing a little when he realized he’d drawn the attention of the group to himself.  “Ah… I suppose I haven’t given it much thought,” he said, feeling a bit foolish.  Would it be pathetic to admit he didn’t see the point?  That he’d never even had so much as a crush before, and probably wouldn't know what love felt like without someone telling him? “With everything else I needed to do to reintegrate into society, love just… hasn’t been a priority.”  A few of the ex-cons nodded, understanding.

“If you don’t make love a priority, it won’t be one,” Hayashi said knowingly.

“There are other things worth prioritizing,” Nakamura said, though her smile was a little sad at the edges.

“Yeah, but…” Ishii sighed, resting her chin in her hand and staring off into the distance.  “It would be kinda nice, wouldn’t it?  To know there’s someone out there, waiting for you?”

“Or think of it from their point of view,” Inoue added, looking fretful.  “If your soulmate went the normal route, and got a TiMER when they turned 20, it’s been blank all this time.  They’ve been waiting for you.  Isn’t it cruel to keep them waiting any longer?”

That got the lot of them thinking, Serizawa included.  It was one thing to say well, I don’t know if this is important to me.  It was another to say to whoever it was out there, who had cared enough to spend real money on the possibility of love, you aren’t important to me.  That did seem a bit cruel.

“Mm,” Hayashi nodded to himself.  “That’s how they get you.  The poor, lonesome, blank-faced masses, waiting for you to fork over your hard-earned cash so you can save one of them from their cruel fate.” Inoue crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at him, and he cackled.  “Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, boy!  In fact, here,” and at this, Hayashi dug out his wallet and pulled out a couple large bills.  “Inoue, Ishii—you young people should have the opportunity to live as you please.”  The housewives joined in, and soon enough cash had been pooled to pay for both young people to get a TiMER.  In the face of such encouragement they had to agree, and soon Ishii was looking up the closest TiMER store open this late into the evening, while Inoue begged others to join them.

“If it’s just the two of us, they’ll think we’re dating and hoping for one of those thirty-second matches,” he said with wide-eyed horror.  “I couldn’t bear the pressure!  Please,” he turned on Nakamura, “don’t you want the satisfaction of knowing your shitty ex never deserved you?”  Glancing between Serizawa and two of the ex-cons who’d agreed with his priorities, Inoue said, “Even if you don’t want to seek them out just yet, don’t you think your soulmate has the right to know that you exist?”

Serizawa swallowed around a lump in his throat.  He thought, suddenly, of Reigen, who didn’t date, who didn’t talk about exes… who was, in an understated way, quite lonely.  Serizawa had never looked close enough at his wrist on the rare occasion it was bare to notice whether his TiMER was blank or counting down, but he suddenly felt certain that Reigen was one of those blank-faced masses, waiting for someone, somewhere, to think, I want to meet you.  I want to love you someday.

“Alright,” Ishii said, “I’ve found one that’s ten minutes from here and is open until nine.  How many shall I say are coming?”  Inoue, Nakamura, and the two ex-cons raised their hands.  After a moment, so did Serizawa.

Why not?  It was like Inoue had said—it wouldn’t happen right away.  He would have time to get used to the idea.

[crystallizedday]

So for the past few weeks, I’ve been fleshing out my “PPG 20 Years Later” AU a bit in my spare time, & I’ve finally decided to share what I have so far with y’all!

Do keep in mind that these are just concepts I may change later & these are all just sketches for the most part, but I’m way too excited about this AU & I’m too lazy to do the line work, so uh

HERE YA GO!!

Also, this AU’s based off of the first 4 seasons of the original show, so uh… do keep that in mind too.

Anyway, let’s start off with the designs for the trio.

Since Blossom’s the most academically smart of the three, I had her be the one to follow her father’s footsteps & becoming a professor, a master of many scientific trades. During that 20 year time skip, Professor Utonium actually created his own research facility, one that Blossom later inherits & runs.

Bubbles is a veterinarian, the best Townsville could ever offer. Being able to speak to & understand any & all animals certainly helped her obtain that title. Her kindness from her childhood is still as strong as ever, evident by how she spends most of her time outside of her job doing community work & generally helping out the city however she can.

Buttercup is Townsville’s star athlete, competing in any & every sport she can schedule. She is far more in control of her own emotions than when she was a child, rarely ever lashing out at anyone who didn’t deserve it. She is a lot more patient & considerate of others than she used to be, & is never afraid to lend a helping hand when needed.

Out of the three, Blossom is the most… well, not okay as she begins to struggle with feelings of self doubt. During one of her more concerning episodes, she created a little A.I. buddy to keep herself more emotionally stable.

Button was programmed to be very kind & considerate, her primary function being to keep Blossom company & to ensure she did not do anything too… heinous, something Blossom is immensely paranoid of. Button CAN & WILL go beyond her initial programming to try & get Blossom to socialize more often instead of being cooped up in her lab 24/7.

Button is only visible through a particular pair of goggles Blossom created for herself, just to make sure no one else would discover Button’s existence. After all, she didn’t want anyone thinking she’s finally lost it, & she didn’t trust anyone else to know about her dwindling mental & emotional state.

Because therapy is apparently overrated.

Button simply wants the best for Blossom & everyone else in the world, constantly pushing Blossom to focus on inventions that ensure the safety of the people & could help them thrive. However, this clashes with Blossom’s ever-growing desire to do something about the rising crime rates, since Blossom’s solutions for that particular issue tend to be rather extreme, much to Button’s disapproval.

& while Blossom for the most part listens to whatever Button will suggest, her initial trust in Button’s opinions become… skewed, not due to anything Button does in particular, but more so due to Blossom’s dwindling self worth taking…

too much of a toll on her…

…

NOW ON TO THE BADDIES!!

Mojo Jojo is still kicking, just as persistent & petty as ever. & while the city has grown more used to his… questionable acts of villainy or even his genuine practices of his own citizenship, he is still VERY MUCH a threat, his mechs & schemes growing more & more dangerous by the year.

He’s also… incredibly lonely, & will pathetically beg for ANY other villain to hang out with him so he’ll have SOMEONE to talk to for once.

Princess Morbucks has recently inherited her father’s business, just as Blossom has. She is still very much a brat, but now she no longer needs her father’s permission (for the most part) to throw money at her problems. Despite her criminal record & unlikable attitude, she has become a bit of a celebrity to Townsville & even other neighboring cities. She will almost always use this fame to rag on anyone she pleases, particularly Blossom & the facility she inherited. However, Blossom couldn’t give less of a shit, often leaving Morbucks frustrated with how she can never get a reaction out of her.

Fuzzy Lumpkins is VERY much retired & spends most of his time in his lil shack, enjoying the quiet & beauty of the luscious forest around him. He surprisingly doesn’t mind visitors nowadays, but he rarely ever speaks. He just likes to listen. Bubbles often visits him from time to time to talk with him, since she worries poor Fuzzy gets rather lonely, & she feels like he doesn’t deserve to feel so lonely.

Him has gotten quite the transformation over the years. He’s become a little more monstrous now with no pupils & no visible mouth… at least not at first. He doesn’t actually SPEAK with his claws, he simply eats with them. WHAT exactly? Well I’m sure you can figure that one out. His boa has also formed into a sort of tail for him, constantly moving around & such. He rarely ever leaves his own dimension, only ever bringing certain mortals into his world either for his own entertainment or as a snack. Thus, it’s a lot harder to really deal with him.

The Amoeba Boys are NOT the same characters as the ORIGINAL idiotic Amoeba Boys. Instead, they are mitosis-created descendants of what has essentially become a sort of mafia-esque family, with three of them getting the originals’ hats as a sign of “passing on the torch”. Unfortunately, the youngest one’s hat had become far too torn & tattered throughout the years, so all that the little guy’s left with is a hat they stole at some convenience store one day.

With how fast they’ve been multiplying for the past few years, it might not be long until they’re eventually taken care of for good to prevent them from taking over Townsville with their sheer numbers ALONE.

Sedusa has long since retired from her criminal ways, now settling down as a still-single woman (cause, let’s face it, she may be hot, but no one in Townsville wants to share their bank account with this woman) just trying to keep herself beautiful.

She’s cranky, irritable, & even the mere mention of the PPG gets her in a bad mood after all the shit they’ve done to her. All she wants nowadays is to be left alone to live her life without being accused of a crime she didn’t commit… which happens a lot on a count of she used to be a master of disguise & all.

Now…

It is time for the IMPORTANT SIDE CHARACTERS!!

Or at least a few of them, because I am reaching the image limit for this post & I haven’t fleshed out too many citizens yet.

While I am not COMPLETELY sure about this one, I am thinking Miss Bellum probably stepped up to be mayor once the OLD mayor… well… yeah.

She didn’t necessarily WANT to, feeling like she didn’t really deserve to be the mayor (showing that, despite how she knew of the old mayor’s incompetence, she still cared for & respected him very much), but Townsville quite liked her & how much she’s helped the city over the years, so she was encouraged into this position. Her competence has greatly helped Townsville stay afloat, & her own combat skills means she can handle almost any attempts to harm her or take her hostage without the need to call for aid.

Now…

Y’all remember Mr. Green from the Chris Savino seasons of the original series?

Well, while I have my fair share of problems with that episode, I decided to not waste the potential of this character & use him as the basis for a bit of an oc of mine…

SOOOOOOOO…

Miss Keane is still a kindergarten teacher, but she often still keeps contact with the PPG to see how they’re all doing. She’s even sweeter than she used to be 20 years ago, & every kid in Townsville absolutely adores her for it.

However, at some point, she met a certain someone, a fellow teacher. On account of the green skin, unnaturally white hair, & the horns, this guy was most likely from Monster Isle, where all the monsters that attack Townsville are from. It’s odd how he’s more humanly proportioned & it HAS raised a few eyebrows considering this isn’t what monsters are usually known for, but Miss Keane didn’t care.

She saw how sweet & considerate he was & eventually fell in love with him, the two being married for a good few years now. This as well as a few other accounts of Townsville civilians showing some compassion & humanity towards other “monsters” has recently resulted in a sort of shift of attitude towards monsters in general, even if tensions between the two sides are still rather high.

So uh

Yeah!

Meet Mr. Oliver Tilia!

A play on both the word “Reptilia” as well as the tilia genus, which (during my brief research on it) can be found in some species of trees & bushes! This’ll make sense in another post.

So uh…

Yeah!

That’s pretty much what I got so far!

Imma make a reblog of this to showcase some other sketches of mine to further flesh out this AU, but this shall be the main post about it!

I hope y’all enjoy this AU!

& hopefully I’ll get a better name for it soon JWIWKWKCKSKDL

[edge-oftheworld]

one thing that really got me about last night was luke made this offhand comment about how the last time he was at the venue he was 17 and not allowed onto the floor. which sure is weird and restrictive when you’re performing but also rules are rules (and I know what our regulations on underage drinking are and the consequences for venues) so idk that’s a conversation for youth liberation and the existence of child stars in general

but that got me thinking, annie came down to the merch table after her set and we all met her and I freaked her out with my retro cd burning habits and we bonded over the suburbs we grew up in even though I’m pretty sure we both forgot each other’s. and yeah she’s the opener when we’re all here for luke and she’s trying to build a fan base. but would luke have wanted to come down and meet the crowd like a local artist after playing a gig often does if he could?

I know fans go a bit crazy over luke especially and he doesn’t seem to have figured out how to interact in ways that dissipate the collective mania. and I can’t be the one to judge either of those things but it got me thinking about how it’s a whole decade later and he’s well past the age of anyone telling him what to do; but in some ways he does seem just as restricted in the venue as when he was 17. and I don’t know if he’d actually like to meet fans (ashton I’m pretty sure would, calum and michael have their moments, I think he’d just be scared tbh) but like. if your opener is able to have that option, wouldn’t it be nice if you did too?

and yeah he’s a bigger artist and whatever he’s made a living out of this for years years and has hits with the band and he’s a heartthrob or whatever. but I do wonder if the beauty of being actually a smaller artist is that you’re able to genuinely connect over your songs a lot more and not have to deal with the fan mania and love confessions and people who don’t understand consent? I just wish sometimes that the thank-you’s we had to cram into a few words on a sign could be genuine natural conversations (especially after he’s written a whole album about feeling lonely while on tour after an album he had no idea would be relatable because its content is the kind of thing you feel like no one else gets in the moment). and idk but maybe if you’re not much freer at 28 than 17 that might not help?

I’ve got my criticisms of celebrity as a concept and I loved meeting other fans even if I can’t relate one bit to how horny some of them were. but it seems to me we had this great opportunity to take some hard experiences, with a person who’s incredibly talented in that they’re able to turn them into such beautiful art, and just all kinda convince each other it might not be the exact same for all of us but when we feel like we’re alone that’s absolutely not true. share stories and catharsis. but instead the one person in that building who was possibly the least free to do that was luke himself.

there’s only so much validation you can get from songs being sung back to you surely especially with their personal vulnerable nature. like yeah he’s said it’s great and unexpected but I also don’t think he’s expected a single good thing in his life so it’s possible that’s not hard to achieve? it’s just a weird juxtaposition between the beautiful heartbreaking songs (and it’d be worse if he didn’t cut bloodline and cetfy) and then it’s like. he’s doing a shoey. he’s nervously rambling on about state of origin going for a lighthearted insult and accidentally revealing an insecurity about something women in sport like myself have long fought to be a false binary. just someone give that man a hug and one that’s not gonna freak him out how did we ever create a social environment where that’s impossible?

[formulatrash]

Hi! Back with another slightly weird ask that you probably have little professional insight into: why doesn’t Lewis participate in the Secret Santa? I remember years back Alonso talked about Lewis as this sort of isolated figure in the paddock which as a concept has really intrigued me, but idk, maybe he just doesn’t wanna buy a present. Anyways Happy Holidays to you for whatever you celebrate!

honestly I think he probably just thinks it's naff. he doesn't usually do grill the grid if he can help it, either. he did do the secret santa a few times but seems to have wriggled his way out. I mean tbh I don't think most of us would do a workplace secret santa if we weren't forced by HR so full sympathy.

but yeah, Alonso's comment about Lewis being isolated; well, he's one to talk. except that yes, Lewis was and always has been a bit of an outsider, partly by choice and maybe that's in self-defence (I'm not gonna try and read his mind) but also because of who he is. F1, like all motorsport, is an insiders' world and regardless of his dominance Lewis has always been treated as an outsider. he seems very at home in and embedded in and embraced by Mercedes, since 2017 and that's really good but that hasn't always even been the case with his teams.

Rachel Brooke did a really good interview with him in, I think, 2020 and he said that he was aware he was the only person like him, said she must understand that, being a woman and that stuck with me. I don't know Lewis' experience, of course but it is pretty fucking lonely being The Only One Like You, like you're existing in a parallel universe that doesn't quite connect - and won't reach out to you anyway. eventually you learn to wear not being invited into things as not wanting to be there, which you probably actually didn't anyway but it would have been nice to have the choice or whatever.

that said, Lewis has been quite chatty and banter-y the last couple of years. the thing with Lando and the bucket hat at Silverstone, f'rinstance, which even goes outside his peer group. so maybe he's feeling more comfortable with the broader paddock these days, too.