#to be around someone it would not make sense for them to ever want to associate with or give their time and effort to again)

[michellesneptune]

Future spouse PAC🕊️

hi guys! as of lately, i’ve been obsessed with the idea of marriage🫠🫠. (a subtle wink wink at my boyfriend) (not the 7 house also being the house of open enemies👀, maybe that’s why it’s occupied my thoughts iykyk). devoting yourself to one person, gathering all the sureness and love one can have in order to create something much stronger than you’d ever be able to be on your own.

i’ve never done this kind of content before so make sure to tell me how you feel about it!🐚

and now. take a deep breath and relax. be mindful about it — consciously give yourself permission and time to connect with your heart. you don’t have to rush, you don’t have to be on top of your shit for a peaceful moment. pick a card that speaks to you, that you feel has something important to tell you, relax, and listen.

card number 1

i feel like you guys could be a lot like me when it comes to the idea of marriage. somewhat traditional — looking for the one and only forever love, the fairytale. i feel like you could have libra+scorpio placements and truly value your relationships, put them on a pedestal even.

i also get the feeling that you could be struggling with your self worth right now, being self conscious. let me tell you right here: YOU ARE SO HOT!! your energy lures people in, you are soft, understanding and composed. they sense that there is A LOT to you, you have so so much to offer. anyone would be LUCKY to go out with you!!

you could’ve been mistreated in the past, betrayed by a lover and that made you cautious and guarded. it’s not surprising, your heart is a precious one so there’s a lot to defend. but the right spouse will treat you like a QUEEEEN.

i feel like they will make you think “maybe all the shit i went through was worth it”. every day you will wonder how did i get so lucky, you could be a bit suspicious even. but you will open up and learn to trust, gradually. they will be genuinely interested in your thoughts, plans and opinions, i even get the feeling that making your dreams come true will be a priority to them!!

my advice to you: pour into yourself, fill your cup up. ask yourself a question: “what would make me happy with myself?” then go do that. it can be small, just do it this week. it’s your homework! my personal suggestions: go out for your favourite food, meet up with your friends, draw or paint something, go to a bookstore, read. anything that will make you more reassured in yourself and your identity. explore yourself, there’s so much to you!!

card number 2

i’m getting that you are quite a practical person, you like to get shit done. CEO girlboss stuff. you take no crap, you’re responsible and dependable, some earth placements??

but here’s your little secret: you are a big softie inside and even though YOU WILL NEVER ADMIT IT, you dream about romance. you create fake scenarios every night before you go to sleeppp. but you’re scared to pursue it, scared of being vulnerable and someone seeing your weaknesses. you put on a brave face and do what you’re expected to do.

i can sense that you’re tired. that you just want to curl up and cry in a corner, not be the strong one anymore. you dream about someone taking you into their arms, taking the responsibilities away. you are worthy even when you don’t provide everything!!!!

you are strong and fiery and i admire people like you so much. your future spouse will also be strong but they will not dare to fight with your fire. they will be in awe of what you’re capable of and even a tiny bit scared. they’ll remind you to take care of yourself and relax once in a while. i feel like they will want to have kids with you and are very family-oriented, making your home cozy, safe and beautiful. possibly healing the wounds from your childhood, giving you what has been lacking.

and if you don’t want children, i see a bunch of puppies/cats/any other pets running around!!

my advice to you: take a leap of faith!! if you’ve been invited to a date or an event, or a trip but thought about bailing because of work, deadlines blah blah blah— GO! you won’t regret it!!

card number 3

i sense aquarius energy!! independent and unique, your approach to love and relationships is equally remarkable and untraditional.

that energy is sooo attractive to potential suitors🥵. we want most what we can’t have. they all chase you but you’re unbothered, not because you’re commitment-phobic, but because you’re waiting for someone to join you on your perpetual adventure instead of try and change you to fit their mold.

you know you thrive in freedom and you know you’re one of a kind. every day with you is exciting, when they let you be yourself.

here’s the thing though: you’ve mastered your own individuality but it’s not a crime to depend on others. i know you’re smart and i know you’re talented, but there are people who will love you even on those boring days, where you just sit in silence because there’s nothing new and nothing exciting. and i think that you’ll grow to appreciate the routine!!

i feel that you and your partner will give each other lots of space to develop as individuals and indulge in your own hobbies. then you’ll talk about them and fight over who gets to tell their story first😂.

they will be loyal and an exceptional person, just like you are. but i feel like you will fall in love with something more, something deeper in them. you will recognise it in each other and never stop noticing that special thing even in your biggest chaos and storms. they will love you by keeping up with your beautiful mess.

my advice to you: don’t worry, if life has seemed boring lately. take this time to get to know yourself, maybe slow down a little. have you noticed the flowers blooming everywhere? when did you last drink your morning coffee without scrolling? when did you last clean your refrigerator? indulge in some routine

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

that’s all for today my loves!! this has been really intuitive and fun for me ;)) i hope you can find something in here for yourself and i hope it can bring you some joy💕💕⭐️

till next time

Michelle~~

[le-trash-prince]

That KimKenta Scene

Kim truly has so much empathy and understanding. Here's a man that no one would blame Kim if he hated him, but all Kim can see is Kenta's hurt.

I also just uhhh need to scream at the sun because we've never seen anyone ask Kenta how he feels about anything, and here Kim comes and rips the bandaid off of the gaping wound of Kenta's heart.

Kenta tries to dodge Kim's question, so Kim responds in true Kim fashion, by being more direct. And more than that, he sits down next to Kenta, putting the two of them on even ground. If he wants honesty from Kenta, he can't talk down to him.

It makes me think of the most personal conversation Pete and Kenta have had with each other so far this season, and how much Pete towered over Kenta the whole time.

But Kim meets Kenta where he’s at. And sitting next to Kenta also lets him see Kenta's face, because that's where the answers lie. Yes, he's heartbroken, yes, he's in love with Pete. It's written all over Kenta's face.

cue Kenta's internal flashback that Pit Babe knows it doesn't even have to show us:

bc the visuals of Kenta and Kim sitting side by side in black and white are such a distinct reminder of That One Time Pete Found Out About Kenta's Feelings. And while there's ambiguity about whether Pete actually truly knows how Kenta feels, the man is a touch empath.

Kim's solution to everything is of course to tackle it head on. "Just tell him, and then maybe you can be happy." Kim assumes that Pete doesn't already know because 1. When do Tony Chen's kids ever talk about their feelings? And 2. If Pete knew about Kenta's feelings, why would he treat Kenta the way he has. (And 3. If Kenta loved you, how could you do anything but love him back? Impossible in Kim's opinion)

And this tiny, self-deprecating smile Kenta gives here tears me to shreds. "No way." He knows there's no chance. He's always known there was no chance.

This is translated as "He just doesn't feel the same," but what Kenta says is "kao kae mai dai chop pom." He just doesn't like me.

I think they probably translated it the way they did to remove the ambiguity of the word "like," to clarify that Kenta's romantic feelings aren't returned. But the ambiguity cuts me to pieces every time I listen to this line bc if Kenta feels like Pete just... doesn't like him? As a person? Like Pete only cares for him out of a sense of obligation, but doesn't actually want to be around him? Like a family member who you're tied to, but you don't actually like? I need to go outside and scream at the sun.

And there's the Oh. on Kim's face. Because yeah, sometimes honesty has its price, and that price is having someone knowing you love them and them walking away from you anyways without a single reassurance that they care about you.

And I wonder how much Kim is reassessing all the interactions he’s seen between Pete and Kenta. The way Pete left Kenta with Kim. The way he said he would find an escape route for Kenta and then never mentioned it again. The way Kenta was willing to put himself at risk by leaving Kim's apartment to go talk to Pete, only for Pete to ask, “Do we have to do this now?” The way Kenta could have been killed earlier that day, and Pete never once asked if he was okay.

"Never felt anything for me." "He just doesn't like me." I'm falling apart at the seams I swear to god.

Kenta has spent his whole life chasing affection from Tony and from Pete, only to be abandoned by Pete and treated like an animal by Tony. And he just accepts it. He accepts that he's never had a father and that Pete doesn't even like him. I need to bundle him into a pile of blankets. I'm going to chew my arm off.

But it's okay because Kim is gonna bundle him up in love for me. I'm certain this is the first time anyone has ever told Kenta he could be loved. And Kim says it so easily, so matter-of-factly, like it's a simple truth. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude from Kim, it just reflects the way he lives his life. If you meet an obstacle, you either find a way through it, or you shift your trajectory.

Kenta gives Kim such a dubious look in response, though, like the idea of being loved is a fairy tale he stopped believing in long ago. He can't believe that anyone would truly love him because no one ever has. As much as it's a truth for Kim that Kenta can be loved, it's a truth for Kenta that it's impossible.

Except Kenta still craves love anyways. It's why he immediately replaced Tony with Pete, why he's trying to make Pete proud, why he keeps showing up at Pete's in the middle of the night to go, "Hey look, I can be useful, won't you let me stay?"

I know it's impossible for Kenta to believe Kim right now. But even if he resists the idea of Kim loving him, Kim will be determined to prove it to him. Already, he's earned Kenta's trust through simple, concrete actions. More than anyone else right now, Kim is in a position to hurt and torment Kenta, and instead he keeps going out of his way to help Kenta. He has sheltered Kenta, he has kept Kenta from isolating himself, and more than that, he has seen Kenta without judgement.

And the fact that Kenta was willing to open up this much to Kim is proof of that trust. Kenta spent all of s1 hiding his pain and suffering, and the only time his mask crumbles around other people is when he is at a breaking point.

But with Kim, with the first person to ask how Kenta feels, he's able to let himself be vulnerable enough to say Everything I have ever done has been for men who never loved me. And in return for that vulnerability, Kim reaffirms that trust by telling him, It's okay, you can still be loved anyways.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (58/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Nothing in your life has ever felt like this - thank God you have friends to help you through it.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, Kika and Lando are actually the best

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: the end of deal from our girlie pov. hope you like it. feedback is appreciated!

You’re still standing there. Not moving. Not breathing. Not quite believing. 

The sound of the crowd fades into a dull throb, like your ears have been packed with cotton, or maybe even grief. Your fingers tighten around the camera, the strap biting into your palm, grounding you in the only thing that’s ever made sense – your work. 

Because he doesn’t make sense. Not now. Not like this. 

You don’t understand what you’re looking at – Charles beside her, too close, too familiar, too different. Not the man who whispered I love you against your skin a few hours ago. Not the man who held you like he was afraid to let go. Not the man who kissed you like it might be the last time. 

No, this man in front of you knows exactly where the cameras are. 

And he’s standing exactly where they want him. 

You swallow, the lump in your throat thick and rising. You want to blink and have it make sense. You want to rewind time. You want to ask, but there’s no space fort hat here. Not behind the rope – and definitely not behind the mask he’s wearing like it was always been part of the suit. 

A photographer next to you leans in and murmurs something to you that sounds like a „they make a good pair, huh“, but your blood rushes into your ears, almost making you deaf to all the noise around you. 

Your breath is locked somewhere between your lungs and your throat. You don’t look at the photographer next to you. You can’t, because if you do, the cracks might show. And once they do, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold everything together. Not tonight. Not in front of all these eyes. 

So you keep facing forward, still as a statue. A beautiful, tragic one. 

He’s still standing there, laughing at something Elena just said, hand resting at the small of her back like it belongs there. Like it’s supposed to be there. And like it didn’t caress your body just hours ago. 

You blink hard, once, just to keep yourself here, to stay upright. To stay somewhat sane. 

You remind yourself that you’re not the show, not the question they’ll ask later. You’re the one who’s supposed to watch and take photos, not feel. But your heart doesn’t care about roles. And as the flashes go off again – brighter, louder, endless – one thought slips through, impossible to silence. 

He knew what would happen tonight when he made love to you in the afternoon. He knew he’d be standing there on the red carpet, on the other side oft he rope, with someone that’s not you. 

And maybe that’s the cruelest part. He knew how much it would kill you inside. 

And he did it anyway. 

He held you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing. Kissed you like nothing else mattered. Looked at you like he couldn’t bear to look away and miss a second of your beauty. 

But he left. Not in the room. Not with words. In this moment. On this carpet. With this choice. 

You stand there, surrounded by glittering gowns and thousand-dollar lenses, and realize you’ve never felt more invisible. No one sees the girl behind the rope clutching her camera like it’s the only thing holding her together. No one notices the way your chest trembles with every breath you take. 

They’re too busy watching them. Too busy capturing them. 

You want to scream, to rip off this stupid red dress, this night, this version of you that thought love meant being chosen even when no one is watching. Your chest burns, but not from anger – but from the ache of knowing. From the betrayal that doesn’t shout – it settles. Quiet. Heavy. Like wet silk clinging to your ribs. 

Your gaze finds his like a wound finds the blade. Unavoidable. Precise. Final. 

It’s not even a long look – barely a second, maybe less. But it’s enough. Enough to undo you. Because in his eyes, there’s no shock, no apology. No guilt. 

Just something quieter. Something worse. Acceptance. 

Like he always knew it would come to this. Like he’s already made peace with the version of the story where you’re left behind the velvet rope, and he’s smiling with someone else next to him. 

And that’s what undoes you. Not the kiss between them that didn’t happen. Not the questions shouted by strangers. Not even her hand on his chest like it belongs there. It’s the way he doesn’t fight it. 

The way he doesn’t fight for you. 

No flicker of hesitation. No step forward. No whispered excuse to slip away and find you. Just stillness – calculated, composed. The Charles they all want to see. The one who knows exactly how to perform without flincing. 

And maybe that’s what this was all along. A performance. 

Not the love – no, that was real. You know it was. 

But this ending. This deafening silence. This cold unraveling dressed up in velvet and flashbulbs. It was written long before you stepped into this beautiful dress. 

Your heart clenches, tasting copper in your throat from holding everthing in. 

Because he didn’t just let you go. He let the world believe you were never his to begin with. As he turns back toward tot he cameras, hand still resting on her waist, you realize something no flash will ever catch – he didn’t lose you tonight. He gave you up. 

You lift the camera, looking through the lense one more time, because it’s the only way you know how to survive this. Through glass. Through distance. Through detachment. 

And just before you press the shutter, you whisper the quiet truth that he’ll never hear over the roar of everything he chose instead. 

I would’ve stood beside you. Not when the lights were on. 

But in the dark, too. 

- 

You don’t remember how you left. 

One moment you’re standing behind the rope, blinking through flashbulbs and heartbreak. The next, you were walking – no, moving – through the crown, cutting across the marble oft he entrance hall like your body had already decided before your mind caught up. 

The car came quickly. You don’t remember calling it. 

Your fingers were shaking when you opened the door to the hotel room. Maybe someone held it for you. Maybe the driver said something gentle. But none of it mattered. Not after that look. Not after the hand on her waist. Not after the quiet letting go. 

You toss your camera bag on the counter, your chest burning like you’ve just run a marathon through glass. Your phone buzzes where it’s been clenched in your hand the entire time – lifeline, anchor, curse all at once. 

Lando: Have fun tonight. You deserve it. sent an hour ago

You swallow. He must’ve seen the stories, the buildup, the PR sparkle. Everyone did. Everyone will. 

And then – buzz. Again. Another message. This one is newer. Five minutes ago. 

Lando: Check your email. Flight home in 2 hours. Don’t stay there. 

You freeze. 

Not because it’s unexpected – but because that’s what Lando does. 

He pays attention – quietly, instinctively, like a person who’s memorized the way you disappear when you’re hurting. He never asks for explanations first. He just moves. Acts. Makes space before you even admit you need it. 

You stare at the message, thumb hovering, but you don’t respond. You can’t. Not yet. 

Instead, you open your email. And there it is – confirmation number, departure time, seat by the window. One nag checked. One carry-on. His signature, even in silence, is everywhere. Clean. Fast. Done. 

A lump rises in your throat. Not like before – not the thick, suffocating ache that came from watching Charles turn away from you. 

This is different. This is the ache of being seen. 

You get up, pull your suitcase from the corner. The red dress is still on you – you don’t have the nerve to take it off. You don’t even try. The thought of peeling it off – of undoing the night thread by thread – feels impossible. Like if you take it off now, you’ll unravel with it. So you leave it on. 

You drag your suitcase to the door, half-packed from before. You throw in what’s left on the counter - your charger, your brush, your camera, heavy with untouched shots you can’t bear to look at yet.

The zipper sticks, and you yank it harder than you mean to. It jerks closed, teeth catching fabric, like it knows how much of you you’re trying to shut away.

You pull your hair back with a trembling hand. Check your phone. Just enough time. 

You take one last look around the room, at everything you were supposed tob e part of tonight – the bathrobe you wanted to wear after the gala, the champagne bottle on the sideboard, the silence that swallows you whole. 

And then you’re out the door. Through the lobby, where someone in a suit nods at you, but doesn’t recognize the storm nehind your eyes. Past the marble that gleams like a lie. Into the waiting car, where your fingers curl around your phone again. 

Still no reply typed out. Still no words. 

But your sceen is lit. Lando’s name still there. Holding space. 

The drvier asks your destination and you give it quietly, voice tight in your throat like the words are afraid to come out. 

The city glides past the window in blurs of golden light and wet pavement, all cobblestones and hard winter shadows. It feels like a place you need to escape from before it swallows what’s left of you. 

You lean your head against the glass. It’s cold. Grounding. Real. 

And Lando’s name glows again. 

Still no message. Just – presence. Just him, in the only way he can be right now. 

You finally type something. Your thumbs hesitate, rewrite. Then you settle on just:

You: On my way

You hit sent. No punctuation. No explanation. But maybe that’s all it needs to be. You don’t know what’s waiting for you on the other side of this flight – answers, comfort, silence- But you know one thing – it’s not this. 

Not the ache in your chest that started the moment Charles let go of your hand. Not the way you still feel his eyes on you like a ghost refusing to leave.

You shift slightly, the red fabric riding up your thigh as the car turns sharply, nearing the airport lights. You’re still wearing the dress. Still wearing the mistake. But you’re not wearing the lie anymore.

When you step out, the wind bites through the silk and your bones all at once. But you pull your coat tighter and walk forward anyway.

You don’t look back. Not once.

-

The door clicks open with the same sound it always makes—familiar, soft, harmless. But nothing about this moment feels familiar anymore.

You step inside the apartment on quiet feet, the red dress clinging to your skin like it knows it doesn’t belong here. Your suitcase rolls behind you, wheels catching on the edge of the rug you once picked out together.

The lights are low. The kind of low that says someone’s waiting.

And she is.

Kika’s sitting at the kitchen island, feet tucked beneath her, a mug in her hands. She looks up the second the door shuts behind you. No smile. No words. Just those soft brown eyes, already full of something thick and knowing.

She stands. Crosses the room in two strides.

You try to stay composed. You try to make it to the bedroom. You try to be okay for just one more second.

Your breath catches. Snags. Like there’s no air in the room, like the walls are shrinking.

You take one shaky step toward the hallway - toward the bedroom, toward anything that isn’t this - but your knees buckle before you get there. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and your hand hits the wall for balance, but it’s no use. The weight in your chest is too much.

The red dress suddenly feels like it’s suffocating you.

Your fingers scramble for the zipper at your side, but it won’t move. The fabric is too tight, too unforgiving, clinging to your ribs like punishment. Like it knows what you wore it for. Like it’s mocking you.

“Get it off“, you choke, breath hitching as panic builds. “I can’t - Kika, I can’t breathe -”

She’s there in an instant, her hands gentle but swift, helping you out of the dress as you claw at it, nails dragging against silk, desperation rising like a tide. The zipper gives. The sleeves slip from your shoulders. You step out of it with a sob so guttural it doesn’t sound like it came from you.

Then you're in your underwear, knees hitting the floor, dress puddled in a heap of red around your ankles like something dead.

And you cry.

Big, broken cries that shake your whole body. You curl in on yourself, arms around your stomach, as if holding yourself tightly enough might keep you from falling apart even more.

Kika drops to the floor beside you with a blanket, wrapping it and her arms around your trembling frame. Not saying anything. Not needing to.

You bury your face in her shoulder and scream into her skin.

You scream for the silence. You scream for the velvet rope. You scream for the moment he let go.

And when your voice breaks, your body stills. Your breaths come in jagged, shallow gulps. But your arms finally release the tight grip around your waist, and instead, you reach for her.

You let yourself be held. She holds you through it. Through the noise, through the collapse. Through the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t fit into words. Her arms around you are steady, unflinching. She doesn’t hush you. Doesn’t tell you to breathe. She just lets you fall apart.

The blanket is soft, but it’s her presence that keeps you from vanishing. You cling to her, your fingers curled into the fabric at her back, your sobs stuttering out until you’re left gasping. Hiccuping. Quietly unraveling.

“I - I thought I was enough", you whisper, voice shredded. “I really did.”

She presses her chin to the top of your head, like anchoring you there.

“You are", Kika says, the first words she’s spoken since you fell through the door. “You still are.”

The silence after is thick. But it’s not empty - it’s full of her holding space for everything you can’t say yet.

You feel the aftershocks still moving through you, your chest aching, your cheeks wet, the red dress discarded like a ghost at your feet. You close your eyes, pressed against her, and for one suspended moment, you let yourself exist inside the wreckage.

No pretending. No strength. No answers.

Just this brutal, necessary truth: It hurts. God, it hurts.

-

The door creaks open as your hip bumps against it, a cardboard box balanced in your arms, the word “fragile” scribbled in rushed black marker across the top. The hallway smells like sawdust and fresh beginnings. You step inside, the soles of your shoes brushing over the hardwood, and pause for a second.

New.

The word settles into your chest.

Then shuffling, coming from the kitchen. A thud. A muffled curse.

“Careful with those!”, you call out, voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

A head pops around the corner - brown curls a little messy, cheeks flushed from effort. “I was careful", Lando says, lifting a hand in mock surrender. “The cabinet, however, was not.”

You let out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. Almost. But it’s tight in your throat.

He walks toward you, taking the box from your arms before you can protest. “I told you I’d get the heavy ones.”

“You also told me you wouldn’t unpack the kitchen without me.”

Lando grins, that familiar one that pulls a little crooked. “Technically, I’m not unpacking. I’m just making room for pizza later.”

You glance around the apartment. Boxes still stacked in corners. Curtains still waiting in a heap on the couch. No photos on the walls. No memories yet. Just clean slate.

He watches you take it in, the shift in your expression - softening, hardening, breaking a little.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you walk slowly toward the middle of the room, where sunlight is pouring through the window in long golden lines. You turn in a slow circle, then stop and close your eyes for a breath.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Lando doesn’t fill the silence that follows. He never does. He just lets it stretch, like a place to land.

When you open your eyes, he’s still standing there, box at his feet, hands in his pockets. Not pushing. Not pretending. Just present.

And somehow, that’s what makes your chest crack open again - not in the way it did on the red carpet, or in the hotel, or on the plane. But in a way that feels like possibility. Like maybe not all endings are meant to stay endings.

Lando lifts one eyebrow. “Pizza now, or after the breakdown?”

You huff out a laugh through your nose. “Can’t I have both?”

He smirks. “You’ve got great taste in pain and carbs.”

You nod, stepping past him to grab another box. “You’ve got terrible taste in mugs.”

Lando gasps in mock offense, clutching at his chest like you’d just insulted his firstborn. “My mugs are iconic.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “One of them says ‘Don’t talk to me until I’ve crashed my third sim race of the day.’”

“That one’s a collector’s item", he fires back, following you into the kitchen. “Also, pizza’s already ordered. Should be here in -” he checks his phone, “- eleven minutes. You’re welcome.”

You slide the box onto the counter with a quiet smile. “Thanks, Lando.”

“For the pizza or the mug debate?”

“For everything.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but the grin fades into something softer. He just nods and starts peeling tape off another box.

Eleven minutes later, like magic or divine mercy, there’s a knock on the door and the smell of hot, melted cheese fills the apartment. You sit cross-legged on the floor, paper plates balanced on a moving box, steam curling from slices as you both dig in like you haven’t eaten in days.

“You’re gonna love this new job,” Lando says around a mouthful of crust. He wipes his mouth and grins, waving his pizza slice like a banner. “It’s not the usual trackside chaos. It’s at McLaren HQ - behind the scenes, away from all the cameras and the noise. They want you there to bring back the spark, to capture the soul of the company. Not just the drivers, but the people who make it all happen.”

You swallow a bite, surprised. “So no flashing lights, no red carpets?”

“Exactly. Just you, your camera, and a whole lot of stories that nobody else notices. The engineers, the designers, the late-night brainstorming sessions. That’s where the heart is, and they want someone who can see that.”

You pause, imagining a quieter space - less glitz, less pressure, more real. “Sounds peaceful.”

Lando nods. “Peaceful, but important. They’ve been losing that energy, that connection. You’re the one to bring it back. Make McLaren feel alive again through your lens.”

You let that settle, the weight of possibility sinking in. Away from the glare, away from the expectations. A chance to start fresh.

Lando grins wider. “And trust me, no one’s going to ask you to smile for the cameras or pretend to be someone else.” He sets his plate down and leans back on his hands. “Look, maybe it won’t be easy. Not right away. But it’s yours. Not his. Not anyone else’s. Just yours. You get to build this one without being someone’s plus-one.”

His words settle deep, anchoring in a place that’s been drifting since Modena. You nod slowly, suddenly aware of how quiet the city feels outside your new windows. No red carpets. No velvet ropes. No flashbulbs. Just the sound of new walls breathing in their first night with you.

You reach for another slice and glance at him. “You’re staying tonight, right?”

He smirks, leaning back against the wall. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor alone. I’ve already claimed the least lumpy pillow.”

You smile weakly, but your mind drifts. Woking - this new apartment, this new life - it feels so far from Monaco. From the place that had been home for the last few months. The last month you’d known Charles. The city where everything felt alive and tangled with promises that now feel broken.

It hits you then, how distant that world already feels. Like a fading photograph tucked away in a drawer you don’t open anymore.

Lando notices the silence stretching between bites and doesn’t press. Instead, he just says quietly, “It’s not the same, but maybe this can be home too.”

You look up, eyes still clouded but grateful. “Thanks, Lando. For calling Kika that night when I got back from the gala. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.”

He shrugs, but there’s warmth in his voice. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got each other’s backs. Especially when the world feels like it’s falling apart.”

You manage a small, shaky smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He tosses the last crust into his mouth, grinning. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

For a moment, the weight in your chest eases just a little, caught between the comfort of old friends and the uncertainty of new beginnings.

Your phone buzzes again, sharp against the quiet hum of the apartment. You fumble for it, a flicker of hope stirring - maybe it’s Charles. Maybe after everything, he’s finally reaching out.

But it isn’t.

The screen glows with a message from someone else, a name you barely recognize. You stare at it, the weight in your chest settling deeper.

Since the gala, since you packed up and left without a word, he hasn’t reached out. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

You set the phone down slowly, the silence swallowing you whole.

Lando glances up from his seat, catching the way your hand tightens around the phone before you set it down.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his voice low enough not to shatter the fragile quiet.

You swallow hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah. Just… nothing from him. Like he never even cared to explain.”

Lando’s eyes soften. “Sometimes silence says more than words ever could.”

You don't answer Lando right away.

The truth is lodged somewhere between your ribs, still too sharp to pull free. Instead, you stare at your camera, lying untouched in its case near the wall. It's been there since you arrived in Woking - quiet, dormant, like a version of you that doesn’t know how to exist anymore.

The last time you held it was the night everything changed. The night he didn’t reach for you. The photos are still on the memory card. You haven’t had the nerve to look at them. Maybe you never will.

You lean back against the wall beside Lando, pizza box between you both, the silence not uncomfortable - just heavy. Weighted with things unsaid.

“It’s weird", you say after a long while, your voice thin. “How fast something can stop feeling like yours.”

Lando doesn’t say anything. He just shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

You glance at your phone again. Still nothing. Still not him.

No apology. No explanation. No goodbye.

Maybe that hurts more than anything he could’ve said.

Still, you're here. In a different city. In a new apartment. With boxes waiting to be unpacked and walls that don’t yet feel like home.

But maybe they will.

Maybe this is how it starts - not with answers or closure, but with space. With the kindness of a friend who doesn’t ask you to be okay before you are. With a life that isn’t fully shaped yet, but stretches out ahead of you anyway.

And one day, maybe even with the sound of the shutter again. When your hands stop shaking.

You look at Lando. He meets your eyes for just a second and gives you a small, steady nod.

Maybe everything will be alright.

Not all at once. Not in the way you once dreamed. But in a quieter, steadier way.

You start your new life. Starting a new chapter.

Of a new book.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

꒰ sirius who's in love with shy!reader from the start ꒱

sirius black who saw you for the first time in the diagon alley hiding behind your mother's robes, slightly pulling at them to get her attention away from the his mother who she was conversing with and back to your small, fluffy cat

sirius black who's eyes glinted with mischief when you gave him a small wave and then with curious eyes showed your kitten to him. he knew the cat was evil when it scratched at his arm but he also knew that you were pretty when you chuckled at his annoyed face

sirius black who insisted to his mother to let him do the rest of the shopping with you but held himself back when she gave him a silent glare as if to tell him to stop being a whiny child and behave

sirius black who looked for you through the bustling crowd after his shopping to give you the chocolate frog he stole from his mother's bag

sirius black who then saw (looked for you) again at hogwarts and was overjoyed to see you in the same house as him. he wondered why suddenly his family's disappointment and curses seemed worth it

sirius black who in his initial years thought his heartbeat speeding up when he saw you was just a 'friendship' thing but wondered why it never happened when any of the marauders or the other girls were with him

sirius black who thought the best idea to distract himself from those strange feelings was to shag the entirety of the hogwarts population but it didn't seem that amusing when he saw your eyes fall from disappointment, losing their spark when you accidently walked in on him snogging violet flemming

sirius black who wondered why you were suddenly more quiet and distant than before and went for advice to the only person he knew was emotionally mature enough to help him out

remus lupin who immediately gave sirius the 'are you serious?' look when he explained the strange feelings he was having

remus lupin who knocks some sense into his best friend and makes him realize that he loves you but sirius black who wonders that of course he loves you. you were his best friend?

you who came to the world-shaking realization that you were in love with your best friend in your third year

you who wondered how he could ever like someone who's the complete opposite of him. he's so outspoken, you're just a bunch of nervous jitters. he's cocky, you're shy. he's pretty, you're..not

you who thinks that he has so many better options so why would he choose you? he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time, while you couldn't even make a proper conversation with someone without second guessing your every word

sirius black who points out your insecurity not to pick on it but to compliment it. he's not aware of how much you hated that part of yourself, he just knew that it was the most beautiful part about you

sirius black who finally decides to confess his feelings to you but you who's in denial about it because love, when you don't think you deserve it always feels like a trick

you who questions if his feelings are true because he was never supposed to see you

sirius black who tells you that you that he did. he sees how you smile when someone tries to make conversation with you, even though you're half zoned out because of the nerves. he sees how you try to make yourself invisible when more people are around, picking on your nails. but he also sees how you love and care for the people who you want to around of as if you're scared to hand it out. how you don't really say it with words but you do love with your whole heart and maybe he just wants to show you that he does too

requested by ! @angestrawberries

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[fanged-fanfics]

Ok, but what if next time shadow milk comes into the dough baby's room, we show off our artistic skills by doing makeup on him? Making him as pretty as ever!

.

(And then when he leaves, black sapphire is like 'what in the world happened to your face-?'.. 'Art, my dear minion, ART')

☆ Blue Hues of Trouble — Shadow Milk & Child!Reader ☆

Genre: Semi-Fluff, Platonic || they/them pronouns for reader || Warning for mild manipulative themes

A/N: Previous part for those who need it!

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You rummaged around in the box sitting beside you, taking out tools you honestly can't remember the name of. You knew dressing up your face was something adults did for fun, and hey, Shadow always did say you were his favorite little artist! The jester sat before you, hunced over so you could reach his face.

You applied what had to have been the third layer of blush, drawing shapes on his cheeks with eyeliner ink. He sat perfectly still, humming in contentment. While you were turned away, his eyes flicked over to the corner of your bed. The doll he'd given you was haphazardly tucked away, mismatched button eyes peeking out of the sheets. He couldn't help grinning to himself.

"Say, little one, did your papa say anything about our plush friend?" He asked, putting on the most innocent tone he could muster. You huffed, applying eye shadow to his right eyelid with a frown "No.. I gotta hide it. Papa would try to toss it away". "How cruel!" Shadow Milk gasped, his face the picture of childish hurt "All because your dear friend wanted to give you a little gift?"

You nodded sadly "Yeah... but he doesn't play with me anymore! He just talks about big stuff...". Shadow Milk shook his head, tutting as he pulled you into his arms "Poor little doll! All alone, with no one to play with" he sniffled. You couldn't help but giggle at his silly antics "Nuh-uh, I have you!". Shadow Milk grinned, but no kindness reached his eyes "That's right. You'll always have your dear friend Shadow Milk"

The doorknob clicked, and the strong hands cradling you were suddenly gone. You landed on the carpet of your room with a grunt, looking around in bewilderment. All traces of your blue and black friend had disappeared in a mere blink, as if he were never there. You felt yourself beginning to pout, but footsteps sounded of someone entering

"Little sunflower, are you here?" Pure Vanilla asked. When he saw you, his worry melted into a tiny smile. He strode over, makeup kit completely ignored as he lifted you onto your feet "I was looking all over for you. Are you alright?". "Yes, papa" you nodded. You couldn't help but notice lines on his face that hadn't been there before. Faint darkness under his eyes, circles wearing heavy on his kind face. Pure Vanilla's smile almost faltered seeing you looking at him in concern. He stood back up, patting your head "That's good. I've someone very important I'd like you to meet"

Just then, the door creaked open more. Dark Cacao was there, and right beside him stood someone new. A tall man with pale grey armor, iridescence shinning in his large sword. He placed the weapon to the side, intense gaze falling upon you. You scooted closer to Pure Vanilla, who held your hand as reassurance. This new stranger bent down, seemingly scanning every inch of your face. "May I have your hand, little one?" He asked, extending a gloved hand to you. You stepped back, looking up at Pure Vanilla. He nodded gently "Don't worry, this is a dear companion of mine. He won't hurt you. I wouldn't let him"

With some of your worries softened, you gave the stranger your hand. He closed his eyes, and a light emitted from him. The glow of it made you feel warm, and it seemed to circle your being. The stranger's brow furrowed, and he stood "I can sense it". Pure Vanilla suddenly looked afraid "You don't mean...?". The other nodded. "Their souljam has been touched by deceit. I can feel it, clouding the edge of their essence"

Dark Cacao's frown deepened, and Pure Vanilla gripped his sleeve "No.. no, no, this can't be. I've been so careful- I can't-" his breath hitched "Elder Faerie Cookie, you must help us". "Don't worry, I won't let any harm come to this doughling" Elder Faerie promised "I can watch them, in my kingdom"

"No!" You shouted, clinging to Pure Vanilla's robes. You hid your face in his stomach "Don't wanna!". With a deep frown, Pure Vanilla turned to the faerie "I think that would only harm them.. they're so young, they still need me". "But this is the safest way" Dark Cacao said "If that Beast is back, we don't know what others might have been freed. We must eliminate this problem quickly". "There has to be another way" Pure Vanilla plead, holding you close to him. He looked to Elder Faerie, who gave a conflicted sigh

"It is possible that I can send a guard from my kingdom, someone to watch over them. They won't be able to purge the influence, but hopefully it can stop the spread" he said. "Thank you, Elder Faerie" Pure Vanilla responded "For all your help. I'm more greatful than you can imagine". "I'll also be sending someone" Dark Cacao chimed in "This castle needs protection". "I couldn't ask that of you" Pure Vanilla said "You need someone to protect you as well, if this really means what we fear it does"

"You are one of my oldest and closest allies, Pure Vanilla Cookie" Dark Cacao responded "A threat to you is a threat to me. I know what it's like to lose yourself... to lose your child..." the Cacao king gave you a look, his sternness softened by reflection. Pure Vanilla nodded "Thank you, my dear friend. I very much appreciate it. Whenever you need, I will make sure to return this kindness"

After a long time of the three discussing their options, they were soon being seen out. You were much more relaxed, but still sticking to Pure Vanilla like glue. "You may expect Silverbell Cookie's arrival soon" Elder Faerie said, standing in the threshold of the castle doors "I have faith that he will guard this castle to the fullest extent possible". "I will send you Chocolate Bark Cookie" Dark Cacao said next "He is one of my oldest allies. You can rely on him, much like you rely on me". "I cannot thank you two enough" Pure Vanilla sighed "Please, be careful on your travels". "Don't worry about us" Elder Faerie said "We'll check in soon enough"

Once inside, you headed to the kitchen. It was still a little upsetting that Shadow Milk had left so suddenly, but now you were also confused. What did all this mean? Did you do something wrong? Why did everyone seem upset with you? As you mulled over the question, Pure Vanilla sat you in your favorite chair. "Care for some Fluffy Castella?" He asked, taking out a cooking pan. You grinned happily "Yes please! And a bit of Toffee jam". "Coming right up" Pure Vanilla chuckled "How about you help me mix it all together?". You slid off of your chair, padding over to excitedly peer at the counter "Yeah!! You can count on me!"

Lingering on the windowsill, a small inky black blob with a single blue eye observed you. It just as suddenly slunk back, rushing across the fields. Around the outskirts, where the trees covered the moon and the forest ground stayed dark, two Cookies leaned against the bark of the trees. The blob stopped before them, morphing and twisting. It grew in size until the gunk peeled away, revealing Shadow Milk Cookie. "Master Shadow Milk!" A pitchy voice squealed, the cookie with red apples in her hair jumping forwards to greet him. "That took hours" the Cookie in purple and black pointed out, sliding into view with smooth strides

"I needed information" Shadow Milk responded simply "It seems our target is getting reinforcements. They're trying to weed us out". "They caught on this quickly?" The purple one asked. "That Elder Faerie Cookie.. I just know he's planning to seal me in that cramped tree again" Shadow Milk mumbled. "Never!" The gal declared, squeezing Shadow Milk's arm in a crushing hug. "Don't worry, minions, your master won't go down that easily" Shadow Milk declared, bravado returning to his tone "With just a pinch of deceit, we'll plant the seeds of our brilliant takeover!"

"Is the... face paint a part of it?" The purple Cookie asked. Shadow Milk raised a hand, feeling the botched shapes and messy makeup that was still on his face. He put his hands on his hips with a scoff "This, Black Sapphire Cookie, is art. If you're jealous that I can pull it off, just say so". "Of course not, Master Shadow Milk" Black Sapphire replied, bowing deeply "How foolish of me". "You're forgiven. This time" Shadow Milk replied, beginning to step into the thick woods "Now we must prepare. Our next act is just a curtain call away!"

[essektheylyss]

Hello, I am GAUGING INTEREST for a CR FIC ZINE.

I sent @ariadne-mouse this prompt (which she wrote a DELIGHTFUL ficlet for) a week and a half ago, and had the thought that one could make a VERY fun zine purely with ficlets of random encounters and scenarios at or around the Fjorester wedding, considering half of Exandria's invited, and wedding interactions can get wild. So I'm considering running one!

I am talking Shoestring Budget Production level zine. First ever Critical Role episode production level. Mid-tier but not bad "professor's scan of a PDF" level. Legible, but definitely minimal effort DIY. This would be super basic, on basic letter paper folded in half, none of this "zine that is basically an art book" stuff—I'm thinking all ficlets would be required to fit on at most one spread of pages, which is a bit over 600 words, so I'd probably cap it at 600 just to be safe. No fancy formatting, all fic for easier printing purposes (sorry), as the ultimate goal would be to print a bunch of copies to bring to the live show.

For this reason, if there was a ton of interest and submissions beyond the feasible scope of what I could print, there would probably be two versions; one comprehensive digital version that people can print at home if they want, and one shorter one to print for the event itself, prioritizing writers who are attending the live show because it's fun that way (with some kind of link or QR code for the full version). No money exchanged in any direction, no limitations based on taste or quality. It wouldn't really matter if some of them contradict, and there would be no expectation of consistency in terms of wedding details, but I would encourage ideas that are, if not wholly canon compliant, somewhat realistic within the confines of Exandria lore—i.e. Cerrit coming back from the grave to attend a random Borderline Celebrity Wedding doesn't necessarily make sense, but if there was a concept involving Dairon dragging along an Agrupnin descendant OC who is also an expositor because they know that Beau is going to be occupied with best man duties and needs someone to talk to so she doesn't have to make small talk, that could be funny as hell.

So, to recap, the general parameters:

takes place at or around Fjord and Jester's wedding

fics of 600 words or less

open submission

no continuity or consistency expectations or requirements across submissions

very loosely canon compliant (roughly up to the end of c3)

* I'd consider putting art into the digital version, but again, given this is meant to be as minimal cost as possible, I would not include art in the printed version regardless—especially as it would be printed in B&W.

[epiphainie]

can you please talk a little about buck's sexual health history (including fuckboy era and maybe a learning curve and eventual clipboard buck mentality) how he's long been practising safe sex and gets regularly tested etc etc before meeting tommy - but also his self care and awareness after commencing gay sex 👀👀👀

i love that you're asking me - i hate it when the characters put on condoms in fics me - this lol

okay, starting with teen buck, which is when i imagine he lost his virginity, i don't think he really grasped or cared about safe sex. more specifically, he was like 15 and the girl he slept with (if you can call a four minute encounter at a house party that) was a bit older and promised she was on the pill, and buck, being stupid and a horny teen and totally unprepared, was like good, because i don't have a condom. luckily nothing happened but it was just a very fortunate situation.

he obviously started carrying around condoms after that. as someone who was actively having sex. another headcanon but i think buck was the first guy for a lot of girls in high school because he was sweet and charming and safe. like he was a little fuckboy before he even legally made it to the legal age but girls didn't really mind that. obviously all he knew was to put on a condom and let the girls get comfortable but that was like 90% better than his age peers.

this obviously followed him to the one year of community college he actually managed but other than being safe and nice, buck's also incredibly peacocky and readily influenced if it means he can show off and feel some sense of pride that he innately lack so the occasional spontaneous sex stuff where he had to forgo the condom happened. like what was he supposed to do when his buddies dared him into chatting up the hottest girl in the room she went "itsfineitsfineitsfine" when he realized his condom was expired and also she was already naked? what was he supposed to do the insanest chick he ever met taunted him into fucking her at the edge of a roof and bare?

now this totally got worse during his intercontinental hobo-ing and fuckboy-ing. fucking the daughter of the owner of the dude ranch behind the stables? sure. letting a girl finger him with the hands she just put inside herself? well they're on the lima beach and it's romantic. barebacking her? her boyfriend asked!

i think the fire academy would be where he kinda gets a bit smarter about this. either because he's not dumb and he's here in los angeles now hoping to make something out of himself so he can start acting like an adult. or because he has an STI scare that freaks the fuck out of him and he decides right there and then that he's having safer sex eventho he's still having hookups. i don't think he'd get very clipboardy about it from the get go but he'd absolutely start getting tested more regularly and saying no to stuff. then a year and some change later ofc abby would happen and we know that totally makes him reconsider why he feels the need to have sex the way he does and while fixing his relationship with that, he'd change his relationship with how he has sex as well. actually it's nice to have a little checklist to track his sexual health! also turns out it's fun to be able to reassure people tho some find it unsexy when he recounts his test results during foreplay.

and i think gay sex would be just an extension of that. by the time he realizes he's bi and wants to have sex with men, i think buck has a pretty healthy approach to sex. still freaky but not unsafe! but also, buck's a true slut at heart, it's just there, so after they reach a point where sex doesn't feel like tommy leading him, buck would take them into the territory where they're being nasty. they're exclusive, they're both on prep, they're adults for fucks sake, tommy, can you please breed me now or else

[kabsey]

A Word with Friends: Avarice

Thank you for the tag, @chaosherald, and thank you for the word, @hedwigoprah! I will gently tag @the-sparrohawk, @sharpest-tongue, and @beepoven if any of you would like to join and have not yet been tagged this week.

"And if you win the bet, you get all of the gold."

Spite looked up from his cards with a wide grin. "All of? The gold?"

Rook laughed. "Yep. All of it." She leaned her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. "Do you actually want gold, or do you just want nobody else to have it?"

"Yes," Spite replied. "All mine. And gold. To spend."

"What would you spend it on?" Rook asked.

Spite looked back at his cards. He pulled one from his hand and turned it sideways and then turned his head to match. "A journal," he said. "All mine. No crossing out. By Lucanis."

Rook made a mental note to pick up a blank notebook and something to write with the next time she went to the market. Pencils were probably safe. If you stabbed someone with them, they usually broke before you got to anything important.

"Anything else?"

Spite nodded and met her gaze again. "Knives."

Laughing again, Rook replied, "Lucanis has lots of knives. How many more do you need?"

Spite's grin showed all of Lucanis's teeth. "All mine."

"Careful," Rook warned. "People are going to start thinking you're a Demon of Greed."

"Not Greed," Spite corrected. "Avarice."

Rook raised an eyebrow. "Is there a difference?"

Spite shrugged. "To them." Then he sniffed disdainfully. "Snobbish."

"Well, that makes sense." She tapped her lips in thought. "What kind of a spirit becomes an Avarice Demon?"

With a distracted air, Spite shrugged again. "Lots." He reached across the table and pulled all the cards toward him into a messy pile. "Wisdom wants. More knowledge. Valor wants. More accolades. Ambition wants. More power."

"Huh. Guess I know what would have happened to Viago in the Ossuary." Rook tossed her hand of cards to Spite, who gathered them into his pile gleefully. "Illario's practically an Envy Demon already. I don't know about Teia. Rage maybe."

She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. "What kind of demon do you think I would have become?"

Frowning, Spite shook his head. "You weren't. In there. Don't belong. In there." His interest in the cards seemed to wane as he slumped in his chair until he was only pushing one around the table while he sulked.

"I know," Rook assured him. "I was just curious." She ducked down to try and catch his eye. "Hey! Maybe I would have attracted a Curiosity Spirit."

Spite shook his head again, still not meeting her gaze. "Connection," he muttered.

"Connection?" Rook repeated. "Is that a kind of spirit? I don't think I've ever heard of it."

"Rare," Spite said. When he looked up at her, his playful grin had been replaced by a sorrowful expression. "Born when. People come together."

"I guess we don't do that enough, huh?" she murmured. By Spite's expression, she knew she probably shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help herself. "And what kind of demon does a Spirit of Connection become?"

He sighed. "When Connection. Is gone. There is. Oblivion."

"A Demon of Oblivion?" Rook asked.

"Yes. All bonds. Are broken. Even memory."

Spite suddenly lunged across the table to clutch Rook's arm. "If we fight," he demanded with intensely glowing eyes. "Kill it quickly. I don't want. To forget. Not Lucanis. Not Rook."

Rook grabbed onto his wrist, squeezing just as tightly. "You won't. I promise. And you said they were rare, right?" She shifted her fingers to his hand and peeled it from his tight grip on her arm to hold it in her own. "We probably won't ever have to fight one."

The intense burn in his eyes slowly faded to the usual purple, and he dropped his gaze to the table. Rook stood from her chair, still holding his hand, and moved closer to him.

"Still want to play cards?" she asked.

Spite shook his head. "Will you? Read?" he asked quietly.

"Sure."

She tugged him from his seat and wrapped her arms around him. "Sorry," she said. "I won't ask about that stuff anymore."

"Good," he muttered into her hair. "It's rude."

Rook pulled back to look up at him. "Forgive me?"

Spite pouted at her. "No."

She laughed softly and nodded. "Fair enough. Let's pick a book."

[madameisaacpereire]

when everyone in the audience goes still

❝They’re doing work you did years ago, and you know precisely what to say- how to say it. Perhaps the advantage is unfair. But the look of awe that glazes everyone’s eyes over is entirely worth it. ❞

Classics class, meet Julian's niece.

darling readers, meet petal. this is for jaylene, who requested it, & thereby gave me an excuse to bring you my most fanfictiony universe yet: the one where you are julian morrow's hampden theater student niece.

the little flower collection

    In retrospect, maybe they should have guessed you were Julian’s niece. But it wasn’t exactly the most obvious thing, until today. At least, most of the time. You study in the theater department, for one thing, and hardly mind blending in with the hoi polloi; in fact, you take great pains to. You often embrace bright patterns, shoulder pads, and gaudy earrings. You like bright eyeshadow. You appear to be the antithesis of Julian’s teachings. Of his entire aesthetic. 

    Despite this, you’ve spent many years steeped in Julian’s philosophical musings. He was your first teacher, teaching you small phrases in Latin and Ancient Greek from the moment you could speak. The only reason you don’t study with his class here, is that you’ve grown to prefer telling stories with your body. You like bringing them to life much more than dissecting or crafting them.

    Maybe they don’t know you exist because Julian is always more secretive than he lets on. Perhaps Julian doesn’t want them to know at all, or perhaps it has simply never crossed his mind. Perhaps it’s because you have your father’s last name instead of your mother’s– so you aren’t easily recognized as a Morrow. Whatever the case, none of his students are able to make the connection until their class size expands to five, in the fall of 1982. 

    It’s sudden, too. Jarring for them. One cool morning in early October, they’re all filing into the classroom: and there you sit, at Julian’s desk. Legs propped up on the corner, ankles crossed, flipping through a well worn copy of Aristophanes' The Frogs. You lift a single finger, much as your uncle often does, indicating that you’d like them to wait as you finish your page. 

   It’s unclear what’s stranger to them: your being here at all, or your outfit. In well fitted black jeans and a tight black long sleeve, you might pass for someone Julian would keep around. But your cardigan- white cashmere, printed in gaudy triangles-  this makes you look much like the students they avoid. And in a way, you are exactly like those students. You’re studying to be an actress, after all. 

  Admittedly, Julian would avoid you, if you weren’t the only one of his nieces and nephews that has ever treated his life’s work like it matters. You are his default favorite, which has earned you the right to exist outside his carefully curated aesthetic without complaint. You’re allowed to look as gauche or plebeian as you please; Julian even encourages it when your brothers are teasing you for your trendier sense of style, which you’re sure has more to do with his loathing of them than anything, but you’ll take it.

   You replace your bookmark gently and close the book with a satisfying click as you look up. Their faces amuse you. The way the tallest one’s mouth has fallen into an ‘o,’ eyes wide as saucers. The second largest wears a similar expression, the reedy redhead reads more suspicious, the twins keep looking between you and each other, and the newest addition to the class looks about ready to hide in the stairwell until Julian gets here. And the reveal of your face only adds to their shock: because you do, in fact, resemble your uncle just enough for your relation to be clear. Especially when you sit behind his desk. 

   “Go on, take your seats. Don’t mind me- I’m sure he’ll be here presently.” You smile, the picture of warmth, gesturing toward the table.

   It’s this that spurs most of them to action, unfreezing time as they settle in their usual places. The largest of the group, however, stays where he stands and studies you. There’s the softest crease between his eyes due to this incredible focus. You know this one to be Henry, thanks to the mixture of stories from Julian and other students- other students being costuming’s own Judy Poovey, whom you’re rather fond of, all things considered.

   “You are?” He asks after a moment, clearly taking great pains to sound polite.

   You open your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the door swinging open once more, your uncle bustling in. He bids his students good-morning as he sheds his overcoat, and hangs it. When his eyes finally land on you, a look of pleasant surprise settles into his eternally-youthful features.

     “Petal! I hadn’t expected you so early, darling.” He exclaims, using the nickname he’s used since you were little.

   You rise and kiss his cheeks, still enjoying the theatricality that is these students not knowing who you are whatsoever. 

  “Henry, Henry, do go put some tea on, would you?” Julian says, “It appears my niece has decided to join our class today.”

   You thought the room couldn’t possibly get quieter, yet it does. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of it, actually. It’s exactly like your favorite portion of every play- the first time the love interest’s eyes meet, or a really dramatic end of act one reveal- when everyone in the audience goes still. It thrills you head to toe. 

   He does introduce you, after a beat, and finds an extra chair so you might sit at the table. At first, you visit pleasantly. None of them seem to like you, though they’re more than courteous as you speak. This suits you just fine, anyway, because you know what they don’t: just how long you’ve had with Julian Morrow.

   “Now, I hope we’re all ready to leave the phenomenal world, and enter into the sublime?” Julian says, once he grows tired of pleasantries. 

   You can’t help the smug smirk that tugs at your lips. Oh, how you wish you could. Julian’s eyes twinkle as he poses the first open-ended question. You allow Henry to pounce on it first, because it seems he relaxes only when your uncle’s attention shines on him alone. You press your lips together and nod along as he speaks, tenting your fingers. Once he’s finished speaking, you lean your elbows on the table, and take your own stab at the question.  

   They’re doing work you did years ago, and it’s your uncle. You know precisely what to say, how to say it. Perhaps the advantage is unfair. But the look of awe that glazes everyone’s eyes over is entirely worth it. You answer a few more questions before deciding you’re quite finished toying with them, and spend most of the remaining time listening- taking in who these people are.

   Henry makes wonderful tea, and is precisely as brilliant as Julian always says. The twins are Charles and Camilla, who seem competent enough, the redhead is Francis, his Latin some of the worst you’ve ever encountered, and the blond with glasses, they call Bunny. The extra is Richard, whom you can’t get a good read on, though you spend the entire class trying. They all fascinate you to some degree. You understand completely why they were all selected by the end.

    When the class finally rolls to a stop, you rinse out the cups and kettle. You’re fairly certain that this irks Henry somewhat, as every classroom chore seems to be his responsibility, but you don’t mind. You sort of like getting under his skin, the way you enjoy being responsible for the feelings of anyone. It’s one of the reasons you act, after all. 

     Henry hangs back after class to visit with Julian, which you assume to be routine. He sits in the chair across from Julian’s desk, face open and sincere in a way you suspect it never is. This intrigues you, but you don’t have time to visit, anyway. You have rehearsals in forty minutes. So you pull a small package from your bag- a gift wrapped first edition, one of very few that he lacks by this point- and rest it on his desk. 

   “Happy early birthday.” You say, wrapping your arms around Julian from behind his chair. 

   “Oh my dear petal, you shouldn’t have.” He pats your arm gently, a sort of hug back, tone pleased. 

    “And yet, I did. I hope it’s divine.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek and head for the door, “I’ll see you for dinner this weekend. And you… I’ll probably see around?”

   You raise an eyebrow at Henry, pausing in the doorway for a fraction of a moment, and before he can come up with an answer, you’re gone. The truth is, you’ve seen him around before. You’ve seen all of them, and whether they remember or not, they’ve seen you. Now, they’ll take note of you, rather than erasing your existence. And that, you think, leaves so much room for fun.

[lonelydreams-world]

Raf's Notes as originally presented on The Hub's website.

TRANSMITTING FROM INSIDE AUTOBOT HEADQUARTERS

What if you could have secret access to the Autobots' base, getting the inside scoop on their latest missions and battles with the Decepticons? Well, that's Raf! He's got full access to all things Autobots, and he's taking notes.

We've gained access to his laptop, so now you can peek over his shoulder and see what's really happening behind the scenes. (Just don't tell him we gave you the secret password, or he might hack our system.) Check out Raf's Notes every week -- EXCLUSIVELY--here on HubWorld.com!

THE NOTES SO FAR

Gotta keep track of all of this ACTION! This is my stash of all my entries--super-encrypted so that Megatron and his boys (or Agent Fowler) can't get to the goods!

ENTRY # 1

This Is NOT a Diary!

OK, not sure where to start, since a LOT has happened, but I figure I better take notes, cuz ... well, let's just say, life's been pretty different lately. And I want to remember as much as possible, cuz if someone else said all this happened to him, no way would I believe it. I'm saving these notes as a triple-encrypted file in my laptop, so no one will ever see them. I'd do hex-encryption, but who has the time?

AUTOBOTS!!!

Where was I? OK. Autobots. My life hasn't been the same since I met them. They're these huge autonomous robotic life-forms who came to Earth to protect us from these other huge guys called Decepticons. Optimus Prime is the leader of the good guys, and Megatron is the really bad Bad Guy. (Except they used to be friends ... but that was a REALLY long time ago.)

They're all after this stuff called Energon, which is kinda like food and gas and blood and electricity all mixed into one. (Note to self : Eww.) They used to live on a planet called Cybertron, but they destroyed it by fighting for, like, forever. Optimus says he's trying to make sure that doesn't happen to Earth next. They've been here in secret for a while, but since me and these other kids Jack and Miko accidentally saw them and discovered their secret, they're protecting us ... in case the Cons come after us.

Bumblebee's my buddy. Mostly cuz I'm the only kid who understands him. Not sure why ... he makes perfect sense. He just doesn’t use words. Might be the same reason I could understand digital code, even when I was three years old. Anyway, most people talk too much. Best thing? Bee's an awesome muscle car, and he’s my friend.

Arcee is Jack's partner, and Bulkhead watches out for Miko. I guess I should point out that Jack and Miko go to my school, and normally we'd never even talk. But lately, nothing's normal, so the three of us hang out at the secret Autobot base a LOT. It's awesome, cuz they have the sickest computers and other way-cool tech.

My mom asked where I was going after school all the time, so I told her I joined the Computer Club. Which is kinda true.

ENTRY #2

The Bigger They Are....

Woah, what a week! Looks like Megatron, the main Decepticon, went down for good this week, out in space. Lucky for Earth! Most of us felt like cheering, but not Optimus. He never likes it when a spark gets extinguished, no matter whose. A spark is like a Bot's life spirit, more or less.

Game Over?

After that, we were all thinking Game Over. No more Megatron, no more trouble. So we got busy with our science fair projects. I have to say, it was pretty cool getting science help from the Bots. They have so much data to work with, and all that amazing hardware.

But it never stays quiet for long around here. Optimus and Bee went to go check out a blip on the Energon grid. It's how they keep track of all the Bots and Cons everywhere -- like a radar screen for the whole universe. They figured it was probably Cons, but had no idea who or what they were headed for. But soon as they saw Skyquake, it was like -- GO time.

Turns out these other Cons, Starscream and Soundwave, had come to Earth just to find and reanimate this massive guy. Bee said Skyquake made Optimus look small! Even worse, his whole mission was to destroy Optimus, under ancient orders from Megatron. They'd faced off on Cybertron before, but that was forever ago.

Bigger AND Badder!

Thing is, big as Skyquake was, he wasn't as swift as the Bots. Our guys had him down and pretty much out.. until good old Agent Fowler came along in a plane. Skyquake scanned the plane, and then it was ON again. But, then snap -- the GUY BECAME THE PLANE!!! (btw, scanning sounds awesome. Like instant cloning.) Wish I'd seen that!

Anyway, in the end, our guys nailed Skyquake, and his spark went out. Huge relief in some ways, but Optimus was sad again ... he always hopes he can bring the bad guys around to being good.

Meanwhile, Ratchet seriously messed with my volcano project for Science Fair. I will NOT let him help again. I had to stay late at school and try to repair the Energon damage in the auditorium. Which took more than a little explaining.

ENTRY #3

Scraplets Scare!

OMG. What an insane week! We had a Scraplet infestation at the base. Imagine raccoon-sized termites wired on too much coffee! Or zombie dogs on candy! Or ... well, I'll explain.

It all started when Bumblebee and Bulkhead were scouting for Energon in the Arctic. They found this big metal egg/pod thing and brought it back for examination. No one knew what it was. But by the time it thawed, it was too late!

Here's what happened: Once the pod thing was in the lab, Optimus and Arcee went back to the Arctic for more recon while Bee and Bulkhead thawed out. Turns out they get frostbite too, almost like us. Miko and Jack were playing a video game ... and since there's only two controllers, I was like, No, you go ahead. (Mr. Nice Guy. As usual.) So I was just hanging near the lab when I saw the first Scraplet.

It was kinda cute, for a bot. It was like ... well, like a dog, like I said. But a friendly dog. They only eat metal, see, not organic material -- so when it saw me, it was like: "Hmmm. Not tasty."

But then it followed me back to the main area and BAM! It attacked Bee like mad. I had to smash it with a pipe to make it stop. Bulkhead seriously freaked. Never seen him like that before. And then we knew it was an infestation. There were like HUNDREDS of them, all inside the walls, chewing up the pipes and cables! Which explained the Comm-Link and power failures. Optimus and Arcee were out there freezing, but Ratchet couldn’t activate the GroundBridge to bring them in.

Since us kids weren't Scraplet food, we went to fix the hole in the Energon pipeline -- just in time, too. It was scary, but way more scary for the Bots. For once, WE got to protect THEM! It was cool and all, but still ... I'd rather not do it again.

I'm not so much the Protector type. More the Defensive Crouch type. Still ... it's good to know I can work it if I have to.

ENTRY #4

Don't Judge a Bot by Its Cover

I learned something new about Decepticons this week. Something huge happened -- a Bot made contact with us! Wheeljack. He's an old friend of Bulkhead's ... this big soldier Bot guy who just roams the universe solo. Or that's who he was supposed to be.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It started when we got a friendly Bot signal from deep space this week. Bulkhead was psyched to see it was Wheeljack, cuz they used to be best buds, back in this elite fighting unit called the Wreckers. (Sounds like a reality show, right?) When he showed up, we kinda had a party. They played this game called "lobbing" which is basically playing catch with the biggest things they can find. Miko jammed on her guitar (I think she may be getting better), and I showed Bee how to do the Robot. It was awesome.

But then Bulkhead started getting suspicious, cuz he said Wheeljack wasn't acting like himself. Turns out it wasn't Wheeljack at all! It was just a Decepticon pretending to be the real Wheeljack, who was imprisoned up on the Nemesis -- that's the Cons' ship.

That's right! We actually had a REAL LIVE CON inside the base!!! Gives me chills just thinking about it. Bet Miko gets worse chills -- when Bulkhead blew the Con's cover, he took her hostage. She was pretty cool under pressure, I gotta say.

Anyway, thanks to some quick thinking and awesome fighting, we got the real Wheeljack back. He actually busted out of the Nemesis himself! Way cool. So then we had another party. For reals. We all kinda thought Wheeljack would stay, and we'd have another Bot here on Earth ... but he took off soon as Ratchet fixed up his ship. Everyone was bummed that he left.

Bots aren't always what they seem. Maybe that's true about people too. That's why I like computers! Cuz you can always just reprogram. Simple. Elegant. No surprises.

ENTRY #5

One Laptop, Over Easy

Whole new thing this week. The Bots had to fight humans AND Cons!

Agent Fowler was taking this radioactive device called a Dingus across the country when Cons attacked him. That's what he thought, anyway. So he asked the Autobots to GroundBridge it out of danger, but it's too risky to transport radioactive devices that way. So Optimus and the other Autobots had to roll out and form a convoy to take it over land.

I stayed at the Base with Ratchet and watched everything on the grid via Comm-Link. The attackers were in fast attack cars and totally harassing the V-mode Bots. That's when we found out they weren't Cons at all -- they were humans working for a crew called MECH. Then, as if being chased by a bunch of heavily armed flesh and blood criminals wasn't enough, six Cons showed up out of the blue.

We had to protect the Dingus, so I got to hack into the rail system and divert a train. Highlight of my week -- GroundBridging Jack and Miko onto a moving train! Ratchet didn't think it was possible, but I got the train's coordinates online and zzzoom -- off they went! But then MECH hacked into the same system -- and they fried my laptop! Not sure how, but major bummer. Good thing my files were backed up.

I guess Miko and Jack were pretty freaked by how serious it got on that train. It almost derailed, and Optimus had to stop it with his bare hands. Kinda wish I'd been there. But mostly? Glad I wasn't. Not that I'd say that out loud.

Optimus was bummed, cuz the Bots blew their cover in front of MECH when they transformed to fight the Decepticons. And we're all pretty sure MECH will be back. But at least the Dingus didn't blow up or get stolen.

After all that, Ratchet sort of helped me fix my laptop ... even though he kept saying how lame it was. Well, now I've gotta figure out a better firewall. Still can't believe I got counter-hacked! Very embarrassing, actually. Hoping everyone forgets really soon.

:)

ENTRY #6

Breaking and Energon

This week, we got to break into a museum! But it was for a good reason.

It all started when the Autobots saw an Energon blip on the grid over in Greece. Bulkhead was trying to help Miko see how homework can be cool, so he took her with him to Greece. So there they were at these excavations, when they found a mosaic showing an ancient Cybertronian Energon Harvester. Pretty unexpected!

Miko took a snap and showed it to Optimus, who said the mosaic was a signpost for the real thing. So I did a quick image search online and found this ancient Greek statue on display in a regular museum. We knew the Decepticons were after it, so we had to snag it first ... which meant breaking into the museum. Like Optimus said: We were only breaking a law to save lives.

Here's why lives were at stake: Not only can a Harvester suck Energon out of the ground -- it can pull it right out of a living Autobot! That'd be like a vampire sucking all the blood out of you just by pointing at you. No way did Optimus want the Cons getting that thing.

So we planned this total heist, like in the movies -- only with a forklift and us kids. It would've worked, too, but then these Cons Breakdown and Knock Out showed up, and there was a massive Bot brawl in the parking lot.

During the fight, Jack and I came face-to-face with Soundwave in the museum! That is one scary guy. But he was so focused on the Harvester, he left us alone. Lucky!

The Autobots were bummed he'd snagged it, but they eventually got it back over in Greece. Took more fighting, and Bulkhead lost some Energon, but it worked out.

Oh, and Miko got caught by a museum guard, but for once Agent Fowler was pretty cool. He came in, flashed his badge, and then just sent her on her way. Like, Yo, there's Bulkhead. Go.

I guess we have friends in high places now.

ENTRY #7

Playing the Race Car

Wild week. Jack pretty much got everyone in trouble, but gotta say ... we were all kinda responsible. Mostly cuz we didn't really step up and help him resist temptation. Optimus wasn't happy with any of us.

According to Jack, it all started when this girl at school asked if she could have a ride on Arcee. Of course, Arcee was like no way, that's against the rules, and it's not happening. But then this dumb bully from school who drives a street racer talked some smack about Arcee -- I think he called her a moped?! -- and she was like, OK, that's it. (She takes that kind of thing personally.) So she and Jack smoked him right there. The bully guy wanted a rematch, but Arcee said nope -- we're not breaking the rules again.

So here's where I came in. Jack didn't want to look like a chicken in front of that girl (he likes her!), so he asked if Bee would help him win the race. That didn't seem like a good idea to me, but I'm all for taking down a bully. And besides, Bee was really into the racing part. So he and Jack showed up at the race. But then ... so did a Decepticon! It was one of the car Cons we saw at the museum ... Knock Out? Anyway, as soon as he saw Bee, the Con got violent. Bee said it was scary. And Jack couldn't understand what Bee was saying, so it was like total chaos.

It's weird: We all basically broke the rules and then, boom -- the worst-case scenario happened. What were we thinking? Optimus totally went out and tracked everyone down and saved the day ... but he wasn't happy about it. Then he gave us all a serious talking to. Sounds corny, but I think we all learned our lessons.

In the end, Arcee did let Jack give that cute girl a ride ... and now he won?t stop talking about the girl. Or about Arcee.

ENTRY #8

Bugging Out

Jack and Arcee had a wicked time out in the forest this week. They were looking for an Energon signature, but turns out the blip was this super-creepy Decepticon called Airachnid. (Like "arachnid," which means spider.) She has eight limbs, spits webbing, and likes to hunt. Creepy! I wasn't there, so all I have to go on is what Jack said, but sounds like it got super hairy out there.

He says he's never seen Arcee that afraid before, and it's cuz she has history with Airachnid from back on Cybertron. She wouldn't give him deets, but it must've been bad for a Bot that fierce to get that scared. And her Comm-Link wouldn't work, so she couldn't call the Base for backup.

Jack ended up running, since Airachnid was actually hunting him! She travels the universe looking for different species to add to her "collection." Kinda like a big game hunter. I think hunting's gross enough already, without humans being the prey. Too bad she didn't land her ship in the middle of one of those controlled hunts, where people "hunt" captive lions and tigers. Yeah, that's a fair fight.

Anyway, Jack was pretty swift. He tried setting traps, which didn't work, but then he actually went into her spaceship and started a fire in her ship?s leaking engine thrusters. That messed her up just enough to let Arcee get up on her. Then Airachnid just fled. Took off. Adios.

Arcee's been quiet since they got back. Big and tough as they are, I forget how vulnerable Autobots can be. Bumblebee says she's not talking to him either. Not sure what she's going through -- and I'm not asking -- but she and Optimus took a couple long drives this week.

OTOH, Jack's all puffed up now, cuz Arcee finally started calling him her "partner." Miko keeps reminding him he's just a kid, but seeing what he just went through, I'm OK with letting him feel whatever he wants. Not that he wants to know what I think.

Anyway, I feel like we're all partners here.

ENTRY #9

Inside Megatron's Mind

I don't know what was a bigger deal this week -- Optimus Prime nearly losing his spark, which was huge, or Bumblebee going INSIDE Megatron's mind. Yes, INSIDE it! And we thought that guy's spark WAS out.

Here's how it started... Out on a recon mission with Ratchet, Optimus Prime caught Cybonic Plague, a deadly virus Megatron invented on Cybertron. It looked like he was a goner. But Jack figured that if Megatron invented it, he must have invented an antidote too. Luckily, the Nemesis's cloaking tech was down, so Ratchet was able to bridge Arcee and Bumblebee up to the enemy ship to search out the cure.

But they couldn't find it, so Ratchet said they'd have to enter Megatron's mind through a Cortical-Psychic patch -- using Decepticon medical tech. Arcee was like "Are you out of your fragging mind?!" but then 'Bee volunteered to enter Megatron's mind. I was proud... and terrified.

Us kids stayed at the Base, of course, but we got to see literally inside Megatron's twisted mind through a comm-link. That guy is wacked out. I translated for Jack and Miko while Bumbleee scouted -- and then Bee met Megatron in the guy's own unconscious -- and totally stood up to him -- IN HIS OWN BRAIN! He even outsmarted him by saying that if the plague virus destroyed Optimus, Megatron would never get to do it himself. Which Megatron -- whose fantasies are all about obliterating Optimus -- totally bought.

So Ratchet grabbed the antidote formula via comm-link, and our Autobot pals bridged back. Optimus is fine now, but Bee is acting a little strange. Spending time inside such a sick mind must leave some weird aftereffects. Hope he feels better soon!

ENTRY #10

Out of My Comfort Zone

Up on the Nemesis, Megatron snuck into Bee's brain using the same Cortical-Psychic patch that Bee used to get into his. Then he hijacked Bumblebee. What a nightmare. To think we actually had Megatron inside the Base! Good thing he was more into getting revenge against Starscream than infiltrating our systems and defenses. He did nearly nail Bulkhead with a metal basketball, but that didn’t seem so weird at the time somehow.

But I should have known what was up when Bee forgot to pick me up for school.

Funny. The base's defenses are all physical, and Megatron exploited the groundbridge using kind of a mindbridge. Well, never judge a 'Bot by its cover.

The scariest part of all was watching Bumblebee's mind struggling to control his own body. I knew he wouldn’t let Megatron hurt me. At least, that's what I hoped. So in a way, by forcing Bumblebee to stay focused on me, I was our best defense against Megatron. And it worked.

Wow. I stood up to Megatron. I’d do anything to save Bumblebee ... and that's pretty much what I did. Went waaaay out of my comfort zone to help my buddy. But hey. We're family. We were tight before, but we're even tighter now.

ENTRY #11

Zoned Out

This week, Miko got us kids into big trouble. As in, Terrorcon-sized.

It all started when the Autobots rolled out, and Miko made a break for the Groundbridge! Me and Jack tried to stop her, but we got pulled in too.

The Bots thought they'd found Megatron trying to raise more dead Decepticons (Miko calls 'em "zombie Cons"). But it was actually Starscream. He fired a missile and almost hit us. Yikes! Then Optimus shot off Starscream's arm.

Something went wonky when the Autobots 'bridged us back. We stayed put, but they couldn't see us. It's like we were ghosts. Creepy. Ratchet said we'd gotten sent to the wrong place, but I realized we really went into a different dimension. A shadow zone. Never figured I could think quicker than an Autobot. I was pretty proud of myself! And pretty terrified.

Worst part? Miko got her zombie Con: This massive Terrorcon called Skyquake was with us in the Shadowzone. Wow, I can run a LOT when I have to!

Starscream's arm was in the Shadowzone too. I figured out how to launch its missile. (More pride. More terror.) We actually knocked off Skyquake's arm ... but the ARM CHASED US TOO! It was like, game over. Thankfully, the Autobots 'bridged us out.

Miko actually told Optimus it was her fault! Jack was like, can you repeat that about a million times? But I was remembering how we three had to work together to escape. What if she HAD gone in by herself?

Scary thought. Weird to say I'm glad I was there, but ... I guess sometimes being in the worst place is the best place you can be.

ENTRY #12

Nervous Breakdown

You'd never expect Bulkhead to say no to a rescue mission. But this week, he told Optimus he wasn't gonna do it, no way no how. Not even for the "greater good."

I get it. The Autobots were rolling out to save a Decepticon. How weird is that? And the Con in question was Breakdown -- Bulkhead's archenemy.

I wasn't there, but I got the deets from Bumblebee and Miko. Bulkhead and Breakdown were having a smackdown, and Bulk got pretty messed up. (Note to self: Never ask Miko if Bulkhead was LOSING, 'specially when I'm in arm-punching range. Ouch.) Then those spooky techie guys from MECH showed up and captured Breakdown. Optimus knew it could be bad for humankind if MECH learned the secrets of Cybertronian biology.

Amazingly, Optimus was OK with Bulkhead flat-out refusing the mission. But not Miko! She acted super-angry about it, but I knew she must've really been massively disappointed. Either way, she talked him into going. How? She said, "No rescue, no REMATCH!" Yeah, they totally speak the same language.

I almost wish I'd seen Bulkhead and Breakdown team up. Except, 'Bee said Starscream and his troopers showed up, so I'm glad I didn't. Starscream creeps me out.

Anyway, pretty soon Bulkhead and Breakdown were back to fighting. But Optimus was proud that Bulkhead rescued his rival. Strange but true: Sometimes you can be totally selfish and still end up serving the "greater good."

Pretty sure Miko was just glad Bulkhead got his rematch -- and won it!

ENTRY #13

Mom Meets MECH

OMG HUGE NEWS! This week, Jack's mom found out about the Autobots! She even came to HQ with him and Arcee.

Me and Miko couldn't even believe it when we saw them riding into base. But by then Jack's mom had been through so much, meeting Autobots was practically no big deal.

I mean, no big deal compared to being KIDNAPPED by MECH and webbed-up high on a ledge by Airachnid, who I guess was working with those techie soldier guys. Silas, MECH's leader, didn't even care about hurting Jack or his mom. He just wanted to get ahold of Arcee. The Autobots would never harm anyone for their own gain. Does that make them more "human" than Silas?

Anyway, Jack's voice got kinda shaky when he told us how Airachnid and Silas made him race against time to save his mom -- alone, while MECH was trying to take Arcee apart. Scariest! Can't even think about it.

Good thing Jack's smart (don't tell him I said that) -- and tricky. He tipped off Agent Fowler, but Airachnid and MECH got away. I can only imagine how upset Arcee must be ... no way am I actually gonna ASK her.

Jack said Airachnid scanned Agent Fowler's helicopter and used it for her new vehicle mode. Now she can travel under the ground OR in the sky. Great. Just what we needed.

It's been tough to keep the Autobots a secret. But Jack really didn't have a choice. Family's more important than secrets, and his mom is all the family he's got. Well, except for me, Miko, and the Autobots.

ENTRY #14

Stuck With It

Sticky situations this week! The Autobots had a close encounter with a weird magnetic weapon -- and we all got stuck with Jack's mom.

Remember last week, when she found out about the Autobots? I kinda thought she'd just tour the base and leave. But she started hanging around, like, every day. Jack's pretty used to his mom worrying about him, but Miko's totally bugged about how things have changed.

It IS weird. Ms. Darby makes us feel kind of embarrassed or something, like we have to explain what we're up to. Everything's awkward, instead of fun. But I still felt bad when Miko said that Arcee's as bad as Jack's mom -- just cuz Arcee sent Miko back to base to keep her safe.

I mean, it WAS dangerous when Arcee and Bulkhead took on Airachnid and Breakdown over this "Polarity Gauntlet" thing. It makes metal stuff stick together -- metal stuff like, well, Arcee and Bulkhead. They got unstuck, but Airachnid and Breakdown got away with the gauntlet. Ratchet seems to think it could be a game-changer -- and not for our side. That makes me pretty nervous.

But what's that thing people say? Change is constant, right? I guess it doesn't have to be bad. But this thing with Jack's mom is still gonna take some getting used to.

ENTRY #15

A Hard Place

Seems like Jack and Miko always get to be in the middle of the action! But this week, I really didn't mind. I mean, would YOU want to be stuck in a massive cave-in with Starscream AND Megatron? Yeah, no way.

Jack actually came face-to-face with Megatron! Even trapped under tons of rocks, that guy is ultra-terrifying. Can't believe Megatron dared Jack to finish him off. Jack said he was really tempted to take a shot, but he knew Optimus wouldn't want him to destroy a helpless opponent. Not even the baddest Decepticon ever. Optimus was proud of Jack for that. Me too.

But wow, poor Miko. She and Bulkhead were in a bad sitch when Jack found them -- with Starscream. Miko was totally dealing, as usual ... until Bulk made Jack get her out of there. Jack said she got so worried about Bulkhead, she was CRYING. Still trying to picture that. Kind of sweet that she cares about the big guy so much. Not that I'd actually TELL her that. Hmm, hope she never sees this!

Anyway, at least they all got out OK -- except Starscream and Megatron. Even Optimus drew the line at actually digging them out. Maybe they'll stay buried ... at least for a while.

ENTRY #16

Split Decision

A Decepticon, changing sides? No way, right? Especially not Starscream. That doesn't even make sense, but this week it almost happened. Sort of.

Us kids stayed behind when the Autobots rolled out to track a Decepticon signal. Good thing too, since Airachnid totally ambushed them with this weapon that freezes Bots in their tracks. Cool part was, Bumblebee got to be the hero. Airachnid stopped Optimus AND Bulkhead, but my buddy faked her out and saved the day. Sweet!

Anyway, about Starscream. The Autobots found him in one of Airachnid's webs, and he completely shocked them by asking to JOIN them! Sounds like a trick, right? And I guess it was. But you know Optimus. He wants to believe that anyone can change, even Starscream.

Pretty sure Arcee didn't give a scrap about redemption when she figured out Starscream's the one who snuffed Cliffjumper, her old partner. She nearly extinguished his spark! But Bumblebee stopped her. I couldn't see why getting rid of Starscream would be so bad, till 'Bee explained that acting out of revenge only makes us weaker. Cuz it's not right.

But I get why Arcee lost it. If anything ever happened to Bumblebee, I'd feel just as awful ... and just as mad. It reminds me again that Autobots are more like us than we think. Even they have to learn stuff the hard way sometimes.

@mk-wizard @escapistsatellite @vitamaeternum @mimitus @kitgirl91 @mokabeanzz @iggyfing @its-elioo Tada! Straight up from TF Wiki! @inexorableone @batstickblog @jazzimena @betaplatina-135

[whitenoisewhatanawfulsound]

Miles Away.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer's use of drugs makes him an unreachable shell of a person. Words can be horrible and true at the same time, and you'll never be able to take them back.

1.2k words

cw: Spencer's use of drugs, drug use, fighting, a lot of awful things are said, ANGST, no happy ending, Spencer is angry and unwell, I think thats the gist of it but let me know if I missed anything.

an: This is... Rough. It's quite depressing, so please approach with caution.

You've been here before.

Maybe only once or twice, but it's so agonizingly familiar that it physically hurts. The pounding of your heart and rush of thoughts is overwhelming. You taste copper, only to realize that you've been biting down on the inside of your cheek too hard.

It's hard to look him in the eyes, sometimes. It's ironic. Looking Spencer Reid in the face should be far from difficult. Faint stubble and irises that could very much be made of coffee and honey just aren't so comforting anymore. It's hard to look at him and really see him, like you used to be able to. He's not so telling anymore. Just blank. It's unfair that he can read you like it's nothing and he leaves you with crumbs.

Neither of you have talked for about three minutes, the silence is awful. Spencer always told you about how much he loved the kind of silence the two of you had. He didn't have to worry about filling it; It was soft. It was holdings hands and warm blankets and skin and the turning of pages.

This was harsh and loud. You could cut it with a plastic knife. It envelopes you like smoke and you struggle to breathe, It feels like someone is standing on your chest.

His lips are pressed into a thin line. You want to take three steps forward and pry them open, force words from his vocal chords, something that makes sense. Something to work with.

"Why won't you just talk to me?"

Spencer sighs and shifts on his feet.

"It's not worth it." That's what he thinks, anyways.

"I don't understand."

"I'm not asking you to."

"But I want to, Spencer."

He doesn't respond. It's infuriating.

You try to scan his face for something, anything. You're not given very much.

That is, until your eyes fall back onto his. His pupils are tiny, Minuscule. Dark circles frame them, and his cheeks look hollow, his cheekbones startlingly prominent. You look down and he's picking at the skin around his fingernails.

"Spencer," You start carefully. This is bound to end poorly, but it's so hard to ignore. "Are you using?"

It sounds weird, not like how you usually sound. It comes out small and afraid. It sounds like when a child asks, "will it hurt?" As they clutch at their parents hand, a needle poised at their arm.

Spencer does not speak. It's so unlike him. That's how it feels most days, though. You miss him, even if he's standing right in front of you.

"I'm not using." Liar. It's painfully obvious but somewhat surprising, especially from a profiler.

"I struggle to believe you."

He shakes his head, exasperated.

"I told you to tell me about these things." Your words do not come out soft.

"I knew that you would be upset." Neither do his.

"Well yeah, I'm fucking upset. This isn't exactly a pleasant discovery, is it?"

"I'm sorry, am I mistaken, or is it suddenly you with the drug problem?"

"Problem?" You scoff. "Spencer, this is far from a problem. You're addicted."

"As if I didn't know that."

Fuck Spencer Reid.

"You're killing yourself, you know that right? You come home every day bitter and cold, and you snap at me constantly. Do you know how that feels? Horrible. It feels horrible."

It becomes less factual, and more about hitting where it hurts. And God, do you know where it hurts. Every little whisper he's ever given you tells you where it hurts. Every choked sob has told you where it hurts. Every small, afraid, and tired glance has told you that it hurts.

"You're exhausting, you're too much. I can't do it anymore, I can no longer save you, I don't know why I thought I could."

It's cruel. You regret it the moment you stop talking.

"You shouldn't have tried." It comes out bitter, and you think that he means it.

Oh, you know it fucking hurts.

His lips are pulled into a small frown, his eyes sad. He moves away, leaving you in the middle of the space between his kitchen and living room. You hear the jangle of his keys and the sound of the front door.

You don't think that you've ever heard Spencer slam a door, even when its warranted. He always closes them softly. Carefully. He's never mentioned it, and you've never asked.

You almost wished he had slammed it this time. You want the finality of it. It will never come, though. As much as you want it. There is no finality in recovery, there is no finality in fights. You will never be able to take your words back. You can forgive, but you cannot forget.

It's awkward standing in his apartment without him. You'd come here with him, and he left without you. It feels as if the green walls are closing in on you.

You don't know whether to go or stay. Going feels wrong, but so does the latter.

You curse yourself when you go after him.

~

Damn Spencer and his long legs.

You have to practically run to catch up to him. It's dark out and the streetlights are on, and there's barely anyone out.

"Spencer," You breathe as you catch up to him.

He keeps walking.

"Please, let's talk?"

Nothing. He says nothing.

"I know I said awful, awful things that I shouldn't even be thinking-"

"But you thought them anyway, yes? They must be true."

Fuck.

You stop, it's no use chasing after him.

You watch as he whips around.

"You tell me I'm exhausting, do you know how often I've heard that? I'm sorry that my existence inconveniences you, but if I tire you so much than go."

"It doesn't inconvenience me, but Spencer, you have to understand that the drugs you're taking are killing you. I miss you." You're not sure you want to anymore.

"I'm right here, aren't I?"

"No, you're not. Don't you understand? You're distant. It's like I'm speaking to a void."

"A void would be less tiring though, wouldn't it?"

"Don't do that." Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?

He frowns. You used to kiss away his frowns. You can't anymore, they don't disappear like they used to. They taint his face as if they're scars.

You want to crawl beneath his skin, carve out what is rotted and replace it with your own flesh. Remove the blood that is poisoned and give him yours. You don't care if the poison kills you. You want to give him everything you have and he just. Won't. Let. You.

It starts to rain, heavy and sudden.

"I want to help you, but I can't when you won't let me." Your voice cracks halfway through and there's a familiar lump in your throat.

"Has it occurred to you that I don't want your help? You try to ‘help’ everything. There are some things in life that you just can't fix."

He starts walking again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

You watch him leave. Your clothes stick to your skin uncomfortably, water drips from your eyelashes making your vision blurry.

You used to say that Spencer could be the moon; gorgeous and oh so intimidating. Illuminating and so lovely. You could stare at him for hours, you could write essays and books about him. You'd go after him again, but sometimes it really does feel like he’s 238,855 miles away.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

It doesn’t make sense that Meghan would leak that she made Kate cry because it makes her look bad. If it was Camilla, what’s her business leaking that anyway? That started this whole thing. Why do the royals leak? Their lives would be easier if they don’t leak out of pettiness. I understand maybe William leaking his side/feelings. For example, saying he doesn’t want to put his arm around his brother anymore. But Camilla leaking something about Kate and Meghan is just weird.

Anyway, what other stories do you think can be traced back to William/KP?

Ok, so first there are two Camilla’s here. We need to be clear which one we’re speaking about, just like we have to take extra steps discussing the Charleses (King and Spencer). There’s Camilla Tominey the journalist who broke the story that Meghan made Kate cry. Then there’s Queen Camilla who allegedly learned what happened through William venting.

Second, you’re thinking too logically about Meghan. If she leaked the story, she wouldn’t think about how it makes her look bad - her focus/intent would have been how it makes her look powerful, in that she got Kate to back down and follow her wishes. And also, the rumor isn’t that Meghan leaked. It’s that Meghan is the source, which means she may have been gloating about it to someone, which someone else (maybe Camilla T., maybe not) overheard and that person leaked to Camilla T. And like I said last night, it’s been credibly alleged that Camilla T. actually has written receipts that Meghan did make Kate cry - allegedly she has or saw text messages of Meghan talking about it. And what’s Camilla T’s business about it? It’s her job to report on the royals. This was too huge a scoop to sit on because it contradicted the “fab four” PR narrative that the Sussexes and the palace were creating.

Switching to the other Camilla, the now Queen Camilla, what’s her business? Her business is that she tells her friends and her friends turn around and gossip to the press. It’s happened before - specifically, we know all the details of the first time William met Camilla in 1998 because she told a friend and the friend blabbed to the press about it. (William blew up about it, so did Charles to a lesser extent, and both Charles and Camilla had to do a bit of damage control with William and The Queen over it, if I’m remembering correctly.)

You don’t have to believe any of this. None of it has been confirmed, other than something William told Charles and Camilla about re Harry and Meghan during a private dinner that later wound up in the press. We don’t know *what* this something was, just that it happened. Everything else is all speculation based on what we know about past behavior and rumors.

Why do the royals leak? Well, let me ask you this: why does anyone leak? Because it’s not exclusive to the BRF; the same shenanigans happen all over the world - on film sets, in governments, in corporate offices, in royal palaces, in families, in friend groups.

It’s about power and dominance. People who don’t have any power, or the right kind of power, but who are desperate for it will use gossip and leaks as a tool to a) knock their opponent out of place and assume their power or b) show/prove to others that they’re in the room where it happens.

The people who have *real* power and/or who are content with what they have don’t play this game. They don’t need to. They don’t want to. If you want to find who holds all the power in an organization, look for who doesn’t talk.

And also about KP leaks - again, it’s the Charles and Camilla problems. Up until 2019, KP was both Cambridges and Sussexes, so you have to clarify which one. Historically, Harry leaked and spoken to the press way more than William ever did - and it’s on record from a few reporters that Harry would drink with them at the pub pretty regularly and give dirt on everyone else. William, to my knowledge; didn’t really leak on that level until Meghan came around and made everything toxic.

But specific leaks attributed to William? I can’t think of any off the top of my head right now without having to check my spreadsheet (I’ve already lost this answer once when I switched apps so I’m not going to risk it again) but perhaps others can chime in. I’ll definitely take a look at the spreadsheet when I get some time and report back, though.

[kisses4rafey]

paired with older!rafe

—

༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯

unstable!reader who’s—brilliantly intelligent but dangerously unmoored.

unstable!reader who has always suffered but got officially diagnosed with depression at sixteen after an important loss.

unstable!readerwhose thoughts coils around her every thought, dragging her into black pits of self-doubt where she questions her worth and wonders if she’d be noticed at all if she vanished.

unstable!reader who grew up with a father that had always been a ghost—physically present but emotionally elsewhere—leaving her with a hollow ache for approval that she’s certain she will never deserve.

unstable!reader whose wound shows up in everything— a flash of anger when someone tries to help, a panicked retreat when someone cares too much, a sarcastic quip that cuts deeper than any truth.

unstable!reader that’s desperate for connection and yet is terrified of being seen—and when they—for example Rafe— get too close, she fractures, lashing out or shutting down to protect that raw, bruised center.

unstable!reader’s emotional instability also include mood swings that can flip quickly: withdrawn one moment, irritable or reckless the next.

༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯

in unstable!reader’s world —

༯ love is always an “almost”—just within reach, then gone, leaving her more broken than before.

༯ she’s always pushing people away but desperately wants connection—self-sabotages relationships before being hurt.

༯ she hides behind sarcasm or silence, but it’s all a thin veil over how unstable she really is.

༯ there’s no sugarcoating it: she’s messy, broken, and volatile. And she’s painfully real.

༯ she’s always carrying a book—maybe even annotates obsessively like it’s a diary substitute

༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯

in her relationship with older!rafe —

༯ - she’s drawn to his calm like a moth to flame; he’s drawn to her chaos because it’s the only thing that makes him feel.

༯ – neither of them says sorry. They use physical intimacy like a reset button, every single time.

༯ – he withdraws when she’s too much and instead of yelling, he goes cold which completely destroys her more than rage would.

༯ - clings hard when she senses him drifting. Might stalk, self-sabotage, or pick fights just to get a reaction.

༯ - she’s addicted to his control. His stillness calms her, but also infuriates her. And then she’s thinking: “why doesn’t he react the way I? Why doesn’t he fall apart too?” Sometimes, she pushes him just to feel something back, jealousy too.

༯ - she struggles to articulate feelings, resorts to anger or withdrawal and when he tries to talk things thru he’s hit with walls of silence or defensiveness.

༯ - emotional storms challenge Rafe’s calm, making him question his own control. Rafe’s steadiness feels like safety but also suffocates her independence.

༯ - when she’s screaming, sobbing, clawing at herself, and he just sits there and watches until she’s finished. Then he wipes her tears off with the back of his hand and says something like “You done now?” — which somehow hurts worse than screaming ever would.

༯ - she hates it every time he calls her “kid.” or when he’s calm every time she screams or that he’s always quiet when she threatens to leave.

༯ - she thinks she has power because she gets under his skin. But the truth is: he always has the final say.

༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯

unstable!reader’s relationship dynamic with older!rafe —

༯ - her insecurities often manifests as jealousy or paranoia — sometimes justified, sometimes not.Rafe gets annoyed but can’t deny he sometimes enjoys the challenge, even if it hurts him.

༯ - one moment, they’re inseparable; the next, they’re at each other’s throats. which it’s exhausting to say the least.

༯ - there are moments of brutal honesty: “You don’t get me” and he’s— “You’re too much for me.”

༯ - there’s tenderness beneath layers of frustration — stolen glances, half-smiles, reluctant forgiveness.

༯ - one night he finds her mid-spiral (half-drunk, mascara running) and carries her out of a party without a word. No lecture. Just a quiet “Let’s go.”

༯ - and when she throws something at him during a fight instead of yelling, he walks up and grabs her wrists. Calm but traced with exasperation. “You’re not gonna scare me off. Stop trying.”

paired with older!rafe

༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯ ༯

[justmeexistinghere]

W H E R E S H A D O W S M E E T

pt.4 Triumph

ˏ*⁀➷pt.1

ˏ*⁀➷pt.2

ˏ*⁀➷pt.3

Summary:

After an exhausting night, you wake up in your bed with no memory of how you got there. No matter how hard you try, you can’t piece together what happened—but someone else might be able to fill in the blanks.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> Geum Seongje x fem!reader (about to be) -> Warnings: blood / injury, swearing / strong language, mentions of past trauma, smoking, excessive drinking, possessiveness -> all characters are portrayed as being of legal age -> Wordcount: 1.947 -> 📝English isn’t my first language & this is my first story — thank you for your patience ♡

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

She wakes with a pounding headache, mouth dry, stomach churning. Worse than yesterday. Much worse.

For a moment, she can’t remember how she got here. The last thing she recalls is the bar—the burn of cheap alcohol, the weight of his stare, the way her body refused to give up even as her mind started to blur.

She tries to sit up, but her arm protests—a deep, blooming bruise she doesn’t remember earning. She stares at it, confused. How did she get home? Did someone help her? Did she walk? Nothing fits.

She glances around her room, searching for clues. Nothing. Just that nagging sense of unease, the feeling that something happened—something she can’t quite reach.

She shivers, pulling the blanket tighter, wishing she could remember. Did she? Not sure. The only thing she was sure of is, that she will definitely won't go to school today.

It is a Union meeting. To be exact, a meeting of Ganghak's top dog, some of his minions and a handful of Hyeongshin members. He hates this Union bull crap, but skipping out would mean dealing with Baekjin—and nobody in their right mind wants that. He is always up for a challenge, usually coming out on top, but even he knows: nobody stands a chance against the head of the Union. Once the business was done and the paperwork exchanged, he agreed to stick around—only because someone else offered to cover the tab. If the Union was good for anything, it was money...

The bar reeks of smoke and cheap liquor, which, if he was honest, describes the people at his table pretty well too.

He zones out. Hand hovering above his glass. Taking a sip now and then. Not interested in the insignificant talks. Even less in their bragging words. He knows. They are not bad, but definitely not as good as they think. Boring. Normally, he’d call them out on it for no real reason. Slam the head of one of them brutally to the table. Just for the fun of it. Not today. Not interested.

He adjusts his glasses. Ready to empty his glass and finally get the hell out of here. The booze leaves a faint burn down his throat. He likes that feeling—pain, but not enough to count. Not like a real fight. He craves that rush. But no one here could make it fun. At least that is what he thinks.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

His thoughts get interrupted by the swinging door that catches his eyes. Someone familiar enters the shady bar. Someone he wouldn't have imagined to go in here– like ever. So wrong of him.

Oh, it's the pretty face. Y/n. A mischievous grin tugs at his lips. Excitement rushes through him, sharp and sudden. Why does this girl have that effect on him? He doesn’t know. He watches her. Watches the way she drops her bag, skims her fingers over the menu. He spots the red marks on her knuckles, traces her body for more signs of a fight.

Interesting.

His mood shifts. His posture is not as sloppy as before, rather attentive, but still loose. An unusual feeling creeps in the longer he looks at her exhausted figure. What the hell is that? He shudders, unable to name the despicable sensation she stirs in him. Whatever this was, he didn’t have a name for it. Didn’t want one, either.

He absolutely hates losing control. And that’s exactly what this is. He waits for her to notice him. Wondering if she might have a similar feeling. Because of him. At least he hopes so. Hopefully, she also feels weird. Hopefully her fucking stomach twists and her heart races– like in a fight, full of adrenaline. She is like a splinter under his skin—tiny, irritating, impossible to ignore.

Their eyes meet. His smile widens, one eyebrow arching. The way she looks at him makes his skin crawl—and yet, he can’t get enough of it. Three seconds. That’s all he needs. He counts them out in his head—one, two, three—then lifts his glass, tilts it in her direction, and downs it in one go—never breaking eye contact. He wants to get back the control that she somehow has over him.

Take the challenge. Let's play. Come on!

He impatiently awaits her reaction. Playing with the edge of his glass, eyes still glued on the girl at the bar. Her jaw clenches. Good. She feels it. He snorts, waiting for her to move her glass to her pretty lips. As she downs her drink in one long swallow, he signals the bartender to go for a second round. Game on. He won't lose. No matter what.

Under the table, his leg bounces—half anticipation, half annoyance. It’s been too long since anyone made him feel this alive, but he resents the fact that it’s her. He keeps his face carefully blank, eyes locked on hers. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. She’s stubborn—he likes that, even if he’d never admit it.

He feels another pair of eyes on him. The bartender glances between them, sensing the tension, but says nothing. Hell yeah. Let them watch.

As the challenge goes on, he catches himself leaning forward, elbows on the table, drawn in despite himself. Registering every detail on her— the flicker of defiance in her eyes, the faint tremor in her fingers when she sets her glass down, and the expressive stare. She’s reaching her limit, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

He almost smirks. Almost. Instead, he drums his fingers against the glass, impatient. Control. He needs it back. Needs her to crack first. But she doesn’t. Not yet.

He feels the adrenaline humming in his veins, a familiar itch beneath his skin. He leans back, forcing himself to look bored, even as his heart still pounds a little faster than he’d like. She’s good. Better than he expected. Maybe even too good.

Nevermind.

She suddenly stands. Glossy eyes. Movements slow, like she’s swimming through fog. Her hand is gripping the table for balance. He catches the way her shoulders tense, the way her eyes unfocus for a split second. Again. That damn feeling. But this time it doesn’t anger him. He won. He has control. She lost hers. He will be in control. Finally.

His eyes still on her– mesmerized. She mumbles something—an excuse, maybe. Grabs her bag, almost stumbles, and leaves the bar. He waits a beat. Mind still with her. He tosses some bills at the table and follows. Not even saying a word to the others– not that they would be able to catch his words anyway.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

He keeps his distance, just out of sight. Watches her sway down the dark street, fighting every step. She shouldn’t walk home alone like that. But wait... "Not my problem," he mutters while his feet keep walking. He lights a cigarette, sliding his left hand to his pocket, letting the lighter slide through his fingers.

He shouldn’t care. No, he doesn’t care. Why would he? That's what he tries to tell himself. It's about control, nothing more. Feeling triumph. Seeing his opponent stumble for a bit longer. For fun, nothing else, right?

He keeps her in his line of sight. The questions he had moments ago fade—what’s left is that damn fascination. He drags on his cigarette, eyes never leaving her, tracking every twitch, every uneven step. That’s why he catches it—the shift in her already unsteady steps. A stumble, the threat of a fall. She’s about to go down. Normally, he’d enjoy it. Another sign of victory. A rival collapsing.

But his body moves before his mind can catch up. He flicks his cigarette away with practiced ease, strides over, and grabs her before she hits the pavement. His grip is iron-tight— probably tight enough to leave a mark. Doesn’t matter.

He stares at her, stunned, palms slightly sweaty. What the hell?

He should let go. Should walk away, leaving her. She lost and has to deal with the consequences. But he doesn’t. He stands there, holding her up, feeling the heat of her skin through his fingers. Why is he doing this? He wants to shake her off, wants to prove to himself that he doesn’t care. But his hands won’t move.

Pathetic.

Her eyes are closed. Blackout. She won’t remember any of it. Good. Or maybe not? Fuck it.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Just like last time, when he trailed her all the way home and made sure she never noticed—tactical, of course—he goes with her now.

She is almost back to her senses. But not enough to realise what's going on or who she's with. Not to mention being able to find her keys and go in. The key? No fucking way he will look for it on her. He also can’t bring himself to talk to her. He rings some of the bells, waiting for someone in the complex to open the door. And makes some distance, not wanting to be seen by anyone. Finally, the door opens, and a person leads her in.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

He leans against the wall across the street, another cigarette burning between his fingers. He keeps his eyes fixed on the building, on that one window—he’s pretty sure it’s hers.

He waits. Watches the light flicker behind the curtains. Watches shadows move, slow and clumsy.

Finally, the light goes out.

Only then does he let himself move. He flicks the cigarette away, the ember tracing a red arc in the dark.

He turns, jaw clenched, something ugly simmering in his chest. His mind fixated on the bruises on her face– he knows exactly where those came from. A sudden heat of anger rushes through his body. She is his, and he does not want anyone else to play with her. She is under his control. No one is allowed to interfere with that. He will make sure of that. Definitely. The glint in his eyes gets stronger, more furious. He will show them what it means to anger him– taking something he owns.

But that is something she doesn’t know.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

to be continued...

ˏ*⁀➷pt.3

ˏ*⁀➷pt.5 (coming soon)

picture generated with AI

Thank you for reading once again! I wanted to do something different this time, and maybe you'll like it as much as I do. I am already thinking about what could happen in chapter 5, but still need some time for my script and final writing 🙈 Thank you for your patience!

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Taglist @slovesyouuu @quaff-le-science

[the-primest-skeletron]

yknow what I'll be honest not only do I think that Kris probably likes Ralsei I think that if they're really as uncomfortable around him as most of the fandom seems to think, then they're an asshole and can go fuck themselves

if they're unwilling to give a really basic complement to someone who has never been complimented before and basically has no fucking self-image and has been nothing but kind and supportive to them, because that person might.. look a little bit like their brother? Who they like? I'm sorry it just does not make a lick of sense to me and if it does end up being true I'll be really upset.

just to be clear, I dont believe Kris is an asshole for not liking Ralsei, I believe that Kris probably does like Ralsei.

frankly it looks more likely to me that Kris wants to be friends with Ralsei and the players are the ones forcing them to be cold and distant because they think they know better.

I'm not sure why the fandom is so obsessed with this idea, because the only evidence it ever really had was tea theory and even thst was kind of just an assumption, and a really weird one because even if it's true it still means that Kris would, in the span of a single day, grow almost as close to Ralsei as they are to Noelle, their closest childhood friend.

I know it might sound petty, but it honestly does reek of people not liking Ralsei and wanting to project that onto Kris. I've seen this attitude in the fandom for a while, there are people who talk openly about wanting Ralsei to be replaced by Noelle and it's every strange to me. I think it's had a very negative effect on how people view Ralsei as acharcater, and ironically, I feel the people who are always talking about Kris being seperate from the player are the people who are quickest to project that stuff onto them.

[arohuacheng]

can you talk more about aromantic Hua Cheng if y out want please please (asking nicely)

YEAH. YES I CAN. ALL THE TIME. I HAVE BEEN WAITING YEARS FOR THIS MOMENT

below i offer to you. a (hopefully) brief version of my aromantic hua cheng dissertation

what i think is important to acknowledge at first is that hua cheng's devotion is built on his idea of xie lian from childhood. he'd met him, what, three times before he died at seventeen? and most of that was in harrowing circumstances. there's a lot of big feelings going on there with someone that you idolize, someone larger than life, someone that saved you. someone that's literally your god. what hua cheng feels about xie lian is built off of worship in multiple ways (hero worship, dedication to a deity) and most of it is from the perspective of a child. all of that and he doesn't even really know the guy. everything that he builds is extremely parasocial. i think there's a LOT going on in there. and from personal experience being aromantic and having a lot of complicated feelings about people, i know how hard it is to find words to describe big, complicated feelings about another person that aren't love. as i have said before. sometimes you feel something huge in your chest and you've never been taught that there is anything else to call it except love.

and none of that is to say that it isn't love, either... whatever love means to him. but. continuing.

hua cheng is seventeen. caught up in this huge complex combination of feelings about someone. he dies. he is brought back as a ghost.

in tgcf we see that the ghosts are like. complex. but they are also often fixated on specific things. they stayed behind for a reason. they stayed angry and unfulfilled for a reason. hua cheng is back around and he loves xie lian in the same way that he xuan is back around and he is hungry. these components of their mortal life that ruled them when they are alive become essential parts of them when they're dead. hua cheng is now a creature that is built around devotion to xie lian. he spends 800 years existing in a state of perpetual feeling and feeling and feeling. however big it was before, now it's not only at the core of him, but it is the core of him. if you didn't call it love before, what would you call it now? what does society offer you other than love as an option? how would you ever make someone else understand? if you've got all this... something, for someone, how do you act upon that? how do you have someone if not through a romantic relationship? how do you build a house for someone, how do you say you want to keep them safe, how do you collect weapons you think they'll love, how do you take on mountains of their suffering and never feel that it's enough... how do you make all that happen and keep all of that with someone else except within the confines of a romantic relationship?

hua cheng never mentions any other interest that he's ever had. which is understandable when he spends the entirety of the story so singularly focused on xie lian; makes sense that he wouldn't bring up any teenage trysts, if he had any. however... i think this brings up the equally valid possibility that he just didn't have any interest in anyone else before he died. he spends 800 years without any engagement in romance or sex... my interpretation of that is always going to be that he's just not really called toward that sort of thing.

the truth of it is that he's just not equipped to express the enormity of what he has inside of him except through romantic gestures. if you don't want to be just friends with someone, how else do you escalate it past casual friendship? how do you get someone to stay with you? if you're going to partner up with someone, the expectation is that you're going to be in a romantic relationship. if you're going to be in a romantic relationship, the expectation is that you perform sex and romance to keep that person happy and engaged. no matter what he feels, hua cheng was always doomed to be a romantic interest, because let's be real; how else would an amatonormative narrative let him keep the person that he wants to be with? what other solutions would he have found?

personally, i also feel that feeling love in an unconventional way is enough to make a person aromantic in many respects. if he feels love in this huge, complicated, (to me non-romantic) way, and doesn't have access to that kind of romantic engagement with love otherwise? aromanticism to me...

in conclusion. sometimes you are aromantic and you have a feeling in your chest that is large enough to burst bloody out from behind your ribs. and you don't know that there is anything else to call it except love. so you call it love. and that's how you tell your story.

( + writing recs: my aro hua cheng fic, and a fic where he loses his devotion. just things to think about...)