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fxrmuladaydreams · 6 months

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i’m sorry i love you (ln4 + op81)

poly!landoscar x reader

summary: after being placed last in qualifying, oscar and his girlfriend comfort lando, but what happens when it’s revealed lando feels more deeply about the two of you than a friend should?

notes: !!CONTAINS SMUT MINORS DNI!! omg guys it’s my first ever poly!landoscar full length story

warnings: panic attack, threesome, p in v, oral (male receiving), sub!lando, dom!oscar, sub!reader

Lando practically throws his helmet into the arms of someone from his pit crew. He storms off, uncaring of any cameras that may be around to broadcast his tantrum.

He’d just finished qualifying, finished on pole position. He was going to start at the top of the grid, when the news had spread. The FIA had done checks on some of the cars, and his was against the rules. It was stupid, something that wasn’t in his control at all, yet he still had to find out in a public setting, just after he felt on top of the world.

Oscar’s car wasn’t pulled for the check, so he was still able to drive in his qualifying position tomorrow. He felt his frustration grow worse and worse the more he thought about it. This was just another chance for Oscar to show him up, to show everyone just how much better he was than Lando in his rookie year.

And yet, Lando couldn’t be mad at Oscar. He wanted nothing more than to hate the Aussie just a little, to feel some type of anger for him, but he couldn’t. Oscar was a good guy, he was nice, he was funny, he was great to be around when he finally opened up.

He was fine with this sudden fondness growing inside him for his teammate, he felt the same way about Carlos when they were teammates. Then he met you.

You were the adoring girlfriend to Oscar Piastri. Perfectly sweet, and equally beautiful. You had been nothing but nice to Lando. And there was his problem.

You and Oscar were perfect for each other. You brought him out of his shell, gave him more confidence. And he made sure to always keep a smile of your face. That was why he refused to do anything about the feelings that slowly grew in his chest for the both of you.

Lando knew that tomorrow would be hell for him. That he’d have to see Oscar do well, likely earning another podium finish, then see him scoop you up in his arms and show the whole world how much he loved you. All while Lando would have to attempt to climb back to the top of the grid just to get in the points.

He avoided anyone he could on the way back to the hotel, steering clear of reporters and McLaren workers. He drove his car back to the hotel, and strode through the lobby to the elevator with his hood pulled up over his head and dark sunglasses over his eyes.

He was able to shower, to try to scrape the shame from the day off himself before the knocking started. He figured he could just ignore it. Whoever was on the other side of the door would just assume no one was there and they’d leave. But whoever was on the other side of the door was persistent.

“Lando! We know you’re here!” The Australian accent called through the door.

Lando sighed, pulling himself up off his bed then dragged himself to the door to swing it open.

There you stood with Oscar next to you. Oscar was still in his McLaren team kit, and you were still in the same McLaren shirt you’d worn to the paddock. Neither of you had made it to your hotel room yet, too concerned with Lando’s disappearance.

“I’m not really in the mood guys-” He starts, but stops when you walk past him, entering his room.

“That was fucked. Telling you in front of all those cameras like that? What the hell?” You sit down on the bed.

Oscar gives Lando a sympathetic smile then follows you inside.

Lando was surprised by your colorful language and the anger you seemed to have for the FIA. He shrugs sitting down next to you.

“There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Mate, if they had checked my car I’m sure we’d be in the same position.” Oscar says as he sits down at the desk across from the two of you.

“But they didn’t check your car. They checked mine. So now I’m P20, while you get to start on pole.” Lando snaps. He can feel you shrink at his sudden outburst. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”

His head falls to his hands as he takes a few deep breaths trying to regain his composure. He can feel your hand softly stroking up and down his back.

“You two don’t need to stay. You can go celebrate Oscar’s pole.” He says once he lifts his head back up.

His eyes are red, almost bloodshot, welling up with tears he’s refusing to let fall.

You wrap an arm through his and lace your hand with his. “We’re not leaving you alone right now Lan. We care too much about you.”

Lando groans. He stands up pulling himself away from you and takes a few steps away. He wants to put some distance between the three of you. He wants to make sure that he doesn’t let himself fall for the both of you even more than he already has.

“You can’t say shit like that.” His words are quiet.

“But it’s true.” You say standing up.

“Lando-” Oscar starts, standing up.

“Stop! Stop! You both need to stop!” Lando holds his hands out in front of him, backing away from the two of you. “I can’t-I can’t do this.” He whimpers leaning against the wall. He can feel the tear falling down his cheeks now. He quickly tries to wipe them away from his eyes.

He can feel his breathing start to pick up as his heart starts pounding in his chest. Everything is too much, too overwhelming. The qualifying results along with your insistence on comforting him has made him feel like he’s choking on nothing.

Oscar immediately clocks the panic coursing through his teammate. He slowly reaches out and pulls Lando back down to the bed. You stand up, giving him space as Oscar grabs a bottle of water from Lando’s fridge, uncapping it and handing it to him.

Lando slowly sips on the water, taking a few minutes to calm down. He closes the cap and places the bottle on the table next to the bed. When he finally looks back up at you and Oscar his eyes are filled with shame.

“I’m sorry…” He murmurs.

You sit down next to him again and wrap an arm over his shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for Lan.” You tell him softly. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Mate, it’s fine, it’s okay.” Oscar says as he sits down on the other side of Lando.

Your arm slips from Lando’s shoulders as Oscar’s wraps around him, pulling his head to lean against his shoulder.

Lando finds comfort being sandwiched between the two of you. With Oscar’s arm around him and your hand now softly playing with his fingers he feels like he can finally breathe again.

“I’m sorry you guys have to help me with this, that I need you here with me…” Lando says, his voice slightly muffled in Oscar’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Oscar asks, looking down at him.

You hear Lando take a deep breath, lifting his head from Oscar’s shoulder, then looking back and forth between the two of you. He sits up and moves away from Oscar, pulling his hand away from yours as well.

“I’m sorry I feel the way I feel… I’m sorry I’m in love with you.” His last sentence comes out in a breath. He stands up from the bed again, trying to put some space between you. “Both of you. I’m really sorry. And I don’t want things to get awkward now, because you’re my teammate,” he gestures to Oscar “and you’re my teammate’s girlfriend,” then he gestures to you “so it’s impossible to avoid either of you after this.”

You sit on the bed silently, watching as Lando paces back and forth now, rambling about how nothing has to change, and he’ll be able to move on with time.

“We don’t want you to move on.” Oscar cuts him off.

Lando stops mid sentence. “What?” The sleeves on his hoodie fall past his hands as his fingers fidget. “What do you mean?”

“Lando,” you stand up, slowly walking towards him “we both have feelings for you too.”

“You do?”

Oscar nods. “It was weird at first, both of us admitting that we liked you to each other, but we felt like it was something we could work through. We didn’t want you to find out and get freaked about it.”

“Oh.” Lando still doesn’t look convinced as he shifts his weight on his feet.

You take a few slow steps until you’re standing in front of him, tilting his chin up so his eyes meet yours. “Can I kiss you Lando?”

He nods his head and breathes out an answer. “Yeah.”

You raise a hand to cup his face, tracing your thumb over his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

He’s almost surprised to feel your lips against his, like this was all some dream he’d made up in his head. You feel just the way he imagined, soft touches and slow intimate movements.

The hands that hold his waist do surprise him. He can tell they’re Oscar’s, the size alone makes it obvious, but he can feel them holding onto him firmly.

Oscar stands behind Lando, trailing kisses up and down the side of his neck.

Lando feels his heart pick up again, but this time for an entirely different reason. What once filled him with anxiety now sends a thrill through him. He’s excited to be with you, both of you.

He’s getting far too hot pressed between the two of you, pulling his lips away from yours to take a much needed breath.

“Should we move over to the bed? To get a little more comfortable?” Oscar asks as he softly sinks his teeth into Lando’s neck.

You pull Lando to the bed by his arm, and push him so he’s sitting down on the edge of it. Oscar sits down on his knees behind Lando, running a hand through his curls. You crawl onto Lando’s lap, straddling him as you tug at the bottom of his hoodie.

“Can I take this off?” You ask.

He’s quick to nod his head in response. You tug the hoodie up over his head and throw it to the side. His bare torso is revealed, the tanned skin on display. You reach out and run your hands down his chest, over the lines of his abs. He sighs, and leans his head back against Oscar’s shoulder.

“He’s so pretty Osc.” You say as you admire the boy under you.

“He is.” Oscar nods.

Lando blushes under your gaze, turning his head to look at Oscar. Oscar looks down at him with a smug smile on his face. He knew the affect he had on the British driver fairly early into their partnership, but finally getting to act on these pent up feelings was something new and exciting.

Oscar leans down to press a teasing kiss to corner of Lando’s mouth, smirking as Lando practically chases his lips as he pulls away.

“I think Y/n wants your attention.” Oscar nods to you.

When Lando turns back to look at you he can see that you’ve removed your McLaren shirt and bra and start to softly tug at the waistband of his sweatpants.

His hands reach out to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him as his lips attach themselves to your collarbone. His teeth leave little indents in your skin, red patches appear alongside other older marks left behind by Oscar.

You roll your hips against Lando’s as your head falls back from the pleasure. Lando whines against your chest, lifting his hips slightly to meet yours.

Oscar palms himself through his jeans as he watches you and Lando. It’s clear the two of you are starting to lose control, and he’s more than happy to take the reins.

“Is Lando making you feel good?” He asks you.

“Yes, so good.” You whimper.

“Then maybe you should make him feel good too.” He says.

You slide off of Lando’s lap, pulling his sweatpants down to his ankles. You tug your pants and underwear down and toss them to a corner of the room.

You knew that Lando was attractive, anyone with eyes would be able to see that, but you didn’t think that his cock could be just as pretty.

It’s not as long as Oscar’s, but it’s thicker, the girth alone makes a wave of arousal travel down your core. You wrap your hand around it, and softly stroke it up and down.

Lando lets out a soft groan, letting his eyes flutter closed. You climb back onto Lando’s lap, continuing to stroke him slowly as Oscar tilts Lando’s head back to him. He leans down and kisses the Brit, smirking into the kiss as Lando moans against his lips. Oscar’s hair hangs down as he kisses Lando, slightly blocking their eyes, brushing against Lando’s face.

You grind yourself against Lando’s thighs, desperate for more attention as you watch the two boys kiss.

“Can I ride you Lan?” You ask as your hand slows down against him.

Oscar pulls himself away from Lando and nods in your direction.

“Do you want her to ride you?”

“Please.” Lando whimpers.

His whines quickly turn into moans as you slowly sink yourself down on him.

He feels different than Oscar, his thick cock stretches you wider than Oscar’s has as you struggle to take all of him.

Lando struggles to hold himself back from thrusting up into you, wanting nothing more than to buried completely inside you. You’re warm and soft, and wrapped so tightly around him that he swears this is what heaven feels like.

You’re finally able to sit completely on Lando after a few minutes of rocking back and forth on him. You take a second to catch your breath before slowly grinding down further on him.

Lando can’t pull his eyes away from you until he hears the metal from Oscar’s belt clink around.

He turns to see Oscar watching him with a smirk. “She feels good, doesn’t she?”

Lando can only nod his head, his eyes squeeze shut when you start to slowly lift your hips up then sink back down onto him.

Oscar pulls his pants down, then tugs his boxers down as well. He wraps his hand around his cock, slowly pumping it. His other hand tangles itself in Lando’s hair and gives it a sharp tug backwards.

Lando huffs out a breath as he stares up at Oscar, his eyes now a bit glassy from the pleasure he feels from you. His eyes drop down to Oscar’s cock, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Want a taste?” Oscar asks.

Lando leans towards him and licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, letting his tongue brush against the head and collect his precum.

Oscar sucks in a sharp breath as Lando’s tongue licks around the head. His grip in Lando’s curls gets tighter as he pushes his head closer to his cock.

Lando takes the tip into his mouth, softly sucking and swirling his tongue around it. Oscar can feel vibrations come from the occasional moan from Lando as you start to ride him faster.

The room is filled with a mix of sounds coming from the three of you. Your slick as you ride Lando, bouncing up and down on his cock, Lando gagging as he tries to take more of Oscar down his throat. And none of you are being particularly quiet. Your moans mixed with Lando’s muffled moans, and Oscar’s deep groans bounce off the walls. God help whoever had the room next door to Lando’s.

Oscar is the first to cum. How can he not when Lando looks up at him with big doe eyes as he hollows his cheeks around his cock. Lando can feel Oscar’s release shoot down his throat, the warm salty cum coming out in spurts as Oscar has his head thrown back, thrusting himself into Lando’s mouth.

You can’t help but clench around Lando at the sight. You’ve given Oscar head before, but you don’t know if it’s ever actually felt as good as what Lando had done.

Oscar’s chest heaves slightly as he pulls himself from Lando’s mouth. A string of saliva connects Lando’s lips to Oscar’s cock. Oscar gives him a lazy smile.

“Why don’t you help Y/n cum just like you helped me? Play with her.” He instructs Lando.

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move his hands to your body, playing with your tits, pinching your nipples. One of his hands finds it’s way down to where you two connect, and softly rubs at the little bundle of nerves.

You yelp and lift yourself higher on his cock before dropping down again. Your thighs feel like they’re on fire, the muscles getting sore from the constant movement. Lando presses his fingers against your clit again, now much more sure of himself than before.

Tears begin to form in your eyes as you struggle to keep your pace. Lando begins to thrust up into you to help keep the rhythm you’ve set. His arms flex as they hold himself up on the bed. Yours wrap around his neck as you bury your face in his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum Lando.” You whimper as he presses harder against your clit.

He feels you clench around him one last time before you cum. You moan out both his and Oscar’s name as you cum, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your release triggers Lando’s as he shoots his cum deep inside of you. He hold you down onto his cock as he continues to thrust up into you, pushing his cum as far as he can in you.

You slowly peel yourself off of Lando, whining at the empty feeling between your legs. You glance over at the two boys now laying down on the bed. Both are covered in a light sheen of sweat. Oscar has now pulled his shirt off as he lays back, softly stroking Lando’s hair.

You lay down on Lando’s other side, resting your head on his chest.

“That was… wow.” He says, his voice a little gruff. “Is it like that every time?”

“We don’t have threesomes Lan.” You softly giggle. “We only sleep with people we love.” You press a soft kiss to his flushed chest.

“So you better get used to it, because now you’re stuck with us.” Oscar tells him as he buries his face in Lando’s neck.

You and Oscar let sleep wash over you, wrapped up around the British driver, who just smiles to himself pulling the two of you closer to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I loved you sooner.” He whispers into the darkness.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #poly landoscar x reader #formula one x reader #ln4 #op81

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pucksandpower · 8 months

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Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

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satoruhour · 8 months

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a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me

the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.

when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.

gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—

“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.

it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.

gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.

he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.

you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.

“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.

and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.

not like this.

“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.

“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most.

“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.

“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”

“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.

“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.

“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.

“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.

but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.

the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.

satoru gives you three squeezes.

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 2 months

Note

Helloo!

Idk if you take requests , but could you maybe write a fic with Human!Alastor and male!reader where reader exaggerates his whole personality to comply with everyone else and is easily exhausted from it and Alastor "relaxses" reader in that way ?

Thank you in advance and have a good day !

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

A/N: This request really made me brainstorm but I've decided to break it into 2 parts. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always kindly lmk the artist of the fanart so I can tag them and give proper credit! ❤️

WARNINGS: [ SLIGHT NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SUGGESTIVE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ FLUFF…if you squint ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

“You're on air in ten minutes, Y/n. Pick it up before the host gets restless!”

Your so-called manager barked from the dressing room doorway, giving one last glare your way before strutting off, grumbling a string of curses you'd learned to ignore.

“Asshole…” you scoffed, turning back to the striped mirror of your vanity; the large bulbs that lit it gave enough light in the old stuffy backstage space, illuminating every detail of your appearance.

Not one thing could be out of place.

You wouldn't allow it, committed to your role as a rising preformer in the golden age of the stage, and conditioned to perfectionist standards from years of tribulations

Suffering behind a practiced smile won you your stardom. The ambiguous beauty you possessed helped immensely in your success on the silver screen, but the truest contributor to your fame was appeal.

Humourous, intellectual, but most crucial, sex appeal.

That's what kept your admires enthralled, permanently put you in the limelight from the start, and inevitably earned you considerable amounts of money.

You weren't opposed to being called a child of Dionysus himself, envied by those who wanted you. Still, the burden of putting on a show for everyone every day without giving them a glimpse of your faults was excruciating.

Yet, you chose the burden over sulking in the darkness, remaining among the ordinary when you so clearly had the makings of a star, and your status of high popularity among the masses was proof of it.

So be it if your cheeks ached from smiling at frivolous fans that your laugh sounded less like your own the more you forced it, that flirtations of others felt like empty praises, or that every project you agreed to felt less and less stimulating.

So fucking be it.

Fame is fickle; you knew this all too well, but your existence felt meaningless without it.

Empty.

All the world's riches, the undivided favor you garnered from the public, and the sparkling awards cluttered your penthouse display shelves…

Even with all that at your fingertips, you had yet to feel seen…

Seen and truly adored.

“Two fucking minutes! Get your ass in position. This interview is being broadcast live, remember?” your manager harped at you from the hall, causing you to grunt in frustration before yelling back, “Would you shut your trap?! Fucking hell…I'm coming!”

You set aside the whiskey glass in your left hand, ran your right through your recently styled hair, and checked your reflection one last time.

“It's only a radio show. One little interview and you can go home and get black-out drunk…” the idea of spending some much-deserved time alone after running around doing a press tour brought a sad smile to your face as you stood and exited the dim room.

This would be your last stop, an interview with Louisiana’s prided radio host, and the last person you'd need to put a show on for before returning home.

“Finally…” your manager grumbled as you stepped into the hall, giving you a once over as the two of you strolled down the hall towards the host recording area, “Don't fuck this up. People say this ones a real talker and can make or break ya..” he mumbled begrudgingly.

You paid his incessant pestering no mind, flashing him a suave smile as you both stopped before a heavy door, “Don't tell me you're starting to care about my reputation now? Thought you only saw me as a nice money grab…”

Your smile grew as laughter bubled in your chest, seeing the other slowly become agitated at your backhanded comments.

“Why, you little-”

“Oh, don't be rude, sir. You'll spoil my good mood, and god knows sour spirits bring bad luck,” you smirked, enjoying the scrunch of his nose as his expression reflected his true nature, but before he could snap, you pushed the door open and slipped into the soundproofed station room.

What a fucking pain he is…

You cursed the raging man outside, sighing softly as the sound of jazz lingered through the air and the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a distinct cologne engulfed you.

The space felt and looked inviting, relaxing even, but what caught your attention was the man who occupied it.

He sat in a desk chair across the small room, facing a table full of controls and a mic to match. His face was lowered from the device, glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he stared at what you assumed was a script for your conversation with him, but the simmering amazement overtook your curiosity about the paper he held you felt hearing him hum along to the song he was airing.

You didn't dare move an inch closer, satisfied with watching and listening to him from afar, oddly entrapped by the silent allure he cast.

It was no mystery that people loved the sound of his voice. You'd be fooling yourself if you said you hadn't found his commentary enchanting, but looking at him in the flesh, you were sure he'd flourish on the silver screen like no other.

He could indeed win the eyes of many…

Yours especially, and to some degree, he had already, but you hesitated to admit it even as he turned to face you.

Oh…. he is a beauty, that's for sure…

That was the singular thought in your mind as he smiled, standing from his seat before approaching you with all the confidence you'd merely portrayed.

“Hello there. You must be Y/n L/n. I'm Alastor Hartifelt. It's a pleasure to meet you, my friend!”

His voice was as smooth, melting into the background melodies inexplicably, and your heart lightened immensely as he held out a hand for you to shake.

“The..the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hartifelt..” you inwardly scolded your delayed greeting, losing track of your practiced charm relatively quickly in his grasp. Still, in seconds, you recovered from the blunder while returning his smile.

Alastor took you in with a glance up and down your figure, cataloging every detail of your appearance out of habit, but when his gaze met yours, one thought crossed his perceptive mind.

Longing?

How curious…

You hid the familiar emotion well; seeing past the veil of contentment wasn't tricky, and though he was tempted to bring it forth.

You two shook hands briefly but firmly. Alastor stepped back, gliding his hand out to mention towards the recording station. “Come, have a seat, and please call me Alastor. We will be on air after all; formalities aren't necessary for an engaging broadcast.” His smile grew, emitting an unearthly kindness as you nodded in understanding before sitting in the chair opposite his.

“You make an excellent point, Alastor. I hope we enjoy each other's company.” You chuckle softly, feeling a tad nervous for a reason unknown but genuinely harboring a rise in excitement, hearing him respond promptly.

“I have no doubt we will…” Alastor muses more to himself, a delicate edge to his voice as he trailed behind you, and a certain twinge of intrigue rattled your spine at the implication.

For the first time in a long time, you weren't dreading the inclinations of your fame, gradually succumbing to the sparks of joy Alastor evoked with the most straightforward words and becoming surer of the fact as he took his seat next to you.

“Shall we begin?” he implies cheekily, and you reply in a quick, witty fashion, “We shall.”

————-

“Care for a drink, my friend? I believe we’ve earned ourselves a cold glass of whiskey… that is, If your evening is unreserved.” Alastor made the offer moments after switching your respective microphones off, quickly arranging the recording panel to a specific setting as he listened for your response.

Your mouth moved quicker than your mind; a distinct rush overtook at the thought of spending more time with the charismatic radio host, “I'd be delighted to join you. I must agree that our interview went quite well. It's rare to have an easy conversation with a stranger these days..”

Alastor raised a brow, sparing you a glance as he finished sliding keys and flicking switches into place to keep a calming stream of music lingering in his broadcast, “So, I'm still a stranger to you?… My, and I thought we were getting on so well…“

He spurs you casually, an air of hurt in his expression, and it stuns you, causing a red hue to rise on your cheeks, “Th-that's not at all what I meant, Alastor…” Your lower head twinges of embarrassment staining your consciousness, and for the third time that evening, Alastor had chipped away at your charm.

He enjoyed it….

Seeing you falter and conform to his standards, though you didn't need to, at any time, you could've remained indifferent to him and taken your leave the moment he shut your mic off, but you remained.

Solely because you'd grown attached to him or the defect he had on you.

Humbling, genuine understanding, but above all else, validation.

“My dear, I am only poking fun. I take no offense to your words, and I hope you'll grant me the same courtesy!” Alastor reached for you, thumb and forefinger slipping under your chin to lift it, and you obeyed his gesture with a soft smile. “Oh…I…”

You paused, swallowing thickly as he raised himself from the chair, head lowered toward yours as he stood above you.

Had he always been so tall?

So brooding?

You weren't entirely sure, but your heart raced, every nerve in your body tingled with anticipation as if you were a deer caught in his headlights, but you couldn't retreat or evade him.

“You what?..” Alastor cooed quietly, chocolate eyes on fire with an emotion you'd long forgotten but returned subconsciously.

Control.

You needed to be back in control, or the next breath between you two might lead to something…

Your mind played scenario after scenario, beginning to short circuit as he peered down at you, lips only inches from yours, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek. His touch is searing, warmer than those you'd felt before, intentional, and your entire being buzzed in his grasp as if in a drunken stupor.

He was dangerous… able to tear through your facade easily, which was terrifying.

Polarizing.

Don't let him get any closer…

Keep him at a distance…

You've only just met him...

Warnings rang in your head, but your eyes lowered to his lips, and your voice remained quiet as you responded to his question.

“I" 'd like to have that drink before the night ends. Wouldn't you?"With a gentle nudge of your head and a soft laugh, you draw away from Alastor's touch. The space between you increases, and the ability to breathe becomes less strenuous as you stand to your feet, collecting your overcoat before slipping it on, "I'm not familiar with the city yet, so I'll leave it to you to show me around." The chipper in your tone amuses Alastor; you'd perfected the art of illusion so well that in the clutches of what some might consider an intimate moment, you balked and reclaimed sensibility like it never occurred, though you wished for it to carry on further.

He'd met and spoken to his fair share of actors, learned their ticks and telling habits, and used it against them when he saw benefit in toying with them.

However, being able to see right through you evoked another motive for the host, and he dared to think it was mutual.

"Well, I'd be honored to show you the ins and outs of this lively town I call home so long as you promise to keep up," Alastor retrieves his coat, a heavy jet black trench withered accents paired with matching hat, stylish in all the right ways -presumably warm to be in. Still, you were sure if he ventured into the night dressed like that, any stranger would fear him.

They had good reason to, but you didn't need to know why.

Not yet…

With a coy smile, you followed Alastor out of the station, matching his strides as he paved the way to a nearby speakeasy, "You'll find it quite entertaining, my friend. Few visit at this hour, but my dear Mimzy puts on a vine show regardless!" Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Alastor being infatuated with another, for what reason you weren't sure, but your disappointment flashed clear in your eyes that he took it upon himself to clarify his remark.

"She is an old and loyal acquaintance. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You perked up at the explanation, face burning with a blush as you raised both hands to dissuade his interpretation of your expression, "I understand. You needn't explain anything to me-"

Alastor halted in his tracks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he peered at you curiously, "Hm, so you did assume we were something to begin with?..."

Shit, was I that obvious?...

"Not at all..." you lie, as calm as ever but internally conflicted.

How could he go about messing with you so boldly?..

And why did it excite you?..

"Your eyes say otherwise, my friend..." he counters your nervous reply with a smug smirk, beginning to walk off as if he wasn't toying with your head, "My eyes?..." you whisper in response.

"They are the doorway to the soul...I've learned to walk through said doors, and you, my dear, hide a lot of fears behind them." Alastor chuckles, ears tingling as you reclaim your spot at his upon reaching your destination. Still, you're less concerned with the dark alley lit with a singular neon sign situated above a heavy lead door and more worried about what he is implying regarding your emotions.

Who was he to know anything?

Sure, he was pleasant to be around, an avid intellectual with a knack for continuing conversation with you, and you had no reason to believe he'd been faking his friendliness to you from the start...

That still gave him no right analyzing you, prod at your exterior with more confidence than necessary, and you intended to let him know it.

A glare beset your expression, mouth open to speak, but you weren't allowed to do so as the lead door swung open.

Alastor guided you close to his side as a gaggle of patrons spilled from the doorway, ranting and raving about the time they had inside. Their rowdy behavior irked him, but you did not comment on the matter as he placed a hand on your back to lead you inside after their dysfunctional departure.

“Drunken idiots,” he mumbled begrudgingly, and for the first time you'd seen the radio host truly bothered. He'd been so composed during your interview, inviting and flirtatious on and off the air, so getting a glimpse of his annoyed state felt like a treat.

At least you knew he had flaws, insignificant but telling ones.

“Um. Alastor, you can..” you paused, unsure if you wanted to let him know he was still holding onto your waist as he led you inside the dim speakeasy. Alastor hummed, irritation gone, and his coy smile widening as you shuffled alongside him. “Y-you can let me go now.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dear! I wouldn't want you to run into unsavory characters like the ones that just passed..”

He quickly navigated the lingering crowd, clearly familiar with the club's layout, and you marbled at its unique atmosphere as he led you through it. “I can handle myself, Alastor,” you tried again to reason, but Alastor was quick to give a response as he ushered you to sit at an unoccupied lounge chair complete with a table and lamp.

“I'm sure you can but I'm rather fond of keeping you close.” He sat next to you after setting his coat and hat aside.

What did he mean by that?..

“How selfish of you,” you feigned disappointment as he shifted to face you with a soft chuckle leaving his lips, “Would you be so kind as to forgive my greed for your attention?” Alastor stares you down, noting how you bite your lip, another nervous tick you'd yet to disregard in his presence. “I'll consider it if you buy me a drink or two..”

The suggestion was meant to sound confident, unmothered by the mounting pressure in your chest, but it came out breathless. You were sure that you'd mastered the art of indiffenece, permanently established a mask of charm, but as much as you wished to maintain the certainty…

Alastair disproved it with little more than a gesture or equally compelling word.

It was unsettling, intoxicating too, but undeniably riveting.

“A small price to pay,” he mumbled, eyes lowering to your lips as you laughed softly and leaned back to admire the other patrons roaming or dancing around. “I never said I was cheap..” you taste him, gaze drifting to him as he shifted closer. You wanted to jump out of your skin as his arm came to rest behind you, head lulling to ward your cheek as he breathed into your ear. The resulting warmth made you shiver, quickening your breaths, and your body tingled with intrigue.

“No…” Alastor affirmed your jest, free hand raising your chin, tilting your head to face him as he continued, “…but you are desperate to be loved. One might say that's just as inappropriate, mon Cher..”

His tone dripped with condensation, a sensual purr loud enough to drown out the jazz and chatter surrounding you, and for a moment, he was all you could comprehend.

You should've felt angry, unsettled even, but his words struck a more profound emotion.

Comfort.

You weren't crazy, a constant wonder for the masses to marvel at and never care about.

Alastor could see you.

He wanted to…

“And so what if I am? Why would it concern you?..” there was no harsh undertone to your question, and it earned a sultry hum of amusement from him. “You've interested me, so I must not ignore your charade. I'm partial to the truth of a person, and you, my dear, abandon it in the hopes of success..”

Spot on.

It is shamelessly hurtful but direct nonetheless.

You clicked your tongue dismissively, attempting to turn your head away from his grasp, but Alastor held you tighter.

A glare crossed your face at the brushing grip he established, but a pool of excitement rushed to your crotch as well.

“I'm not one of your scripts to read, Alastor..” you scoff, rolling your eyes to make your point clear, but he isn't affected by the arrogant gesture.

“My apologies if it seems that way, but my intention to know you, inside and out, is purely innocent...”

“I find that hard to believe…” you retort, very aware of the minimal space between you two, and it became harder to focus on anything else but his soft lips that were stretched thin into a smile.

God, I was doomed from the beginning… you think to yourself as you laugh at your shameless line of sight. “Believe what you wish, my friend, but I enjoy being the object of affection..”

“That's inappropriate to suggest,” you mutter, face burning with blush and your hands raising to grip his wrist and collar. Alastor hummed, amused by your denial, “Mm, I suppose it is…would you like another apology?”

You shake your head, tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, eyes lifting to his, full of determination, “A kiss will do just fine…”

He holds your gaze, checking for mockery, but there is none. “That's the first honest thing you've said all night, mon cher,” Alastor points out in a hushed tone, lowering his head to place a slow kiss on your lips as they pull into a satisfied smile.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

I rewatched Heartstopper for this. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make me cry harder than the first time I watched it? Also, yes. Will I forever love that show?… (yes). Again, this is just part 1! The second half is being drafted. Please look forward to it. I'm not sure it'll include smut…but I'll debate on that later.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He's so cheekyyyy but I love him for it hehe like he’s just the right amount of ‘cocky asshole’ ya know? ❤️ credit to creator!

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redclercs · 11 months

Text

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

INTERLUDE: this is why we can't have nice things.

— the one where everybody's waiting to see the fall out.

warnings: this is basically like the INTRO chapter with all media, we're going to pretend publications and broadcast timings are not mistaken or fake, okay? ok. am i myself if i don't mention taylor swift in every chapter? no. foul language.

masterlist ✢ next

By Tom Gill // June 23rd

Vic Presley confirms y/n hasn't reached out to her even after Vic called asked her to in a publication a few days ago.

"I think she has blocked my number by now," Presley said, "I am devastated by this. I didn't think it was like her to discard relationships so easily."

Presley and y/ln have been friends since 2020, when they met at the opening of the SENSE Club in downtown Los Angeles and quickly became inseparable.

"y/n really was— is my best friend. I miss her and I want her to come back to me."

Vic Presley also commented on y/n's split from Aidan Kim in her own way: "I hate that she hurt Aidan. I was not aware they had so many problems, that's definitely the kind of stuff you tell your best friend."

y/n was spotted just a week ago with alleged (and constantly denied) boyfriend, Charles Leclerc on a stroll around Central Park. Victoria Presley couldn't help but speak her mind on this.

"y/n has changed so much since she met that guy. I met him in Miami and Monaco, he's not one of the good ones. He's managing to isolate her from everyone who loves her."

Once again, Victoria urges y/n to contact her so they can rekindle their friendship. "I am not angry at her, disappointed maybe. But I will always have my arms open for her."

SEE ALSO:

→ Mia Kim, the talented sister of Aidan Kim, set to make big screen debut.

→ Were Mia Kim and Victoria Presley mocking y/n y/ln in new Youtube Video?

→ Mia Kim: "y/n should have kept her mouth shut, there's still shit to be exposed about her."

FROM THE DREW BARRYMORE SHOW — JULY 6TH

[Y/N]: ❝(...) What matters to me right now, is that people now I am nothing of what they're calling me. I am not perfect, nobody is. But I have never cheated on a partner or used someone else as a 'toy' and most importantly, I built my own career.❞

[Y/N]: ❝It gets exhausting, you hear things about yourself you never even thought possible. It could be laughable if it wasn't so cruel❞

[Y/N]: ❝My relationship ended in February, but I believe it was over way before that. I acted in a way that was not fair to my ex-partner nor to myself, and I expressed my regrets about it. He had the right to not accept my apology, but not to make stuff up about the whole situation.❞

[Y/N]: ❝He's feeding his ego, he's a man, after all. But doing it at the expense of my work and my reputation is disgusting. I want one producer or casting agent to come forward and say they gave me a role thanks to my ex-boyfriend's input, just one.❞

[Y/N]: ❝I have surrounded myself with different people. They have been a great support system, always motivating me, and holding me back when I'm about to do something stupid. This also means I have left some people out of what's going on with me, and it's for the best.❞

[Y/N]: ❝Taylor Swift, bless her soul, has given me a lot of advice. She's the sweetest person ever and since the same guy that is trying to drag me has gone after her in a few interviews, she wants this to be over as much as I do. I think he made a mistake by messing with Taylor too.❞

[Y/N]: ❝Rumors will keep running, but I am finally at peace with knowing who I am and who I can trust. But those 'sources' should know my patience is running out.❞

By Jenny Highland // July 20th

Mia Kim and Victoria Presley are the hottest topic right now, but not for the reasons both influencers wish, as they are in trouble!

Both Los Angeles locals have received a 'Cease and Desist' letter from recovering actress y/n y/ln this week, per her team's advice. This was confirmed by both Presley and Kim on Twitter, saying they are 'flabbergasted' that y/n is accusing them of defamation.

While y/n is far from gaining her place back in the public's heart, we are not blind to what Victoria and Mia have done for the past month, riding the wave to get views and followers talking about their shared time with y/n. Who has every right to ask them to stop, as she has done in several interviews throughout the month.

For many people, this makes it more evident that it was either Presley or Kim who contacted tabloids to get their five minutes of fame and sink y/n deeper.

Actions have consequences for everyone, and if y/n decided to pick this fight at this point in her downfall/rerise/wherever it is that we are with her, it's because she knows she can win, right?

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! please let me know your thoughts! I know I'm ending your patience with this slow burn thing but I promise you we're getting there! Charles is back next chapter and you'll see haha. again, your interactions mean the world to me and i'm sorry if sometimes i don't reply to your comments, i'm just awkward but i love you all♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @sassyheroneckgiant @flowerchild-96 @fangirlika @shegotboreddsoo @roseamongthorns13 @cissyp @chimchimjiminie16 @saturnsrinqs @roni-midnights @gayyvodka6 @studioreader @its-ash-not-grey @lu-morningstar @ferraribabe @reidsworld @feelslikestrawberries @celestialams @kosmosgalore @heeseung-baby @missenclod @buendiabebeta @mycenterfold @aces-tattooartist @burningrred @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive@rainybabe25 @ru-kru @lazybot @teenagedreams-cl @cool-ultra-nerd @kuskumu @formulakay3 @bisexual-desi @somanyfandomsbruh @icarus-nex @haziefairy @xjval @xoxoloverb @sainzleclercs @headinthecloudssblog @incoherenciass @bookophiliac @torrie421 @nooshytushie @azxulaa @steephanie07 @anonymous8462 @tbisloneely @pukklv @bn7921 @be-your-coffee-pot @fdl305 @lovely-blackinnon @landonorizzz @ruleroftheuniverse @ivegotparticulartaste

want to join the paddock club? click here!

if you are not tagged please check your blog settings because tumblr isn't letting me tag you

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s0lam33y · 1 month

Text

not a thing in my name.

a/n: everybody and they mama was in shambles. It’s not my fault YEW chose Tori mane 😭 (I’m just kidding plz don’t get me) so I made this part 2 🙏🏽 I’m personally not the biggest fan of this part 2, but Ik you all have been waiting for it. I was conflicted on how to end this piece and I’m scared that it shows 💀

Here’s part 1

🎶: @pvnks0ul @fentibeauty @onyxstones-world @kissvamps @shurislover @eringranola @elyxiir @oceean @teadah18 @ririshotgf @blushyrawrz @imnotb

A part of you has begun to hate fame. At the same time, you’re grateful for everything, for everyone. You’ve started to hate how invasive everyone has become. There’s a camera in your face every single time you step into your home. There’s always some sort of hateful tweet or Instagram comment which is mostly due to your lack of management. The only person that you know that was ever good with hooking you on to others was Riri.

She’s barely in your life so things aren’t the same. You have a whole group of people with you at all times. Especially on your tour. It’s so close to ending with LA as its last location.

You finally make it to your hotel room with Tori trailing behind you. She seems to be enjoying the fame, she’s gained quite a bit since your relationship is now public. Now it’s broadcasted, and everyone’s wondering who she is. And since you’re with her all the time, you decided that she might as well be a part of your team, as a manager. She manages your schedule, and what time everything happens.

The real reason is so she can communicate with anyone that needs to reach you. Riri included. Not that you can’t speak to her but you wouldn’t be able to handle interacting with her after what happened four months ago. So you have Tori handle it.

“Damn, New York! I did not miss this,” She chuckles as you chuck your heels off. You’re exhausted but you offer a curt smile anyway.

“Yeah, same.” You agree. You rush into the lush bathroom, ripping off your lashes, and wiping off your makeup. You slip into the shower quickly and head out in a fluffy robe to hear Tori on the phone. She’s sitting on the edge of the California-sized Bed, tightly gripping the phone. She catches you at the door frame and visibly relaxes.

“Yeah but you know she got early mornings tomorrow, I don’t think you should come.” She says with some edge to her voice. You approach her, watching her eyes trail over your frame before you cup her cheek. You’d like to think that your relationship is fixing itself. You’re starting to feel like the boredom is stability.

“Who was that?”

“No one.” She promises while wrapping her arms around your waist.

…

You can’t spend your mornings admiring the beautiful city or taking walks like you used to. There’s something nostalgic about being in New York again. It’s like being home again. Despite how irritating it can get, and ending up at the 125th by accident, you’ve missed the chaos of it all.

But, you can’t have everything. You can’t stand still and admire anything either. So you get ready in the morning while it’s still dark. While rubbing cream into your face, you notice the deep bags that have begun to form beneath your eyes after a hot shower.

Sleep has been difficult lately. Not only do you get six hours at best, the quality of it sucks. The mattress in the hotel is barely comfortable to you, too soft. You find yourself sinking in silk sheets at night. And it doesn’t help that you get super cold, Tori likes to keep to her side of the bed and nine times out of ten her back is facing your own so warmth from her isn’t even an option.

You step out of the bathroom, dressed in dark sweats and a gray hoodie to match. You barely look done up, but that’s not anything you're concerned about right now.

You sit at the foot of the bed, reaching for Tori to pull her out of sleep.

“Tori, c’mon, wake up.” You breathe out. She wakes up with a jolt, looking around and forcing a chuckle out of your lips.

…

“That was gorgeous! Y/N!” A manager speaks, hollering from the empty crowd. A thin layer of sweat covers your body as you finally take in a needed deep breath. You don’t remember this hurting so bad during your last performance. You see hundreds of seats in front of you, but they aren’t filled just yet. You’re sure they will be in less than 13 hours. You had to go over your entire routine, it’s a lot. More than you’ve ever done but you’ve worked through it and that’s all that matters. A manager of the venue wanted to watch you rehearse and seems to have enjoyed it. You smile at him in thanks and sit on the edge of the stage, reaching for the water bottle next to you.

After a while, you go backstage to find Tori on the phone. She notices you and smiles.

“Alright, I’ll call you back.” She says, quickly stuffing her phone in her pockets.

“I heard you, you sounded good, babe.” She smiles as her hand grazes your arm. She takes a step closer to you and lowers just a bit to whisper into your ear.

“After this event, we could-“ You begin.

Her phone rings again. She takes a step back, smiling at you before walking away. You’ve been trying your best to fix everything. To bring you back to the way things were before. She’s been on the phone more often than usual lately. You’re sure it’s just to manage your schedule and whatnot so you don’t question it.

…

By the time the performance is broadcast all over social media, you’re already on a plane to LA for your next location. Tori decided to linger in the last tour location, saying she had things to wrap up.

You blast some Sade up into your headphones and lean back into your seat. First class seats weren’t anything that you were able to experience back then so you take advantage of it now and do your best to relax despite the headache beginning to form. You close your eyes, the aches in your body finally releasing.

Before you can truly relax, you blink your eyes open, looking around to see a familiar head. A woman is sitting across the other isle right next to you, facing the window but with gorgeous braids and spare curls gracefully falling next to them. She’s not sitting normally, instead, she has one foot perched up on the seat and low-hanging sweats. She turns around and meets your gaze.

Riri.

You blink again and do your best to shake the thought out of your head. When your vision clears you realize that it’s just a woman that you’ve never seen, dressed in regular clothing at that.

You’ve been trying not to think about her. The guilt is beginning to chew at you again. She was one of the realest people you will ever meet in this industry. The way you ended was messy but you wished she was at least still a friend. But you can’t have that. You can’t have her and Tori at the same time, she told you herself.

“I want nothing less. I don't want to be the other woman.”

She couldn’t ever possibly be the other woman.

…

“Thank you! Los Angeles!” You yell out onstage. This is your second to last show and you went all out. Your adrenaline is at an all-time high like it always is when you’re on stage but all you can focus on is how much these platform heels are killing your ankles. The crowd is so loud you can’t hear yourself and the beat of your music is just as loud if not louder than they are.

The song You were originally supposed to end with was the last one you made with Riri but it was somehow scrapped from the list. You don’t know how or why but right before you got up on stage, Tori had told you to not bother performing It.

You get backstage, relieved that you’re finally done with All the performing and exhaustion. You don’t see Tori backstage like you expected.

It’s Riri in the flesh. Or at least you think it is so blink once, really hard to focus. She can’t be here but you’ll take your chances.

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, tightening so you’re pressed against each other.

“I missed you.” You smile as she rubs your back. She looks the same for the most part, her style is still on point.

You pull away to get a good look at her, she’s in a white oversized tee and some baggy jeans. You notice some concealer but only because it’s covering the pretty marks on her skin that you’d love to see. Gold on the bottom row of her teeth and her chain glimmers in the dim light but you don’t mention it.

“You look good, ma, damn. I saw you up there and I was like, damn.” She praises you. You missed her voice too. So much that you feel like it’ll bring you to tears. You’ve needed some sort of good thing to happen to you lately.

This is wearing you down and you feel like you’ve finally found comfort.

“How are you here?” You question while her hand rests on your waist.

“I ordered the tickets a long ass time ago, I talked to yo girl and she was cool wimme being backstage, I know it’s your second last.” She remembers. Of course, she does. You do your best to memorize the feel of her hands on your skin, the calloused slightly fingertips and soft palms. You feel her hands slowly leave you and the energy shifts once she begins to look at the floor and then at you, like she’s somehow anxious. That’s new. “I wanted to see you one last time. I’m moving away from Chicago…I need something new, calmer. I found some cabin in Montana which is weird, but…I think I need to go somewhere quiet.” She says. You swear you stop breathing. Her hand rubs against the skin of your hip as comfort. This is good for her. “You’ve always been on that spiritual shit, anyway.” You smile while feeling the prick of tears in the back of your eyes and the gentle shaking in your voice. You watch her chuckle, the biggest smile forming on her face. Oh, how you’ve missed her. And now she’s leaving. “Good luck with your tour, baby.” She doesn’t attempt to kiss you on the cheek. Instead, she brings your hand to her lips, kissing them the same way she did at that party and staining you with her touch. You pull her into a hug one more time. You want to tell her that you love her. That you don’t want to be in the music industry without her. That you so badly want to drop everything to go in the middle of nowhere with her. You want to tell her that you wish you weren’t so scared. She hugs you back, securing her arms around your frame. “You were never the other woman.” You admit despite the lump in your throat. “I know, baby.” And with that, she’s gone.

…

Chicago feels weird when you’re back. You should be ecstatic. Your last show is in your hometown. Your career is taking off, you’re becoming a household name. Artists are blowing up your phone and begging to collaborate with you. Labels want to sign you. Fans recognize you when you walk out of the house. It’s amazing but so suffocating.

“You've been off lately,” Tori says from the shower. You continue to do your mascara in the mirror. She’s humming the song that you had made with Riri. It makes you think back to why she had cut it out of the list. “Why’d you take the song out?” You suddenly ask, hearing the hot water cut out. “Ion need everybody listening to it, You made it for me.” She says before beginning to go on and on about your love for her, which you would be paying attention to if there wasn’t constant buzzing in your ear. You look down and hear the buzz in her sweats on the floor. It’s not her usual phone, it’s a different color with a different case. You stand upright and before you can see a contact name, you feel steam right behind you and watch her grasp the phone. “Work phone, Let me answer it.” She insists, barely giving you room to answer before leaving. ..

That phone call turned into some sort of meeting that she dressed too well for. She for some reason wore her best cologne and made sure her hair looked right. Tori left you with a kiss on your forehead before heading out of the house. She’s been gone for five hours. The same way she knows you, the same way you know her. You ain’t fucking dumb. You’ve spent the last five hours on the couch, zoning out and coming back to reality. You saw this coming, especially with her constantly taking too many calls, staying in tour locations without you, her quickly hanging up when you came around. You wait for her to step back into your shared apartment. She has a grin on her face. You feel stupid for not having seen this coming. She tosses her two phones and car keys on the glass coffee table in front of you. “Where were you?” You question while she sits next to you on the couch. She scoots closer and you let her. She looks flushed and all you can think about is how much you used to love her. Her eyes grow wide and you’re sure the look on your face is enough for her to know that you know. “Babe-” “How long?” You ask, it’s not fair. You knew she was insecure about Riri but you never pinned her as the type. “What the fuck are you on?” She curses, damn near yelling before standing up. A loud repeated buzzing turns her quiet. She looks at you like you’ve slapped her. “Pick up and put it on speaker.” You order. She takes in a deep breath before doing as asked. You keep your eyes on her own before she taps the screen. “Hey baby-” A feminine voice greets her through the phone, she sounds so fucking irritating.

She knows it’s the end of your relationship. …

“Thank you, Chicago…truly. I’m honored to finish my tour here.” You watch the video of you ending your tour. It was amazing, the fans were perfect, the energy was everything. Now you sit in a cab on your way to your apartment.

You figured that Tori cheated on you because of Riri. She had been with the mystery girl for a year and a half. If it was after Riri maybe you would’ve given her some chance. Even before Riri, she had been with someone, perhaps that’s why she was so tolerant for so long. You didn’t ask for many details just for how long. She tried to make excuses about how she didn’t feel cared for and how she always felt like you saw her as some sort of pawn. As far as you know, Right now she’s packing her bags and making her way out of your apartment. You won’t know until you get back home. “We’re here, Ma’am.” The cab driver, you leave him with a generous tip before quickly making it home. You need to be home, your bones are beginning to ache and so are your joints.

As you approach your apartment you swear you hear shifting and a voice. The closer you get, the more distinct it becomes. It’s not Tori for sure, It’s some woman with a grating moan that you hear sounds too fake to be true. You quietly walk through the door only to find a naked body on top of your ex. You stand there in silence, crossing your arms. You already thought it was crazy for her to have been cheating on you for months. But for her to fuck in your apartment, that’s another level of disrespect. You knock on the doorframe, watching both of them jump like they’ve got blood on their hands. She’s riding your ex like there’s no tomorrow. “What the—Y/N, You..” Tori starts breathlessly.

“Be out in ten minutes.” …

Your finger hovers over Riri’s contact name. Her photo is cute, it’s a selfie of the two of you in her studio. You’re sitting on your washer, cleaning the fucking fluids off your couch cover while a tall glass of wine sits in your palm.

You miss her. So much. This breakup should hurt. You’ve known Tori for so long but for some reason, it doesn’t hurt. You feel relieved instead.

“I’m not gonna be your second choice, Y/N. I refuse to be an option, okay?”

Riri was never the second choice. And all you’ve thought about since your career has taken off is her. She should have her arm wrapped around your waist at events. She should be the one driving you home.

You would hate to see her again and have her feel like she was the last option. So you decide that maybe it’s about time you fix that.

….

Turns out she really went to fucking Montana. You double check her location which she gave you ages ago. You’re close, right next to each other almost. It’s bright out, after a rough night at your apartment. You abruptly decided that there was no use in waiting to not go see her. So you chose to book an early flight.

It’s beautiful, there are mountains everywhere and it looks like she’s alone. You walk up the steps of the cabin’s porch. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe she’s moved on. She could very well have already moved on.

There’s a light chill this morning. You raise your hand and knock at the door, waiting for a response.

“How’d you find me, y/n?” She questions. She doesn’t make a single sound of irritation. There’s a small smile on her face and her toned frame is showcased because of the sleeveless top she has on.

She doesn’t look like the Riri you know but she does. She doesn’t have any makeup on, no lashes done, she’s barefaced with her hair slicked back in a neat bun. She’s still so beautiful. She looks happy. Less stressed.

You can’t help but smile at the sight of her. She looks all the same for the most part, so carefree, with a small smile on her face and blissed eyes.

You smell her vanilla perfume that brings you home every time. It reminds you of a home that you don’t recognize. It just feels right. She feels right.

“A lot happened and I missed you.” You admit, still a little afraid of her reaction.

“Just say you still got my location…Come here.” She laughs before grabbing your hand and pulling you into her arms. You don’t hug her back immediately. But then eventually you settle into her touch for a while. She pulls away to get a good look at you.

Her eyes are dilated, more than you’ve ever seen them. You’ve never had the privilege of admiring her up close. She’s so beautiful, you knew that already but watching her from a distance is different. Her hand is gentle against your cheekbone. Her sweet eyes scan over your makeup that’s somehow still dewy although it’s been hours since you put it on.

“You hate red lipstick,” She points out at your stained lips. You’re confused before thinking back to what she’s talking about. In your last performance in Chicago, your lips were a vibrant shade that you hate. She’s not wrong, you hate how much attention it draws but you’re glad she’s seen it. She’s been keeping up with you.

“That hasn’t changed.” You murmur, watching her reach her thumb to your skin to wipe at your lip as if the lipstick is still there.

“Come in,”

….

“Oh damn, so she has been fuckin’ somebody else,” Riri says with raised brows and a hushed tone. A sour taste grows in your mouth even though you know it shouldn’t.

“I guess.” You murmur while looking around Riri’s place. Most of the interior is just the old warm decor she had at her old place. Her guitar sits up against the wooden wall next to the fireplace. You see why she moved here. It’s gorgeous and all you hear is birds chirping outside.

You take a sip of the hot chocolate she’s made for you before leaning back onto the couch.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, baby.” She comforts you while inching closer to you and rubbing your knee. The pet name makes you melt all over again. She leans back, watching the fire pit.

“You going back to the city soon?” You wonder.

“Mhm…in a couple of months. I can’t let down my artists. I’ve been working from home for the most part.” She comments.

“I’ve missed you.” You admit. You haven’t felt this calm and centered in a long time. It’s just so quiet. It’s just you and her.

“Me too.” She agrees while both of you look at each other. She’s always been good with eye contact but this is something different. You wonder if she’s always looked at you like this.

You know she won’t take the initiative to lean in so you do and eventually she follows, the hand she had on her knee moves up to your waist and you’re so close you could count the cute little freckles by her eyes.

Your lips ghost over each other and you almost taste the mango-flavored chapstick on her lips before her face tenses.

“I can’t be your rebound either, Y-“

You ignore the sheer irritation brewing in you before leaning in to kiss her. You pull away to gauge her reaction, her chest is rising and falling at a pace you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

“You can’t be a rebound when you were never the other woman, And I’m sorry that it took so long for me to realize that,” You blurt and for the first time, you can’t tell what she’s feeling. Her hands wrap around your face as she speaks.

“Took you long enough.”

She kisses you again and she doesn’t stop until your lips go numb.

#riri williams #riri x reader #riri williams x reader

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ruporas · 9 months

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apologies if you've already been asked this but do you have any favorite trigun fics? i absolutely adore your art btw!

thank you!!! and i've answered this on insta, but i don't think i've ever shared on tumblr... i'm not good at reading fics, esp long ones, because my attention span is pretty bad, but from the ones i have bookmarked, i'll share some that i like in no particular order

hills like white elephants (meet me halfway) - adlvnam

pairing: vashwood word count: 1.1k, sfw, vague post v.10 spoilers ‘I read a story once,’ Vash says, unsure. ‘I’m kind of thinking about it right now.’

i like a lot of adlvnam's fics, i find them very unique and creative in their execution, and their writing is wonderful! this was the first fic i've read from them and it's stuck with me ever since. others that i like from them are in manus tuas (no spoilers) and vox dei (warning for post vol.10 spoilers).

stay - Anonymous

pairing: vashwood word count: 2.3k, sfw, no spoilers “Hold up,” Vash groans. He presses his free hand to Wolfwood’s mouth and shushes him. He’s probably going for a stern look, though between his poor attempts to stop grinning like the biggest idiot this side of the planet and the way he’s patting him, it’s hard to take him seriously. “Stop laughin’. Where’s the keys?” “What keys?” Wolfwood tries to ask, muffled by Vash’s hand, and his tongue is a little thick and slow in his mouth so… something comes out, but it’s probably not very wordy. Word-like. Not a sentence, probably. (or, wolfwood and vash get drunk, bicker, and then share a bed together.)

i enjoyed the mundanity and silliness of this fic and i think about it from time to time... i think fics where one of them or both drink together are pleasant to read.

Last Summer - varilien

pairing: vashwood word count: 741, sfw, no spoilers You are what you love.

tags on this one are "sunrises, morning routines, coffee, sentimental" which caught my attention. very sweet and beautiful.

Rain - Kokohamstar

pairing: none, wolfwood centric word count: 768, sfw, major spoilers - post v.10 Ever since he was a little kid listening to Bible stories, he dreamed of the day the world would be washed clean and wondered what the rain would feel like on his face.

as most wolfwood centric fics, it was a gutpunch and melancholic, but still soooo.. augh.... the last paragraph really does it for me.

water bucket blues - fathomfive

pairing: vashwood word count: 3.7k, sfw, major spoilers, post trimax Vash the Stampede goes on the record about a friend he once had. Also about card games, cats, family, and some other things. "Start with a piece of the whole, Meryl said. It doesn’t have to be the first piece. Start with a specific. That’s what they mean when they throw around the words human interest. I know the pieces. Believing they make a whole is another thing. But she’s a broadcast professional and I trust her advice. Maybe if I can figure out how to tell one piece—like the story of Wolfwood as I knew him—I can learn how to tell the others."

i love vash pov fics and i love it when it's first person and this one in particular hits because it's his pov and he speaks, honestly, openly, telling a tale that he can't really flub because it's about the people he loved. i love how grounded this fic is in the present of max, i love how vash grows within the 3.7k words, i love how he moves forward with the world he's living in. this fic makes me teary if i think too much about it... it's really wonderful.

it’s a summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world - goldenglitz

pairing: vashwood word count: 3.9k, nsfw, no spoilers Vash has the lung capacity of a man who’s cried for 150 years. It isn't like Wolfwood takes more than he gives — but like with most things, he barely keeps up with Vash. He works his body to the limit, even as his lungs burn and his legs and arms give out under him. They fuck like they’re on borrowed time. All of this makes it so easy — so much easier than just talking. Wolfwood would sometimes rather pull new and interesting noises from Vash with just his mouth than do anything else with it. Their own dialect: moans, groans, and four words. “Yes” — “Please” — “Vash” — “Wolfwood.”

i love all of their vashwood fics, they only have 3 but they're all lovely and has a sort of characterization to both vash and wolfwood i don't see often. definitely one of my faves, especially when it comes to explicit vw fics.

i think these are all the ones i'll share for now!!

#asks #thanks for sending this!#one day ill get around to the chapters long fics that has really enticing summaries #most of the fics i like tends to be more trimax based i realized... It's not that surprising but i always go like yay yippee whenever i fin #a more max-canon fic - not something i intentionally hunt down for but i have my bias dmgkgs

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sapphire-dreamsky · 6 months

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one name amongst a hundredth

inspiration: heavily inspired by The Hunger Games starring: ryomen sukuna | female reader pairing: sukuna x reader warnings: violence| death of minor characters setting: alternate universe | hunger games universe previous

It was one slip of paper amongst 100 others.

Sukuna stood amongst a crowd of boys dressed in white and grey. He certainly stood out with his pink hair and red eyes. In a sea of monochrome colours, he was the sun.

His peers feared him. His teachers disciplined him the hardest. He was different. And humans hated different people. In a class of thirty students, he was the black sheep. It didn’t matter how much effort he put in his studies or his projects. It would never be enough in a sea of grey and white.

And yet, there was no one else who could outmatch him in a game of wit. After a hunt, he would always bring back deers during winter; hares during summer. His skills were unmatched. But it didn’t matter at school. In class, he was a disturbance. The troublemaker. He could live with this title. He had four years left in school before he could start working. He didn’t know yet what he wanted to do. But one thing’s for sure, he wanted to do something ludicrous. He wanted to live comfortably. He wanted to provide (name) with a comfortable life where she wouldn’t have to worry about tomorrow anymore. He wanted to make every girl who dared mock her, be jealous of her; want to be her. And to do that, he needed money. He needed to make a name for himself. But not like this.

The Capitol’s representative, a woman with an interesting wig that most probably cost more than both his father and mother ever make in one month, dug her gloved coloured hand in the fish bowl; ruffled the slips to create unnecessary tension and stress. A permanent grin etched on her pink coloured lips. If (name) was by his side, he would have remarked that the lady was the very inspiration to the Red Queen in her favourite book. They would laugh at the comparison later on while stuffing their faces with those black sesame filling buns as promised under the willow tree. They would run across the meadow like children should, worrying only when the announcement for yet another game came. Until they both reach their eighteenth birthdays; both of their names forever disappear from the slips of papers in the fish bowl. They would get married when he would be twenty-four and working, and she would be twenty-two forging pieces of jewelleries to sell to those rich enough to afford. She would wear a beautiful white dress with the red ribbon he gifted her on her tenth birthday attached securely to her hair to make it apparent that she was his and he was hers.

He had a whole life ahead. He had so many things he wanted to do. He still had so many things he wanted to say to (name) still.

“Ryoumen Sukuna.”

Ryoumen Sukuna. The pink haired boy dissociated. It was one amongst one hundredth. What were the odds? Not in his favour that’s for sure. He watched blankly as the sea of monochrome clothed boys parted ways. He never felt more exposed than on that day. He could feel the relief on the boys’ shoulders. Their relieved sighs. Their happy stares because it was not them. The slip belonged to the odd one. The one who never belonged. He shouldn’t have been angry. He shouldn’t have been cursing them one by one in his head, wishing their day would come next year. Because if he was in their place, if another slip was drawn by those fucking ugly gloved hands by that damn Capitol representative, he would have felt relieved as well. It was a dog eat dog world. The bottom feeder was always fodder for the sharks. And right now, he was a bottom feeder as he was led by peacekeepers up the podium to join the crying female tribute to give a salute worthy to be broadcasted all over Panem.

“Sukuna!”

Red eyes widened. (Name) was scrambling outside the crowd of girls. Her arms were outstretched towards him. The peacekeepers grabbed at the hysteric kicking girl. He inwardly seethed as their hands dared to lay on her. But he knew, now that he was a player in the game, he had to be strong for the both of them more than ever. Less she becomes a target for the Capitol.

So, he turns around despite the peacemakers’ digging fingers in his back forcing him to walk forward.

“Brat. I will see you when I come back. Behave until I come back.”

Because he was coming back. With each step he took towards the grinning powder-covered representative, his resolve at surviving these games became stronger. His face became colder; eyes losing the innocent gleam he attended the reaping with. They were now replaced with a strong will to survive. No matter the cost.

“And we have here District 12's male tribute, Ryoumen Sukuna!”

Red eyes focused on the girl with the red ribbon being comforted by his mother. His mother’s face was long. Her tears wouldn’t stop streaming. His father put on his bravest face. But Sukuna knew that behind his façade was a man mourning for the death of his only child. His family was all mourning for him. But he wasn’t dead yet. He wouldn’t die yet. He looked down upon the faces of those he went to school with. Their faces all showed relief and happiness. Happiness that he would finally be gone. He committed each face to memory. His hatred for everyone will be his fuel to victory.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna x reader

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brucebocchi · 5 months

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Ranking every new anime I watched in 2023, Pt. 4: #5-1

hey, i just started a ko-fi for my writing and possible other creative outlets. this post will also be available there, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i'm currently between jobs. the tumblr version of part 1 can be found here, part 2 here, and part 3 here.

The list is complete! This took a lot of work but I'm over the moon to get this out there. Please consider leaving a tip if you've enjoyed reading.

Here goes, my top five anime of 2023:

5. Zom 100: Bucket List of the Dead

Zom 100’s debut hit like a freight train, especially coming from a brand new studio. It had everything: Visceral satire of Japanese work culture, incredible animation, vibrant colors in unexpected places, clever cinematography, wish fulfillment for everyone who’s ever wanted to Stone Cold their boss, and most importantly: Zombie titties.

The premise is magnetic: When your job makes you feel like a zombie, an actual zombie apocalypse means certain freedom from the grind. Akira Tendo realizes that he can finally use the vacation time he amassed while being exploited and overworked at a legally dodgy black company, so he writes a bucket list of everything he’s ever wanted to do, with all intention of checking off every single line item before succumbing to a zombie bite. He manages to rescue his hunky fuckboy bestie from college, and they embark on a road trip across Japan to finish out the list, along with a beautiful, risk-averse tsundere and a big-tiddy German weeb.

It's a perfectly fine elevator pitch, and a welcome break from the guns-and-grit quagmire the zombie genre has been stuck in for the past two decades, but what makes any good zombie-flecked media resonate is the human element, which Zom 100 delivers expertly. You’re quickly given reason to care for all the characters, their motivations are clear and relatable, and you want to see them survive and live out their dreams. But more importantly, you just want to hang out with them through their hijinks. It even delves into more serious matters, like what we owe our parents as adults, the ways isolation and bitterness can drive people to act out in their worst moments, and even the factors that push abuse victims to stay with and even return to their abusers.

Above all, though, it’s a powerful (if extreme) story of finding joy in the direst circumstances. Akira, Kencho, and Shizuka are all kindhearted, well-meaning people whose situations kept them from what they truly wanted to do with their lives, and there’s something kinda beautiful to be found in them finding a new opportunity during the possible end of the world (Beatrix is a sweetie too, but aside from the whole zombie thing, she’s already exactly where she wants to be). The final arc of the season, in particular, looks you dead in the eye and asks you: If you were suddenly faced with the ultimate freedom, would you use the opportunity to better yourself, improve the lives of others, or do whatever the fuck you want at everyone else’s expense? You may not like the answer at first if you’re honest with yourself, and that’s okay. The world isn’t over, and there’s still time for you to be your best self.

Zom 100, unfortunately, fell prey to a cruel irony in the form of production issues. Bug Films is a new studio made up of a former team from OLM that was responsible for similarly gorgeous projects such as Komi Can’t Communicate and Summer Time Rendering. They clearly saw so much of themselves in Akira's workplace exploitation that they had to swing for the fences here. The firm he works for is named “ZLM” in this adaptation, for fuck’s sake, and he fully destroys his zombie boss in the first episode. But new studio or old, the anime industry is a grind, and Bug had trouble keeping up; animation quality did take a bit of a dip after the stunning first episode, and episodes were frequently delayed as the summer broadcast season wore on and ended without the entire seasonal run making airwaves. Hell, it was impossible to watch the final three episodes until just a few days before I could write this sentence.

For what Bug were able to pull off, though, Zom 100 is outstanding. The paintball-colored blood splatters everywhere are an instantly-iconic look that strike the balance between horror and spectacle. Everything and everyone looks gorgeously faithful to Kotaro Takata’s art, and delivers an appropriately cinematic look that the manga always deserved. I almost don’t know what else to tell you but that this show is a fucking blast.

There’s also a zombie shark. What more could you want?

4. Oshi no Ko

I spent a good chunk of 2023 just assuming Oshi no Ko was going to be a layup for anime of the year. Shortly after moving on from Kaguya-sama, I rushed to binge Aka Akasaka's subsequent manga in time for the anime's feature-length debut. I was taken in by OnK's bonkers premise and sudden dark turn and quickly fell in love with the characters, and my anticipation only grew. I had high expectations for the screen adaptation, but nothing could have prepared me for just how lovingly it all came together. This is as close to a perfect adaptation as you can find, and the same can be said about both the preceding and following entries on this list.

Oshi no Ko is an audiovisual feast. Doga Kobo cleaned up Mengo Yokoyari’s character designs just a smidge, but put just the right flourishes on them to make every single cast member instantly iconic. One look at Kana Arima’s eyes will tell you everything you need to know about the level of care put into the visual design of this anime. The performances are on point as well; though many of the main cast members are relative newcomers to the world of seiyuu, you can tell they truly came to understand the characters before they even recorded one line. I’ve already gushed about Rie Takahashi in earlier entries, but her turn as Ai Hoshino is easily one of the best voice performances all year. Takahashi makes a meal out of every single second Ai spends on screen and gives you every reason to care about her as a character.

Showbiz manga in general is obviously missing an audio element, and when an adaptation can expand on that aspect well, it can help turn even middling source material into something transcendent (see also: Rock!, Bocchi the). Music is central to Oshi no Ko, and the OP/ED combination is already iconic; YOASOBI’s “Idol” has had the best worldwide chart performance of any Japanese song ever, and the prolonged intro to Queen Bee’s “Mephisto” became a meme in Japan in the same vein as JJBA’s iconic use of “Roundabout.” Rather than taking manga characters’ word for it that someone is a terrible actor, we actually get to cringe along to an amateur actor’s hammy emoting. We get to see and hear what turned a fictional idol group into a national phenomenon rather than just see cute girls posing on the page. All of this is to say that while Oshi no Ko is an excellent manga, it needed a screen adaptation, and especially one of this quality.

Oshi no Ko deserves every shred of its success. I've never seen an anime make a splash this enormous with just its debut episode, even if it’s kind of cheating to say so because the first episode is almost literally a movie, and if I were to give an award for the best single episode of anime this year, it would be that one, hands down. Adapting the entire first volume into a feature-length debut was the correct move (mostly because it’s a tonal rollercoaster, and the Big Event that defines the entire story wouldn’t have happened until the fourth episode otherwise), and the investment paid dividends. The hype naturally died down a bit as the season wore on and settled into a more consistent tone and rhythm, but it remains an essential anime to 2023.

You may have noticed that I have said very little of what this show is actually about, and that’s by design: If you still don’t know the plot of Oshi no Ko’s first episode by now, I refuse to tell you: you need to go in blind. All I will say is that it is an idol anime that glorifies nothing. If you've read this far and still trust what I have to say about anime, I beg you to just take my word for it. It's an incredibly rewarding experience.

3. Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

There's just something so wonderful about taking in an adaptation of a work you’re already familiar with and knowing, almost instantaneously, that every single person working on it genuinely loved the source material and relished the opportunity to bring it to life. Nearly every single member of the original cast is in the dub (including the ones who went on to be MCU mainstays), Edgar Wright is back on as executive producer, Anamanaguchi reprise their soundtracking duties from the video game, and even Bryan Lee O’Malley himself helped co-write everything.

That last detail is probably the most important thing about this entire production: It’s not exactly a secret that the original Scott Pilgrim comics are very imperfect portrayals of a very imperfect young man. I knew reading them at the time that the comic did not have a great grasp on relationships and the dynamics between men and women, and that was at a time in my life when I myself was pretty terrible with and to women. O'Malley has said that he would only revisit Scott Pilgrim if it was “the right thing” and that he was leery of a straight retelling of a work he has since outgrown.

So instead, we have the Rebuild of Scott Pilgrim, to put it simply. Takes Off is a completely new story that reexamines the Scott Pilgrim comics, movie, and even game without undermining what came before it. This series is not a repudiation of Scott Pilgrim (the character or the franchise)’s flaws, nor is it purely fanservice; it splits the difference perfectly. It’s both more mature and completely self-indulgent. This show so easily could’ve marched to the familiar discourse drumbeat of “Scott isn’t the hero here” or “he’s actually not a good dude,” but it instead focuses on what should always be the second half of that sentence: “But Ramona still sees something in him.”

Yes, Ramona Flowers is effectively the protagonist of a new work that doesn’t even have her name on it, and it tackles some surprisingly necessary questions: What was her responsibility in creating seven evil exes in the first place? What made them evil? Are they even that evil? This series opens up entire worlds of possibilities within the extended cast and gleefully dives into them. Though Takes Off may not flesh out every single character, it does take its time with several of the ones who really did need a little more meat on their narrative bones, and even gives some characters new roles just because it would be fun to see them in new situations.

I still cannot believe they got Science Saru to make this show. “They made a Scott Pilgrim anime” and “They brought back the movie cast” are already good enough fodder for that Vince McMahon meme, but “It’s produced by the motherfuckers who made Devilman Crybaby” had me falling out of my chair. The animation maintains O'Malley's chunky, cartoony character designs and works wonders with line weights and simulated camera effects to give everything a tactile, weighty feel, like it’s somehow (and very appropriately) splitting the difference between a comic, a film, and even a video game. There’s a wide array of visual effects that helps to place all of Scott Pilgrim’s influences further on its sleeve: Dynamic action scenes, camera depth and chromatic aberration, and our beloved pixel art inserts. It looks like every Scott Pilgrim, everywhere, all at once.

The live action film’s cast did a (mostly) great job reprising their roles for animation, and there are some wildly unexpected cameos in there. Voice acting is not quite the same as stage or film acting, but everyone pulls their weight, and dialogue feels far more naturalistic than your average anime dub. Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Ellen Wong and, surprisingly, Chris Evans are outstanding in their respective roles. I’m gonna have to watch this again in Japanese, though. Fairouz Ai as Ramona, Aoi Koga as Knives, and Yuichi Nakamura as Lucas Lee? Sign me the fuck up.

This is not an apology or revision of Scott Pilgrim the character or work, it is a celebration that still acknowledges and improves on the flaws. If you’re a Scott Pilgrim fan who’d been clamoring for a proper cartoon adaptation, Takes Off may not exactly be what you’ve wanted, but it may be what you needed. Chances are pretty good that you’ve grown since the first time since you read, watched, or even played something with Scott Pilgrim’s name on it, and it’s a blessing to say that while the character may not have grown, Scott Pilgrim the franchise finally has.

2. Jujutsu Kaisen, season 2

I’m so glad I picked up JJK this year, if only because I would’ve otherwise been caught in a mudslide of memes I didn’t understand.

Season 2 follows in lockstep with the manga from where season 1 left off, beginning in extended flashback with the Hidden Inventory/Premature Death arc, covering Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto’s high school life and the events that would eventually create the rift between them that came to shape Jujutsu Kaisen’s story. We see very different versions of Gojo and Geto here, much younger and more naive, but only marginally less powerful as they’re sent on an escort mission with the future of the jujutsu world in the balance. Because this is Jujutsu Kaisen, and because Jujutsu Kaisen is for masochists, nothing happens as planned.

We unfortunately do not get the precious slice-of-life hijinks the OP suggests, but if you watched season 1, you should know better by now than to trust an OP. While the initial arc does have its quieter and goofier moments (and some delicious homoerotic subtext), it wastes little time in declaring that this is a new version of the Jujutsu Kaisen anime: Lines are thinner, character models are looser, and action is buckwild. Two of the best fakeouts in the series happen in the span of five minutes. Those unfamiliar with the source material may have wondered for a bit why there needed to be a five-episode prequel arc to start the season, but the pieces would soon fall into place.

And then came Shibuya.

The Shibuya Incident arc was what made Jujutsu Kaisen a must-read in every new issue of Shonen Jump. It reset the status quo for the story and shaped it into something far beyond another “teenagers with special powers go to a school for teenagers with special powers” battle shonen. Needless to say, the hype for its anime adaptation was astronomical.

The Shibuya arc sets the stakes early: Nobody is safe and there may be no happy ending. Triumph is short-lived, and every threat is existential. Everyone who has been in the series up to this point plays a role, and you’re not going to like a lot of what’s needed of them. This arc punches you in the gut, repeatedly, and in between each blow is some of the most intense and innovative action you’ve ever seen. It will hurt, and you will beg for more.

I liked this arc a good amount in the manga, but by the end I was ready for it to be over. I didn’t get the hype around Toji, thought the deaths were cheap, and was so. FUCKING. sick of Mahito. Seeing it in fluid motion onscreen, though, everything just clicked for me and I couldn’t get enough. I fully get now why the girlies have been wetting themselves over Toji; the character modelers were HORNY horny this season. I see now how even the most unceremonious deaths fit into the narrative, or at least one will make perfect sense to me once Gege Akutami and I have a little chat :). And holy hell do I understand now that Mahito is one of the best shonen villains in the history of the medium, that sick bastard. Season 2 was my Rosetta stone for Jujutsu Kaisen; I see it all now. My sixth eye has been opened. Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the literate one.

JJK’s second season has a markedly different feel from the first from a presentation standpoint, and I feel it’s for the better. Every aspect of the presentation is on point, and I want to call attention to the audio element: The production music, with a heavy focus on jazz piano, is wonderfully unique for the genre, and the voice acting remains top notch. These are banner performances from the likes of Yuichi Nakamura, Kenjiro Tsuda, Takahiro Sakurai, Asami Seto, and Nobunaga Shimazaki, but the performance that defines the Shibuya arc (and by extension the entire season) is Junya Enoki as Yuji Itadori.

Enoki’s been great this year in lead roles in goofy works like KamiKatsu and Girlfriend Girlfriend (not to mention minor roles in Skip and Loafer and the vending machine isekai), so it’s no surprise that he continues to crush it as JJK’s protagonist; Yuji Itadori is a goofy dude. But the Shibuya arc, for as much ground and as many characters as it covers, is ultimately Yuji’s story as he is forced, time and again, to endure the cycle of the “suffering builds character” meme. His peers and mentors in the first season told him repeatedly that the life of a jujutsu sorcerer is a short and unhappy one, and he now has to shoulder that burden for everyone. Enoki nails every single part of a wide spectrum of emotions Yuji is forced to endure over the course of the Shibuya arc, be it determination, naive confusion, or just pure unbridled trauma. If this isn’t the best voice performance of the year, it’s top five at worst.

Like every major battle shonen release in the age of social media, this season has had its detractors. Reviewers at Anime News Network kinda hated the story, but that’s something you take up with Gege Akutami (and get in line behind the manga readers). I've seen people complain about the animation. Which, like. If you don’t like the new visual style, sure, fine, that’s up to personal taste. But if you think this season isn’t well-animated, you just plain don’t know ball. It may not have a cohesive look, but that was the draw for me: Season 1 was good, but at times I felt like it looked a little too rigid, a little too shiny, a little too samey. Season 2, especially the Shibuya arc, looks like everything. Sometimes it looks like an action film, sometimes it looks like Mob Psycho 100, and at points it looks, most crucially, like Akutami’s most iconic panels brought to life, stroke for stroke.

The varying styles weren’t an accident: Nearly each episode had its own director, and those resumes cover top-tier animations like Mob Psycho, Devilman Crybaby, Kill la Kill, Heavenly Delusion, Oshi no Ko, FLCL, even Akira and goddamn Golden Boy. While the episodes don’t look entirely consistent from one to the next, the variance is less jarring and more “holy fuck, what am I going to see next?”. The looser style of animation is what Jujutsu Kaisen always needed; Akutami’s art is very loose and dynamic, and his action panels are borderline inscrutable at times. Season 2 nails the feel of JJK to a degree that its adaptation always needed and lets its directors, storyboarders, and animators run wild. At times, characters will look like they leapt right off the page; others, they will look like something you have never seen before in your life.

It is unfortunately impossible to talk about this season without also bringing up MAPPA’s working conditions, and how animators were frequently overworked against nigh-impossible deadlines. It was an open secret last year as Chainsaw Man aired that MAPPA’s animation schedule was a meat grinder, but that came bubbling to the surface quickly as JJK’s second season aired. Word got out midseason that MAPPA had its animators sign NDAs about their work conditions, but complaints still broke containment and several staffers took to social media to apologize for their work looking incomplete, and some even publicly announced that they are leaving the studio. It is stunning that the finished product looks the way it does under such conditions, and I respect the animators for putting in such incredible work, but something has to give. Several major series suffered from major delays this year, some of which I gave significant praise, but MAPPA is lucky that all of JJK came out on time. I wish I knew what could push them to treat their workers with the dignity and respect (and pay) they deserve, but that’s a conversation that covers much wider ground than just anime.

MAPPA has already announced that the series will continue through the next major arc. While there is quite a bit of it that I would love to see on screen, I can only hope that the animators get to rest. For now, though, we can be proud of what they made under duress, even if some will forever wonder what it would look like if the staff were treated like something a notch above cattle.

1. Frieren: Beyond Journey's End

Fucking hell. This is why I watch anime.

I was curious about this one because a couple major anitubers I watch had reviewed the manga and were effusive in their praise. I knew the anime adaptation was on the way, so I decided to hold off on reading and see what the anime would be like, and with Keiichiro Saito (director of Bocchi the Rock! and key animator for Oshi no Ko’s instantly-iconic OP) at the helm, my excitement was piqued. That guy turned a B-minus 4-koma into an innovative hit comedy, so what can he do with a beloved source material and the backing of a legacy studio like Madhouse?

I've had so much to say about Frieren since the premiere, and I still have so much to say now, but to talk about what I love about this show is to talk about everything about this show. When the first four episodes dropped, I described it as “Mushoku Tensei without the baggage,” and I stand by that. There were multiple points throughout Frieren’s first cour where I'd nearly forgotten that I wasn't watching Mushoku Tensei. Every single element is on point: The animation is fluid and expressive, backdrops are consistently gorgeous, voice performances are quickly memorable, and the music is evocative and instantly iconic. This is, plainly, one of the most beautiful pieces of television I have ever seen on nearly every level, be it visually, sonically, or thematically.

The initial four-episode debut was a masterclass in establishing the setting, building emotional investment into the characters, and slowly but deliberately laying out the premise of the season to come. The titular Frieren is an elf mage who, for a very brief decade of her millennium-long life, lent her skills to an adventuring party to slay the Demon King. Though she helped save the world, she was never one for stuff like adulation or socializing, so she breaks away from the group to continue her hobby of collecting various spells and arcana. She regroups with them after 50 years, having kept in contact with none of them, only to find them older and frailer. The party’s leader, the hero Himmel, passes away shortly thereafter, and Frieren breaks down at his funeral, having realized exactly too late how important he was to her and that she’d never really bothered to get to know him as a person.

Some time later, she’s called by the surviving human member of the party, Heiter, under the guise of translating an old text, but soon realizes that he duped her into helping train the young orphan girl he adopted, Fern, as a mage. Upon Heiter’s death, Frieren and Fern head out together, carrying out odd jobs and retracing Frieren’s steps from the journey that changed her more than she realized. They soon learn from the other surviving member of the party, Eisen, that (ooh) heaven is, in fact, a place on earth, and that Frieren may be able to properly pay Himmel his final respects in person. In order to do so, they must make a trip to the north, past the Demon King’s castle. The story of Beyond Journey’s End is, quite literally, a nostalgia trip.

Frieren's story is one of grief and regret, but also how we can use those emotions as a way of moving forward rather than looking backward. Her history is a long one and her memories seemingly everlasting, but she uses them to pave the road ahead of her rather than let them shackle her to the past. This is best exemplified by Fern herself, as well as the other companion they pick up the way in Eisen’s former trainee, Stark. Frieren can carry on the legacies of Heiter and Eisen by helping their young wards grow into the capable young adults they’re meant to be, while Himmel’s legacy lives on in the memories of the towns and villages he helped save along Frieren’s new path, and most importantly, in Frieren herself.

The degree to which Himmel truly mattered to Frieren becomes more apparent to her as the story goes on, and it becomes more evident in her actions. Himmel was a gentle, selfless (if self-aggrandizing) man who was every last bit the hero the modern world believes him to be. With every statue of him she cleans, every flower she plants in his name, every core memory that returns to her, we are watching Frieren become more and more like him in real time. You would expect a thousand-year-old woman to be pretty set in her ways, but we see her holding off on old, bad behaviors because of how Himmel would react to them back then. As Fern and Stark grow into young adults, we see her beginning to treat them the same way Himmel treated her. Frieren doesn’t realize it until later in the season, but it’s apparent to us early on that Himmel well and truly loved her, and I feel that it’s dawning on her that she loved him too and didn’t recognize it. That is tragic in and of itself (this show absolutely is a tearjerker at times and I will cop to getting misty-eyed as I write this), but there is something beautiful, well beyond my grasp, in being able to honor the memory and carry out the legacy of a loved one in how you treat those around you. I don’t think anything could have made Himmel prouder.

Frieren herself is a really goddamn good character too (and expertly voiced by Atsumi Tanezaki, best known for voicing Anya Forger in Spy x Family). Though she is portrayed as quiet and uncaring for the early part of the story, it’s been really delightful to watch her open up, and above all, inadvertently reveal that she’s actually just Really Fucking Weird. For as self-assured and put together as she always seems on the surface, it was great to learn that she’s just an enormous slob (she just like me fr), and any outward expressions of smugness or her offbeat sense of humor are always a joy. “Deeply weird person trying to act normal” is always fun, and there’s just something so consistently delightful about seeing someone so typically calm and intelligent get caught in a mimic chest every single time.

I still can’t get over how fucking good this show looks. Beyond Journey’s End features some of the most intricate, loving animation I’ve seen for stuff as simple as someone putting on a jacket. Action scenes are few and far between, but not a single frame is wasted when shit pops off. Not everyone is as detailed as possible at all times, and they don’t need to be, but everyone looks incredible when they need to be. It’s well above my pay grade to accurately say so, but this show could be a lesson in proper animation budgeting. I could go on and on and on, but I’ve written nearly eighteen thousand words about anime, so I’ll wrap it up.

The debut season of Frieren will continue into 2024, and if the quality remains a constant, it could very well be one of the best anime of next year too. It has remained as MyAnimeList’s top-rated anime ever for its entire run, warding off the legion of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood fans. Frieren deserves it. I say with no hyperbole that this is one of the most perfectly realized things I’ve ever seen on television. This is an essential watch for anyone who likes fantasy anime, anime in general, or fantasy in general.

#anime reviews

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glitchtricks94 · 10 months

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I think everybody needs to understand just how cuddly Gyutaro is. I'm not kidding! This fucker is so touch starved! I've got thoughts on this and I'm going to just gonna rant here, because ffs I need to scream over how much I love him. As if my friends don't have any clue judging by the 10k words and counting fic I'm making.

This man almost behaves like a cat when it comes to love an affection. I write as having a very complicated state of mind when it comes to love, even going as far as to say he's terrified of it. He wants it, but can't grasp the idea that anyone would ever want him, if that makes sense. Doesn't stop himself from indulging though, he's a demon, greed is lowkey in the nature. He always wants to be physically closer to you somehow, and he doesn't have much shame when holding you close either. Draping himself over you, holding your hand and twining your fingers, wrapping an arm around you, he wants your touch, it makes him feel less like himself, the self he loathes and makes warmth bloom in his chest, like he's more than just some ugly thing. You hand in his makes him feel beautiful, just you in general make him feel so good once he pushes past the utter chaos in his mind and grasps that you aren't going to leave him without kicking and screaming the whole time. It's a very loose grasp, but it's there and he'll take whatever he can get. Cuddles galore. He loves snuggling, and will even pretend to sleep if it means you'll be pressed against him. He does have a bit of a preference if spooning and he likes to be the big spoon, makes him feel like he protecting you from everything bad in the world, an angel like you shouldn't know the pain of it anyways, and if Gyutaro can help it, he'll protect you for all eternity. Love, love, loves when you lace your fingers through his hair. It's greasy and matted, but you never complained in the slightest and that makes him feel special, like it didn't matter how he appeared to you, you'd still allow him to fall into your arms, into your love with wild abandon. You don't care as long as its him. He'll also hold you in his lap in you're doing something while sitting down, his head resting atop your own as he watches you work or just reads whatever you happen to be reading at the time. Reading to him is also very soothing, he melts at the domesticity it carries. Okay, that's all I got rant over, back to our regularly scheduled broadcast.

#glitchrambles.txt #demon slayer x reader #gyutaro x reader

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danmeiarchive · 9 months

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Danmei Recs (more plot / character driven)

Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know - Cyan Wings

NovelUpdates [link] My review [link]

Every Day the Protagonist Wants to Capture Me - Qing Duan

NovelUpdates [link] My review [link]

His Little Deer Wife is Very Fierce - Little Baldy

NovelUpdates [link]

How to Survive As a Villain - Yi Yi Yi Yi

NovelUpdates [link]

Silent Reading - Priest

NovelUpdates [link] My review [link]

The General’s Vampire Omega - Little Baldy

NovelUpdates [link]

The Last Dragon in the Cultivation World - Marshmallow Bunny

NovelUpdates [link]

The Virtuous Omega Disguised as the Vicious Colonel - Little Baldy

NovelUpdates [link] My review [link]

Where is Our Agreement to be Each Other’s Arch-Rivals? - Poplar Breeze

NovelUpdates [link]

Non-Human Sub-district Office - Drunk Long Song

NovelUpdates [link]

Peerless Immortal Surrounded by Demonic Disciples - Dao Xuan

NovelUpdates [link]

Record of the Missing Sect Master - A Lifetime Of Beautiful Clothes

NovelUpdates [link]

The Whole World Is My Crematorium - 比卡比

NovelUpdates [link]

They All Say I’ve Met a Ghost - Cyan Wings

NovelUpdates [link]

A Real Man Isn’t Afraid of a Little Demon - Little Baldy

NovelUpdates [link]

My Junior Still Hasn’t Killed Me - Zi Lu

NovelUpdates [link]

Something's Not Right - Cyan Wings

NovelUpdates [link]

Today Prime Minister Also Wants to Bang His Head on the Pillar - Bazaodashe

NovelUpdates [link]

It’s Not Easy Being a Master - Jin Xi Gu Nian

NovelUpdates [link]

The Omega Can’t Pretend to Be a Beta After Accidentally Witnessing the Major General’s Susceptible Period - Fei Tang

NovelUpdates [link]

Worship Me, I Can Make You Rich - 向远飞

NovelUpdates [link]

The General Loves to Collect Little Red Flowers - Kun Cheng Xiong Mao

NovelUpdates [link]

More Danmei Recs (lighter reading / more fluff)

A Guide to Raising Your Natural Enemy - Jue Jue

NovelUpdates [link]

Transmigrated As a Villain, I Rely on Sand Sculpture to Survive - Ma Hu Zi Jun

NovelUpdates [link]

Carrying a Hoe to Cultivate - Little Baldy

NovelUpdates [link] My Review [link]

The Disabled Tyrant’s Pet Palm Fish - Xue Shan Fei Hu

NovelUpdates [link] My review [link]

After Being Turned Into a Dog, I Conned My Way Into Freeloading at My Rival’s Place - Zi Jin

NovelUpdates [link]

Number One Lazy Merchant of the Beast World - Shuishan

NovelUpdates [link]

Transmigrated as the Villain’s Cat - Xishan Fish

NovelUpdates [link]

Do You Want to Touch My Fish Tail? - 系辭上

NovelUpdates [link]

Live Broadcasting Raising Dragons in the Interstellar - Yu Zhi Shui

NovelUpdates [link]

My Vampire Faints at Blood - Three Thousand Big Dreams To Narrate One's Life

NovelUpdates [link]

The Film Emperor’s Daily Live Cooking Broadcast - 砚楚

NovelUpdates [link]

((this post will be updated as I continue reading and if I write any reviews about specific series I'll link them here too))

#danmei #danmei recs #transmigration #webnovels #xianxia #wuxia #danmei webnovels #danmei reviews #danmei reading #ila reads

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Prompt-

Basically one where Nesta calls out the hypocrisy/disrespectfulness of Cassian and Morrigans ‘relationship’ infront of the whole inner circle- maybe at like dinner or something? And makes Cassian and mor realise the error of what they’ve been doing

I know that was weirdly specific, but it’s always annoyed me how nothing was ever actually said to Morrigan OR Cassian about how selfish she’s being when it comes to him even tho it’s so obvious and was one of the reasons nesta pulled away from him

This was so cathartic to write. This is Nesta's anthem during the final scene. Obviously very anti ic/mor/cassian (azriel is safe).

What utter foolishness had persuaded Nesta to attend a dinner with the Inner Circle? It had been five days since she had moved her scant belongings into her crumbling apartment in the most squalid district of Velaris. It had been three long weeks since her father’s death yet it felt like no time and an eternity all at once. Three long weeks since Nesta had cradled Cassian’s broken body with her own and been ready to die with him.

They had not spoken once. Nesta found that she was glad for it. No longer did his eye track her every move since she had departed the River House. So, why had Nesta agreed to dine with them? It was set to be a public dinner in a beautiful restaurant that overlooked the Sidra on what was sure to be one of the final golden sunsets of Autumn.

The blame fell on a pair of big, brown eyes. Elain had met with Nesta for breakfast in the city. She had chatted giddily about her days, of her favourite tea houses, or the last crop of sunflowers growing on the edge of the city. Elain hadn’t noticed that Nesta did not eat a bite of her croissant. Did not notice the haunted look in Nesta’s eyes. Each day felt like she was wading through cobwebs, fighting to breathe. Dust and regret coated her skin.

‘Nesta?’

‘Yes.’

She blinked away the vision of Elain, pale with terror, returned from Hybern’s war camp. Her brown eyes had been emptied out then like two cold hollows. Now, the light shined in them. They were warm and bright like a gentle doe.

‘You will? Oh, wonderful! Feyre will be so glad.’

‘For what?’

Elain’s face faltered. ‘For the meal on Friday. Were you not listening to me?’

Elain carried her hurt too publicly, did not nurse it in secret like Nesta. The notion that Nesta had not listened intently to her speech on proving bread had her bottom lip wobbling with betrayal.

Like a curtain had been ripped away, ruining the illusion, Nesta could finally acknowledge her sister’s faults. Elain could be conceited, content for the world to turn around her, to be treasured or doted upon without ever expecting to get her hands dirty in return. Not once had she enquired over Nesta’s new home or asked how she was settling in.

‘You’re not listening to me again.’

Nesta swallowed. She saw Elain’s flaws but felt guilt not to indulge them, an obligation to apologise and fuss around her.

‘Sorry. I was thinking of the route to the restaurant from where I live.’

‘Cassian could escort you.’

‘Not him.’

Elain flinched at the snap in Nesta’s tone. ‘Look, I know what happened between you that day changed things, but I think you should-’

‘Stop.’ Nesta rose from her seat. ‘I have never given you my opinion on your relationships with Graysen or Lucien. If you cannot extend the same courtesy to me then I ask that you do not speak at all to me.’

Leaving Elain in the café, blinking back tears, had made her feel like an utter wretch. The idea that any of them knew at all what had occurred was absurd. Death had looked them in the eye. Hope had abandoned them. And Feyre had seen fit to broadcast what she had witnessed to all of them like they were a commodity there for entertainment purposes.

A messenger had delivered a letter to Nesta that afternoon bearing the Night Court seal. She expected a telling off from Feyre, but it was in Elain’s neat handwriting.

Dear Nesta, I wasn’t trying to cause an argument and I am not criticising you for your reaction. I understand this is a sensitive topic for you, but we all lived through the war. I feel the same hurts as you. This is a chance to celebrate that we all made it. It would mean a lot if you would attend. Love always, Elain.

Nesta had caved in – as she always did where Elain was concerned.

On Friday evening, Nesta had readied herself for dinner. It was difficult to know how to dress in a faerie city with little morals and with a group of people who all dressed as if they were attending different functions. Mor, Elain, and Rhys would likely dress to the occasion. Feyre would favour comfort. The Illyrians were rarely in anything other than armour.

She opted for a finely-tailored, pewter gown that straddled the line between every-day comfort and sophisticated. However, on the way out of the front door, Nesta caught the handle of a pan with her elbow. She made a pig’s meal out of trying to catch it, showering her skirts with mushroom soup.

Cursing herself, she stripped off the dress, used it to mop up the spillage then tossed it onto the growing pile of laundry. In five days, she hadn’t yet purchased a washboard to scrub her clothes clean. She’d grown too reliant on the twin wraiths who did everything for her these last few months.

There was little else clean in her wardrobe that was suitable except for a dress she had shied from previously. It had been prepared for a visit to the Court of Nightmares but Nesta had changed her mind at the final moment. Out of options, she pulled it on. The velvet slid softly over her skin, moulding to the curves of her body. It flattered her figure, especially the breasts she preferred to hide. Time was ticking. She didn’t have the luxury of questioning if the dress was too scandalous. Quite frankly, she did not care either way. Propriety was not known in Prythian.

Nesta arrived at the restaurant with flushed cheeks. The sun had begun its descent, showering the city in golden warmth. The rooftop terrace had been reserved solely for the use of the high lord, of course. It had been bedecked with garlands of flowers and tiny, glittering balls of fae light.

‘Nesta!’ Feyre called, surprise ringing in her tone. ‘We didn’t think you were coming.’

Her cheeks burnt at the accusation. Surely, she was only a few minutes late; she had practically jogged across Velaris to make up the minutes spent cleaning soup from her floor.

Elain blushed. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. I gave you the wrong time by accident. I thought we were meeting at five thirty, not five.’

There was a collective murmur of understanding then Rhys said, ‘It can happen.’

Nobody could have told Nesta the correct time. Nobody could have been spared to come to her apartment. None could have waited the extra thirty minutes. Their drinks had been started on and a waitress came up the spiral staircase with a tray of appetisers.

‘We’ve already ordered,’ Feyre explained, grimacing slightly. ‘Sorry. We really thought you weren’t coming. If you go downstairs, I’m sure you can order too. Should I come with you?’

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ she bit out.

As Nesta passed, she saw Mor’s not-so-subtle roll of the eyes to Feyre. Why did Nesta even bother? She wasn’t welcome. She deserved better than a pity invitation.

On the descent to the ground floor, Nesta convinced herself to simply walk back out. Perhaps they would realise once pudding was served that she hadn’t come back.

The exit was blocked by a colossus male. His wings were traps for sunlight; it flooded through them so they glowed. Cassian was shaking a male’s hand in farewell, conversation coming to him easily. Then he pivoted. His gaze snagged on Nesta. What could she do? Barrel past and pretend she had not noticed the biggest man in Prythian in the doorway she was squeezing through?

She abruptly changed course aiming for the bar. Nesta felt the quiver in the room as Cassian verged towards her as if their paths were meant to meet at this end point. No matter how fast he made her heart race, how many butterflies that erupted when Cassian was near, Nesta could always craft a cold, steady exterior around him. She raised a menu, pondering the choices whilst pointedly ignoring his arrival, even as he loomed over her.

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’

Nesta continued reading, scrutinising every single item on the menu, then, finally, ‘Hello.’

‘I’d recommend the steak,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Everything is delicious though. The whole restaurant is amazing.’

Nesta examined the wing that dangled a hair’s breadth from her bare shoulder. ‘They seem to have a vermin problem.’

The joke landed with a wry grin from Cassian. ‘Look who came to play.’

He prowled to her other side of her body as if he was asserting his claim on her, circling like a shark. She hated how big he was, how he dominated the spaces he was in. Hated the eyes flickering their way. Their story had gained wings and spread throughout Prythian. The Cauldron-born king slayer ready to die with the Lord of Bloodshed.

‘The seafood risotto, please, and a glass of your most expensive wine,’ she said to the server. ‘I presume Rhysand is paying?’

Cassian did not respond. His eyes devoured every inch of bare skin on display. It wasn’t a dress she would ever wear. It bared one of her legs, both of her arms, and too much of her chest. It was as black as the darkest night – a colour she never wore.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, voice low and rough. ‘So beautiful. Black suits you.’

It was the same voice that he’d used just before they had winnowed into the Dawn Court for the high lords to meet. The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello. It rubbed against her skin with such an intensity, Nesta felt dizzy. He closed the space between them, forcing her to meet his own hazel eyes.

‘Have you settled in? Does it feel like home yet?’ A pause then, ‘Do you need anything?’

That was what she had been waiting for. Somebody to ask her how she was. How her home was. It was the first place she had ever been able to call her own, the one place she had chosen for herself. A thumb brushed against her arm as Cassian stood in front of her, all but pinning her to the bar. Nesta’s eyes dipped to his mouth, felt her breath hitch in her lungs. His wings unfurled, offering them a tiny parcel of privacy.

‘There you are!’ A bright voice called. ‘We thought you got lost!’

Cassian sprang away like he’d been scandalised. ‘I have too many friends wherever I go.’

Mor galloped forwards and threw herself into his arms. Cassian lifted her with ease, spare hand rubbing down Mor’s back in greeting.

‘I just need to order.’

‘Already done it for you. You’re an open book, Cass. Everybody knows your order.’

She felt like something one would scrape from their shoe. Of course, Cassian had arrived late but they had included him. Tears prickled Nesta’s eyes as she swept past their jolly greeting. Her feet stomped up the metal stairs, trying to loosen her anger before she reunited with the others.

Why did she care? It wasn’t the first time Cassian had discarded her in Mor’s presence. Some innate voice had alerted Nesta to Cassian’s injured wrist in that war camp. All of her focus had been on caring for him. For once, Nesta had not cared that other people watched her. Cassian had been the priority. Exhaustion – the likes of which she had never seen on him – etched itself into his handsome features. He had stayed holding her hand even after she had finished binding his wrist. Then Mor arrived. Cassian could not have let go any quicker. He had shifted his entire body away, sheepish to be caught fraternising with Nesta in any form.

‘Oh, that’s Mor’s seat,’ Feyre said as Nesta’s hand enclosed around the back of the chair. She moved to next vacant seat. ‘That’s for Cassian, I think. Unless he’s not here yet.’

‘He’s here.’

Nesta stepped back. There was no other seat available. They hadn’t even included her in the number for the table.

‘Take my seat,’ came a cool, crisp voice. Azriel stood and gestured to his chair between Varian and Elain. ‘I’ll ask them to bring up another table.’

As the male moved past her, Nesta felt the faintest hand on her back either offering support or urging her into the chair. She couldn’t tell if it was him or his shadows that had done it. Nesta only knew that she was glad for that touch, that miniscule reassurance that she had a place here.

Her first glass of wine was empty before the waitress had even finished delivering drinks to the whole table. ‘Would you like another?’

‘I certainly would. Thank you.’

Nesta tried to keep her eyes away from Cassian. In between lulls of his conversation with Mor, she felt his gaze on her often.

‘So, when will you start training your powers again, girl?’

‘Stop calling me girl,’ she snapped to Amren, causing a ripple of silence to leak down the table.

Amren, unperturbed, grinned. Her black nails drummed on the table as a vicious smile spread across her face. Varian, at least, had the good sense to look uncomfortable at that grin. ‘It is a waste, Nesta.’

‘I don’t have my powers anymore.’ She sipped at her wine, staring resolutely at her lap.

‘You are a terrible liar.’

Nesta refused to even give Amren the satisfaction of replying, of protesting that that horrid silver fire which churned inside of her had faded. No, it hadn’t. The war had excited it. Nesta was drowning in her power now that it knew what freedom was. Every day, it sought to find release – and every day she pushed it back down, built her walls wider, deeper, jailed it.

‘Let’s not turn this dinner into an interrogation, Amren,’ Rhys winked.

‘The real question is who is joining me at Rita’s tonight?’ Mor asked, sitting up in her chair. ‘Feyre?’

‘Not me.’

‘No, she has plans with me tonight,’ Rhys purred, pulling her in for a kiss. ‘It was a mistake on my part not to send half of your salary directly to Rita’s each month to clear your tab.’

‘I’ll come,’ offered Azriel.

Mor gave a little cheer then wrapped an arm around Cassian’s neck. He was eating, but that hadn’t stopped her from holding her own face inches from his. ‘You won’t disappoint me, will you? You’ll come to Rita’s with me.’

Nesta saw it then, the same flash of disappointment in Azriel’s eyes that she had worn often. A shadow had risen up, briefly, to wrap around him before disappearing again. Whatever history had occurred between Azriel and Mor, Cassian would always be there to step into the middle of it. Neither of them would ever be regretful of the pain it caused the shadow singer.

Cassian liked to play the hero, liked to rescue Mor from Azriel’s looks of longing. More than once, Cassian had been Nesta’s knight in shining armour. She glanced towards the House of Wind carved into the mountain. When Hybern’s twin ravens had attacked her and Feyre in the heart of the library, Cassian had appeared like a vision there to save her. Nesta had fallen into his arms, known she was safe the moment he touched her. Nesta refilled her glass again, almost to the brim.

‘Are you thirsty?’ Feyre joked.

Elain was doing a mental tally of how many glasses, Nesta had drunk. This would be number three. ‘Maybe you should slow down, Nesta. You’ve barely touched your food.’

‘No,’ Nesta said with a sickly smile. ‘I don’t think I will.’

It was never a problem for them to sink a bottle of wine each at every single meeting, so why should Nesta’s drinking fall under scrutiny? No judgement was cast on Mor who revelled in drinking herself sick at Rita’s each night. Nobody ever told Cassian to slow down his drinking.

‘Where is Lucien?’ Nesta could not help the venom seeping into her tone as she addressed Elain, her voice loud enough for the conversations around the table to simmer into nothing.

Elain shifted in her seat, colour flushing up her neck.

‘Lucien’s busy in the mortal lands.’

‘This is to celebrate the war efforts,’ she replied, turning her face to Rhys. ‘Or so Elain told me. Lucien should be here, shouldn’t he? He brought the armies. He brought Vassa.’

Rhys held her stare with equal amounts of steel.

‘Father did those things,’ Elain said meekly.

‘Lucien went to the continent because he is a good person who knows how to do the right thing. Father did those things to extend his wealth and ensure he received fame. Do you think he did those things because he cared about us? He didn’t even know we were in that war. He abandoned us to grow the fortune that Tamlin gave us. Everything he did was for his own benefit.’

At what point had Nesta become this creature which such sharp talons that she could shred through any body too slow to escape her? There was not a single moment that she could pinpoint. Elain clenched her jaw shut, staring into her lap to keep from crying. Angry red circles dotted Feyre’s cheeks.

The silence was heavy.

Finally, a low voice pierced it. ‘How is the rebuilding of Adriata progressing, Varian?’

The table heaved a collective sigh of relief at Azriel’s attempts to spark a conversation. Varian seized it, launching into a longer-than-necessary speech about the Summer Court.

From the glazed appearances of the high lord and lady, Nesta suspected they were communicating across their mental bridge. Likely they were discussing how to clip Nesta’s claws and muzzle her. Elain had turned back to her dinner. Azriel feigned interest in Varian’s poetic talk of fishing exports to the Spring Court. She risked a look opposite her; Mor and Cassian were play-fighting over a chunk of food on her fork. She dangled it near his lips then withdrew, silently giggling as he tried to chomp it. Another set of eyes branded into Nesta’s skin. Amren was staring at her with another malicious grin.

‘I need the bathroom,’ she declared, tramping back downstairs.

When she emerged to wash her hands, Mor leant against the sinks. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves past her shoulders. Her full lips were painted crimson.

‘Go easy with the alcohol. It’s stronger than mortal wine.’

Nesta scrubbed her hands under the stream of warm water. ‘I’m not mortal.’

No thanks to you, she thought. No thanks to your court who dragged me into this life I did not want.

Mor’s arm blocked her exit from the bathroom.

‘You’ve upset Elain tonight. Snapped at Amren. If you cannot manage to keep your forked tongue behind your teeth-’

‘Get some new material,’ Nesta interrupted.

Memories of that day, after the battle at Adriata, when Nesta’s nerves had been wrung out with worry over Cassian rose to the surface. How she’d even dared to ask after him in front of the others, to let her guard down and show her weakness for him. When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. Mor would forever be an obstacle if she ever wanted Cassian in her life.

‘Move.’

Although both wore heels tonight, Nesta was still taller than her. Mor did not intimidate her in the slightest. Whatever legendary status Mor had carved in the first war, Nesta had been the one to excel in the second. She had her own powers, own reputation now.

The blonde did step aside, brows high in surprise.

Nesta could not move past her dislike of Mor. They lacked any common ground except for Cassian. If Nesta tried to reach him then Mor was always waiting to block her path, to snip her attempts at growing towards him. In that war, all day long, Nesta had worked filling buckets and cutting bandages, assisting where she could with healers. Her hair had been plastered to her scalp with freezing cold rain, dirt splattered up his shins. She’d lost one of her shoes in the river of mud. She didn’t even know whose blood covered her after seeing so much death. Cassian had been injured. She had seen him carried into the healer by Azriel, blood pouring from his abdomen. Saw him fall in the battle. All Nesta had wanted was to know he was safe. Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket? Mor hadn’t even allowed her to worry over him, far less go to his tent to see for herself if he was alive.

‘I ordered you chocolate cake,’ Elain said as she sat back into her seat. ‘Since you hardly ate dinner.’

‘I had not known I was under observation,’ she replied tightly.

Mor arrived back on the roof, eyes simmering. The blonde’s fierce guarding of Cassian was not solely dislike for Nesta. Cassian was big enough to make his own decisions. It was her own selfish interest that had her swooping towards him the moment Azriel came too close. Nesta was not blind. She knew very well that Cassian was Mor’s shield against Azriel’s advances. Feyre had let slip once that Azriel had longed for her touch for nearly five centuries, but she had chosen to bed Cassian instead to break off her betrothal to Eris.

The conversation churned around Nesta as a muffled, indistinct noise. A plate of cake drizzled with cream was placed in front of her by the waitress. She had managed to eat a few bites to settle her stomach. It was dark now, the warmth fading from the air.

Cassian had loosened the tight straps from Mor’s shoes and pulled her bare feet onto his lap. ‘I don’t know why you wear these things.’

‘Masochism,’ Amren replied, fingers wending into Varian’s hair.

Cassian began kneading his thumb into the arch of Mor’s foot. There were deep indents where her shoes had bitten into the skin. Blonde hair landed onto Feyre’s shoulder as Mor tipped her head back with a satisfied moan.

She dared a look at Azriel at the end of the table. It was the longing there – beneath desire, beneath lust – so full of sorrow that Nesta could not keep her eyes on him. The shadow singer loved Mor in his own way. He’d fight Eris for her, fight Beron or Keir. Mor was happy to embrace him, touch him tenderly when it was on her terms. The moment he got a little too close, too familiar, Mor would block him with Cassian rather than speak to him. She’d done it that night already; Azriel would have followed her to Rita’s, but rather than be alone together, she’d leant on Cassian. Both of them disregarded Azriel’s pain, pretended not to notice the disappointment tucking his wings in, the shadows comforting him. If Nesta could notice these things then surely Rhys and Feyre could. Not one of them would ever intervene. Not one of them would ever rock the boat because their dynamic would alter. If Mor acknowledged that she did not want Azriel, perhaps his loyalty would waver. Cassian was stupid to go along with it. Nesta was perhaps even stupider to have ever thought that he might prioritise her over Mor.

Nesta had had enough. Enough of the foot rubs and massages. Enough of the declarations they were siblings then the strange, flirtations a moment later. Enough of the constant proximity, the feet in laps, arms around shoulders. Enough of the hair stroking and kisses on foreheads. Enough of the pain in Azriel’s eyes each time they chose to hurt his feelings rather than face them properly.

‘Must you do that at the dinner table?’ Rhys said, wrinkling up his nose as Cassian squeezed the ball of Mor’s foot.

‘Must you do it at all?’ Nesta gritted out. ‘How can you stand them?’

Without realising, she was stood and addressing Azriel. From the set of his jaw, the shadow singer knew exactly what she was referring to.

‘How can you do this constantly to him?’

To me. To me was what she wanted to say but Nesta held her words back. How can you ignore me every single time she enters the room? How can you not know that it hurts me every single time I’m unwanted?

‘Nesta,’ a warning pealed in Feyre’s voice.

‘Do not try and leash me,’ she bit back. ‘Not now, not ever. I have asked you a question. Why can you not face this situation and be responsible?’

‘You’re reading it wrong, Nes.’

‘He’s like my brother,’ Mor reassured, drawing her feet out of Cassian’s grasp.

‘Do you massage each other’s feet too?’ Her eyes snapped between Rhys and Azriel then she turned to her sisters. ‘Have I ever massaged your feet? Varian.’

‘I don’t need to be part of this,’ said Varian, seeking Amren for support.

‘You have a sister. Did you ever sleep with her? Have you spent five hundred years flirting with her? Did you ever recoil from Amren when your sister was present and throw her hand away?’

The memory landed on Cassian. His eyes widened with regret. Feyre and Rhys had been witnesses to that moment in the camp. Their lips pursed in unison.

‘I think you need to grow up. Both of you. You,’ she pointed a finger at Mor in the same way she had done to the King of Hybern, ‘need to grow a spine and be honest with Azriel. And you,’ the finger pointed now at Cassian, ‘need to stop being so damn stupid to go along with it and disrespectful to Azriel – and me. You need to rename yourselves to the Court of Hypocrites.’

That was as much as Nesta would give in acknowledging her feelings for him. She pulled her coat from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. The silence ringing across the roof was almost painful. Nesta knew she’d regret her outburst in the morning. For now, it felt good like letting out all of the poison that had been clogging her veins.

She settled a hand on Azriel’s shoulder on her way towards the stairs. ‘They’re not worth it. I hope you know that.’

#nesta going apeshit #nesta archeron #anti ic #anti cassian #anti mor #nesta vs the buffer

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invisibleicewands · 4 days

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Michael Sheen says 'it fills my heart' in passionate message about Wales that will give you goosebumps

Michael Sheen has been reflecting on what it is he loves about Wales ahead of his debut as Aneurin Bevan in new stage drama Nye - and his passionate message is enough to give you goosebumps.

Speaking to WalesOnline ahead of the play’s Cardiff run, Sheen opened up about why he keeps coming back to Wales and indeed now lives here again, even though his work takes him all over the world. “It’s my home,” he says. “It's where my family are, where my friends are, where I grew up. It's the country whose history is closest to my heart, whose people I care about the most, the communities that I care about the most. It is what shaped me, informed me, and what continues to shape and form me.

“Aside from anything to do with the natural beauty of the country, the warmth of the people, the history of the communities, how we grew up here, the challenges that we've had in the past and that we still face and that have shaped who we are now and why we are the way we are now and what our aspirations are, all of those things. [Wales is] what fills my head and fills my heart.”

The Newport-born, Port Talbot raised actor is recognised for his ability to transform into his characters, notably real life people like former Prime Minister Tony Blair, broadcaster David Frost, and controversial football manager Brian Clough.

Sheen, 55, who has more recently played Chris Tarrant in ITV drama Quiz and the angel Aziraphale in Good Omens opposite David Tennant, is now looking forward to starring in the title role of Nye, a co-production between the Wales Millennium Centre and the National Theatre, which sees the actor portray the founder of the National Health Service.

Interestingly, Nye will be the first time that Sheen performs on stage in his home country. Despite his groundbreaking performance as Jesus Christ in National Theatre Wales' The Passion which was staged on location across Port Talbot during Easter weekend in 2011, the actor revealed he's never actually fronted a show at the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff.

“To be able to do this play and tell this story about this man on that stage is really exciting,” Sheen commented. “When we got there to start doing the tech and just stepped out onto the stage, it was really exciting. You could feel the whole company getting really excited and just looking out into that beautiful auditorium and just thinking about it being full of people coming to watch this play.

“The fact that we're telling this story, which is such a Welsh story about a Welsh legend, has been exciting from the very beginning. When we first started rehearsing, knowing that we'd be coming to Wales at the end of it, everyone was incredibly excited about that. To now actually be here and be just days away from starting the performance is quite thrilling.”

Sheen said that, perhaps for the first time in his career, he knew ‘everything’ about the man he was playing. A new play written by Tim Price, a synopsis for Nye reads: “Confronted with death, Nye's deepest memories lead him on a mind-bending journey back through his life; from childhood to mining underground, parliament and fights with Churchill in an epic Welsh fantasia.”

Sheen said of playing Bevan: “In the last 10 years I've come to really appreciate who [Aneurin Bevan] was and what he did and what he achieved. This was an opportunity to be able to put everything I knew and felt about him into a piece on stage.

“It’s a very particular challenge playing a real person who is very well known by the audience. That brings all kinds of unique challenges that you wouldn't normally get if you're playing a fictional character, obviously, or a real life person that people don't really know that well. And with playing Nye as well, it feels like a huge responsibility. I mean, it's a privilege to play him and to tell his story, but it's also a massive responsibility because there have been very few things out there about him, and it's such an important story.

“I already had such a strong feeling about him, a strong relationship to him and what he achieved. I know people who feel incredibly passionate about him and what he did. That brings an even greater level of responsibility to it. It was a great relief to know that once we started performing the play, people were accepting of me playing the part and were enjoying it and felt that it portrayed Bevan in a way that did him justice.”

Sheen added that the NHS itself has “always” been there for him throughout his life, citing moments in which he has lost family members and friends, as well as caring for his two children with Swedish actress partner Anna Lundberg, Lyra and Mabli. “It's not just one moment, it's a lifetime, lifelong relationship.”

Another relationship that Sheen has developed in recent years is with Doctor Who star David Tennant. The pair have been firm friends since appearing in both Staged and Good Omens with each other – both of which were hugely successful. Of his friendship with Tennant, Sheen jokes: “David and I will keep working together as long as we don't fall out!” While he ruled out more episodes of Staged, Sheen will reunite with Tennant when the third and final series of Good Omens enters production next year. When asked whether he knows what the future holds for his character, the actor said: “I know what's going to happen in the entire story but I'm not going to tell anyone.”

Before then Sheen will take on another real life role, playing Prince Andrew in a new series about the infamous Newsnight interview the royal did with Emily Maitlis. The story was adapted into Netflix film Scoop earlier this year: “I thought Rufus was fantastic,” Sheen said of Rufus Sewell’s performance as Prince Andrew in Scoop. “I thought he was brilliant as Andrew, he was much better than me. He was more a supporting character in that though. Our story is about Prince Andrew and Emily, it's much more they are the lead characters. It's a different focus and requires a different approach to the character. I was having to look at, as I'm sure Rufus did, the interview in particular. When we were working on it I was listening and watching the interview multiple times a day, every day for months.”

Reflecting on playing the divisive member of the Royal Family, Sheen said: “The level of controversy in that story brings an extra layer as well. The fact that for whatever all our personal opinions might be about what did or didn't happen, or what he did or didn't do, we don't know for definite. There's been no actual court case. We don't know exactly what happened.

"That requires a real level of sensitivity in how you deal with the story, apart from anything else because of legalities and that stuff, but when I read the script I thought that was handled really well. I thought it was a very clever way of allowing the audience to have a satisfying dramatic experience, but still keeping a level of ambiguity, which I thought was done very well on the script. Playing that character was challenging in all kinds of ways, as it is with every real-life character, but I also had to make certain choices and decisions about what was going on for him in my version.”

2024 has already been a busy year for Sheen as a few months ago, his directing debut The Way was released on BBC One – to mixed reviews. Reflecting on the project, which was shot in Wales, he said: “It was quite extraordinary to be attacked by Conservative ministers in the press on the day that it came out, and then to have right-wing newspapers having a concerted plan to try and smear it.

"We didn't expect that just before it came out the news would come out from the steelworks. It was a huge shock and obviously affected the way people perceive the story of the drama. It was never intended to be a socio-documentary about what was going on at the steelworks. It was my first time directing something and to be able to tell that story and film it around south Wales with an amazing Welsh cast was such a brilliant experience.”

#Michael Sheen #Nye #theatre #Interview #Good Omens #David Tennant

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